I awoke @ 7am with my water broken, I believed. J. wasn’t buying it. There was no pain: no con- tractions that I felt: nothing. My due date wasn’t for a week, and the day before @ the OB had determined that I was 3 centimeters and 50% effaced. No way was he buying it. When I started moaning and grimacing like the women on TV, then he’d take me somewhere.
I sent him to Krispy Kreme to get some donuts and hot chocolate. I took a shower and I leaked. I ate 4 donuts and leaked. I drank and leaked. “Maybe it’s just pee” he offered. “Dude, I am not incontinent!” I shot back indignantly, but went to the bathroom just in case. I kept leaking. He wanted to have sex. No! My water was broken!! I finally convinced him of that and we went to the hospital a little before 9am.
They checked the fluid and it was amniotic. I knew what the hell I was talking about. I gave J. a look that plainly said with all the malice I could give him in a glare: “I am not incontinent.” They admitted me. He went to get my hospital bag. They put my I.V. in. I bled over a pint, all over the nurse and the floor. What can I say? I’ve got awesome veins…
I laid there. For hours. They wouldn’t let me eat. Just in case. Just in case of what? I was pissed. And hungry. My hair was a mess. J. went to Taco Bell for a Grilled Stuft Burrito. They had just come out and we were addicted. I made him eat it in the car so I didn’t have to endure the sight and smell.
At 4pm they started me on Pitocin. Dr. B, my OB/GYN wouldn’t let them start me sooner because he was golfing. No time for babies being born! Gotta get to that 12th hole! They maxed me out by midnight. I was stuck @ 6 centimeters. Hadn’t budged since 2pm.
I was having contractions. Strong contractions according to the monitor. But I felt nothing. No pain, no discomfort. The attendant looked at the hills on the chart and at my nonchalant expression. “You’re not feeling any of this?” she asked me @ one point. “No.” I was starving. I asked for food. I was offered ice. I don’t want no stinkin’ ice. J. snuck me a bag of Cheese Nips. Not enough.
I was bored. And so hungry. I asked for an epidural. Anything to get me off of my back. Horrible decision that was. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Daggers in my spine, stopping and plunging a little deeper at every vertebrae. I cried. I held on to J. and buried my face into his shirt. They told me I wasn’t bending forward enough. How the hell was I supposed to curl up like a cat with a stomach the size of a beach ball? Huh?
The epidural caused pains in my side. Horrible, shooting pains. The anesthesiologist came back and put another drug directly into my IV. I was comatose in minutes, around 3am. I was awoken @ 6am when the nurse needed to check my cervix. 9 centimeters. I couldn’t feel my legs. Except for a bit of tingling.
At 7am I began to push. Dr. B. showed up. He told J. how to count and left. I pushed. Around 8am J. saw hair. He also made heinous faces that made me believe I’d never get laid again. But he was doing good. An awesome coach.
By 9am, the baby still hadn’t come to crowning. She was obviously stuck. I told them that her shoulders were big. They said it was her head coming out. “No, I’m talking about what’s still in there!” They ignored me. Pay no attention to the crazy laboring lady people! The nurse whispered to J. around this time, as I found out later, that the baby was not coming out and he needed to turn me to another position.
The had epidural run out. I was feeling everything completely natural. I rolled. It hurt. I cried. At 9:30am Dr. B. came back, in scrubs. He saw my epidural was gone and had it refilled. He stuck a vaccum extractor on the baby’s head. It popped off. 4 times. They held my legs back. I pushed. The baby wasn’t moving.
They pushed J. away. He stood against the wall, in tears. I reached for him, but he was too far. I stopped pushing. I gave up. They tell you that you can’t resist the urge to push. I did. He was my strength and he wasn’t there…
We had a severe case of shoulder dystocia. They called in another nurse who applied fundal pressure. She climbed on the bed, took her fists and pushed as hard as she could just under my navel to help the baby’s shoulder’s slide past the pelvic bone. Bella was born @ 9:47am.
J. laughed through his sobs and said she was huge, like a Christmas ham. The nurse called her a sumo wrestler. I couldn’t see her. They took her to the warming table. She was purple and had black hair, but that’s all I could see. Before they laid her down, I saw that her entire body was tensed as she started to cry except for her left arm. It hung limp and lifeless.
An original apgar of 5 and a second one of 8.
Not breathing very well.
My mom came in. She’d been yelling and demanding entrance in the hallway. They printed the baby’s footprints on J.’s shirt and wrapped her in a blanket. They gave her to him. He brought her to me. I held her and saw nothing but cheeks. Huge cheeks. She was adorable.
They had to take her to NICU and place her under the oxygen hood because her lungs weren’t working properly. Probably the stress of labor. J. went with her. My mom stayed with me.
When I finally was able to hold her again, she wasn’t swaddled. She had a shirt on, but I saw that only her right arm had been sleeved. Something was still wrong with that arm.
No one knew what. Supposedly. They gave her X-rays, exams and tests. No one knew. Supposedly.
A week went by before I myself on the internet found out what was wrong. A Brachial Plexus palsy, better known as Erb’s Palsy. A birth injury caused by excessive force and traction during delivery on a baby’s neck, shoulder and spine. A tearing of nerves.
She was beautiful. Gorgeous. Chubby and happy. But imperfect. It was heart- breaking. Gut- wrenching to deal with. J. stayed hopeful the arm would move any day like we had been told. But I despaired.
She was diagnosed @ 2 weeks. She began physical therapy @ 2 months. It wasn’t until she was 3 months that she showed any movement. But it continued. And the arm became better and better. Today, as a four year old, it’s rare that anyone notices The Bella’s arm. It functions the same as the other, it’s just not as strong. And the range of motion isn’t so good. She works on that continuously, by means of weekly occupational and physical therapy.
She’s an awesome kid. With a bright future. She’s already determined and strong willed and I don’t think her ‘disability’ will stop her or slow her down in the least bit. No gymnastics. Therapy for the rest of her life. A possible surgery in the future. But she’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.
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