Jakob's story

(Warning: may contain too much information, not recommended for all audiences!)

Eager to enter the world, Jakob arrived on the day I was meant to have my 37 week prenatal appointment.

The day before his birth, I enjoyed a by then weekly) prenatal massage, had lunch on the patio of a nearby restaurant before heading to the hospital to participate in a research study. When I came home, I had a terrible experience that isn't worth describing, except to say I felt as though my safety was threatened. Eventually I calmed down, and Werner and I had a typical evening at home and called it a night, probably around 10:30.

Around 11:15 pm, I woke up to pee. At least, I thought I had to pee. It turns out, my water had broken, but since neither of us had experience with this, we weren't entirely sure. I felt as though I had menstrual cramps, but crawled back into bed with Werner and napped for a while. By about 4 am, I couldn't sleep anymore, and was pretty convinced I really was in labour. Considering we thought we had another three weeks or so (or more, since we know his real due date to be October 21), I panicked. I got out my laptop and started printing off contact lists, the packing list, and so on. Then, between contractions, began to gather things for the packing list before tossing them in a box in the nursery. I ran a bath in the guest bathroom (since our sick Phoebchen was sleeping in our ensuite) and climbed in. I'm not sure how long I was in there, but eventually Werner woke up and came to check on me.

The contractions were getting to be painful and coming every five minutes, but the bath was soothing. I kept thinking, "If this is early labour, I'm in trouble!" Having been warned repeatedly that we'd be sent home if we arrived at the hospital too early, we were trying to hold off. About 6:30, Werner called the hospital to page my GP's group, and since a contraction hit just as the phone rang, he spoke to the doc on call first. Dr S., the physician on call, decided that I really was in labour and that we'd be at the hospital soon-ish, but that we should wait until the contractions were more frequent.

So Werner showered, ate, and started packing. I showered and washed my hair, and then just loitered in the shower for I don't know how long, it felt so good. I somehow convinced myself to get out and get dressed, and then lay on our bed in something of a stupor. I was so exhausted that between contractions I tuned out; I don't think I slept, but I wasn't really conscious of anything except the pain, and to cope with the pain I almost had to dissociate myself from my body. It reminded me of a scene from an episode of Due South in which Fraser and Ray are strapped to a bomb that will go off if their combined heartrate exceeds a certain point; whenever Ray's heartrate climbed too high, Fraser would plunge into semi-consciousness by dropping his own heartrate. That's kind of how I dealt with the contractions.

At some point, I hauled myself off the bed, undressed, and got back in the tub. The contractions were getting worse, and I could even feel my cervix dilate, which was as surprising as it was painful. While I was in the tub, Werner timed my contractions as coming nearly every 3 minutes, and lasting from 45 to 75 seconds. He called the group again, and we were told it was time to come in. Dr H (substituting for Dr S, who was in meetings) said she would call the hospital to say we were on our way.

I couldn't even guess how long it took for me to get ready. With every contraction, I had to stop whatever it was I was trying to do, and with a good number of contractions I either threw up or had diarrhea, or, for extra fun, both at the same time. Somehow, I got myself from our bedroom, down the stairs, got my sandals on with Werner's help, and eventually got out to the car. It seemed to take hours.

It was a sunny day. I had my sunglasses on, but kept my eyes closed anyway. I was barely lucid, and each time I opened my eyes, we seemed to be not quite as far as I was sure we should have been. During the 20 minute drive, I had six contractions, plus one right before getting in the car and another the moment I stumbled into the hospital. We arrived around 11:30 am, just about 12 hours after my water broke.

Through overwhelming contractions, Werner and I got me checked in. Although I'd pre-registered with the hospital, I still needed to sign forms and confirm details. I have no idea what, exactly, I did sign, but on the other hand, the signature that came out of my hand in no way resembled my real signature and I'm sure would not stand up in court!

