P.S.

I failed to mention that despite all the craziness and the rather lengthy separation, Levi and I were blessed to establish a strong breastfeeding relationship. Having since heard disaster stories about breastfeeding after a c-section (especially an emergency c-section), I am truly grateful to be able to say that Levi still breastfeeds to this day. We had a very rocky first 3 months...Okay, so maybe "we" is a bit misleading. Recovering from the c-section and battling 3 months of breast infections didn't bother him one bit. Me? I was on cloud 9 over being a mom, but at the same time I thought the pain would NEVER end. I truly couldn't have gotten through it all without my family. They were so supportive and went above and beyond the call of duty.

You Asked For It: Part III: The Aftermath

You're probably thinking, "Phew, it's over. And, oh my stars, we so shouldn't have asked for this tale!", but it's not over. There is more. If your eyes are glazing over, feel free to stop reading. There's a reason I haven't blogged about this before. Believe it or not, this is the short version.
Okay, back to the birth story, or the after birth story: After seeing Levi for a matter of seconds, he was whisked away from me. He wasn't in distress. It was just hospital protocol. They stitched me up, counted all of the tools of the trade, and stashed me away in a "recovery" nook.
I begged to see him. I woke up frequently from my drug-induced sleep and sent my mom to ask for him. I was worried about him. Surely he needed me. He'd been a part of me for 9 months. How could he be okay without me? Wasn't he hungry? I needed to hold him, to feed him....5 hours later, after much begging and stressing a nurse finally strolled him in to see me.
Me: "Can I nurse him?" Nurse: "What? You want to nurse him?" Me thinking: Of course, I want to nurse him. I've only written my intent to breastfeed on every piece of paper that's been handed to me, even the ones that probably didn't require it. Despite my blood beginning to boil, I politely said, "Yes." The nurse actually looked annoyed, but she helped me none the less. Levi was a natural, and I thought I'd landed in heaven--even a better one than the epidural induced one. I could have stared and stared and stared at that little munchkin.
Then...she took him away...AGAIN. Y'all, if my momma hadn't been there to help me through, I would have seriously lost my mind and my temper. In the hours after Levi was born, I only saw him for a few minutes. That was way worse than anything labor and a c-section could have dished out. There is nothing that makes sense about separating a mother from her newborn.
The night labor and delivery nurse totally botched my delivery. I didn't even list all of the ways she messed up. But, that I'm over. I don't want to hug the lady, but I'm not angry anymore. But, being separated from Levi during those long hours, that still makes my heart hurt and my blood boil.
When they FINALLY put me in a real room and brought my baby to me, I didn't want him out of my sight. The nurses practically begged me to let them take him for a little while, so I could get some rest. I wouldn't have it. They insisted on taking him in the mornings, so the pediatrician could check him out. I called every 15 minutes to ask them to bring him back. They probably thought I was crazy. I didn't care. I just wanted my baby.
When the doctor asked if I'd like to stay an extra day, I refused. I wanted to go home where there were no nurseries and no nurses and no doctors to bother us.
Despite all the craziness, it was worth it. I would do it all over again, a hundred more times, just to get Levi. However, if I'm ever blessed with the opportunity to actually do it again, I want a midwife, no hospital, and no dingbat nurses (please excuse my uncharitable feelings).
I selected my OB with great care and still think the world of her. She is kind, compassionate, and wicked smart. But, she wasn't there when I needed her. I was at the mercy of a nurse, who I wouldn't have wanted around if she was the last nurse alive, and I didn't see a doctor until the situation had become an emergency. So instead of picking out an OB they should let you pick out your nurse.
Well, that wraps up Levi's birth story. Unless you want me to tell you about the wicked awful pain of getting over a c-section and getting a three month long breast infection to boot. We could do a You Asked For It: Part IV....just kidding! I'll spare y'all! I just have to say it's a good thing babies are so dang skippy cute:
P.S. Excuse the lengthiness as well as the many grammar and spelling errors. I probably should have proofread this, but if you think your eyes are glazing over, you should see mine. :)

