melissa: A Baby Story.

Melissa has officially arrived, and just in time for Thanksgiving! But not without a fight--she was really, REALLY opposed to leaving all the comforts of the womb. This is either an auspiciously Good Sign, or an omen of What Things May Come. Fortunately, I am a stubborn individual too. And so this could provide us all with oodles of fantastically amusing stories throughout the years.

We were admitted to the hospital Tuesday evening and given tiny (seriously, teeny) little pills every 4 hours to start softening up everything down there. Everything was fabulous, except for the fact that in hospitals, there is no such thing as "rest." These celebrities who admit themselves to hospitals due to exhaustion are probably just crackheads looking for a different high: if you're exhausted, a hospital is the LAST place on earth you need to be. Try a spa instead.

So Charles went home to sleep in a real bed rather than the faux leather lounge chair they give dads-to-be. Then, around 5 am, there was a rather large-ish scare: I was sound asleep (after being forced to stop the Tums due to high calcium in my blood...but given this anti-heart burn liquid called bro-something-ide which tasted like ass.) (Or rather, what I'd imagine ass to taste like.) (and then, after drinking the ass liquid, I threw up for about 5 minutes...but hooray! ass liquid is apparently a miracle, because no more heartburn!). Where was I? heartburn...ass...vomit...oh yes: I was sound asleep, when suddenly the funny night nurse I decided I loved the best came in very un-funny all of the sudden because the baby's heart beat had dropped. And then the midwife was there. And another nurse. All looking concerned. And checking my cervix, which the midwife described as "like butter." Which apparently was a Good Thing, except for the whole heart beat droppage, which was a Bad Thing.

Because they were so concerned about the heartbeat, they told me they were (a) no longer going to let me eat breakfast like they'd promised, (b) no longer going to let me take a shower before beginning the labor process like they'd promised, and (c) I may need a C-section instead, so I should go ahead and call my husband and tell him to come back to the hospital as fast as possible--nobody wants a husband to miss a C-section.

But they got the heartbeat back to normal, and all was suddenly back on schedule. Except for the breakfast and the shower. Crap. I'd really, really wanted to get my Angelina Jolie picture perfect vibe started for my labor.

They started the pitocin around 6:30 AM, and it was just dandy. I was a little crampy, but totally cool. And I got a pretty big ego when the morning nurse came in, looked at the monitor, and said, "Wow! That was a BIG contraction! Did you just feel that??" And I said, "No!" And then I thought, "Well, poop. This is waaay too easy. This is not how it looks on A Baby Story. On A Baby Story, the woman is usually doing the special breathing techniques by now and holding her husband's hand. And the husband is usually wiping the woman's face, in between giving interviews in the hallway to A Baby Story's producers. .....Dudes. I can TOTALLY do this without pain medication."

And then they started upping the pitocin. And with each uppage, I started to feel a tad more uncomfortable. Until finally, around 1:00-ish, I got a nurse in and said, "You know what? I am no longer feeling well at all. And this is really starting to hurt my stomach AND my uterus AND my back AND my everything else. And also, I don't want any loopy narcotic drugs, which they said you'd start out with. No, no. Just give me the epidural please. The full amount will be fine. I have now felt what a labor pain/contraction feels like and no longer wish to feel anymore, thanks."

And so Dr. F the anesthesiologist came in with his little tray/cart full of epidural stuff. Dr. F did not have a personality, but apparently almost all the people who become aesthesiologists are like this, and it's a GOOD thing. Because you want the nerdy types, who are all about precision around the spine, and not the Chatty Patties, who may be so busy talking about the latest thing that crazy girl Paris Hilton just did that s/he misses the right needle spot and you end up paralyzed forever and ever.

Here, I would like to pause and offer up a small prayer of thanks to the deities in charge of inventing The Epidural. The Epidural is the best thing evah, when in labor. You can't feel anything past your lower stomach, and that's the point.