After Werner and I were wrapped up in matching hospital bracelets, we were led over to the assessment area. I was asked for a urine sample (fine by me, I needed the loo again anyway) and then put in a curtained area and given a hospital gown. The nurse asked me to not drink any water for five minutes so she could check my temperature; I was desperately thirsty, and am not sure whether she forgot or five minutes just felt like an hour, and so Werner was dispatched to ask permission for me to have a sip. Dr H. came to check me out and announced that I had dilated 7 cm. My response? "I want an epidural now!!" I don't know how long we were in assessment, I just remember sending Werner, more than once, to make sure I could use the loo. A labour and delivery nurse arrived with a wheelchair and took me up to the much-vaunted Cedar ward, which opened only in March and features luxe labour/delivery/recovery rooms. The room to which I was taken had a window near the bed, a bunk for Werner, a TV and telephone, a kitchen sink and bar fridge, and a bathroom with the bestest-ever soaker tub and shower set-up. (I was too far along to even think of a bath, and didn't even really notice the tub until the next day, when I put it to good use!)

At some point, someone (the nurse, maybe?) checked me and said I was at 9.5 cm. I went to the loo again, then had Werner call the nurse, because I had the urge to push. Now that's something I never really comprehended, but when it hit, all I could think about was pushing. And because I hadn't reached 10 cm, I was told not to push because I'd hurt my cervix.

Already that day, I had felt more pain than I knew could exist. But the pain of not being able to push was unbearable. Until this point, I had gone silent during each contraction (and was pretty quiet in between, too), but I did start moaning, "It hurts, it hurts" over and over again through each contraction.

The nurse tried to start an IV, but was not having much luck. I had asked that the IV be in my forearm rather than my hand or wrist, as every time I've had an IV in one of those sites I've had a tremendous amount of pain and bruising and have been unable to use my hand at all. She gave up, and left it to the anaesthesiologist, who managed to find a vein just upstream of my wrist.

Then, the epidural. By this point, I was lying on my right side, the only position that felt marginally comfortable. The anaesthesiologist tried her best to get the catheter in, but kept striking bone. Werner pulled me into an upright position, and he, along with the anaesthesiologist and nurse, moved me back to a more amenable spot. At last, the catheter went in and the epidural was started. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor (just as in the research study, barely 24 hours earlier) and was soothed with the sounds of Jakob's heartbeat.

Once it took effect, I went from withdrawn to loquacious and cheerful. All was well with the world! And then I signed the consent forms necessary for the epidural.

At 2:20, Dr H. came in and examined me - fully dilated, I was free to push! Of course, by then I was feeling alright, although desperately tired and thirsty. They offered me the chance to rest up, which was gratefully accepted. I was brought a few cups of apple juice (I hadn't eaten anything since suppertime Wednesday, and had long since lost all that anyway) and dispatched Werner to go have some lunch of his own. He also called our parents and moved our car, which had been left in the 30-minute parking zone outside the assessment unit, and brought up the hastily-packed hospital bag.

I think it was around 3:45 that pushing began. It all seemed so abstract - I knew what was happening, but except for a small area in the top right of my belly (where Jakob had earlier been playing with my ribs), I couldn't feel anything. In fact, my left leg was completely numb, ghostly numb, and I couldn't even really move it. So I learned to match up whatever I felt with the numbers on the monitor and eventually was able to give warning that a contraction was coming. Werner held my lame left leg, the nurse my right, and had me push through each contraction. I was told to take a deep breath, push, quickly exhale and breathe again and push again, and then once more breathe and push. A total of three pushes per contractions. The only discomfort was the lightheadedness from holding my breath so long! Oh, that and the heartburn, which decided to come back for a final, encore performance. (At least I knew it was truly the end of it.)
My contractions had slowed down considerably. They were less frequent, shorter in duration, and not as strong, so we agreed to an oxytocin drip. (By hospital policy, an obstetrician needed to be consulted when oxytocin was under consideration during the later stages of labour; Dr H. spoke with the OB, who gave his consent, and he later came by to check my progress.) Nevertheless, I pushed for over three hours. Werner heard Dr H say to the (also heavily pregnant resident) that we had reached the point where many physicians would want to intervene, but because the baby was not in distress and I was making progress, there was no need to just yet. I thought, too, that with a gradual delivery I would be spared a tear; almost made it, too, right up to the very last push.

My labour had lasted very nearly 20 hours. At exactly 7:00 (just like his Papa), Jakob Elliott was born. Werner took him under his arms as he came out and lifted him onto my chest. I wept with joy. Our Bärchen had joined our family.