I am very very pregnant. My feet continue to swell, and I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I am so very grateful that I ma still pregnant, that I will be a momma, but I can't help but hate my body right now. I have never been happy with my weight, but this was a new level of self disgust. Part of me reveled in it, I am big because of this baby and I am not allowed to exercise at all or even move that much, so I am bored and I eat and its hot and I don't care. Except I do. I care even more when after 32 weeks of diligently applying my bio-oil and cocoa butter and stretch mark cream, my once beautiful, full, smooth belly crackled out in spider web like flames from my bely button out. They ached, they itched, and they are ugly. Still very much worth my baby, but certainly enough to induce some hormonally fueled self loathing.
I am taking my vitamins still, I add more to help with labor. We don't have a lot of money, but I want a doula badly. I know I will need the support to do this the right way, the way I always dreamed. We decide to hire a student doula, so we can experience this new territory all together. It feels good. The first doula we hire seems wonderful, very excited to help us. I continue to plan our birth. I devour books on the subject, I read horrifying accounts of the first medically attended births, about chloroform and broken pelvic bones and extremely disturbing chronicles of unfortunate babies who got stuck in the birth canal. Natural for me, for sure. For all those women who ever suffered, I will do this my way.
A disheartening call. Our student doula has decided to forgo our birth to take a trip to Sweden. Our birth is only a couple months away, we have a hard time believing this was a newly scheduled trip, however we wish her well and look back to the doula school. We find Cynthia. A lovely girl who has attended several home births. We meet for coffee, we talk, we click. I like her. We schedule follow up meetings. Cynthia has a difficult time keeping our appointments. Still, we like her and I have confidence she will be there when we need her.
The baby is getting very large, they tell me. And she is still breech. Her head is wedged up in my ribcage, her feet planted down as far as they can be. She doesn't budge. Finally, my wonderful OB, breaks the news. C-section is on. We choose October 2nd, and I am crushed. ll my preparation, all my work...gone. I attend my birthing classes still but only half listen. Mark and I attend a safety and CPR class for infants. While we are blowing into these lifelike, freaky little dolls, the girl sitting behind us gasps. "My water just broke". The class cheers. A rush of excitement, then complete disappointment. I am deflating. I won't get that experience. I won't have that excitement, the when, the where, the how. I am stuck, with October 2nd.
Cynthia still plans on coming to our c-section. I will need the support with breastfeeding and bonding and all that. She will help me after by coming to our apartment after to assist me. She is inexpensive as far as doulas go, so we pay her and wait for the date.
At one point, a lovely midwife tells me she feels a head near my pelvis. I absolutely adored my time with midwives. There are like caring aunts. If ever I have the money and motivation to continue schooling, I would become a midwife. I have seen so much of the end of life, I would like to see more of the beginning of it. I want to wear a white lab coat (well, I already do that) over an eclectic, patterned dress with a long gray ponytail and big brass earrings and I want to be covered in placenta and baby goo. That's my alternate life.
Unfortunately, that midwife wasn't so accurate, and the baby's head was still firmly planted between my ribcage. My OB gives me an option. She can try an external version to manually turn the baby at 37 weeks. After 37 weeks, the baby will be too big. The bad part is that if the version failed, I would have an emergency c-section right then and there. My placenta had moved from covering my cervix, right up the front, so that the version could possibly abrupt my placenta. There was no other option, try for the version, and if it failed, a c-section at 37 weeks, or a c-section at 39 weeks. I didn't have to think long. I wanted my baby to be in me as long as possible, I didn't want a c-section, but I certainly didn't want to risk one two weeks earlier. So I told my bosses and prepped my apartment and made plans. October 2nd. My baby would be here. Meanwhile, I was trying everything I have ever read about to get this baby to turn on her own. Ice pack/heat pack combo, hanging upside down, music, flashlights, talking to her, begging her to move. I felt nothing. It felt useless, and about a week before my c-section, I gave up. Excitement began to creep up over the disappointment and I started to gain some acceptance.
