Labour

Well here we are! Currently at Isambard, there is a baby, a mommy, 3 cats, and me. And everyone is asleep except me. This is a good thing. Peanut was born on December 5th, juuuuust after midnight after a 20 hour labour, laughing gas, an epidural and some forceps work. This was, except for the forceps, exactly according to plan. The labour started at about 4 am, at home, with gently accelerating contractions. Over the next eight hours they became stronger until we reached Five minute intervals between One minute contractions for One hour, also known as 5-1-1. At that point we decided to go to the hospital, though neither the doula nor Father In Law Chauffeur were there. (He had offered to drive us until we figured out he was asking for permission, thus his role in this) As soon as we determined to go, the relevant parties arrived. Though we were at 5-1-1, the standard deviation was pretty high, so we delayed long enough for a cup of tea. Tea finished, and we were off to the Nice Lady Hospital. At NLH, the volunteers quickly dispatched us to the wrong area, and between stopping for contractions we were bounced around and landed in the right place. At this point, the Project Manager was unable to lie down or sit down, so we were made further uncomfortable by that fact that all the initial spaces for a pregnant lady are a) small, and b) designed to lie down. BUT...as soon as we got into our room (where "everything will happen") we had lots of wonderful space, enough for our doula and us. The PM is kicking butt at this point, and the doctor quickly determines that she is 3 cm dilated, and things are just tickety-boo. Then they leave us alone... for a long time... which was very nice! We contracted, and walked, and the PM got in the shower for about 2 hours and the doula and I massaged her and held her up and helped her breath, and the contractions kept on coming, about 5 minutes apart, and HARD. The PM would fortify herself with a little laughing gas from time to time. She would later claim that it did nothing, but listening to her trying to talk after taking it was pretty funny (speaking as someone who has done Whippets, and knows what of he speaks) The doctor came back in, and re-examined the PM and discovered she was... 3 centimetres dilated. So they said, gleefully, "we'll break your water, that will help; but the contractions will get more severe". So they did that. And boy did the contractions kick up... and never stopped. Contraction after contraction without a break or respite. And the PM began to flag a little... this is now about... 8 pm? But we had a plan, and that plan was (if it could not be tolerated) we would mitigate the pain with an epidural. The doula and I tried twice to get her through contractions with encouragement in the shower, but the third time she asked for it she said, without a waver in her voice, "It. Is. Epidural.Time" so we stopped encouraging her and got busy with the epidural. The anaesthetologist was a massive dude, and a good thing, because it took all four of us, (him, the nurse, the doula, and me) to hold the Project Manager still while he injected her. He was one of our heroes. At this point we're about 6 cm dilated, and the epidural is perfect. The PM can feel everything, but nothing hurts, and away we go again. The contractions increase in severity and excitement over the next 2 hours, taking us to about 10 pm. Now the pushing begins. You may note that we missed the transition phase, where Peanut's head moves from the cervix into the birth canal. We did miss this! Thanks epidural! The pushing was wild. My little tiny PM is pushing like a rock star, which involves pulling her knees towards her shoulders, and trying to turn herself inside out. She pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes. As she does so, we can see the tip-top of the head and every time she pushes it comes within 5 millimetres of the opening and then retreats. And this gets discouraging. At about... 11 pm, the doctor comes in and says, "huh, let me check something" and she sticks four fingers where four fingers shouldn't fit, especially as there's a baby's head there, and she determines that Peanut is facing the wrong way, and the mystery of the unproductive pushing is resolved. So the doctor turns Peanut around. If I never have to see the PM in that much pain again, I will be a happy man. But now we have movement! The PM explains as how she is unable to get this baby out without help, and the doctors start working on the forceps procedure. This means... more drugs! Wonderful drugs! This means that the PM will be insensate below the waist, so her pushing will be prompted, not instinctive. She is racing the doctors. Every push brings Peanut closer in, and the doctors are still not ready to help. There are now 9 people in the room, and it is a little crowded. Finally all is ready, and they get the forceps in, and they begin to steer. Doctor makes it clear that the forceps are not to steer, they are to steer while the PM pushes. It's now juuuust before midnight. There's pushing, and talking, and screaming, and bustling, and pulling, and incredibly bright lights, and it's all a blur, really. At about 12:04, they pull Peanut out, and she is, as far as I can tell, dead. Purple, floppy and silent. And that lasts for about 10 seconds. At some point they steer me in to cut the cord, which I do, and they ask me to tell the PM the sex of peanut, which I do... and that's about when I lose it (in a manly way, of course). They put Peanut on the PM's chest, and I get sat down, and try breathing for a while. At this point they have to do some intimate sewing on the PM, so they put Peanut on MY chest, and then I weep. I cried more than Peanut did. Also, Peanut pooped on me. Copiously. But that was ok. There! Now you know how that turned out. Oh yah, and Peanut is a girl.