Kara: The Birth Story

If you've read the post before this one you'll understand when I say that when I started nearing the end of my pregnancy I was VERY ready to be done being pregnant.

I'm pretty sure that I was saying "Whenever you're ready, baby!" starting at about 36 weeks; however, I'm glad she didn't come that early.

A little less than a week before Kara was born, I went into the hospital for a non-stress test (where they monitored my contractions, blood pressure, and the baby's heart rate). I was having two a week and normally they were in my doctor's office, but my doctor was in Hawaii on vacation for the week (poor guy) so he had me go to the hospital to have the test done. When they hooked me up to the monitors, my first blood pressure reading was outrageous. 196/100. Scary. The nurse took it again and it was right about the same. She looked at me and said "If your pressures stay this high, you're having your baby today." I was seriously excited about that prospect. The nurse asked the on-call doctor what to do and he had some blood drawn, kept me on the monitors, and asked for a urine sample. The best part? He wanted to be positive that the urine sample wasn't contaminated in any way, so I got a catheter. Ouch. Thanks, doc.

Anyway, much to my dismay, my blood pressure dropped. The nurse assured me it was for the better since if I had had to be induced because of my blood pressure I would have had to be on magnesium sulfate, and that would have made me very nauseated.

I went home and packed my hospital bag; it really could be any time now, I decided, and I wanted to be ready!!

That Friday I took my last final in the morning and then laid in bed and watched The Holiday. I kept hoping for contractions, but no such luck. On Saturday, I could not stop cleaning. Seriously. I cleaned our whole house, including our baseboards, and the inside of our fridge and freezer. That night Alma and I went to the mall to get Christmas presents for our families (it was December 11th, after all); Alma was on the phone with his sister-in-law asking her what she wanted for Christmas and apparently she asked what I was doing at the mall since I was on bed rest. "We're ready for the baby to come," Alma said, "She's allowed to walk around now!" (That was totally Alma's diagnosis, not my doctor's, but I was glad he was with me as far as being ready for the baby to come)

That night I tried some natural self-induction methods (they're kind of personal, otherwise I would share. But if you're interested, ask me) and headed to bed. Around two in the morning I started having some contractions. I had had plenty of braxton hicks contractions, but these were different; they were painful, and started low in my abdomen and worked their way around to my back. I knew they were real, and I was excited. They were probably coming every 5 minutes or so for about an hour, but they weren't too unbearable. And then I woke up a few hours later, and I knew it wasn't the real deal. They had stopped long enough for me to fall asleep, and when I woke up, I wasn't having any. I was seriously bummed.

I went to church that day and was telling everyone about my "close call" the night before. I had a doctor's appointment the next day and was hoping to go in and find out I was dilated far enough to warrant hospital admission. One woman, upon hearing my story, said "I bet you'll have your baby tomorrow." I laughed and said I hoped so!

That afternoon I went for a long walk around our neighborhood, and that night, since I had had contractions the night before, I did the same self-induction methods I had done the night before.

At around midnight, I started having dull contractions. I could sort of sleep restlessly through them, so I figured they were no big deal. At two in the morning, I woke up to a contraction. It was the same as the night before; real contractions about every five minutes, but this time, they started to get more intense. I changed positions multiple times to see if that would make the contractions stop, but they just kept coming, and they just kept getting more intense. At about 3:30 I decided to get out of bed and walk around to see if that would slow the contractions down; I went online, checked Facebook, and tried to find an online contraction timer. I didn't find one, mostly because I was very impatient, and I had to stop what I was doing every so often to breathe through my contractions. I decided to go to the bathroom, and once I had finished my business, I seriously considered straightening my hair. I got so far as to get my straightener out and plugged in, but then I decided I was being ridiculous and my hair didn't look THAT bad anyway. Plus, I was in quite a bit of pain at this point.

