Gory details ahead. You've been warned.
This story seems less, um, crazy if you know that my first delivery was induced with Cervadil and Pitocin and lasted from a Monday night to a Saturday night. In retrospect, those Pitocin contractions were like being slammed into a brick wall. I made it to four centimeters dilated, when the midwives ruptured my membranes, before I began banging my head on the bed rail and begging for an epidural. That's the back story.
Now Chandler's story.
My mother, hereafter referred to as Mimi, arrived Wednesday night. Thursday morning, Frances awoke with yet another fever. No school for Frances. We'd heard there was this blizzard thing coming and I wanted to purchase a couple Valentine's Day presents, so Mimi and I got ourselves ready for some shopping. Around 7:00 a.m., I started having some twinges, but I had similar twinges two weeks ago. Those earlier twinges went away when I laid down, so I didn't take these twinges seriously at all. Mimi and I headed off to Somerville to visit Market Basket, a bargain grocery store.
Everyone and their brother was at Market Basket. Complete Bedlam. People were panicked about this blizzard. Mimi and I fought valiantly through the hordes. In the produce section, I felt a little trickle. Women usually describe their water breaking as either a deluge or a recurring trickle, but this was one solitary little trickle. Suspicious, but not conclusive. I went to the bathroom to check things out - that's an adventure in itself, the Market Basket bathroom - and I got a text from Mark saying he'd been offered a job at a firm that really interested him. Saints be praised! Mimi and I continued on our way to eight different stores, with me as chauffeur because my twinges just weren't that problematic. I groaned a bit getting in and out of the car, but what 39-weeks-pregnant woman doesn't? The last stop was the liquor store for some cooking wine. I had one ouchy twinge there that made me lean over on a crate of wine, but it passed in mere seconds. (I just love that I was in labor in a liquor store. "Classy" is my middle name.)
At noon, Mimi and I headed home and carried in the shopping. I was ready to lie down. Lying down stopped those other twinges, so I just needed to lie down so these will go away, because they weren't getting any more intense, so this must be false labor, right? I laid down with Frances momentarily, but I couldn't get comfortable. Mark and I read over a description of the stages of labor, trying to decide where I might be. None of the stages seemed to fit, since the twinges were so brief. I called out to anyone who might be listening, "Shouldn't we be timing these things?" Mimi started timing at 12:45 as I went to make a turkey sandwich. (I believe in the power of a good turkey sandwich, what can I say.) Mark went to play with Frances in the living room. Mimi's timing revealed these twinges were coming every three minutes. My midwife had told me to head to the hospital when I'd been having contractions every three minutes, lasting a minute, consistently for an hour. Again, these weren't lasting anywhere near a minute. I decided it was time to check in with my doula. Maybe she could explain what was going on.
My mom told Mark it was time to be with me and took Frances into her bedroom to distract her from the action happening in the kitchen. Megan, my doula, talked me through a couple contractions and then suggested I get in the shower to try to slow things down. Sometime in the midst of our conversation, being on all fours started to seem like a much better idea that standing up - the "twinges" weren't twinges anymore. I know I had one contraction that made me say "That wasn't so bad. That wasn't so bad. That wasn't so bad." Then I had another contraction that made me say "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this." Then I had a contraction that made me bellow. Right about then, Megan and Mimi both said it was time to go to the hospital. I think that was around 1:00. Then I had what I think of as my Holy-Mary-Mother-of-God contraction. I think now that was my "transition." (It still did not hurt nearly as much as my Pitocin contractions. For example, I was aware that Mark was trying to put on my shoes and that he was putting them on the wrong feet.) Somewhere in there I remember grabbing Mark's chest and urgently telling him that I loved him. It seemed important that he know that right then. And I ever so politely asked Mark to fetch my headphones, so I could listen to Paul Simon's Graceland album and
Obvious Child while I labored at the hospital, of course.
