Bright and early on the morning of June 22, 2001, the DeYonghe household was in a state of flurry. Paul and I had dropped our daughter off with Grandma and Grandpa the night before thinking that we'd get some extra sleep, but no such luck there was just too much adrenaline in the air. Around 4:30 AM After last minute packing was taken care of, we headed toward the hospital with a brief stop at a local convenient store for a light breakfast.
Upon arrival, we were directed to Labor and Delivery on the second floor. I couldn't help but think about the possibility of the elevator getting stuck and actually going into labor on my own. Here I was 42 weeks pregnant and nothing else had worked to get things going--no such luck. We preceeded to the Labor and Delivery wing where my induction of Labor would take place. After a brief wait on a nurse, we were escorted to a birthing room. A few minutes of settling time, and then the policy protocols began, including the ceremonious hospital bands: one for Paul (to identify him as father of our child -- a safety procaution) and three for me (one signifying my alergy to Sulfa, one with my name and info stating that I was a patient, and one identifying me as mother of our child).
Next I was hooked up to the monitors. I was already having contractions 5 minutes apart although I could hardly feel them. The nurse checked me and informed me that I was 3 cm dilated (of course I had been 3 cm for 2 weeks so it really didn't mean a whole lot). Then at 6 AM they started the Pitocin drip via IV, and I settled in for the work ahead.
My doula, Debbie, arrived at 6:30; and by 7 the breathing techniques began to come in handy. Soon the contractions were pretty intense and 2 minutes apart. In fact they had to turn down the Pitocin a bit, because contractions were getting to be only a minute apart. Debbie suggested we try some differing positions. Of course being hooked up to the monitors and IV, we were limited in what we could do. Sitting in a chair and leaning over the bed seemed to work the best; and reclining on my side was the worst. Another approach I used was having my husband squeeze my hand during contractions instead of vise versa. Not only was this a way for him to show his support while I focused on relaxation instead of tensing, but it also saved him from needing a cast. ;-)
By 8:30 AM the contractions were becoming very difficult to deal with even with the various techniqes. I was at 7 cm (transistion phase) and 90% effaced. I decided to get a dose of Stadol to take the edge off and regain some control. It was effective, so I decided not to get an epidural. Then at 9:30 I was at 10 cm, signaling that it was time to push. And for 30 minutes I did just that --pushing with each contraction.
Ten o'clock on the nose my son is born. Paul Robert weighed 7 pounds 14 ounces and measured 20 3/4 inches. He received apgar scores of 8 and 9 (at 1 minute and 5 minutes, respectively). The next hour was ours: all the hospital checks and routines for newborns would have to wait. His daddy and I took turns holding and cuddling him, we took some pictures, then I feed him (I was very thankfully for this hour --I didn't get that first hour with my daughter to due to complications).
Thus ends the account of his birth, and marks the beginning of his nurturing and learning.
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