Yep. I figured I should get around to updating this now that it's been two and half weeks. Oops.
So, yes. Dr. Rafi jokingly asked me to stay pregnant until that Thursday, the 18th, when I would officially turn 37 weeks and Gemma could be considered full-term by the nursery staff and avoid annoying tests and stuff. She said she fully expected to see me for future appointments. Well, my body heard the request for Thursday and complied, but after that all bets were off...
Friday morning, John and I both woke up at 5am to get ready for work, like any other Friday. He beat me out of bed by a few seconds and went into the bathroom. I stood up and felt like I was kind of peeing myself and yelled at him to get out of there. I went to the bathroom and there was... stuff coming out of me. The rest of my plug, I'm guessing, as well as some amniotic fluid. I guess I was one of those people that doesn't experience a huge gush, but rather a steady leak. A pretty strong contraction hit me too and we both appropriately freaked out.
Everyone tells a first-time mom that her first labor will be a long process. That the average length is anywhere between 10 and 20 hours. They tell you that when it starts, take a shower, a nap if you can... Dr. Rafi told us, since we were coming from so far (we live 45 minutes to an hour from St. Agnes), that we should leave for the hospital when the contractions were 5 minutes apart. If it was a Sunday and there was beach traffic, to leave when they were 8 to 10 minutes apart. Well, after that first one, I noticed the next two came at a rate of about 10 to 12 minutes. Plennnnty of time, right? I decided to take a shower cause I didn't know exactly when I would be able to next and John left to meet his boss at the Park-and-Ride and tell him that he wouldn't be going in to work. (It's only 5 minutes down the road from us.) By the time I got out of the shower and John got back, maybe 10, 15 minutes later, they were suddenly maybe 6 minutes apart, out of nowhere. They were hitting me hard too. Every time one would hit, I'd either end up on the floor on my hands and knees or laying down, rolling around, on the couch or bed. I eventually managed to get myself dressed during the downtime between a few of them, brush my teeth, and throw some stuff into a bag. (No, we didn't have a hospital bag packed, I know. We were still supposed to have three weeks left!) Now they're coming every 3 or 4 minutes. John threw all our crap into the car, including putting the carseat--yet to be installed--into the trunk to deal with later. We scrambled in the car, myself, John, and Shari, and lit off for the hospital.
By the time we got to the gate at the end of our mile long driveway, I told him I wasn't going to make it to Baltimore and to take me to Anne Arundel Medical Center in Annapolis. I was screaming and moaning and cursing through every contraction as he sped down the roads and I know (they later confirmed) that both John and Shari assumed it was a typical Megan-overreaction, that they were in for a very long day of this, that everything would be fine. Well, by the time we got to the main road, after a couple of back roads, I told him I wasn't going to make it to Annapolis and they decided to take me to the Kent Island satellite site of AAMC that is supposed to have emergency care services. We pulled up to the front door and Shari ran in. She came back out a minute or two later with a woman in a white coat. Help at last, I assumed, relieved. This woman opens my door and tells me that she's a dermatologist, but will give it a go if I want, after which she thrusts a white paper sheet and me and asks me if I want to take off my pants. In the parking lot. With a dermatologist. NO, THANK YOU. I DON'T THINK SO. The only other person in the building at that hour apparently was a secretary, so she decided to call an ambulance. Fortunately, the fire department shares a big parking lot with this place, so they weren't coming from far. Still took a few (desperate and painful) minutes, but they finally drove over and a couple of EMTs (a man and a girl who looked about my age) helped me into the back. John had to ride up front and Shari followed in our car. The bill they sent me says they got the call at 7:37am.
They said they were trained for this kind of emergency, but had never actually delivered any babies. The girl was in the back with me and helped me take off my pants and underwear and kept stealing peeks down there, but when I started saying I needed to push (okay, screaming and crying and downright pleading) she kept saying, "No, no, no! Don't do that! Don't push! BREATHE through it." We got over the bridge and shockingly pulled off at the toll booth administration building. Apparently there was an EMT team in the area who could actually handle the situation and a woman got on with us and we took off again. She put an IV in and gave me oxygen. My contractions were about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes apart during the ride to the hospital.