You Asked For It: Part II

I caved. I let her give me Stadol. BIG MISTAKE. I knew in my heart of hearts that I shouldn't have, but I couldn't keep going like that with no end in sight. The Stadol didn't curb the pain a single bit. In fact it just got worse. Eventually, my screaming could be heard outside of the labor and delivery ward. (I'd just like to take this moment to apologize to all of the ladies who came in to deliver their bundle of joy that night. I'm sure I scared the ever living daylights out of you. Sorry!) More Stadol was administered. The pain was not alleviated. The only thing the Stadol did was make me feel like I had lost my marbles. Just what I needed to top off some crazy horrific pain...NOT!
My sister kept asking if I wanted her to call mom. In the midst of screaming like a banshee and crying like a baby, I actually told her not to. Note to sis: Never listen to a drugged pregnant lady in labor (even if you think she's not really in labor). I should take this moment to give props to my sis, who stuck it out like a champ and truly is the best sister a girl could have. I'm fairly certain, though, that she's decided that giving birth is for the birds, and adoption is the way to go. I can't say that I blame her. That certainly ranks as one of the longest and scariest nights of either of our lives.
By now, you probably more than get the picture of how the night went: pain, pain, more pain, drugs, even more pain, even more drugs, extra extra pain, dingbat nurse, two women who between them had only ever seen a horse give birth...yeah, not a pretty picture. It went on until around 6:30 or 7 a.m. when my doctor came to check on me. You know her expressions that I mentioned earlier. Well, you could see the steam rising from her head and the wrath in her eyes when she walked into the lovely aforementioned scene. Her first question, "How far along is she?" The answer...silence...crickets chirping...No one knew, because no one had thought to check. Hmmm...lady...9 months pregnant...screaming like she's undergoing Chinese water torture...wonder what that could be caused by?
So, turns out I WAS in labor. When the doc checked I was dilated 8 freakin' centimeters. My previous pleas for an epidural had gone unanswered since it was just the baby pressing on a nerve. When I heard "8 centimeters" my heart nearly fell out of my chest. I thought I couldn't get an epidural that late, and, people, my dreams of a med free birth had gone out the window hours before. I WANTED an epidural!! The relief that came over me when my doctor ordered the epidural is indescribable. Granted getting a needle in my back while writhing in pain is a whole other blog post that I will spare you.
Finally, the epidural kicked in. I couldn't feel a thing. I won't lie to you. The lack of feeling was absolutely glorious. I thought I'd landed in heaven. Then reality kicked in.
The nurses: "Let us know when you feel a contraction."
Me: "Huh? I don't feel anything."
Them: "Nothing?"
Me: "Not a thing." Seriously, I felt nothing.
Plan B-the nurses told me when I was having a contraction, and they even told me when to push. Of course, they had to wake me up first. If they'd let me I would have slept through the whole darn event.
On cue, I pushed with all of my might. They administered Pitocin in an attempt to regulate my still erratic contractions. The doc kept coming in and out, the whole while looking concerned. I kept hearing mutterings about my baby being in distress. Thanks to the mass quantity of drugs running through my system I didn't have the wherewithal to be very concerned. The nurses kept getting on to me for not staying on my side--as if a woman who can't feel the vast majority of her body can actually be expected to know if she's staying put. The doctor came in again to check me. The concerned expression grew more so. She told me that my baby was under too much stress, and that I needed to have a c-section. Screeeech! What?! No, so not in my plans. Argh ! Due to the size of his head she thought pulling him out with giant baby tongs (no that's not what she called them) would be far too dangerous. I cried. They strolled me into surgery.
The drugs could no longer dull the terror. I was scared my baby would die. I was scared I would die. And to top it off, it felt like they had shipped me to Antarctica . So not only was I shaking from terror, I was also shaking from cold. For the life of me I couldn't figure out how they would cut a straight line with me shaking so badly. This made me even more scared which made me shake even worse.
Shaking aside, they pumped me full of more drugs. They started poking my belly with something and asking me if I could feel it. "No...no...no." All the way up to my chest, they poked, and I still couldn't feel a thing. At that point their eyes got a little big, and somebody muttered that I'd had enough. Call me crazy, but I think you're still supposed to be able to feel your chest when they anesthetize your lower half. This being reason number 210 that I never, ever want another epidural as long as I live.
My mom had been there for some time at this point. They suited her up and let her sit next to me. She held my hand. As you probably suspect, I didn't feel a thing. My sweet baby was safely extracted. My first sight of Levi above that blue curtain is forever etched into my mind. He was beautiful and so funny looking all at the same time. I cried. He peed on the nurse. I laughed and cried some more. Then fear struck again. How could they possibly sew a straight line with me laughing and crying? Never fear, it is possible.
My mom held him up to me, so I could kiss him. I touched him for the first time. I cried some more.
To be continued...I know...How could there possibly be more?...