And then we made our way to the car. That was interesting. I don't recommend walking down stairs in full labor, if you can help it. I just don't. I also don't recommend sitting in the front seat while in labor, but the back seat was full of car seats. Mark and I made it to the corner of Dimock and Columbus. Red light. Contraction. I punched the car's roof, but that contraction was easier than the Holy-Mary-Mother-of-God contraction. We made it to the stoplight at Centre and Columbus. Red light. And I remember telling Mark I needed him to be calm. No problem. We made it to the corner of Columbus and Tremont where we needed to go left. Red light. I had another contraction, and I could feel myself opening - no pain, just opening. I decided to reach down and see if I could tell what was going on. Well, most of the baby's head was out. As Mark turned left, I asked him to help me pull down my pants. Mark obliged. I'm sure the other drivers at the intersection were just thrilled at this unexpected show. The next thing I know, Chandler was out in my hands. She gave a little cry, just enough so I was sure she was perfectly healthy. Then, for some reason, our lane was full of cars, while the opposing lane was empty. Mark tapped into his inner Jason Bourne. He just took off in the opposing lane, honking like a mad man (or so he tells me; I was more focused on Chandler than the honking). I noticed the cord was wrapped around Chandler's neck twice. Mark helped me unwrap her, while driving. I announced she was a girl. Mark told me later that he thought, "I don't care if it's a tree - get us to the hospital!" After a little tango with another driver who did not appreciate Mark's driving habits, we finally arrived at the hospital, about 12 minutes after leaving the house. Mark counted three cops on our route; none of them helped or hindered us.
Mark thought his work was done once we got to the hospital. Not so much. No one at the valet desk was interested in helping a bloody woman. I can't imagine why. So Mark helped me get my pants up before I got out of the car (I wasn't about to show my backside to the fifteen or so people standing around talking on walkie-talkies) and took off his shirt to wrap the baby in because no one handed us a blanket. Finally, a hospital worker took charge of the situation and brought a wheel chair and some blankets. We left the car where it was and Chandler and I got wheeled into the hospital. Mark estimates there were 12 people trailing along behind us; we couldn't all fit in the elevator. I remember more people on walkie-talkies and one guy directing the parade like he was working in air-traffic control. Now I know what "Code Blue Obstetrics" means.
Things calmed down considerably after that. My midwife happened to be delivering that day. She helped me deliver the placenta, wouldn't let anyone give me an IV (there's risk of hemorrhaging with fast deliveries and someone wanted to be able to give me evil Pitocin if things went south) and stitched me up. She reassured the staff that I wasn't on drugs which can make for fast deliveries. (During Frances's delivery, I was screened for drugs because I was abrupting. Lesson: I come across as a crackhead during labor and delivery.) Oh, and Mark wants to be sure you know he was up to his elbows in amniotic fluid and blood.
We're almost done now. Chandler was a bit chilly from being in the 24 degree weather (the car hadn't had time to warm up) so she was kept on a warming table for a bit. Waiting to hold her was probably the hardest part of this. There was some amusing conversation about time of birth (Mark and I were clueless) and APGAR scores (oh, well, no APGAR scores for Chandler). I finally got to hold her and almost immediately she started nursing. Smart baby. Almost as immediately, Mark and I started telling people we wanted to get home as soon as possible. Sleeping and hospitals just don't mix and I wanted to get home to Frances. Mimi and Frances came to visit us around 4 in the afternoon. Frances did really well, although she looked completely crushed when we told her the baby's name wasn't Adah. Frances was sure it was.
The next morning, the snow started to fall around 9 a.m. Retrieving the car from the hospital valet service was a bit confusing. No one wanted to drive it because of the birth gak so it was left overnight almost exactly where Mark stopped to get me out. We were home by 11 a.m. I finally got to finish my turkey sandwich.
Then it snowed two feet.
Then all of the adults in the house got a stomach bug.
Then we learned we needed a biohazard team to clean the car.
I wouldn't trade a minute of it. It was about the most fun I've ever had.