I am so very big. I can barely eat. I have several low blood sugars a day. A low blood sugar is akin to being an addict going through withdrawal, you need food and sugar and carbohydrates terribly bad. You shake, you can't see straight, you panic. You take way more than you need. I am still gaining weight at a pretty alarming rate. I don't care. I am so excited to see my baby. I picture my baby. I picture a girl, with a little brown hair and big eyes (actually, I picture almost exactly what my Jada looks like). I want a girl so bad I get sick thinking about having a boy. I must have known all along.
October 1st. My mom and Dad and sister are up at our apartment. I have made food for several days. We are packed. We have a last dinner of Mango, our favorite restaurant. We watch TV, odd things. I remember watching the Shakira "She Wolf" video. I have no idea why. I play with my cats and give the nursery a once over. Pack the cameras and videos and computers. We are so prepared, I feel powerful. I barely sleep.
The way to the hospital is fuzzy. There is a rotary right before St. Vincent's, it has strange inverted road bumps, like those on the side of the highway. What the hell are those things called? I remember going over these bumps thinking " I will never go over these again without being a mother, without knowing what my baby looks like". I am amazed by what is happening.
I register and make my way down to maternity. The nurse is a little snippy. I am a few minutes late to maternity because registration took so long. I was at the hospital when they asked me to be, sheesh. My OB comes in. Mark is gowned up in OR gear. I have my IVs put in, my lovely pale blue hospital johnny is in place. I am about to have major surgery, I wonder what it will be like. I focus on my baby. My OB wants to do a last minute ultrasound, to see the placement of the baby. She will have to cut through my placenta, which is scary to me, I will bleed a lot.
The ultrasound wand in on and everyone is silent. The nurse yells out, "there's the head, its down!". My brain does not process this. So? "you get to go home", she says with a smile. I burst out crying. How could they do this, send me home babyless, when I was so sure I would be holding my baby is a few hours. Now, once again, I have nothing but a bloated body and nothing to show for it. They told me time and time again this baby would not move, and she did? "Induce me" I blurt out. "induce me today, you can't send me home". My OB half laughs at me. She explains to this crazy, overly pregnant woman that she can not do this for no medical reason. I know this, I don't really want it. But I cry anyway. The IVs come out, Mark strips of his paper garb and I change back into my clothes. I have to face my family, in the waiting room. I sulk back to them like a puppy who didn't quite make it outside. I have failed, yet again. I just can't believe this emotional ping-pong. We go home, babyless. I am out of work. I am bored, anxious and completely lost. It sounds ridiculous, but even though I know that the baby can't possibly stay in there forever, I still feel like I will never be a mother. Two weeks of eternity. I tried everything (everything) to get her out. Log walks, spicy food, castor oil, etc. No so much as a cramp.
Ok, my OB schedules an induction, finally. I don't want to be induced, but at this point I don't care anymore. I just want my baby. I am wasting precious maternity leave on nothing, watching A Baby Story reruns. I want to spend my days with my baby. I am to go in Sunday, to start the induction. I will have the baby Monday, October 19th. The date doesn't resonate with me, but oh well. I want to meet my baby.
Induction day. My mom is coming. I am packing, cleaning etc. I have accepted my fate. Cynthia has not returned my calls, but she knows my induction date and has promised to be there. She did warn us that she was having family issues, and had a back up doula for us just in case she was out of town. Mark leaves messages, no answers. I barely care. I am having a baby tomorrow. I am packing. I am having a baby tomorrow. I am cleaning. Having a baby tomorrow. I keep running to the bathroom. I am having a baby. I keep having cramps. I am having a baby. My mom calls. I AM HAVING A BABY. She hears my moans, my cries. I am bent over the couch, on all fours in my bedroom. I am having a baby. I am in labor, full blown contractions, two minutes apart. I am having a baby, right now!
No comments:
Post a Comment