Ethan Patrick
Born: July 12, 2006 at 8:45 a.m.
20.5 long, 8 lbs, 5.5 oz.
Even though I wasn’t supposed to deliver until July 20, I’d had signs for several weeks that labor was not necessarily imminent, but steadily approaching. I lost my mucus plug a couple of weeks prior to delivery, I was dilating and effacing steadily at each doctor’s appointment (1 cm and 50% at 36 weeks), taking evening primrose oil for the last week or so before the birth, and using an exercise ball a lot to help tone my muscles and prepare for labor. My mother had planned to arrive less than a week before my due date and stay for awhile afterwards, and she felt sure that I would be “late” like she’d been for all three of her births. Everyone else thought I’d be early. Dan was especially anxious for me to go into labor as he was rapidly tiring of going to work every evening at 8:30. Since we were moving so soon after my due date, I really did not have much preparation to do. Once the basinet was in place, the dresser stocked, and the diapers washed, there was nothing left to do but clean my house thoroughly every week and type up my birth plan for my doctor to sign at my 37 week appointment. Dan and I went to one birth class at the hospital, where I learned that hospital policy was continuous monitoring, and I might convince them to do only 20 minutes on my back on the bed each hour, but not to get my hopes up. I learned all about the security measures and had most of my policy questions answered. We didn’t end up going to the next two classes, since I decided we were way too smart to need them (insert rolling eyes) and Ethan was here the day before the final class.
When it seemed clear that I would certainly not be delivering late, I was finally able to convince my mother to change her plans and arrived on the coast on July 9. On the 11th, my birthday, we drove an hour west to New Orleans so that she could see–in her words–devastation.
We walked for about 3 hours in the hot, humid Louisiana sun admiring houses and sweating. We had beignettes at a little pastry shop right next to the NO police headquarters
, and admired one of the cats that they apparently feed every day, and we talked with a very nice man (about Grandpa M's age) who asked if he could pray for us. We also were accused, I think--of being gay while walking briskly through the shady section of Bourbon street, but that's another story.
Yes, Brenda, I wore plenty of sunscreen. I was experiencing pretty regular Braxton-Hickswere also accused--I contractions all day, but was unconcerned since I’d been noticing those since about 36 weeks (they became regular around 38 weeks).
When we got back to our single-wide trailer on base, my husband made a joke about me going into labor that night. The idea sounded great to me, so I decided to make a castor oil shake that would either clean me out really well, jump-start labor, or both. Dan went to work that night at about 8:30 with the assurance–as with every night for the past two weeks–that I would call if I needed him. I visited the throne room every hour on the hour from the time I drank the shake at 5:00 pm on July 11 until 12:00 (midnight). I felt fine physically this entire time, but decided early on that I really needed to purchase softer toilet paper if I was ever going to try that particular labor-inducing trick again.
When I went to the bathroom at 12:30, I realized my water had broken. There was no “pop” or “gush”, but a definite steady trickle that continued for the next 4 hours or so. I attempted to go to bed and rest, but sitting on the exercise ball and resting my head on my arms against the bed soon proved to be more comfortable. My mother went to bed around midnight, so from then until about 1:30 I relaxed and let my body do its thing. I didn’t time my contractions because I’d been having regular BH for the past couple of weeks and remained unconvinced that these were any different. I called Dan, apprised him of the situation, and then called the on-call nurse at BRMC to inform the staff that my water had broken and see how long I could wait before coming in. A nurse with an English accent answered the phone, and said that once my water had broken, I needed to go to the hospital ASAP. Knowing that once I arrived there would only be a 24 hour window before my doctor would start pushing for a quick delivery, I decided to page the on-call doctor and see if his advice was any different. His opinion? “Go to the hospital. NOW,” so I called Dan back and he headed home. We puttered around the house for 2 hours, making sure that the bag was fully packed and letting my mother take a shower. I ate a bowl of cheerios to make sure that I’d have enough energy for labor. We left for the hospital around 4 am. Just as we were approaching a spot in the road where we’d seen a car stuck in the sand earlier that week, I informed Dan that he needed to pull over so that I could puke. He replied that it would be quite inconvenient for us to get stuck, and so I had to wait until there was an open area for him to pull off. Cheerios don’t taste very good coming back up, in case there was ever any question.
