So I'm 42 weeks pregnant...
My body has made no progress and there's no indication that our nugget is ever planning on making his debut. Fat and frustrated, I go in for my last appointment to schedule my induction (one that I would have loved several weeks before, but my OBGYN and I didn't see eye to eye on that). I was so sick of being pregnant.
Pregnancy was not kind to me.
I found out I was pregnant a little over two weeks before we went on our long awaited all inclusive honeymoon (it took us almost two years to conceive this baby, so while I was bummed about the whole not drinking thing, we were over the moon happy) and the day before I took my American Board of Opticianry (ABO) exam.
That was the last time my pregnancy was easy.
I had hyperemesis gravidarum from day 3 of our honeymoon until I was 23 weeks pregnant and medication was not helping. Saltine crackers? Forget it. I could barely keep down a glass of water. But the nugget was measuring big and healthy and while I was losing weight, he was my only concern.
Fast forward to week 36; I'm barely a fingertip dilated, 50% effaced and at a -3. Week 37; no change. Week 38; no change. Week 39...you get it.
So I'm 42 weeks pregnant and we set the induction date and the foley bulb insertion date. I go in on a Sunday for the foley bulb, go home to rest and put the hospital bags we packed over a month and a half ago into the trunk of the car. We go in Monday morning at 7am to start our birthing process.
The whole point of the foley bulb is to get me between 3-4 cm dilated; I am finally at a 3--and a three is where I stay for the next 17 hours.
My Doctor comes in and breaks my water, I'm hooked up to pitocin and my husband and I just hang out. We walk around the floor, I rock in the rocking chair. I don't feel the contractions for the first few hours, but they keep telling me I'm having them. The leaking and bleeding is the most uncomfortable part of the process and I hate asking my nurses for help changing and using the bathroom because there are all these wires and IVs attached to me. They keep increasing my pitocin and I finally start feeling them, but still, nothing terrible.
It's around three o'clock and I get checked again, but what do you know? No change. I'm scared at this point, exhausted, feeling like a failure as a woman and mother and wondering why on top of a complicated pregnancy I'm also having a complicated delivery.
I just want my baby boy and I want him now.
My doctor advises I get the epidural, since that was always the plan for when the pain got too bad, I don't want to yet--the pain isn't bad enough and I haven't dilated enough--but I do it because she tells me it'll allow me to rest. The wasp sting sucks for a second but the numbness is almost instant and I'm immediately at ease. They insert a catheter and I'm bed ridden for the rest of the day.
Time passes. No progress.
They have to call to get permission to increase the pitocin because they've reached the standard max.
It's 7. My doctor and nurses are done for the day and come to say goodbye. I meet the new doctor who will ultimately deliver my son and at this point I'm not just numb from the waist down, I'm numb on the inside. I've decided I'm bound to stay pregnant forever and not even my husband is able to lift my spirits.
By 11 I'm well beyond the normal pitocin dosage and my body is starting to react badly; I spike a fever and my BP drops. The doctor comes in and before you know it I'm getting prepped for an emergency c section. They use my epidural line to add something that numbs the rest of me. Shaking and puking, they roll me to the OR--my husband gets his gown on and waits for them to finish getting me ready in the OR before they let me in.
I go in and out of consciousness, squeezing my husbands hand I'm afraid I'll miss seeing him be born, but my anesthesiologist is amazing and lifts my head to help me see. As soon as he cries I get dizzy and sick again. They take him and my husband away, finish closing me up and somehow I'm on a bed being wheeled back into my room. He's been doing skin to skin with my husband as they waited for me, but I can't stop shaking, puking and losing consciousness long enough to appreciate the adorable moment.
It's not until my nurses latch him to me that I stop. Not until he's against my chest that I feel better. He saves me.
My husband and I look at each other and both mouth the same name, a name we never even considered for a first name in the 10 months prior.
And Oliver Fox is born.