Labour - a world of Ow.
Jul. 14th, 2009 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
r_scribblesThanks for the various congrats - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unoriginal_liz, of course I don't mind you commenting! (loved the icon too).Everything still very strange - used to it just being me & Vi kicking around the house, and of course, used to a toddler who cheerfully goes to bed at 8 and doesn't bother us until about 7 the next morning, meaning last night's 12.30am, 3.20am and 5.30am feeds (when he refused to settle after the latter, and was hiccupping and sicking after most of them) came as a shock to the system. Alex is, so far, fairly low maintenance compared to how Vi was in the early stages though. We'll see if that lasts.
So - let me regale you with the story of my second - and, unless I have a massive change of heart, final - labour.
Much simpler and shorter than Vi's induced labour (those wanting to compare & contrast, here is the story of Violet's birth) but still not really one I'd recommend. Why does nature make putting these blighters in feel so nice and getting them out the most painful, body-damaging process possible?
As I mentioned in the locked post on Friday, I woke up at about half 5 with regular, low, period type cramps, and I actually managed to get a bit more sleep after taking some paracetamol once Hubs had elected to take the day off work and look after Vi since I was tired and we didn't know if this was going to turn into labour. At no point did the pains get closer together or more regular - they just slowly got stronger and stronger through the day. By the time I posted they were like the worst kinds of period pain I'm aware of. We called the MiL and asked her to come up in case we'd have to go to hospital, Hubs napped while Vi did since none of us knew how long it would take - I was in too much pain to sleep by that point, even with paracetamol, so I twittered and did some light housework to try to keep my mind off it. By 4-ish I was having to jiggle from one foot to the other through the cramps - my 'labour-dance'. I was sure this was it now, and the MiL had arrived, so we went off to hospital. Saw a lovely midwife who was like a blonde Jo Brand, but who also guessed that I really wasn't ready for them to take me yet. An internal confirmed my fears - my stupid, reclusive Narnia-cervix was still in Narnia and merrily clamped shut. Woe. We were sent home with worrying advice like 'try to sleep' and 'eat and drink as normal', suggesting I could be this way overnight at least. We went home and sat with our next door neighbour who were entertaining Vi & MiL with a playdate with their granddaughter. They gave me wine & crisps and we talked childbirth as the labour pains got ever stronger. We went home for tea at about quarter to 6, but I was suddenly nauseated by the thought of eating and tried to rest in bed. By this point though, I couldn't stay lying down with a contraction and had to pace around the bed, touching every bedknob. Labour-dance had turned into labour-OCD. I'd forgotten about the Mantras from Vi's labour, the touching things was a weird silent version of that. As they were finishing tea I thought I really wanted to go to hospital, but I remember the Birthing Unit were engaged, so for some reason I decided to wait through the whole of Vi's bathtime, timing my contractions. By the time Vi was bathed and Pyjamad, things were getting desperate. I didn't need to push yet, but the pains were getting 'bowel-y'. Had the most uncomfortable car journey ever up to the hospital. Then had to wait for what seemed like an age in the delivery suite they'd put us in for a midwife to come. Once I'd fallen on the bed because I couldn't physically stand any more and started screaming into the pillow, Hubs went to grab somebody. Another internal showed I was only 3cm dilated. Stupid cervix.
And here's where I discovered exactly how willful that part of my anatomy is - it's The Fastest Cervix In The West. A couple of contractions after I'd been confirmed as 'only 3cm', I needed to push. I'd gone from 3cm to 8cm in a couple of minutes. I'm pretty sure at that point that I had Gas & Air, but it was taken away from me again soon after when my waters broke in spectacular, Exorcist fashion, revealing meconium in the water and a pressing need now to get the kid out.
Things were made yet more pressing by the revelation of a policy of the Birthing Unit that I wasn't previously aware of - if you're pushing for more than an hour, they can't keep you, they have to transfer you to the nearest proper Maternity Unit. WHICH IS IN ASHFORD. I was facing a half hour ambulance ride, when I just needed above everything to stay where I was and push. One midwife managed to talk me into getting off my back and onto my knees, holding the headboard of the bed for support. Moving was awful, but actually the best thing ever because suddenly I was in control. The weird thing about labour is that towards the very end, although you're very uncomfortable and beyond exhausted, once the kid's in the birth canal it doesn't actually hurt so much - didn't with me, anyway. I could feel Alex's head so close to being out by the time the ambulance drivers got there and was absolutely determined not to go - he wouldn't even have been born in the ambulance, by this point I knew he'd be born on the gurney halfway through the hospital. I remember about three good pushes, followed by a massive release, and for a second forgot that you need one final good push to get the shoulders and the rest of the kid through. I can remember slumping forwards on the headboard, a large amount of vomit on my favourite TShirt (hadn't had time to change - and you'd better believe I exorcist-sicked on one of Hubs' best TShirts too!), noting that my hair and face were absolutely slick with sweat, but not realising how hot the room was, aware of a large pool of blood around my knees, repeating 'I did it' at considerable volume. That was at 10.20 - two hours after we'd got to the hospital.
