Birth Story Part IV: The Long Night

Hurrah- we're back, and we survived our first trip away with baby, dog and a car packed to the gunnels with stuffus (prams, bike, golf clubs, travel cot, dog & baby paraphenalia. Why do we have so much crap, I ask myself?) The weather was mostly wonderful, the scenery gorgeous and if it wasn't entirely relaxing due to the demands of said dog & baby, it was at least a good learning experience.

High: the walk we took on the first day down to the beach with the baby in her sling and Little Guy romping happily at our heels. It felt like we were really a family at last.  [By the way, for those who mentioned it, we have two different types of sling/carrier- a Bjorn and a ring sling thing and we use both frequently and interchangably. Lifesaving devices. ]

Low: returning from that same walk several days later after losing LG in the shrubbery for forty minutes owing to rabbit chasing frenzy, with Botany was screaming her head off (as we'd run slightly over into feeding time) to find the fire alarm blaring due to oven belching out smoke from small chicken fat incident.  Oops.  Fire alarm set off LG into barking frenzy. The ensuing cacophony made me want to stick my own head in the oven.

Anyway. Where was I?

Tuesday midnight- Wednesday 8am: Actually, nothing very much happens all night.

E. returns just after the epidural is complete, and so he finds me upbeat and resting comfortably. After a short discussion with my mother, the consensus view is that it is best for them to go home and get some sleep and come back in the morning. So they head out again.

Two dims the lights and tells me to try to get some rest. But I can't; if I move too much, it knocks the fetal monitor off, and not being able to move makes me feel antsy. I am conscious of the tubes from the drip and the epidural, which make me feel tethered and a bit restrained. I eventually settle on a half reclined position on the bed, drifting in and out of a drowsy state. 

Two keeps checking the monitor. The baby is doing fine. At some point the epidural starts to wear off, and  another nurse is called in to top it up (Two not being qualified due to a technical certification thing- she is otherwise completely capable). Over the night, I learn that I need to ask Two to arrange the top up as soon as I start feeling something, because by the time someone gets around to doing it, the discomfort begins to be considerable. And I've become accustomed to feeling nothing.

It is a very long, and very strange sort of night, waiting for the time to pass, listening to the patter of my daughter's heartbeat, craving the cool slip of the freshened epidural over my shoulder and down my back. Two moves in and out the room performing her duties.  She urges me to go to sleep, and I cannot. And as the hours go by, we have a series of gentle and slightly confessional conversations; about relationships, about travelling, about life. She tells me about working in Instanbul.  I relate some of experience with infertility, what having this baby means to me, our plans for the future. It's funny how staying awake all night in the company of another person can create such a powerful, if possibly transient bond.  We're throw into each other's path by circumstance- in my case, literally being tethered to the bed- and I come out of it feeling fortunate for having had the time in her company, as if  I have found a friend- even if I never see her again.   

At some point toward morning, Two checks to see how I am doing.  Result: I am not progressing. I have not really dilated at all.  But we still have some hours to go, so there is no immediate cause for alarm. Still, I start to think that I know how this is going end. I believe that I am headed for a C-section, and that being the case, as the hours slowly drip drip by toward dawn, I begin to sort of wish we could cut to the chase (quite literally) and get on with it.

E. and my mother return around 8am, and then it is time for the next shift change.  Two kisses me on the forehead and says she will phone later to check up on me. And then she is gone. I am handed over to the care of my third and final midwife, Three.

I confess that from here on in, I become a little fuzzy about the exact chronology of what happens when.  I am so tired, so very tired- the night is over, but we're not really all that much further forward.

And it's all about to get a whole lot messier, sweatier, swearier and scarier.

Comments

[K&M]

Oh my gosh, this is like birth story crack! I know y'all came out ok in the end, but this middle part and now knowing...driving me bonkers!

[Anna H.]

These two images made me cry:

1) You and Two communing in the night; I'm so glad she was there for you.

2) You and E and Botany and your rascally little dog, walking on the beach together.

I can't express how happy am for you...

Many kisses.

[Veronica]

I'm glad you made it through the holiday unscathed. The beach must have been lovely.

Thank goodness for Two. It makes a difference when you get good sympathetic care.

Looking forward to the next installment.

[Sam]

This is the bestest of stories. I can't wait until the next installment.

[Tonya]

Sounds like overall you had a nice getaway. Brave lady! And thanks for the next installment.

[Lut C.]

Glad to hear your holiday was an overall success!

[Jana]

The cliffhangers make me bloody impatient! A family now... congrats!

[Beth]

Oh I'm so glad you were able to have a holiday. Having a child at last is simply extraordinary, isn't it?

Very much enjoying the birth story -- love how you're writing it. And think what a gift this will make for Botany when she is older.

[lb]

I am so enjoying this. It reminds me of a similar long night of my own, spent when I was in labour with my first daughter. There is something so unreal, or maybe hyper-real about being awake all night waiting for your child to be born. Thanks for bringing back those memories for me.

[alchemilla]

It's lovely, Mare.