I finally decided it was time to wake Alma up at about 4:15. "Sorry to wake you," I said, "but I'm having contractions and I need help timing them." Alma bolted up and as if he had rehearsed this moment; he grabbed paper, a pen, and both of our cell phones. One to see the time, the other with the stop watch feature open. Alright, he said, let me know when the next one starts. And with that, he started timing the contractions.

A few days later, Alma told me that he thought I was going to be the type of woman who was having contractions every ten minutes and was ready to go to the hospital, so he was really surprised when he started timing them. "Uh, honey, we need to go to the hospital," he said after a few minutes of timing, "You're having contractions about a minute and a half apart, and they're lasting for 45–60 seconds." Even though I was glad they were close together, I kept saying we needed to wait longer; I really didn't want to get sent home from the hospital. After a ton of my protests, Alma said, "Honey, I'd rather have you get sent home than have a baby on our bedroom floor." I finally agreed, and we got ready to go. It seriously took me about five minutes to get my pants on because I kept having to stop and bend over with contractions. We grabbed our last minute stuff and headed out the door at about 5:10am.

The whole way there I kept thinking that the contractions were getting further apart. But then I would have one, and it would seriously hurt. The hospital was about a ten minute drive from our house, and it seemed especially quick since there was zero traffic. We got to the hospital and parked; I sat in the car through one contraction and then had to stop for two more between the car and the women's center entrance to the hospital.

When we got inside I felt pretty dumb as I leaned on a chair through a contraction; I didn't want the nurses to think I was faking. Ha. Alma told one of the nurses my name, birth date and due date, and then another nurse took me back to a triage room. She handed me a sheet and told me to undress from the waist down, she left and said she'd be back in a few minutes. I remember thinking it was silly that I had spent so much time putting my pants on only to get where I was going and have to take them off again.

Once I got situated the nurse came back in and checked me. I was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced! Definitely better than I was expecting. She then hooked me up to the same monitors that I was always on for my non-stress tests. Because I had been in so many times for non-stress tests, I had already answered all of the questions they ask, so all she had to do was make sure nothing had changed in the week since I had been in. It was about 5:45 by this time and the new shift comes in at 6, so the nurse said she would come in to say goodbye when she left, but that someone would check me in an hour to make sure I was still dilating. About 15 minutes later I started feeling very nauseated. I asked Alma to grab me a trash can and I proceeded to throw up. The nurse came back in and said "Did I hear you throw up?? That's a great sign that you're in active labor!" I jokingly said, "Wow, I've been in active labor for nine months now!" She then grabbed me a barf bag for just in case and left again.

At this point, the contractions were pretty intense, and lying in the same position was NOT helping. I would grab the handles on the side of the bed and tense up with every contraction. I looked over at Alma during one of my breaks and asked, "Will you think I'm a wimp if I get an epidural?" He reassured me that he would definitely not think I was a wimp, so I pretty much immediately pressed my call button and asked, "When can I get an epidural???" My nurse came back in and said she would check me again and as long as I was progressing, I would get put in a room, have IV fluids pumped into me, and then I could get an epidural. (I was pretty scared when she said I would have to get a liter of fluid in me before I could have the epidural; I was in quite a bit of pain, and I didn't think I could handle it.) She checked me and in a half hour I had progressed to 5cm and 100% effaced; I was definitely getting admitted!

A group of nurses came in to help me get to a room; they offered me a wheel chair but I refused—I was tough, I could walk down the hall! I had to stop a few times on my walk during contractions, and what's worse is that I didn't get to put my pants back on, so I was walking down the hall holding the railing with one hand to support myself during contractions and holding my sheet up with the other hand so that I wouldn't be exposed in the middle of the hall. We finally got to my room and they handed me a gown and told me to use the restroom, completely undress, and put my gown on. The gowns they have there snap up on the sleeves; it made for easy access during breastfeeding, which was great, but the gown they gave me had the sleeves unsnapped. I asked Alma to come into the bathroom with me to help me. I undressed and asked him to please snap up the sleeves on my gown while I peed. Well, this is how you know it was time for my epidural: mid-pee, I had a pretty intense contraction; I grabbed the hand rail and held onto my belly. At this point, Alma, being the concerned and loving husband that he is, stopped snapping my sleeves and put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't touch me, just snap up my sleeves!" I snapped. He apologized and continued snapping. This is how you can tell I was hormonal: when that contraction ended, I started to cry and apologized to Alma for being so mean. He seriously had to calm me down because I was so upset that I had been mean to him. Ha.