We finally got there and they unloaded me and wheeled me into an exam room downstairs. (I have no idea what part of the hospital we were in, I was out of it.) A nurse asked me a series of questions--"How old are you?" "24." "Is this your first baby?" "Yes." "Aw, congratulations. When did you start feeling it?" "About 5 this morning. Oh, I need to push! Ouch, it hurts! Oooooh, shit! Shit!" "Calm down. You're gonna be fine, sweetie. I know, it hurts, but you've got a while to go so just try to breathe and be calm... I'm just going to take a look and see how far you've dilated, okay?"--stuck a couple of gloved fingers in--"Whoops! Nevermind, I see a head! Let's get you upstairs." Upstairs we went to the L&D floor. My body started pushing with the contractions a little bit in the hallway. They decided to leave the consent forms for later and wheeled me into a room with a bunch of nurses and a doctor I'd never met before (who turned out to be the coolest lady ever, one I credit for what a great delivery experience I had) and got me ready to go, still in my very own green t-shirt, as the cellphone pictures will show. (No time to grab the real camera.)
Within a minute or two, they were coaching me to push, John holding my right foot and nurse Joy (who I loved) holding my left. Out popped Gemma Rae at 8:36am, very easily and, I have to admit, almost entirely painlessly. While the contractions tore me up, I found the actual birthing part of it to feel very natural.
I didn't tear. I needed three stitches, but they were scattered on the inside due to a few tiny friction spots and she only stitched them because I tend to bleed and I was then.
Gemma weighed in at 6lbs, 15oz and measured 20.6 inches long. She did great on the Apgar. John gave her her first bath and she nursed like a champ.
While nothing went according to plan and it was pretty frightening in the moment, I don't think I could've asked for a better experience. I am so grateful everything turned out so well and that it was so easy.
Now all that's left is to raise this little stinker! :)
So, yes. Dr. Rafi jokingly asked me to stay pregnant until that Thursday, the 18th, when I would officially turn 37 weeks and Gemma could be considered full-term by the nursery staff and avoid annoying tests and stuff. She said she fully expected to see me for future appointments. Well, my body heard the request for Thursday and complied, but after that all bets were off...
Friday morning, John and I both woke up at 5am to get ready for work, like any other Friday. He beat me out of bed by a few seconds and went into the bathroom. I stood up and felt like I was kind of peeing myself and yelled at him to get out of there. I went to the bathroom and there was... stuff coming out of me. The rest of my plug, I'm guessing, as well as some amniotic fluid. I guess I was one of those people that doesn't experience a huge gush, but rather a steady leak. A pretty strong contraction hit me too and we both appropriately freaked out.
Everyone tells a first-time mom that her first labor will be a long process. That the average length is anywhere between 10 and 20 hours. They tell you that when it starts, take a shower, a nap if you can... Dr. Rafi told us, since we were coming from so far (we live 45 minutes to an hour from St. Agnes), that we should leave for the hospital when the contractions were 5 minutes apart. If it was a Sunday and there was beach traffic, to leave when they were 8 to 10 minutes apart. Well, after that first one, I noticed the next two came at a rate of about 10 to 12 minutes. Plennnnty of time, right? I decided to take a shower cause I didn't know exactly when I would be able to next and John left to meet his boss at the Park-and-Ride and tell him that he wouldn't be going in to work. (It's only 5 minutes down the road from us.) By the time I got out of the shower and John got back, maybe 10, 15 minutes later, they were suddenly maybe 6 minutes apart, out of nowhere. They were hitting me hard too. Every time one would hit, I'd either end up on the floor on my hands and knees or laying down, rolling around, on the couch or bed. I eventually managed to get myself dressed during the downtime between a few of them, brush my teeth, and throw some stuff into a bag. (No, we didn't have a hospital bag packed, I know. We were still supposed to have three weeks left!) Now they're coming every 3 or 4 minutes. John threw all our crap into the car, including putting the carseat--yet to be installed--into the trunk to deal with later. We scrambled in the car, myself, John, and Shari, and lit off for the hospital.
