Tag Archives: Childbirth

My daughter’s birth story

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Waiting.  This pregnancy was defined by it, more than my previous two.  First, I was waiting to give birth (or, at least, I was fervently wishing my body to wait) until after my mother arrived.  Then I was waiting for Shavuos to pass.  Then I was waiting for my husband to not be working the night shift.  After all this waiting, only one day remained before the induction which had been scheduled.  I had just 24 hours for my body to go into labor on its own.

All my babies have been “late.”  One week after my due date, to be exact.  And all three had inductions scheduled after watching my due date come and go.  My husband commented that he expected me to just be induced with this baby, like I was with Really Little Man.  This irked me to no end.

While my induction with Really Little Man was a positive experience, there was just something about potentially being induced again that dismayed me.  I mean, it’s Jewish custom to say “b’sha’ah tovah” to a pregnant lady (it means, “at a good time”), and induction just kind of seems more like b’sha’ah OB-GYN than tovah.  I’m just saying.  It doesn’t bother me enough to not get induced, but I was still hoping that maybe, just maybe, I would go into labor on my own.

To my chagrin, there was nothing going on in the way of progression.  All quiet on the baby front.

One of my neighbors asked me if I felt like I was ready, or if I was still holding on.  It hadn’t even occurred to me that perhaps I was mentally impeding my labor.  After all that waiting, did I have to give my body permission to proceed?  Perhaps.

While this wasn’t my first time at the baby rodeo, I still felt anxiety about transitioning from pregnancy to postpartum.  I was well aware that this baby would be the tipping point from a 1:1 parent to child ratio to being outnumbered by our progeny.  Also, after being pregnant for 9 months, I was just kind of used to it.  The discomfort was familiar to me, and, after having two other babies, I knew what special kind of discomforts awaited me on the other side of labor.

So, yeah, maybe I was holding on a bit.

After that realization, I had a little conversation with Hashem.  I let Him know that I was ready to give birth.  That I was letting go.  Green light.  Go.

I spent the day, a Wednesday, with my mother, making a batch of challah and food for Shabbos.  By the time I cleaned up the kitchen, it was about ten o’clock in the evening, and it seemed prudent to go to sleep.  I was fatigued, but wired from the anticipation of the next day’s events.  So I lay in bed for some time, not really sleeping, but knowing that I should get some rest.

And then it happened.  A contraction.  It didn’t feel like one of those annoying Braxton-Hicks I’d been getting all week.  However, after a week of contractions that didn’t go anywhere, I wasn’t overly excited.  I thought I’d wait it out.

Ten minutes later, there was another one.  And then another one ten minutes after that.  This went on for an hour and a half, at which point I decided it was time to wake my husband.

A little background on my labors – with both my boys, I progressed from 4 cm to 10 in about an hour (this was without and with Pitocin, respectively).  My doctor didn’t even make it for Little Man’s birth, as the hospital didn’t page him in time.  He almost missed RLM’s birth, too, since it only took me 5 hours from the beginning of the induction to crowning.  My current OB-GYN was aware of my tendency to go fast, and I felt confident that she would take my labor speed seriously.

Throughout my pregnancy, I was nervous that this labor would go quickly.  Like, have the baby in the car quickly.  Someone recently told me the story of how it happened to her.  On her third baby.  Dun duhn DUHN.

Because of this anxiety, both my husband and I were eager to get to the hospital as soon as labor started.  Contractions every ten minutes for an hour and a half usually isn’t enough reason to head to the hospital.  I think the recommended rate is contractions every 4-5 minutes for one-two hours.  But we weren’t taking any chances.

After the 15-minute ride to the hospital (it’s great how there’s no traffic at one in the morning), my contractions were coming every 6 minutes or so.  I was becoming increasingly nervous, but also feeling a bit zen, in the labor zone, if you will.

Competing with my zen mentality was the anxiety created by the amount of waiting hospital bureaucracy creates.  First, I had to sign in at the registration desk, which took a certain amount of time (this was despite my pre-registration.  I shudder to think how long it would have taken had I not pre-registered).  Then we waited in triage for a nurse to come see us.  Then I had to wait for them to hook me up to all their stuff, check how far I was dilated, and call my doctor.