I didn't believe that I had torn - I'd felt no pain on him coming out - but apparently I had done - badly. It took as long to stitch me up again as it had to give birth. Everyone was baking hot except me - I was shivering. The good news was that, since stitches are painful & that, they were going to let me sup on Gas & Air again. Wheee! To be honest, the afterpains were bothering me more than the stitches (they'd given me a local, after all) but I'd have faked pain to get my hands on lovely, lovely G&A. Hell, I deserved it.
That was when the fun began. Everything was happening a half-speed. Everyone sounded like Paul Robeson to me. I quoted Aliens at people. I sang a Michael Jackson Medley - loudly. I insisted that one of the midwives had been my teacher back in Ilkeston. I said that the other midwife looked like Annette Crosbie. I claimed - unfairly and cruelly - that my newborn son looked like Adrian Childs. I laughed my arse off, which was unfortunate since it was my arse they were attempting to fix in the first place.
They were pretty much done with me by about 1am, when I had the world's most needed bath ever - which turned a pretty revolting colour rather quickly. Then they wheeled us into the lovely double room where they let us stay for several nights. I failed to sleep, even though Alex was quiet and dozy. I couldn't come down for hours. Then I woke up and discovered that I was incapable of moving. Besides the obvious, I appeared to have strained muscles in my arms, legs, shoulders, neck and face. My eyebrows hurt. My one concession to making myself human that day was to have a shower, wash the sweat from my hair and put on a new pair of super sultry paper pants. That was the furthest I went all day - the bathroom. I spent pretty much that whole day in bed. The next day I actually bothered to put on 'day clothes' - namely being a pair of joggers and one of Hubs' old TShirts. I've got makeup on and everything today - I'm getting there!
unoriginal_liz, of course I don't mind you commenting! (loved the icon too).Everything still very strange - used to it just being me & Vi kicking around the house, and of course, used to a toddler who cheerfully goes to bed at 8 and doesn't bother us until about 7 the next morning, meaning last night's 12.30am, 3.20am and 5.30am feeds (when he refused to settle after the latter, and was hiccupping and sicking after most of them) came as a shock to the system. Alex is, so far, fairly low maintenance compared to how Vi was in the early stages though. We'll see if that lasts.So - let me regale you with the story of my second - and, unless I have a massive change of heart, final - labour.
Much simpler and shorter than Vi's induced labour (those wanting to compare & contrast, here is the story of Violet's birth) but still not really one I'd recommend. Why does nature make putting these blighters in feel so nice and getting them out the most painful, body-damaging process possible?
As I mentioned in the locked post on Friday, I woke up at about half 5 with regular, low, period type cramps, and I actually managed to get a bit more sleep after taking some paracetamol once Hubs had elected to take the day off work and look after Vi since I was tired and we didn't know if this was going to turn into labour. At no point did the pains get closer together or more regular - they just slowly got stronger and stronger through the day. By the time I posted they were like the worst kinds of period pain I'm aware of. We called the MiL and asked her to come up in case we'd have to go to hospital, Hubs napped while Vi did since none of us knew how long it would take - I was in too much pain to sleep by that point, even with paracetamol, so I twittered and did some light housework to try to keep my mind off it. By 4-ish I was having to jiggle from one foot to the other through the cramps - my 'labour-dance'. I was sure this was it now, and the MiL had arrived, so we went off to hospital. Saw a lovely midwife who was like a blonde Jo Brand, but who also guessed that I really wasn't ready for them to take me yet. An internal confirmed my fears - my stupid, reclusive Narnia-cervix was still in Narnia and merrily clamped shut. Woe. We were sent home with worrying advice like 'try to sleep' and 'eat and drink as normal', suggesting I could be this way overnight at least. We went home and sat with our next door neighbour who were entertaining Vi & MiL with a playdate with their granddaughter. They gave me wine & crisps and we talked childbirth as the labour pains got ever stronger. We went home for tea at about quarter to 6, but I was suddenly nauseated by the thought of eating and tried to rest in bed. By this point though, I couldn't stay lying down with a contraction and had to pace around the bed, touching every bedknob. Labour-dance had turned into labour-OCD. I'd forgotten about the Mantras from Vi's labour, the touching things was a weird silent version of that. As they were finishing tea I thought I really wanted to go to hospital, but I remember the Birthing Unit were engaged, so for some reason I decided to wait through the whole of Vi's bathtime, timing my contractions. By the time Vi was bathed and Pyjamad, things were getting desperate. I didn't need to push yet, but the pains were getting 'bowel-y'. Had the most uncomfortable car journey ever up to the hospital. Then had to wait for what seemed like an age in the delivery suite they'd put us in for a midwife to come. Once I'd fallen on the bed because I couldn't physically stand any more and started screaming into the pillow, Hubs went to grab somebody. Another internal showed I was only 3cm dilated. Stupid cervix.
