February 14

JT's 7th birthday is later this week and in previous years, Lisa and I have shared the story of his birth with him. And because we shared the experience of those sometimes harrowing days, we'd share it with one another as well. We're no longer sharing anything anymore, and so it seemed like a good time to write these stories down to share them with JT now and in the future. So in the next few days, I'm going to write about the birth of my sweet baby boy.

Seven years ago on this day, I headed to a hospital 35 miles from my house to see if I could get my baby to vacate the premises. Due to pregnancy-induced hypertension, I'd been on bed rest for the three weeks prior. But my midwife had decided that it was time and with my original due date still 9 days away, I headed to the hospital to induce labor.

I got to the maternity ward late that afternoon, having stopped at the bookstore to get a few books to read during delivery. This was perhaps a first sign that I had no idea what was coming. The midwife was amused. By 5 pm the pitocin was dripping and I was waiting for my baby boy to arrive. By 9 pm, my blood pressure had shot even further through the roof. The nurses kept asking if I had a headache or felt disoriented. But I felt fine and I was reading my book; wanting to be left alone. However, if full-scale labor ensued with my blood pressure at 220/160, bad things could happen. So they started some more medicine to lower my blood pressure. It was magnesium sulfate and it had two immediate effects: I felt like I'd just drank a 6-pack of beer (and I had the mouth to prove it) and other risk of the medicine (respiratory depression, which is as bad as it sounds) demanded that my blood be drawn every 6 hours, to check that all was well. My veins are not easy to find, one of many reasons I did not choose a life as an IV drug user, so the blood test requirement was not a happy thing.

So what had started as a pretty good day had gone rather rapidly downhill. I could no longer get out of bed (because with blood pressure that high, any exertion is not cool), I had IVs running all over, and my unrestrained mouth meant that everyone had to hear how cranky I was with this arrangement. After the 3 am blood draw went badly and I burst a vein (surprisingly messy and rather painful), the nurse urged me to have a shot of morphine to put me to sleep (perhaps to preserve her own sanity?). By morning, she said, I'd be having contractions and I'd want to be well-rested to deliver my baby the next day.

Just 3 weeks prior to this, my midwife and I had worked out a birth plan for natural labor. I'd envisioned walking through the halls as the contractions increased in intensity, listening to music, maybe standing in a hot shower. Now I wasn't going anywhere. And, as it turns out, neither was the babine.

Tomorrow: Did you know that pitocin sometimes doesn't work? Neither did I.