A labour of love

Lame title, I know. The old brain isn't working as well lately. I think my IQ has taken a serious dip lately.

Many people have asked me about Cohen's birth so I thought I would get it down for those curious minds, as well as a reminder to me for down the road when we decide to do this again.

As I wrote before he was born, Sunday, December 27th started out like any normal day...er...no. I woke up at 2:00 a.m. with contractions and bloody show. Gross. For those of you who have not experienced that, it's when you start bleeding before the baby comes and for most women, I think it means the baby is coming within a few days. It doesn't happen to everyone though, but it sure freaked me out enough to call the hospital. The nurse who answered told me if my contractions got to be 2-3 minutes apart for at least an hour, or if the baby stopped moving, or if there was a lot more blood, to come in right away, but if things didn't change, I basically had to stay put. I managed to fall back to sleep for a couple more hours that night and got up and went to church the next morning but didn't feel so good. The contractions had stopped but I felt like the baby had dropped (finally!).

That afternoon we decided to see the movie Avatar because we figured Pat was coming soon and we wanted to see this movie. I remember having contractions on the way to the theatre but told C to keep driving--I really wanted to see the movie and figured we had plenty of time. At 2:00 pm, while we were waiting for the movie to start, my contractions started to get more intense and closer together, more like 10 minutes apart and remained that way for the entire movie. Pat, a.k.a. Cohen, moved the entire movie and I'm not kidding when I say he didn't stop for a full 3 hours. I insisted on walking to the car but had to stop a couple of times to breathe through contractions. They had really gained in intensity during Avatar. Went home and got some organizing done that I had been putting off, called my sisters to let them know I was in pain, took a bath to relax, and packed my suitcase for the hospital. My contractions were now 4-5 minutes apart for the most part and had been that way for a few hours. Since I wanted to do the majority of my labouring at home, we went to bed, but after a couple of hours of moaning and crying (on Christian's part) and neither one of us sleeping, we got up and called the hospital. My contractions were now 3-4 minutes apart but the nurse we spoke with said that when they were 2-3 minutes apart and so unbearably painful, that's when we could come in. Well screw that, after another hour of intense pain, we loaded up the car with the suitcase, cameras and laptop and sped to the hospital.

We got to the hospital around 2:00 a.m. on Monday morning and after being checked out, discovered I was only dilated to a 1. Argh! I remember shaking my fist at my abdomen because I was so convinced I was at least a 3. They told us to walk around the hospital for 45 minutes, at which point they would check me again, which they did and discovered yet again that I was still only a 1. The good news is they gave me a shot of morphine and something else which took away the pain and knocked me out. Christian had to half carry, half drag me from the car into the house. I think I just crawled into bed fully dressed, minus the shoes. And boy did I sleep...until a friend woke me up at 9:00 a.m.

The rest of Monday my contractions were 10 minutes apart, but started getting closer again in the afternoon. Christian had taken the day off of work because he didn't want to leave me in the condition I was in. I can't really remember much of that day except more tears, a lot of reassuring words from Christian, and a lot of breathing through the contractions. That 7 week natural birthing class was paying off!

I just realized how overly detailed I'm being in capturing this and will try to be a lot more brief. Good grief, my labour story wasn't THAT interesting! But if you stick it out, there are some ugly pictures of me at the end.

Tuesday at 2:00 a.m. the contractions were back to 3-4 minutes apart and I was now crying with every contraction. Christian wanted to head back to the hospital but I couldn't bear the thought of going back there again to find out I was still only a 1, so I convinced him to hold off until we could get in to see my midwife in the morning. So we waited. I hadn't slept since 9:00 a.m. on Monday and was getting pretty tired but was determined to labour at home. 9:00 a.m. came so slowly but as soon as it did, I called the office and they told me to come in right away, which we did. Got checked and found out I was a 2. Nice, but still not enough to get admitted. My mid-wife gave me some options, one of which was to go home and take a couple Tylenol 3s and get some rest and wait til the contractions got closer, or go back to the hospital and get another shot of morphine and get some rest. She was concerned since I hadn't slept in 24 hours and even then had only got 4 hours of sleep. I chose to go home and wait it out, which in retrospect I wish I'd chosen the other option. Oh well, you live and learn.