The midwife, who reminded me of a blonde, blue-eyed southern beauty queen (except she could form coherent sentences, spell, and was very reassuring and positive) (but positive in a sincere way), was quite concerned because I wasn't dilating past 4 cm. The doctor came in and told us if nothing more had happened around dinner time, we'd start seriously talking C-section again. I was fine with whatever--I was feeling noooo pain. Except for hunger pains, because it was 3 PM and I hadn't eaten since 7 PM the night before.

Around 5:30 PM, the midwife came back in, checked me, and said, "Girl! You know what? You are 100% effaced and 10 cm! Do you want to do some practice pushes?" Hell yes, I said. It's about dang time.

This is where it starts getting crazy. I don't know if you've ever had 2 deadened, lifeless legs lifted into stirrups for you, but if you haven't? You should sometime. It's probably very similar to what acid trips in the 60's were like for hippies, only no freaky flashbacks 30 years later that make you act like Gary Busey while you are at a grocery store (hopefully). One minute I was just lying there, waiting to be told what to do, and suddenly I realized: My legs are high in the air! When did THAT happen to me?

And then a nurse said, "Can you lift your bottom up a little for us?"

Bottom? I thought. Is that the same as a butt? And if it is, do I still have one of those? Because I can't feel anything past my belly button. "Um," I said, "I don't think so. I can barely wiggle my toes and so...I don't we'll be getting any bottom wiggling from me, either."

They gave each other uh-oh looks and asked if they could reduce the epidural by about half. I grew quite alarmed by this, because hello?! Nooooo! That's my labor crack, people! Noooo taking away pregnant people's labor crack!

It worked out in the end, though, because they'd given me so much epidural that even reducing it by half didn't make a difference. So I pushed through the epidural. And was told (quite often, I might add): "You are a GREAT pusher!" Well, duh, yeah, I said. I've wanted this thing out of me for about 10 weeks now...plus, I know what to do because I watch A Baby Story.

So after about an hour of pushing, everybody got excited because they started to see the top of Melissa's head ("Ooooh! Aaaamy? Girlfriend!" said my cute southern belle midwife, "I see a TON of black hair! Keep going, keep going! You can do it, you can do it! Melissa is..on...her...way out!"). And so I kept going, because here's a trick of midwives and labor room nurses: it takes, literally, HOURS to push a baby out of you. Babies come out by the millimeter. On A Baby Story, they make it look like the woman starts pushing and then 10 seconds later the head crowns. And 10 seconds later, the head comes out. And then pop! Out come the shoulders. And then suddenly there's a baby! And everybody's crying and laughing and taking pictures. But A Baby Story is not reality, even though it's marketed as "reality TV." No. Real babies come out like this: little bit of head...30 minutes of pushing. Crowning...45 minutes of more pushing. Head...60 minutes of MORE pushing. It's a process. And it's long. And it hurts. I really don't know how (or, quite frankly, why) women did it before The Epidural.

And so what midwives and nurses do is this: as you're pushing, they make it SOUND like the baby is about to pop out, like they allude to maybe you're about to start crowning, or something like that. And then you lie back exhausted and ask, "Is she almost out?" And they say, "Oh no...she's got a loooong way to go still. But you're making progress!" And so, your ears filled with their positive words and encouragement, visions of a baby about to pop out, and your heart filled with hope, you keep going and going, just like they tell you to.

It's actually quite diabolical what they do, upon reflection. Kind of like what I do to my cat when I'm feeling snarky: I pretend to have a kitty treat and, just as she gets over to grab it from my hand, I swing her up into my arms like a baby and kiss kiss kiss her all over her kitty face. Which she totally hates.

Anyway, long story short: I pushed for 3 hours. THREE HOURS, people. Three. Technically, they usually only let you push for two hours (although my friend Wendy tells me they made her push for 24...and I really think Wendy's got a good law suit case if she ever wants to pursue that). But for me, maybe because of the hypertension, I was only supposed to push for two. But the doctor would come in and check me, and get all impressed with my A Baby Story pushing, and so she let me go for an extra hour. But finally, around 11:30 PM, she said, "Amy, I really think we need to reconsider what we're doing here. You've made a lot of progress and you're a really good pusher. But she keeps kind of popping out a little when you push....and then goes right back inside when you stop. And it looks like she's getting a bit of a conehead, which could mean there's too much pressure on her head. And I'm worried she's not coming out and staying out because a shoulder may be caught behind your pelvic bone. Let's talk about C-sections."

