Gideon’s Birth Story
Sep. 15th, 2020 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grendelsmere*TMI alert. Mostly about birth. May not be your cup of tea.
First I have to express my gratitude for a live baby and a functional me. Because it wasn’t quite so much of a given this time.
That aside, I think I’m fated to hit all the words in birth bingo that I enjoy least.
Last time: induction, syntocinon, epidural, episiotomy.
This time: induction, syntocinon, forceps, emergency c-section.
And I had such plans for how I was going to ‘do it better’ this time.
Walking around the hospital for to maximise benefits of gravity we aced. Last time we did endless laps of the car park. This time we found a forested path and managed to fit in some foraging for blackberries and a quick castle visit. Though we did then lose the path and I ended up setting off across a field with some heavy duty hospital apparatus in my nether regions.
The gas and air was just delightful. There’s a joyousness at the end of a hard pregnancy in being able to get completely off your face. I used it quite lightly last time. This time I was hoping to rely on it to get through things without an epidural. But then I got paranoid that Andy and the midwife were silently judging me for overusing it (brain was not functioning optimally at this point), and so I started coming off it right at the peak of contractions, and getting very squirmy and loud.
I also got to experience medical-drama style breaking of waters, with heavy localised flooding, which was interesting. On the debit side, induction overall did not go so well. Despite the pessary, balloon, and 7 hours on the drip, I never got past 3cm. This was frustrating, as everyone had been very reassuring about my previous birth being proof of concept, and the second one likely being quicker and easier. Reader, it was not.
I really, really, really did not want a c-section. I hadn’t had surgery as an adult, had done precisely zero reading on the subject, and greatly prefer to do birth rather than have birth done to me. But Gideon was having decelerations with every contraction (turned out to have the cord around his neck), and we couldn’t go on like that indefinitely in the face of no progress.
And so I cried in the labour suite, and again in theatre. The staff were lovely. The anaesthetist in particular. He was very diligent and attentive about getting the level of numbing right, so I was fairly confident I wouldn’t feel them cutting. He continued to be amazing about injecting stuff whenever I felt dizzy or nauseous. And was super apologetic about not catching it first. And not fixing stuff I wasn’t really able to verbalise (not sure there’s much you can do for sore shoulders, combined with a general feeling of trappedness). There was also a (presumed) mini-surgeon who was delightful and held my hand for the worst bit. I’d always assumed the midwives were the fluffy, empathetic ones, so I was surprised how good everyone’s operating-table-side manner was. And the midwife kept telling me I wasn’t actually in labour, which, though true, had put me off her somewhat.
The section took about an hour. There was a lot of vigorous shuggling. One of the midwives afterwards commented it had been a ‘rough’ section. I had quite a lot of bruising. I think G had gotten thoroughly wedged as he needed forceps extraction - a bit of his head was cone-shaped from labour. Supportive as everyone was, I had no interest in seeing or interacting with him until I was out of that room. I think that was the maximum amount of information, stimulation, and general activity that I could cope with, and, with the exception of a massive sense of relief when he cried, I left Andy to hold him, go with him for early checks, and generally do all the parenting until I made it to the recovery room. Luckily I had expressed some colostrum before the induction, so G was all set for snacks.
Initial recovery was mostly fine. I had a chest infection, so there was a bit where I had trouble breathing, and there was a lot of vomiting, but I felt ready to meet Gideon, and he latched on and fed right away. Concerned anaesthetist loitered throughout. Then Andy was dispatched home, and G and I went back to the ward. I was worried about how I’d get him in and out of the cot, as the electrics on the bed weren’t working. But then a lovely healthcare worker appeared, and got me to sit up, move to the edge of the bed, and thence into a chair. Once I’d had an anti-emetic and a cup of tea I toddled off for a shower. No further worries about being stuck in bed.
We had all the usual tests, and I had to jump through various hoops (Level 1 – Pee. Precisely this much.) but they let us go home the next day. For the first couple of days getting out of bed in the morning was painful and Andy was sent for pain relief before I went anywhere. I’ve now come off everything, and just get a bit of a sore back on walks. (I have a super-unsexy beige girdle that fixes this.) Gideon is very chilled, provided he can be on a person 100% of the time. Not having colic has helped a lot. He sleeps better than his sister did too.
While I vastly preferred my first birth, I’m enjoying recovery more this time. Last time was such a shock, I had no idea what I was doing, I hadn’t slept for days and days, was hallucinating, repeatedly failing to get the sticky tape residue off myself, and generally waiting for someone to show up with my medal. I also watched all of The Haunting of Hill House, which was beautifully done, but not good postpartum TV. (I watched Cargo too). This time I felt like myself, knew what to do with Gideon and where to do it, trusted the people around me, focused all my energy on getting home asap, and was satisfied just to be brought tea, toast, and orange juice (still no medal :( )
First I have to express my gratitude for a live baby and a functional me. Because it wasn’t quite so much of a given this time.
That aside, I think I’m fated to hit all the words in birth bingo that I enjoy least.
Last time: induction, syntocinon, epidural, episiotomy.
This time: induction, syntocinon, forceps, emergency c-section.
And I had such plans for how I was going to ‘do it better’ this time.
Walking around the hospital for to maximise benefits of gravity we aced. Last time we did endless laps of the car park. This time we found a forested path and managed to fit in some foraging for blackberries and a quick castle visit. Though we did then lose the path and I ended up setting off across a field with some heavy duty hospital apparatus in my nether regions.
The gas and air was just delightful. There’s a joyousness at the end of a hard pregnancy in being able to get completely off your face. I used it quite lightly last time. This time I was hoping to rely on it to get through things without an epidural. But then I got paranoid that Andy and the midwife were silently judging me for overusing it (brain was not functioning optimally at this point), and so I started coming off it right at the peak of contractions, and getting very squirmy and loud.
I also got to experience medical-drama style breaking of waters, with heavy localised flooding, which was interesting. On the debit side, induction overall did not go so well. Despite the pessary, balloon, and 7 hours on the drip, I never got past 3cm. This was frustrating, as everyone had been very reassuring about my previous birth being proof of concept, and the second one likely being quicker and easier. Reader, it was not.
I really, really, really did not want a c-section. I hadn’t had surgery as an adult, had done precisely zero reading on the subject, and greatly prefer to do birth rather than have birth done to me. But Gideon was having decelerations with every contraction (turned out to have the cord around his neck), and we couldn’t go on like that indefinitely in the face of no progress.
And so I cried in the labour suite, and again in theatre. The staff were lovely. The anaesthetist in particular. He was very diligent and attentive about getting the level of numbing right, so I was fairly confident I wouldn’t feel them cutting. He continued to be amazing about injecting stuff whenever I felt dizzy or nauseous. And was super apologetic about not catching it first. And not fixing stuff I wasn’t really able to verbalise (not sure there’s much you can do for sore shoulders, combined with a general feeling of trappedness). There was also a (presumed) mini-surgeon who was delightful and held my hand for the worst bit. I’d always assumed the midwives were the fluffy, empathetic ones, so I was surprised how good everyone’s operating-table-side manner was. And the midwife kept telling me I wasn’t actually in labour, which, though true, had put me off her somewhat.
The section took about an hour. There was a lot of vigorous shuggling. One of the midwives afterwards commented it had been a ‘rough’ section. I had quite a lot of bruising. I think G had gotten thoroughly wedged as he needed forceps extraction - a bit of his head was cone-shaped from labour. Supportive as everyone was, I had no interest in seeing or interacting with him until I was out of that room. I think that was the maximum amount of information, stimulation, and general activity that I could cope with, and, with the exception of a massive sense of relief when he cried, I left Andy to hold him, go with him for early checks, and generally do all the parenting until I made it to the recovery room. Luckily I had expressed some colostrum before the induction, so G was all set for snacks.
Initial recovery was mostly fine. I had a chest infection, so there was a bit where I had trouble breathing, and there was a lot of vomiting, but I felt ready to meet Gideon, and he latched on and fed right away. Concerned anaesthetist loitered throughout. Then Andy was dispatched home, and G and I went back to the ward. I was worried about how I’d get him in and out of the cot, as the electrics on the bed weren’t working. But then a lovely healthcare worker appeared, and got me to sit up, move to the edge of the bed, and thence into a chair. Once I’d had an anti-emetic and a cup of tea I toddled off for a shower. No further worries about being stuck in bed.
We had all the usual tests, and I had to jump through various hoops (Level 1 – Pee. Precisely this much.) but they let us go home the next day. For the first couple of days getting out of bed in the morning was painful and Andy was sent for pain relief before I went anywhere. I’ve now come off everything, and just get a bit of a sore back on walks. (I have a super-unsexy beige girdle that fixes this.) Gideon is very chilled, provided he can be on a person 100% of the time. Not having colic has helped a lot. He sleeps better than his sister did too.
While I vastly preferred my first birth, I’m enjoying recovery more this time. Last time was such a shock, I had no idea what I was doing, I hadn’t slept for days and days, was hallucinating, repeatedly failing to get the sticky tape residue off myself, and generally waiting for someone to show up with my medal. I also watched all of The Haunting of Hill House, which was beautifully done, but not good postpartum TV. (I watched Cargo too). This time I felt like myself, knew what to do with Gideon and where to do it, trusted the people around me, focused all my energy on getting home asap, and was satisfied just to be brought tea, toast, and orange juice (still no medal :( )
no subject
Date: 2020-09-15 01:07 pm (UTC)Here via Andy's blog, also a veteran of 2 c-sections. Well done you. Wish there was a medal to send.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-15 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-16 10:40 am (UTC)Aww thanks. If I have advice it's to remember over the next few months that you had abdominal surgery, and be kind to yourself while recovering from it.