By the time we got to the gate at the end of our mile long driveway, I told him I wasn't going to make it to Baltimore and to take me to Anne Arundel Medical Center in Annapolis. I was screaming and moaning and cursing through every contraction as he sped down the roads and I know (they later confirmed) that both John and Shari assumed it was a typical Megan-overreaction, that they were in for a very long day of this, that everything would be fine. Well, by the time we got to the main road, after a couple of back roads, I told him I wasn't going to make it to Annapolis and they decided to take me to the Kent Island satellite site of AAMC that is supposed to have emergency care services. We pulled up to the front door and Shari ran in. She came back out a minute or two later with a woman in a white coat. Help at last, I assumed, relieved. This woman opens my door and tells me that she's a dermatologist, but will give it a go if I want, after which she thrusts a white paper sheet and me and asks me if I want to take off my pants. In the parking lot. With a dermatologist. NO, THANK YOU. I DON'T THINK SO. The only other person in the building at that hour apparently was a secretary, so she decided to call an ambulance. Fortunately, the fire department shares a big parking lot with this place, so they weren't coming from far. Still took a few (desperate and painful) minutes, but they finally drove over and a couple of EMTs (a man and a girl who looked about my age) helped me into the back. John had to ride up front and Shari followed in our car. The bill they sent me says they got the call at 7:37am.
They said they were trained for this kind of emergency, but had never actually delivered any babies. The girl was in the back with me and helped me take off my pants and underwear and kept stealing peeks down there, but when I started saying I needed to push (okay, screaming and crying and downright pleading) she kept saying, "No, no, no! Don't do that! Don't push! BREATHE through it." We got over the bridge and shockingly pulled off at the toll booth administration building. Apparently there was an EMT team in the area who could actually handle the situation and a woman got on with us and we took off again. She put an IV in and gave me oxygen. My contractions were about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes apart during the ride to the hospital.
We finally got there and they unloaded me and wheeled me into an exam room downstairs. (I have no idea what part of the hospital we were in, I was out of it.) A nurse asked me a series of questions--"How old are you?" "24." "Is this your first baby?" "Yes." "Aw, congratulations. When did you start feeling it?" "About 5 this morning. Oh, I need to push! Ouch, it hurts! Oooooh, shit! Shit!" "Calm down. You're gonna be fine, sweetie. I know, it hurts, but you've got a while to go so just try to breathe and be calm... I'm just going to take a look and see how far you've dilated, okay?"--stuck a couple of gloved fingers in--"Whoops! Nevermind, I see a head! Let's get you upstairs." Upstairs we went to the L&D floor. My body started pushing with the contractions a little bit in the hallway. They decided to leave the consent forms for later and wheeled me into a room with a bunch of nurses and a doctor I'd never met before (who turned out to be the coolest lady ever, one I credit for what a great delivery experience I had) and got me ready to go, still in my very own green t-shirt, as the cellphone pictures will show. (No time to grab the real camera.)
Within a minute or two, they were coaching me to push, John holding my right foot and nurse Joy (who I loved) holding my left. Out popped Gemma Rae at 8:36am, very easily and, I have to admit, almost entirely painlessly. While the contractions tore me up, I found the actual birthing part of it to feel very natural.
I didn't tear. I needed three stitches, but they were scattered on the inside due to a few tiny friction spots and she only stitched them because I tend to bleed and I was then.
Gemma weighed in at 6lbs, 15oz and measured 20.6 inches long. She did great on the Apgar. John gave her her first bath and she nursed like a champ.
While nothing went according to plan and it was pretty frightening in the moment, I don't think I could've asked for a better experience. I am so grateful everything turned out so well and that it was so easy.
Now all that's left is to raise this little stinker! :)
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