I said: You know what, Dr. B? I am exhausted. I just want her out, please." And Dr. B was visibly relieved, because I bet some women really fight her on C-sections. But not me--I have no idea how I did that for 3 hours (not being able to feel my lower half, AND having thrown up again, AND having had to wear an oxygen mask for the last 12 hours, AND getting misled over and over by a midwife and 2 nurses) and, about 6 hours earlier, my southern belle midwife had said to me, "Amy, don't worry about anything that's happening. The baby looks great--we're mostly worried about you. And if anything starts to go wrong, I'll be right next to you and I won't leave you at all. And if you need a C-section, honestly: you are so lucky Dr. B is on call today. She's our best surgeon with those--and I'm not just saying that to make you feel better; I work with all the doctors, and Dr. B is the one who really takes her time and takes care of you." And, after a discharge conversation with Dr. M I had on Friday morning? I really believe my southern belle midwife DID tell me the truth.

So I had a C-section. And, right after you sign the consent form? Things get very, very busy and serious. They tell you all the questions they'll ask when you're in OR (to make sure you're not crazy and know what's going on), they start hooking and unhooking things, you get a new anesthesiologist with a funny personality and way better medication, and things just go very, very fast. Just like an episode of ER, except no George Clooney look alikes. Then, before you know it, your husband is brought in, you're lying in a crucifixion position in a cold operating room, and there's soft music playing, and they're pushing and pulling on you, and within 10 minutes there's a baby crying and someone is saying "It's a girl!" and then YOU are crying and your husband is crying (just like on A Baby Story) and they show you your girl and then take her back to the Labor and Delivery room with your husband while they stitch you up for the next 45 minutes. And that's a C-section. The End.

(Then, afterwards, you find out that that big bump in your uterus, the one you and your family have been rubbing for weeks going, "Aw! That's her butt! What a cute little baby butt! Hi, little Melissa's baby butt!" was actually a big fibroid. Dr. B tells you this after she also tells you she removed a cyst she saw while in there.)

I did not have to have the unsightly C-section, because Dr. B is an excellent surgeon. And also, no staples. She stitches you up on the inside, tapes you up on the outside with special dissolving surgical tape, and then you're good to go.

And so now I have a baby. And, after a 4 day hospital stay (which they only counted as 2, since I was admitted in the evening and discharged in the afternoon), I am at home finally. I am taking a narcotic for pain, and a very large dose of ibuprofen every six hours. But I can walk around and everything. Just no heavy lifting, driving, or jumping on beds for now. At least for 6-8 weeks. And no housework! Which is the BEST. And people bring you food (mostly casseroles), and everybody tells you how cute your new kid is.

And your new kid IS cute. But she's a hungry little kid and seems to need a breast in her mouth every 10 freaking seconds. And you can't believe that you, at 5 feet 10 inches, and your husband, at 6 feet 2 inches, produced a human being who only weighed 6 pounds, 12 ounces. And was 19 1/2 inches long, which is long...but long on the average side. And also, when she comes out pink, later on you tell your husband: "Listen, ALL babies are born pink." And your husband says: "Not in darkest Africa they aren't." But clearly, the child is a product of both of you because she's very, very hungry yet also can sleep for marathon sessions (you) and she's got his nose and eyes. And also the pediatrician told him before everyone got discharged : ALL babies come out pink (yes, even in darkest Africa); in about 6 months she'll have her real eye, hair, and skin color.

(sigh) Husbands. What can you do?

I also have amusing nurse/breast feeding stories. And one militant lactation consultant story. But I will end my Baby Story here with this:

Melissa Alexandra
October 30, 2008

Welcome to the world, Miss Melissa. We are so glad you're finally here.