|39 Weeks, 4 days pregnant--Right outside the hospital on Thursday|
Friday, March 29
If there's anything you're going to learn about your father, Ryan, it's that he doesn't sit well. So going into our second day at the hospital, I had honestly hoped you would make your appearance quickly because I wasn't sure which expensive piece of hospital equipment Daddy would choose to "experiment" with first.
To be honest, I was also a little nervous about the prospect of induction. The one thing Dad and I took a hardline stance on was Pitocin. We just didn't want to expose you to large amounts of this particular drug, and I also knew it had the potential to make labor more intense in the long run.
The nurse came in around 8 am to remove the Cervadil and assess our overnight progress. Over the next several hours, Megan (my nurse) and I got along really well. But my initial reaction was less than favorable. Why? Because she was the first person to inform us the Cervadil did absolutely nothing. And had I known that would be the theme for Good Friday? The crying would have commenced at that very moment.
Dr. J came in to see us and get the ball rolling on the Pitocin drip not long after 8 am. He determined that it was best to start slow and increase the medicine slowly. We were grateful for his approach because he reasoned there was no need to use a large amount where a small amount would do the job.
You had been at station -1 for the last three weeks, so I assumed a small amount of Pitocin would be our ticket to the big show. But in case you aren't seeing the theme here, my assumptions regarding your appearance into the world were largely off-base. I also thought I would be able to walk while in labor to help my progress; however, my blood pressure and the necessity of the IV made that reality an impossibility.
I wish I could give you a detailed account of the day after our initial meeting with the doctor, but most of that day's events swim together in my mind. At one point, I even told the doctor I'd felt nauseated for about 15 minutes before the nurse indicated I'd told her the same thing two hours before. Time, while important, was impossible to measure outside of contractions and progress.
But those were elusive in that first day of induction.
My contractions wouldn't strengthen. I didn't dilate. I didn't efface. I tossed and turned in my bed praying for something to happen, and I even cried--twice, actually--out of frustration at the whole process.
The most exciting thing that did happen on Friday was probably when my blood pressure cuff wouldn't stop airing up. I was caught so off-guard, I didn't have the presence of mind to rip it off. Your Grandma and Daddy, the only two people in the room at the time, both jumped across my bed to help, but by the time the cuff was ripped off my arm, the damage had been done. I now had a very sore arm, a bruise the size of my palm and a fear of the blood pressure cuff I wasn't allowed to remove.
People showed up off and on throughout the day. Your Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Sheena made it in from Ohio. Uncle Timmy and Aunt Nikki drove in from their AFB. Friends. Cousins. Grandparents. The hospital chaplain (who is also a friend). Their visits were a nice relief from the tedious reminder that nothing was happening. Of course, your father did his best to provide a bit of comic relief, too. At one point in the evening, he even attempted to put a surgical glove over his entire head and blow it up with his nose.
(He wasn't successful, by the way. The gloves were a size medium so he requested a size extra large from my night nurse. She apparently also had a pretty interesting sense of humor because she hunted for that glove for a full 40 minutes before telling us there weren't any available.)
After almost 12 hours of Pitocin, my primary doctor (Dr. S--who was on call for the weekend) came in to discuss our options. She identified our situation as "gray area" for her, and said we could continue the Pitocin through the night or stop it and restart it the next morning. Since I hoped to make as much progress as possible before the next day, we chose to continue the Pitocin through the night in hopes of delivering you early the next day.
Dr. S ordered the nurse to stop the Pitocin for a couple of hours so I could eat a real meal--I'd had nothing but liquids since the night before--and then restart the IV at 10 pm.
The anticipation was intense, and after a whole day of no progress, I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown...
To be continued