To my surprise and pleasure, I was already dilated 4 cm, so into an L&D room I went.  Woohoo!

The rest of the birth was pretty standard for a hospital birth.  I was hooked up to an IV and fetal monitor, received a fluid bolus, got my epidural, given some pitocin, and then we waited for labor to progress.  I expressed to one of the nurses that I was nervous about pushing, as I had experienced the “ring of fire” with Really Little Man (that term always reminds me of Johnny Cash).

“Did you have an epidural with that labor?”  she asked me.

“I did.”

“Well, with our epidurals, you shouldn’t feel a thing,”  she smiled benevolently down at me.  I was skeptical, but, hey, she had more experience than I did, so I thought we’d wait and see.

I didn’t have to wait much longer after that before I started feeling a lot of pressure near my bottom with each contraction.  We were close!  It was almost baby time!

And then I had to wait.  They needed to call my doctor.  The nurses seriously told me to wait to push (my homebirth friends, are you cringing enough yet?).  When my doctor arrived, and got all suited up, and they removed the foot of the bed, we waited for my next contraction.  Amazingly, the nurse was right.  No pain.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  Just three concentrated pushes and out came my baby!  4:56 on Thursday morning.

We had waited to discover the gender of our baby, and so my doctor held her up to me, so I could see what she was.  Not being familiar with what a newly born baby girl looked like, I hesitated to make the call.  So my doctor told me, “You have a daughter!”  They gave her to me, and I held my beautifully messy baby for a little while before they whisked her off to do all the Apgar testing and whatnot.

I had spent a good part of the pregnancy thinking that this was most likely another boy.  My parents thought so, my husband thought so, some of my friends thought so.  This made it a very pleasant surprise to have a girl.  Frankly, I’m still a little in shock that I have a daughter.  A daughter!  I’m so used to the boys.

So, after they did all their hospital stuff, I nursed my new daughter, and we hung out until it was time to go to the recovery room.  From that point on, it was lovely.  The Recovery room and staff were fantastic, and I was discharged Friday morning.  I was home before noon.

It’s been a little over a week with our new little girl, and we are so thrilled.  Yay!  Also, my mom went on a shopping spree, and we are now flush with girlie clothes.  It’s a lot of fun.  Take a look!

There’s a cupcake on her shirt! Cupcake!

I just love it so much. And if you love this bow, you should check out Sweet Emmie Bowtique on Etsy.com (click the picture and it will take you there)

They’re socks. And they’re Mary Janes. But on socks. And they’re pink.

“Mom, stop taking pictures of me already!”

All snuggled up. That adorable blanket is uber-soft. And pink. And fuzzy, on the other side. Sooooo much fun!

And there you have it.  Our entry into the land of all things pink.  Cotton candy, cupcakes and unicorns.  Wheeee!

Women Who Inspire Us #11: My L&D Nurse

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It’s been a little while since I’ve had the pleasure of sharing an inspiring woman post, so I’m very, very, verrrrrrry happy to share today’s post from my friend and (relatively) new mommy, Nikki Flores a/k/a Clueless Me.  Nikki has guest posted on my blog before about her mishaps in taking care of her husband’s health.  Today’s post is more on the poignant side as she shares a particularly touching memory of a woman who recently inspired her.

Nikki and her super-adorable baby, Nev!

I would love to bring this series back on a regular (monthly?) basis, so if you would like to share your thoughts and memories about a woman who inspires you (and we all have one, don’t we?), please contact me!  If you want to stay connected and keep up with new posts, you can always subscribe to my RSS feed, via email, like my Facebook page or follow me on Twitter (phew!).  Enjoy!

 

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Who is a woman you find inspirational?

The nurse who helped me through my entire labor and delivery – Mary Lucy.

What is her relationship to you?

I met her for the first time the Sunday before I gave birth to my daughter.

Where did you meet her?

Mary Lucy was a nurse who had just came on shift as I was being discharged for false labor.

When did you meet her?  Do you think the timing of your meeting affected her impact on you?

I met Mary Lucy at Marymount Hospital (Cleveland, OH) around 5am on Sunday, May 1, 2011.  I was moments away from tears because I thought that May 1st was going to be THE day I got to meet my baby, and instead I was being discharged for false labor.  I was embarrassed, tired and extremely disappointed.

The first thing I remember Mary Lucy saying to me when I told her that I was going home because of a false alarm was: “Don’t you worry. I bet you’ll be back here tomorrow.” (And for the record, I went into real labor the very next day!)

What is inspirational about her?

As luck would have it, Mary Lucy was the first person to greet me the next day when I arrived for Round 2 of Labor and Delivery at 9am.  She helped keep me calm the entire day.  Mary Lucy not only told me what to expect during each stage of labor–how far I was progressing, when I was able to get an epidural or when my OB/GYN would arrive–she went well above and beyond that.

She helped me out with so many little things . . . Like bringing me red popsicles (because I mentioned to her that I was not a fan of grape or orange) or simply holding my hand when I transitioned and was shaking uncontrollably.  Even though I barely knew her, having Mary Lucy at my side throughout the day was like having my best friend in the room with me.

Towards the end of my labor, I distinctly remember Mary Lucy mentioning that her shift was about to end.  I will never forget when she came back into my room after clocking out for her shift at 8pm.  She told me that she wanted to stay and help me through the actual delivery part.  I was so moved by this small gesture.  And sure enough, at 8:58pm, my daughter was born with Mary Lucy standing by my side.

How has this inspiration affected your life?  Do you think it has made you a better person?  How so?

Mary Lucy left a big impression on me for a multitude of reasons.  First and foremost, I will always remember Mary Lucy as the nurse who helped me through the delivery of my first child.  But I’ll also cherish the memories of how compassionate and understanding she was towards me.  She embodied the Golden Rule: “Treat others how you would like to be treated.”

I was so overwhelmed by the fact that Mary Lucy had never met me before, but she still had both the desire and the ability to comfort me the day I was sent home AND the actual day of my labor.  I could have easily been “just another woman” who had checked into the labor and delivery ward, but to Mary Lucy, I was Nikki Flores, and I was a new mom who needed some guidance.

When do you find yourself thinking of this person?  How do you feel when you think about her?

I think about Mary Lucy every once in awhile, and I wonder where she is now (The maternity ward in Marymount Hospital has since closed down).  I hope that she was able to find a new job in labor and delivery at another hospital because that’s truly where she belongs.

Really Little Man’s Birth: the rest of the story (as requested)

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This post is for Meira. This is the rest of the story of Really Little Man’s birth. It’s not really gross or anything, but maybe a little heavy on the details.  You have been warned.

me and the machines

We left off with my doctor ordering a pitocin drip for me.  I was nervous because I had heard that pitocin creates brutal, painful contractions, and that I would want need an epidural before I was adequately progressed, and that my labor would slow, and the spiral of intervention would occur.

At least that’s what all my crunchy birth books said about induction and medical intervention.  Slippery slope and all that.

So I sat there and waited, reading my book, shmoozing with my husband and trying to stave off my nervousness.  Thankfully, my contractions started off at two-minute intervals straight away.  They didn’t hurt, just felt a little tight.  This went on for a couple of hours.  The nurse would come in every hour or so and up the amount of pitocin I was being fed and the contractions would get a little stronger.

My nurse, Bridget, was awesome.  We got to shmooze a little bit, and she told me about her two kids.  She was really nice, chilled out, and I felt very comfortable around her.  She talked enough, but not too much, you know?

After maybe three hours or so of the drip, I started feeling the contractions.  Like, feeling them.  Ouch. It’s interesting that there wasn’t really a build-up to the painful contractions from the just-tight-feeling contractions.  It was not subtle.  I was a bit blindsided by them, frankly, but I didn’t want to get that epidural too soon.  So I hung in there a little bit.

My husband was in the room, so he distracted me and kept me posted about how frequently I was contracting (still every two minutes.  Crazy!). But it was starting to hurt, so when the nurse came back into the room, I asked her when the next time the doctor would check my dilation.  She fetched the chief resident (a very jovial Dr. Ellen Solomon), who told me that I could get checked “whenever I want.”  While she was getting ready, I psyched myself down so that I wouldn’t be disappointed if I had only progressed a half-centimeter or something equally discouraging.

I was at 4 centimeters!

Sweet.  I told them that I wanted to wait until I was at 5 or 6 centimeters before I got the epidural, but Dr. Solomon told me to just get it already.  “Don’t wait!  There’s no need to be in pain.  Take the drugs!”

So I did.  Well, I asked to be put on the list for anesthesiology to come.  They were administering an epidural to someone else, apparently.  This meant that I had to wait through some increasingly painful contractions.  Good thing I had had that natural birth experience last time, and was thankfully coping okay, though I was definitely looking forward to some numbness.

Finally an anesthesiology resident came in the room and asked me a bunch of questions (in between contractions), then he left for a little bit (ugh!  Such a long process just to get medicated!).  He returned with some contraptions and the attending physician, and we got started.

I had to sit up (painful) and hug a pillow (okay, kind of comforting), and Nurse Bridget was right next to me, holding my hand and encouraging me through each contraction.  She was really great.  I need to bake her some cookies or something.

The resident had a bit of a hard time getting the needle in the right spot (the GIANT needle), and even though this was my worst-case epidural scenario, I surprisingly didn’t care at all.  Nope.  Not one bit.  Take your time, just get me the drugs.  In the end, the attending did the procedure (it took about eleven minutes total for them to do it), and then I got to lay back down and let the drugs work.  They had told me that it would take about 10 to 15 minutes for the medicine to kick in, but really by the third or fourth contraction I was much, much more comfortable.

And then the shaking started.

“Hey, I’m shaking.  Is that normal?”  I asked nurse Bridget.

“Oh, you’re probably in transition.  You have that transition look.”

What?!  Already?  Whoa.

And then the pressure started.

The anesthesiology resident asked me how the pain was.  I told him the pain was GREAT (as in, it was gone), and that all I was feeling was pressure.  A lot of pressure.  But I didn’t care, because it didn’t hurt.  But it was there.  Nurse Bridget decided to go see where my doctor was.  Apparently it was almost time for me to have the baby.

The anesthesiology resident had gone to fetch some more medicine to give me a little boost, to see if he could take the edge off the pressure.  By the time he came back, my doctor was rushing up from where he had been (he had finished an GYN procedure and I suspect he was grabbing lunch) and there was a host of residents, attendings and nurse Bridget in the room.  She told me I was getting that “pushy” look.

The anesthesiology resident told my husband that he didn’t think his little extra bump of medicine was going to be helpful at this point.

Dr. Solomon checked me and lo and behold, I was at ten centimeters.  It was only about 45 minutes or an hour after they started  administering the epidural.  Thank G-d I didn’t wait any longer to get it.  My doctor rushed in and got all sterile with the gown and the gloves and all, and before I knew it I was pushing!

That still hurt a lot.  A whole lot.  Ouch.

After those first few pushes I really lost control for a bit, pain and fear and all that.  Nurse Bridget came to the rescue again, reminding me that I could be in control.  As soon as that contraction passed I was able to reconnect with myself and started whispering “okay okay okay okay” and reminded myself that the better I pushed, the sooner it would be over, and sure enough, I pushed really hard and was rewarded with a healthy squall.

“It’s a boy!” they announced.  Even though we hadn’t found out the gender, I was somehow not surprised.  Just relieved and happy.  Nurse Bridget gave me the baby right away and we were able to snuggle a bit.  I don’t even remember if I nursed him right away.  I think I did.  Nurse Bridget asked me if I would like her to tell my husband that it was a boy, and I said, “sure, go ahead.”  I was all blissed out and relaxed and just letting the rest of the pregnancy stuff happen (you know, placenta, stitching, whatever)

And that was basically that.  We got to stay in the delivery room for a little while until a room in recovery opened up, and we bonded with Really Little Man, made a few phone calls, and in general enjoyed the miracle of birth, and the joy of our expanding family.

 

Mazel Tov!

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As you most likely guessed by my week-long hiatus, I was busy having a baby boy!

the newest Silver

Monday morning, bright and early, my husband and I drove to the hospital to get induced.  It was such a different experience than with Little Man!  With Little Man, we had an induction scheduled, but Little Man had the courtesy to arrive the day before the appointment.  This baby seemed quite comfortable where he was, and so at 6:45 a.m., we headed to the hospital to get things going.  I was a little nervous, since my first birth was totally natural.  Despite my anxiety, I was thinking, “well, at least now I’ll have a nice comparison of a natural birth versus a fairly medical birth.”  It was really weird, though, knowing that I was driving to an appointment to GIVE BIRTH.  I mean, it’s not like a dentist appointment or something.  It’s birth.  So strange.

We arrived at the hospital and checked in.  The staff ladies were very nice, and I didn’t mind at all the zillion questions they asked me as I was getting all hooked up to various machines.  Again, so different from Little Man’s birth.  With him, he came so quickly that the staff didn’t even have time to get an I.V. in me and I was barely on the fetal monitor.  So being all strapped down and hooked up was weird.  But I was prepared for it.  I mean, it was an induction and all.

My doctor came in to check if I had progressed at all since my last appointment. I hadn’t.  He got this look on his face like, “oh boy, this is going to take a while.”  Being a good doctor, he didn’t actually say this.   He started me on a pitocin drip and I thought, “well, here we go.”

Pitocin, I had heard, creates incredibly painful contractions.  A friend of mine urged me to get the epidural before the pitocin drip.  Another friend urged me to wait until labor had sufficiently progressed before getting the epidural, lest the labor stall.  I elected to wait until I was at 5 or 6.  Or until it hurt a lot.

One of the reasons that I was even electing to have an epidural, after having a resoundingly successful natural birth is that I was curious about this supposedly miraculous epidural which apparently renders contractions painless.  I mean, it’s a GIANT NEEDLE in my back, so I wasn’t exactly eager to have someone, potentially a resident with scant experience, poking around back there with a mega needle.  No thank you.  But labor hurts.  A lot.  So I thought I would try this epidural thing out, and then I could make an educated decision about subsequent births (G-d willing).  I was adamant that the procedure be done by an attending doctor, NOT a resident.  I reiterated this to my husband over and over and over again (c’mon, it’s a really big needle here).

The contractions started almost immediately, but they didn’t hurt at first.  It was just a tightening sensation.  Not bad at all.  I read my book, shmoozed with my husband and waited.  A few times I needed to go to the bathroom, which entailed being unhooked from the fetal monitor and dragging the pole with my fluids and pitocin.  Weird and weird.

I won’t bore you (or gross you out) with the rest of the details, but I will say that when it came time for the epidural, the janitor could’ve done it and I wouldn’t have cared.  It was totally worth it.  It kicked in just in time for transition.

And now we have really little man!  Or little little man, or very little man….by tomorrow, G-d willing, he’ll have a proper name!

 

Dreaming

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Dream work according Sigmund Freud

Image via Wikipedia

Last night I dreamt that I was going into labor (hahaha, wishful thinking much?), and I thought (in my dream), “Oh great, right before the holiday!  Lousy timing!”  But the contractions continued.

Alas, no baby was had in either the dream or in real life.  But two other people did have babies in my dream.  Isn’t that funny?  I can only remember one of them, and she is definitely not pregnant.  The other one is a mystery lady.  I heard about both of their births in my dream.  I think I was happy for them…

What a riot!

 

Third Trimester Musings

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Cover of "Waiting for Baby"

Cover of Waiting for Baby

And no, I’m not talking about collegiate semesters here (although I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned there, too).  I’m talking about the ninth month, the final sprint, the end-is-in-sight part of pregnancy.

For me, more than during the other parts of pregnancy, I am reminded of just how little control I have over things.  True, there are inductions that could be scheduled, which would lend a certain amount of control (or at least the illusion of control), but as a frum Jew, I can’t schedule an induction purely for convenience, but only for medical necessity.  So I could forget about making it easier for my mother and mother-in-law to book their flights.

So here I am, waiting.

Waiting for Baby Silver #2 to make his or her entrance.  And there is little I can really do to determine exactly when that will be.  Sure, there are all sorts of tips and tricks which I tried last time, when I was expecting Little Man.  However, I don’t think any of them really worked (I think I tried everything except drinking Castor Oil – ewwwww).  This time around, I’m taking a more laid back approach.  The baby will come when the baby will come.  I am zen mommy.  Ohmmmmm.

Tomorrow is my due date.  This date, which seems like pure conjecture, I might add, is only around in order to frustrate mommies who gestate just a little longer than ACOG’s calculations.  That is my opinion.  Little Man decided that he wanted to be born six days past his due date.  Six days.  Even though I knew that my due date was merely an estimation, it was still very disappointing to see that day come and go.  And then the next day.  And then the next day.

Being in the third trimester is a study in time relativity.

Really, it’s just a reminder that I am not in control.  Not even a little.  Sure, I can make decisions like “I want the brown Pack’n'play instead of the blue one,” or “I think I’ll buy the yellow sheet for the crib.”  But really, aside from that, I got nothin’.  I will wait for labor to start, and then things will proceed as they do.

In the mornings, when I say the morning brachos, I’ve had increased concentration on “matir asurim.”  This means, according to my Artscroll siddur, “Who releases the bound.”  I keep thinking, “Well, this baby sure is bound up in my tummy.  Maybe G-d will decide that today is the day to release this baby.”

Until then, I’m going to continue cleaning my apartment, baking cookies, freezing food, playing with Little Man and enjoying this relative calm before the flurry of activity and sleep deprivation which lies ahead (G-d willing),  and use this as an opportunity to keep things in perspective.  I’m not the one running the show.  Which is probably a good thing.  Okay, definitely a good thing.

 

Torah Tuesdays: Miracles by choice

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And we’re back for round #3:

A couple weeks ago I was listening to a shiur by Rebbetzin Heller on naaleh.com, and something she said made an impression on me.  This is a very, very rough paraphrase, but essentially,

You can choose to see a miracle, or not.  In having a baby, in seeing the sunset.  These are the miracles that we see while we’re in exile . . .

brand-new Little Man

What is she saying?  The events in life can be taken for granted as part of nature, or the miraculous nature of, um, nature can be seen as miracles which are revelations of G-d’s actions in the world.

Someone once said to me that you can’t be an Orthodox Jew and believe in coincidence.  Why not?  Because it’s a fundamental perspective of Judaism that G-d is involved in our lives in an active way.  This is different from the Aristotelian viewpoint that G-d exists, but is generally uninterested in the doings of mankind.  Aristotle basically thought that G-d made the world but then didn’t want to have anything to do with it or its inhabitants.  Judaism doesn’t buy that,  and instead maintains that everything which happens is a direct result of G-d’s involvement.  One place this is illustrated is in the story of Purim, where the Jewish people are saved from near extermination through a series of “coincidences.”

So, when Rebbetzin Heller says that you can choose to see a miracle or not, she’s referring to a choice that we all have in how we view the events of our life.  We can choose to see healthy, happy children as just something which is a natural part of life, or we can choose to see them as a series of little miracles. For instance, it’s miraculous to…

  • conceive. It seems that everyone knows someone who has had, or is having difficulty in this area.
  • have a healthy, full-term pregnancy. As with my first pregnancy, I’m often aware of how helpless I am to protect the little one inside me.  All I can do is try to eat well, avoid bad things, take my vitamins and pray that this baby remain healthy until I give birth.  It really freaks me out sometimes.
  • give birth and have a healthy baby and healthy mommy. Seriously.  In Jewish law, a woman in labor (and immediately after childbirth) is considered to be a seriously ill person, and it’s permissible to break Shabbos on her behalf.  Also, just take a look at the infant and maternal mortality rates in the 20th century.  Or maybe don’t.
  • raise them and keep them safe. Maybe it’s more so with little boys, but I feel like Little Man is always climbing onto something which could result in a nasty fall, G-d forbid.  One mother of many boys told me that her doctor told her that it’s inevitable that she will end up taking her some of her boys to the emergency room.  Inevitable.  Yikes.

When I think about it like that, I have a much higher level of appreciation of being a mommy.  This perspective shift can be done with anything in life.  Just take a moment and think about all of the steps which led up to that point.  And then take comfort in the fact that none of it was random.  I like that.

What are some miracles you’ve experienced in your life?