Quinn's Birth Story
On Quinn's birthday, I got up really early after
a whopping 3 hours of sleep. I sat outside and talked to the baby
for awhile before going in to wake Andy. We went to the hospital
and I was doing fine; not too nervous. Andy and Beth were with me,
joking and drinking coffee. I was shown into what would be my recovery
room, got gowned and into bed. Things were going fine; I got my IV
and we sat and listened to Quinn on the monitor, hearing his heartbeat
and his last kicks and wiggles inside me. When it was time for the
epidural, I got my first clue that things might not go just the way I had
planned because the anesthesiologist kicked everyone out except the nurse.
She was wonderful -- she held me and talked softly into my ear while the
anesthesiologist worked. When he put the numbing stuff in prior to
the epidural, I was unprepared for how badly it burned, and I had this
sudden, near-panic feeling come over me as my mind finally assimilated
that I was going to be wide-awake for the surgery. I was absolutely
terrified. When the epidural went in, I became bone-numbingly cold
from the inside out, and started to shake. Before long, my entire
body was in the throes of a violent case of the shakes, and I couldn't
focus on anything. It was as though my body freaked, and my mind
was along for the ride. It was so hard to cooperate when they were
doing the tests to see how high the epidural had moved! Soon they
wheeled me into the OR and I was moved onto the operating table.
Although I had been warned that a feeling of being unable to breathe is
common with epidurals, I still wasn't ready when it hit me, especially
coupled with everything else. A nurse told Beth to move to another
location, and she told the nurse in no uncertain terms that she wasn't
going anyplace, because she needed to talk to me and try to help me.
She kept telling me to look into Andy's eyes as he leaned over me, and
to focus on him. I tried -- I could hold it together for maybe 20-30
seconds at a time before the shakes and fear would overcome me again.
I swear, I have never been so scared in my life. My midwife came
over and put her face very close to mine. She said something like
"Come on, Melissa -- you can do this. You know how hard we worked,
and how much you want it. You can do it, I know you can." I
was crying at this point, and saying, "No, I can't -- please put me out.
PLEASE let me escape!" They had kicked out Beth and Andy again while
they prepped me, and I guess they could see me as the doors swung shut,
and I heard Andy say that they needed to come in, that if they could be
with me, and talk to me, that they could help. I don't know in what
order these things happened. I do know that I felt something sharp
touch my midsection repeatedly, and that I was shouting "OW! What
are you doing? Stop that, it hurts!" That was the prick test,
to see if the epidural had taken properly. Apparently I shouldn't
have even known they were doing it; I heard someone say that the epi wasn't
working. The next voice I heard was my OB, saying, "Knock her out."
An oxygen mask was put over my face, and I felt as though I were suffocating.
I started slapping at it, telling them I was suffocating, and to take it
off. It was lifted, and I took a great gasping breath. Mercifully,
I went out at that point.
The next thing I remember was my midwife's
voice telling me that he was here, and how beautiful he was, and how much
he weighed, and how tall he was. I was in and out for awhile, but
I do remember looking at the clock several times and knowing that not much
time seemed to be passing. Quinn was born at 9:13 a.m., and they
put him in my arms sometime around 10:15 and helped me nurse him for the
first time. I remember touching him with the greatest sense of wonder,
and all I could do was look at him and say over and over "He's so beautiful!"
I was still pretty out of it, and nothing felt quite real. I absolutely
could not connect, in my drugged state that the amazing, tiny body I held
had come out of me.
I stayed pretty drugged for two days, although
Friday was worse than Thursday. The first 24 hours, I was on morphine
but was able to hold at least semi-intelligible conversations, some of
which I actually recall! Friday, they took me off that and gave me
something else; I think it was Demerol and Phenergan mixed. I was
more drugged than I'd ever been in my life! I am still finding out
people that I talked to. I told my mom that she taught me well, because
apparently I was still fairly polite to most people. In addition
to the drugs, I found out later that I had become severely anemic.
They took Andy aside and asked him if I'd been passing out when I got out
of bed and we weren't telling anyone! Nobody told me how pale
I was, or how sick.
Looking back now, I do wish that things
had gone differently. I told my OB that I felt like I needed to apologize
for freaking out, and she told me that I had nothing to apologize for,
that that reaction is not uncommon, and that nothing can really prepare
you for it. I still feel that going under general anesthesia was
the right thing for me under the circumstances, and I don't regret that,
just that it was necessary.
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