pregnancy

I’ve got a long overdue post on the labor and delivery. 27 hours must be some kind of record and folks all want to know what the experience was like. I dare say, there’s no other experience like childbirth and that’s why dudes will never understand. That’s also why they must be the first to apologize in every argument. It’s like a trump card with unlimited powers.

All fights with the husband should go something like this.

Husband: You’re being irrational and unreasonable.

Me: I gave birth to your kids. There’s nothing rational about THAT.

Husband: Yes, but it doesn’t mean I have to give in all the time.

Me: 27 hours. That’s how long I was in labor.

Husband: I’m sorry.

Me: You don’t look sorry. I need to see some remorse here.

*This should eventually lead to some diamonds, flowers and some pretty hot sexytime.

Never mind that in the 27 hours, I was chilling out watching Chuck for about 10, and for the next 16, I was under the influence of epidural. But then again, that 1 hour of pain almost drove me to hurl profanities at the nurse, midwife and most of all, the husband, without whom I would not be in that state to begin with.

You know how sometimes on retrospect, some experiences seem less painful with the benefit of hindsight? Like this one time, I had a bad fall while rollerblading and a huge patch of skin got scraped off from my right side near my spleen. It hurt then, but now that I think about it, the pain was not that bad.

TOTALLY NOT THE SAME for labor. When I think about it now, I still get a shiver down my spine, because it felt like someone was rolling my uterus into a tiny ball and mashing it up. Seriously, if they didn’t give me the epidural, I would have been shouting for cyanide.

Although I did enjoy the part where I could feel the baby coming out. The only good thing about the contractions was that it culminated into that one moment where I could finally start pushing the baby out. It was like a scene right out of Grey’s Anantomy. I had one leg propped against the gynae’s hip and the other leg against the nurse and they were both yelling at me to PUSH. At that point, I had no idea which muscle to contract anymore, so it was pretty much mayhem in there. I had sweat pouring down my face and I was making sounds only Chewbacca could understand.

The whole time, the husband was peering intently at the goings-on, looking terribly appalled. I’m sure glad its over, but I’m also glad I went through it. I say mothers should be given a medal of honor, like a purple heart or something. Then again, we’ve got the kids to show for it, which is a way cooler medal if you ask me.

As a break from tradition, I’m posting on my lovely Saturday morning, as opposed to writhing in bed waiting for contractions to start. There’s probably lots of folks anxious to know if the baby is out yet, so here’s an update. NOT. EVEN. CLOSE.

I’m down to less than 20 hours to the point that my gynae is going to have to force Kirsten out. During my visit on Thursday, things weren’t looking so good.

After doing the dreadful internal exam, he had this to say about my cervix:

Gynae: Mmm, no sign of any dilation at all.

Me: Not even like 1 cm? Is that bad? What does that mean?

Gynae: We’ll just have to wait till Sunday.

Me: So what are my chances of having a normal delivery?

Gynae: *pause* Not so good.

Right. Which is a euphemism for “I hate to break it to you lady, but there’s probably no chance in hell she’s coming out from your vagina.”

So with every passing minute of every day since Thursday, my heart beats a little faster and I start getting mild panic attacks. I just spent the better part of last night trying to manufacture contractions and panicking about the thought of another c-section. For the past year, I’ve somehow managed to block out all memories of the experience from my consciousness, but it’s all coming back to me now.

In fact, it’s flooding into my head with a vengeance. I have very vivid memories of having to scream for morphine when the epidural wore off. For a month after that, every movement I made felt like my stitches were going to split open. And then there’s the accursed, suck-like-hell catheter and enema (that I endured 3 TIMES the last round, and by the third time, I was literally terrified shitless).

And so the countdown continues. And the hyperventilating intensifies.

Come on, come on, come on, come on…

what happens when i press this button here? absolutely NOTHING.

So here’s the deal. According to the gynae, Kirsten has up till Sunday to come out. The best case scenario is if I go into labor before then and my cervix cooperates and voila! If that doesn’t happen, I’ve got two choices, which is either to go for a c-section or medical induction on Sunday morning.

Either way, she’s coming out by then.

It’s a bit of a pickle, seeing that I’m intent on doing my darnest to squeeze her out of my thing. I’m totally dreading having to go for another c-section, where the recovery will be a real pain (literally). Plus, there’s the breastfeeding problem and not to mention, that destroys all chance of ever going for VBAC again. Which means my dream of having half a dozen kids will be up in smoke.

But the induction doesn’t bode well either, as it increases the risk of a scar rupture by like 5-6%. Which is not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but if you think about it, any chance that my stomach could spontaneously split open while I’m trying to push a child out of my vajayjay s is not an appealing prospect at all.

I’ve got the next 3 days to decide if I’m going to take the chance, and the thought of either scenario is making me panic a little. I’m still keeping my fingers crossed that she will decide to come out on her own before Sunday. But looking on the bright side, at least after Sunday I won’t be pregnant anymore.

And of course, it’ll be a whole new round of madness. It’s going to be so much fun.