By 5:00 pm Tuesday afternoon, I was in such pain and hysterics, Christian finally convinced me to go to the hospital. I had not slept at all that day and had had enough. So off we went. I cried as we were leaving the house, mainly because I knew it was the last time I would leave the house not being a mother and that thought freaked me out! Our lives were about to change and I still wasn't ready. I also cried the entire way to the hospital, in the elevator, in the hallway, and at the check-in desk. I think the nurse checking me in recognized that I was far enough along because I got to avoid triage and they put me in a room and immediately hooked me up and checked me. And I was finally a 3! I was so happy, but not as happy as when they gave me something in my I.V. that the nurse said "you'll still feel the contractions but you just won't care about them". And she was right. I felt every single one but didn't care.

I decided that I had suffered enough and a drug-free childbirth and me were not going to happen and got an epidural at 7:00 pm, after they told me I was dilated to a 5. All I can say is sweet relief. And the actual getting of the epidural was a 1 (out of 10) on a scale of pain or scariness. Maybe the doctor was that gifted, but I didn't feel anything and wasn't scared at all, like I thought I would be.

And then the waiting began. We were waiting for me to progress AND we were waiting for my mom to arrive. Her flight was due to arrive at 9:30 and our friend Shelley was picking her up at the airport since we wouldn't be able to. At around 11:00 pm, Shelley & my mom arrived and I got checked and found out I was a 10. Immediately, things started to happen really quickly. People started wheeling stuff in, someone got the mirror in the ceiling ready to go, and a nurse broke my water. I couldn't believe it was now time to meet Pat.

But of course, it didn't happen that way.

After breaking my water, they checked me again and I went down to a 7, and stayed there until 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning. They tried Pitosin all night but it didn't cause my contractions to get strong enough to get me to progress further than that damn 7. And because I was exhausted (still hadn't slept since Monday at 9:00 a.m.), my uterus was exhausted from contracting for 60 hours, and because my cervix decided to start swelling instead of reducing, my mid-wife announced I needed to have a c-section. She said the baby was fine and we could keep waiting but she didn't think anymore time or Pitosin would do the trick. The woman has been a mid-wife for over 30 years so I listened to her and made the decision to have the c-section. Believe me, there were more tears, more shaking of the fist and a lot of anger, but in the end, the important thing was delivering a healthy baby.

As soon as I said okay, there was a hum of activity once again, but this time it involved someone with a razor, a doctor upping my epidural, and a whole bunch of other people doing who knows what.

I was wheeled to the operating room where it took longer for them to set everything up then it did for the actual surgery.

At one point, when they were cauterizing me, it smelled like someone was barbecuing, so I asked who was barbecuing steak. I think I was the only one that found it funny.

And then I heard the cry that forever changed my life. I'm actually crying as I type this because it was THE best sound in the world. I started bawling in my sleepy state which probably sounded more like a a cow giving birth or slowly dying. Next thing you know the mid-wife is holding this baby up for us to see and asking Christian "Well Daddy, what do we have?" at which point Christian yelled "It's a boy!!" and I cried even more. Then Christian was gone to take pictures of the boy and I was left shivering and crying on the table. And then when they announced he weighed 7 lbs 13 oz, I started laughing...and shivering.

I failed to mention that the doctor who did my c-section happens to be my ObGyn so after Cohen was delivered, I asked him if he could do my PAP smear while he was down there. I figured I might as well try but sadly, he said he couldn't do it. When they were suctioning out my uterus, I asked them if they could suck some fat off me too, but again, the answer was no. My motto is there is no harm in asking.

So there you go. The story of how Cohen Gray Hancock came into this crazy world.

Here we are at some point in the night. Not sure if this is when Mom & Shelley arrived or after they broke my water.

Me looking so fine. Oh, I was really nauseas and felt like I was going to throw up (I did throw up the night before...into a plastic bag).

Me looking even finer. I look like I'm death warmed over, don't I? The next time I do this I'll be wearing makeup and will have my hair done up real nice.

The boy who has stolen my heart with just one cry.

Fugget about it! (that's what I think every time I look at this photo)

Stylin' the faux hawk at a few hours old.