My first child, a son, was due on June 16, 2004. I was 27 and my pregnancy was easy without any complications. In fact, I had this feeling that I finally found something that I was really good at - being pregnant. Before I got pregnant, my husband and I talked about having two or three kids, but I felt so good carrying my son that I envisioned four or five!
As the days to my delivery drew nearer, like any mother I was full of anxious anticipation. I imagined a care-free, vaginal delivery by the time my due date rolled around. The week before the due date crept by at a snail’s pace. My doctor told me I was 3 centimeters dilated at the beginning of that week, but I hadn’t had any contractions. When I went to see the doctor on my due date, I begged her to induce me. She agreed because she was going on vacation the next week and she thought since I was already dilating that it would be nice and quick.
At 2 a.m. on June 18, I reported to the hospital be induced. I was already experiencing contractions as I got there, but they hooked me up to the pitocin (which makes the uterus contract) and told me this would make it go even faster. They also gave me an epidural, so I stopped feeling the contractions after about 15 minutes.
My water broke at 6 a.m. and by 8 a.m. the monitors showed my contractions coming faster and faster and the nurse told me I was 6 centimeters dilated, so she thought that the baby would definitely be there by noon. When they checked me again at 10 a.m., there had been no further progress, so they increased the pitocin.
At noon, there was no more progress and no baby, even though the contractions were constant. My husband, Peter, and I were getting so anxious for the baby to be born. The nurses couldn't figure out why the contractions were coming so frequently but I had stopped dilating. Finally, they used a probe that could measure the strength of the contractions and they realized that I was having extremely frequent, but weak contractions. The doctor thought they needed to give me more pitocin. This went on for hours, when finally the doctor said they couldn't give me any more pitocin and that because I had failed to progress for so long they recommended a C-section.
I was scared to death of surgery, even though I had often heard obstetricians say that they would rather have a C-section than a vaginal delivery (including my own). My doctor said it was no big deal and so easy that it would all be over in 30 minutes. I tried to keep from breaking down, but I couldn't. With tears streaming down my face, Peter held my hand and told me it was going to be OK and that he would be with me the whole time. At 5 p.m. they wheeled me into the operating room and told my husband to get into paper scrubs. They said we'd have our son in 15 minutes.
As they wheeled me into the room I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt cold and scared and alone, because they forbid my husband to come in the room until they were finished prepping me. There were four or five people all doing different things to my body. I couldn't see what was happening because they put a sheet up just below my neck. They tied my arms to the operating table and asked me not to move. I tried not to, but my teeth were chattering and I thought I might bounce off the table with all the shaking I was doing. Finally, they let Peter in the room and told me they were going to start.
It was so strange knowing they were cutting my body and taking the baby out and being unable to feel any of it. The doctor told me that she made the incision and she was going to get the baby out. All of a sudden I felt a lot of pressure and the doctor seemed to be pulling and pushing and having a hard time getting the baby out. At 5:29 p.m., she announced, "He's here!" and my husband and I waited with bated breath for a few seconds before we heard his first cries. We both broke down in tears. He gave me a kiss on the forehead and said "thank you" with a big smile on his face. A nurse quickly showed us the baby and then whisked him away. I only caught a fleeting glimpse of him before they went to do record his measurements and wrap him up.
At that moment, I had the weirdest thought: I might never see my baby again. I can't explain what it was, but I suddenly became fearful that I wasn't going to make it. I panicked. That instant, I felt like my mind snapped. I just wanted everything to be over. I wanted to see my baby up close. I wanted my arms not to be tied down. I wanted my doctor to say, "All done." But none of that actually happened. In fact, my thinking seemed to get slower, but more panicked and the room seemed much quieter than it was when we started. No baby crying, no doctors and nurses talking to each other or to me.