And here's where I discovered exactly how willful that part of my anatomy is - it's The Fastest Cervix In The West. A couple of contractions after I'd been confirmed as 'only 3cm', I needed to push. I'd gone from 3cm to 8cm in a couple of minutes. I'm pretty sure at that point that I had Gas & Air, but it was taken away from me again soon after when my waters broke in spectacular, Exorcist fashion, revealing meconium in the water and a pressing need now to get the kid out.
Things were made yet more pressing by the revelation of a policy of the Birthing Unit that I wasn't previously aware of - if you're pushing for more than an hour, they can't keep you, they have to transfer you to the nearest proper Maternity Unit. WHICH IS IN ASHFORD. I was facing a half hour ambulance ride, when I just needed above everything to stay where I was and push. One midwife managed to talk me into getting off my back and onto my knees, holding the headboard of the bed for support. Moving was awful, but actually the best thing ever because suddenly I was in control. The weird thing about labour is that towards the very end, although you're very uncomfortable and beyond exhausted, once the kid's in the birth canal it doesn't actually hurt so much - didn't with me, anyway. I could feel Alex's head so close to being out by the time the ambulance drivers got there and was absolutely determined not to go - he wouldn't even have been born in the ambulance, by this point I knew he'd be born on the gurney halfway through the hospital. I remember about three good pushes, followed by a massive release, and for a second forgot that you need one final good push to get the shoulders and the rest of the kid through. I can remember slumping forwards on the headboard, a large amount of vomit on my favourite TShirt (hadn't had time to change - and you'd better believe I exorcist-sicked on one of Hubs' best TShirts too!), noting that my hair and face were absolutely slick with sweat, but not realising how hot the room was, aware of a large pool of blood around my knees, repeating 'I did it' at considerable volume. That was at 10.20 - two hours after we'd got to the hospital.
I didn't believe that I had torn - I'd felt no pain on him coming out - but apparently I had done - badly. It took as long to stitch me up again as it had to give birth. Everyone was baking hot except me - I was shivering. The good news was that, since stitches are painful & that, they were going to let me sup on Gas & Air again. Wheee! To be honest, the afterpains were bothering me more than the stitches (they'd given me a local, after all) but I'd have faked pain to get my hands on lovely, lovely G&A. Hell, I deserved it.
That was when the fun began. Everything was happening a half-speed. Everyone sounded like Paul Robeson to me. I quoted Aliens at people. I sang a Michael Jackson Medley - loudly. I insisted that one of the midwives had been my teacher back in Ilkeston. I said that the other midwife looked like Annette Crosbie. I claimed - unfairly and cruelly - that my newborn son looked like Adrian Childs. I laughed my arse off, which was unfortunate since it was my arse they were attempting to fix in the first place.
They were pretty much done with me by about 1am, when I had the world's most needed bath ever - which turned a pretty revolting colour rather quickly. Then they wheeled us into the lovely double room where they let us stay for several nights. I failed to sleep, even though Alex was quiet and dozy. I couldn't come down for hours. Then I woke up and discovered that I was incapable of moving. Besides the obvious, I appeared to have strained muscles in my arms, legs, shoulders, neck and face. My eyebrows hurt. My one concession to making myself human that day was to have a shower, wash the sweat from my hair and put on a new pair of super sultry paper pants. That was the furthest I went all day - the bathroom. I spent pretty much that whole day in bed. The next day I actually bothered to put on 'day clothes' - namely being a pair of joggers and one of Hubs' old TShirts. I've got makeup on and everything today - I'm getting there!