Finally, that fiasco was over and they got me all situated in my bed. They still needed to give me fluids before I could get my epidural, and I was already VERY ready for the epidural. The nurse came to give me the IV and I swear she poked me about 4 times before deciding she just wasn't cut out to give me an IV, so she called another nurse who promptly did it in one stick. I got pretty frustrated at the first nurse, especially since I ended up with bruises on both hands and both wrists.

By the time I got my epidural I was dilated to 6cm. Sometimes I feel like I should have just gone all the way without the medication since I was over half-way there when I got it anyway. But it really was SO nice to have. The anesthesiologist was a very nice man. He came in and explained everything to us before beginning. He kept insisting that we name our daughter Zarahemla, which I thought was ridiculous. Anyway, he got me situated on the bed and told me not to move at all while he was inserting the epidural. This worried me because I had begun shaking fairly violently during contractions. He said that would be fine, but not to voluntarily move. Alma offered me his hand and the doctor started the procedure. I remember him telling me it was going to hurt, and I laughed because I was in labor; a poke in the back was nothing compared to the contractions I was having! He got it in with no problem and complimented my self-control when he was finished; poor Alma's hand was killing him, but I hadn't moved a muscle besides my shaking.

Once the epidural kicked in I felt great. I kept telling Alma how nice it was. I was really able to relax; I hadn't realized how tense my whole body had been for the last few hours.

Please excuse how gross I look, but here's me after my epidural, nice and comfortable:
From there on out, things were pretty easy. You aren't allowed to eat at all while you're in labor (just in case you have to have an emergency c-section and have to put you under; they don't want you to aspirate), so the nurses offered me a variety of drinks and of course the classic ice chips. But, true to my pregnant form, every time I had something to drink, I threw up. Bummer. I was also very shaky for my whole labor. Everyone said it was a common reaction to the epidural; it just felt like I had really bad chills all the time, it got kind of annoying, but it was really no big deal.

When I was 7cm my doctor came in and broke my water.

I progressed pretty quickly and it seemed that every time someone checked me I was at least another centimeter dilated. Also, each time the nurses checked me they commented on how Kara's head was "right there!" and that it was "definitely a head!" Probably around the twentieth time they said this I asked if I could feel too. They allowed Alma and me to feel Kara's head, which was really neat.

I was completely dilated at 1:30pm, and so was the lady in the room next to mine. We both had the same nurses, but she had had four children before, so they said they would have her push first since she would probably be faster and then they would come to me. Well, about an hour later my nurses came in and said the other woman was going to have a c-section; she was just having a really hard time getting her baby out. My nurses went with her so I got new nurses right when it was time to push.

The new nurses were really nice and got me all set up to push at about 2:45. They had me start pushing to see how I would do before calling my doctor. With one push Kara was crowning; everyone was amazed and asked if I was sure if I'd never done this before. They had me push through one more contraction before calling my doctor in. When he got there, he started getting everything set up, and just for good measure, I threw up while sitting in the pushing position. With my doctor there I pushed twice and her head was out. I couldn't believe it. One more push and out came my beautiful little girl!

Here she is right after birth:

It was amazing to hear her cry. I couldn't believe she was mine; she was real; she was healthy; she was beautiful. She was born on Monday, December 13, 2010 at 3:03 pm; she weighed 6lb 10oz and was 20 inches long. She got two 9s on her apgars and I got to hold her about 10 minutes after she was born.

Here's us together the first time I got to hold her (again, excuse my swollen, gross self):
She was so tiny and so beautiful.

She is definitely the second love of my life: