The early months of pregnancy are somewhat of a blur, but I did have "morning" sickness. Funny -- it was actually in the evening. I struggled with indigestion frequently. Even water caused me queasiness. But as I've learned, that is a good thing. It means my HcG had kicked in and was doing its job. Just so you know -- and I'm taking a risk here -- I did have some alcohol during those first three months. In retrospect, I'm wondering whether that has caused any type of metabolic problem. It certainly didn't impair Marshall's brain!
I remember lying in bed one time, in our lovely townhome in Sacramento, and staring at my 8-month-gestational girth. Lo and behold, my entire abdomen shifted from top to bottom (or perhaps the other way around). I had just witnessed the turning head-down of my little one. How exciting! Because I just loved getting kicks and prods, and thought it was so fun to poke my side and get a response.
I never had any sonograms, as they were not routinely done unless there was a problem. No gestational diabetes, no thyroid problem, no high blood pressure (as a matter of fact, it was normal to low). My main complaints were sciatica and indigestion. Little did I know that I was not supposed to lie on my back (I learned that during my second pregnancy). When I would lie on my back and then try to get up, an excruciating pain would attack my left hip and leg. Also, if I stood cockeyed, that same hip would act up. It became the hallmark of my pregnancies.
A couple of weeks before my due date, I was visiting Mark at the radio station where he worked, and as I was using the ladies' room, there was indication that I had lost my mucous plug. I knew enough to know that birth wasn't imminent, but that this was a first sign of things to come. I was also suffering from a cold, and really worried that I would not be able to put my breathing techniques into practice.
I was working at an elementary school as the principal's secretary (now there is a defunct word). The fiscal year was due to end on June 30, and I was due with the baby on July 7 (I thought). Perfect timing, right? So I worked through the end of the 30th, collected my paycheck and said goodbye.
We had friends nearby with whom we would occasionally get pie at Marie Callenders. On the night of July 1, we bought a strawberry pie (ymmmm, they are so good from MC's) and headed for their house to share it. The previous day I had been at a women's luncheon and had been subjected to (maybe that's a bit harsh) everyone's birth story. It is a fact that when women get together and see a pregnant woman, EVERYONE wants to share their story. Call it a learning experience. I called it torture, because this was my first pregnancy, not sure what to expect, and scared that I would make a fool of myself.
Sidenote: Starting in approximately my 6th month, we took a Lamaze prepared childbirth class. Best thing you can do! Relaxation, birth options, bonding, baby care, etc. So I kinda sorta had an idea of what to expect. But there were just a few things that hadn't come up, or that I hadn't paid attention to. Like what does labor feel like, huh? How will I know? "Oh, you'll know!" hmmmm
Back to the front. I was so scared by the time these women had shared all their horror stories that I cried and cried and told Mark that I was afraid to go through it. And then came the pie. So, we headed for home and sometime during the night I woke up thinking that the pie wasn't agreeing with my intestines. Bathroom trip after bathroom trip, nothing. Oh, well, back to sleep.
At about 6:30 a.m. I woke up. It was a Saturday morning, and I think the weather was probably pretty clear, but I really don't remember much about that part. I stood up and - whoosh - my water broke onto the bedroom floor. Oh! Mark! I do believe it's time to head to the hospital, because of all the possible indicators of labor, that one is not to be ignored. So we picked up our previously packed suitcase, took one last look at the cute wallpaper I had hung in the second bedroom (Winnie the Pooh!), and got into the car.
By this time, I was using my first stage of breathing and the contractions seemed to be coming very close. Blur. When I got to the hospital and was wheeled up to a labor room (shared with a screaming woman...) the doctor did his initial check. By the way, my doctor was out of town, and his associate had to be called. This, too, was a teaching hospital, so parades of students thought it was great to get to check on all the labor and delivery patients. By that time -- who cares?
The doctor stated that when I arrived at approximately 7 a.m. I was dilated to 2 centimeters. He noted that I would "probably be there all day." Did I want to hear that? NO! I was focusing on some design on the wall and lying on my left side. I was using my second stage of breathing since the contractions were getting longer, stronger and closer together. No, make that, there was no break! The nurse asked me to tell her when there was a break in the contractions and I breathed out that there was none. She very kindly (perhaps) gave me a shot in the right hip (that continued to sting for four years thereafter) to slow me down. Now there is a change of events. Most women get shots to speed them up or to take the edge off of pain, but this nurse wanted to slow me down.
That wasn't going to happen. By about 8 a.m. I was really needing to pant and blow and feeling the urge to push. The doctor was not persuaded that I should be at that stage, and checked me again. I had gone from 2 to 10 centimeters (full blown transition stage) in one hour! They asked Mark if he would be gowning up and following us to the delivery room. He got weak kneed, walked beside the gurney to the delivery room and kissed me over to the doctor. Off he went to watch cartoons while I went to work.
The nurse was wonderfully trained in Lamaze, knew how to coach my breathing and pushing, and after an episiotomy, Marshall made his appearance at 8:39 a.m. Outside of that first hip shot and local for the episiotomy, the birth was totally drug free. He weighed in at 10 pounds 8 ounces (and was 5 days before his due date!) and 22 inches long. Very light and feathery blond hair. And of course I cried.
Mark was there right after Marshall was washed up and I was wheeled back to the recovery room. We all bonded and Marshall nursed well. The doctor came in to check on us and said, "next time could you camp out on the hospital doorstep?" Ah, music to a mother's ears. Like I was made to be one. That was encouraging.
Life goes on, generation after generation. It still amazes me that the gene pool from which this baby came had been handed down since the dawn of time! Wow! And God allowed us to be a part of it.
Next?