You Asked For It: Part I

A couple of posts ago, I got a number of requests to blog Levi's birth story. So, here it goes. By the end of this y'all might regret having asked. ;)
Levi was due November 17, 2007. It was pretty clear, though, that he had no intention of greeting the world on schedule. November 14 rolled around, and with it came what was supposed to be a normal checkup. I went to the doctor's office leaving behind a messy house and a pile of laundry. Seriously people, I was convinced that Levi intended to stay put for at least another couple of weeks. So, off I went to the doctor.
As she's checking me out this look of concern crosses her face. My doctor has no sensor on her facial expressions...though she tries, God bless her. She immediately ships me off to have a sonogram. I could feel him kicking in there, so I knew he was alive. But, I must say her expression did leave me uneasy.
Turns out the poor little fella' was running out of amniotic fluid at an alarming rate. To this day I'm convinced that he ate it all. It would be just like him.
Anyway, the doc ordered me into the hospital that evening. She was entirely unconcerned about my messy house and pile of laundry. This so was not in my plans. I was supposed to go into labor as God intended. I had no intention of going to the hospital until I was dang skippy near ready to pop the kid out. And my house was not supposed to be messy while all of this was going on.
As ordered, I showed up at the hospital bags packed--house still messy--ready to try to coax this kid out into the world. I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. The nurses ushered me into a room, and administered some terrifically uncomfortable drugs in the attempt to "soften my cervix". It took two different nurses to accomplish this task, neither of whom was remotely concerned about my obvious discomfort. I was told that I would probably feel some contractions through the night, and they could give me drugs if I needed them. When I told them I didn't want any drugs, they nearly rolled there eyes.
Because they wouldn't be administering Pitocin until morning, my mom went home to get some rest. As the appointed labor coach, she wanted to be well rested for the upcoming event. My sister (who had never seen anything but a horse give birth) stayed with me through the night. At first, I couldn't even feel the contractions that registered on the monitor. After a couple rounds of cards things started getting a tinge painful, but still nothing that gritting of teeth and clenching of fists couldn't get a girl through. And, then things started getting nasty. The pain was HORRIBLE. The worst part--it was relentless. I had contraction on top of contraction on top of contraction. Those minutes in between contractions that they tell you about in childbirth class, they didn't exist.
My sister began calling the nurse in regularly, asking what was wrong with me, if I was okay. The nurse would smile, take a gander at the monitor, and calmly say, "The baby must be pressing on a nerve. Would you like something for the pain?" When I said, "No, thanks." in between cries of pain, she walked out. No pointers, no words of comfort, nothin'. I began thinking that if this wasn't active labor and Pitocin was only going to increase the pain, then the pain was surely going to kill me. I already felt like someone was repeatedly and relentlessly stabbing me. All to get me ready for Pitocin to be administered so that I could go into labor. Yes, I actually believed that despite the pain, I was not really in labor yet. The stuff they gave me wasn't intended to send me into labor. The nurse was convinced it was just the baby pressing on a nerve. I had never even seen a horse give birth much less a human, so I certainly wasn't going to argue with her.
To be continued....