Partly because I owe it to this blog and my "diary", and mostly because I could USE some magical feeling right now.
Up until November 4th, those were probably the most magical words I had heard. It's time to get that baby out of there. Yes! A day before I was set for an induction, which I had said all along I would NOT allow to happen.
No, I wanted my son to choose his own birthday. And induction simply wouldn't be part of my birth.
Only, whenever you make a plan, be prepared for God to smile down at you and throw a curve ball. Because the moment you hear the words "death" and "baby" in the same sentence, you honestly don't give a hoot about anything. Not about your birth plan, your dream birth, the unknown things you might come across. No. All you know in that moment (if you are as lucky as I was) is an unbreakable faith and trust in your doctors and God.
So, less than a week in advance, I sat in my car outside my doctors office, crying to my mom on the phone about having to be induced. My mom wasn't due to fly in until November 7th, and my son was due to start being forced out late on the 5th. The earliest the doctor could get me in. And though I don't think I ever voiced anything other than my frustration about being induced, the truth was I was terrified. My mommy was across the country and my blood pressure had reached the point where, if it raised before induction, I risked having seizures that could injure my son. And trust me when I say being 24 and days away from giving birth does NOTHING to minimize the "I want my Mommy" panic.
Luckily my mom was able to come out earlier. On November 3rd she came out and I think I was instantly calmed just by the NEWS that she would be here. Monday we took a shopping day, just a girls day at Target, looking for pjs and comfy things I would need in the hospital. The problem was, the more we walked, the wetter my pants got.
See where this is headed?
So on November 4th, my water may or may not have begun to leak. Nobody could agree. Didn't really matter though because my BP was so high, his time was done. And I was satisfied enough that he HAD chosen his own time.
Off to the hospital, where I was hooked up to monitors, moved to another room, hooked to more, then the dreaded IVs.
An IV to make me dilate.
Another to lower my blood pressure and prevent seizures (which, oddly, also was used to STOP contractions)
So, another to induce contractions.
The list goes on. I felt like a darn test subject!
I asked my doctor if he could just give me the c-section I knew I would need, but being the optimist he is, he wanted to wait it out.
Oh, silly doctors.
A little after 3am on November 5th he came in with the news. Joel was transverse, I was stuck at 8cm, and each contraction I had was making my own blood pressure spike dangerously high, while Joel's was dipping too low. He handed a baffled Aaron his scrubs and told us to get ready.
After holding my own tears back so I could scold my mom for crying ("It isn't like I'm dying!") and saying a prayer together, I was wheeled out of the delivery room and taken to the operating room, probably the SCARIEST place in the hospital (Y'all should work on that...) where I had to be prepped for about an hour before Aaron was able to come in to comfort me. By this point, I had been given even more medicine in the IVs, I can't even tell you what it was for, and I was fighting to stay awake and keep the blackness from overtaking my sight.
I stared at Aaron for what seemed like only a few seconds before the doctor asked him to stand up. He did, and took a step back with his hands over his mouth.
"Rhea, he's.... he's beautiful.
And he has a HUGE penis!"
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