We arrived at the hospital’s ER entrance (the only open door that early in the morning) and I was whisked in a wheelchair to the labor and delivery wing on the third floor. When I was checked the first time around 5 am, I was at 4.5 cm. dilated and 100% effaced. The nurse who was with me for most of my labor turned out to be the same British lady I’d talked to on the phone a few hours earlier. She mentioned that she had been a midwife in England prior to coming to the states, and it was nice to see someone doing it “the way I’m used to” (i.e. no pain meds or excess/unnecessary medical intervention). I labored for a bit on the exercise ball, and walked around through a few contractions, but quickly found that I was most comfortable in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet.
It was a little high for me, but I could shut the door and close my eyes and not let myself get distracted, which I think kept my labor from stalling. My mother parked herself in a rocking chair between the bed and the bathroom, and chatted with Dan and the nurse, and in general tried to stay out of my way so that I wouldn’t kick her out. Apparently at one point she opened the door to watch me, and I didn’t have the nicest reaction:
“what are you doing?”
“Watching you...”
“well stop.”
My mother also took some pretty good notes the whole time (which VGN #2 asked to see when writing up her final report of the birth). I had a pretty regular contraction pattern for most of the next couple of hours, wherein every other contraction would be pretty big. At no time at all did I feel out of control, which also really helped things progress. At 5:45 I was 7 cm and +1 station, an hour later I was 9 cm and +2 station. The nurse checked the baby periodically with the fetal doppler, but let me labor on my own the majority of the time. The British nurse’s shift ended at seven, but she ended up staying quite a bit longer in the hopes that she’d see me deliver.
The second nurse that came in was equally wonderful; she even read my birth plan while sitting cross legged in front of me while I squatted on the floor so that she could fully understand my goals. (I tried to tell her that we were already past the point of relevance for most of that plan, but she insisted. How sweet) My body started pushing shortly after seven, but I did not consciously help at all, because I’d heard bad things about pushing before being fully dilated..
When Dr. J arrived around seven thirty, he found me still laboring primarily in the bathroom. He checked me and said that I was fully dilated, he was going to assist another doctor in a surgery, and to “let me know when you hear a splash.” Dan said, “sweet, let me know when you’re off break....” I moved back to squat on the floor not too long after that, thinking I could lean on Dan’s legs and it would be a lot easier for the doctors and nurses if I was on the floor as opposed to the toilet.
After about half an hour, I decided that my legs were going to really be sore in the morning if I stayed in that position (turns out they were fine), so I moved back to the bathroom. I decided to check to see if I could feel the baby’s head myself, and discovered a whole new meaning to the phrase “it’s right there.” The nurse tried to check also, and told me to keep pushing, but I quickly informed her that “can’t push with your fingers there...it’s weird.” Two stools were obtained to elevate my feet, and I began really concentrating on pushing with each contraction. At 8:40 or so I felt what I’ve heard described as the “ring of fire” and commented on that to the nurse. She checked me herself, and immediately pulled the emergency call cord hanging next to the toilet. My eyes were closed all this time, but apparently several nurses came in and started getting things ready, and Dr. J almost shoved the tool table into my mother to get to me in time. He helped me stretch a bit and I heard Dan say, “There’s the head It’s really right there ” which surprised me because I had thought he [Dan} would keep his eyes glued on mine the entire time. Dr. J suctioned Ethan’s nose and mouth and delivered the rest of his body very quickly and placed him on my stomach.
After the cord stopped pulsing, he clamped it and asked Dan if he wanted to cut the cord (and basically handed him the scissors), and I carried Ethan from the bathroom to the bed. I was able to hold Ethan, clean him up a bit, and let him experiment with nursing while the doctor helped me deliver the placenta. After they took the kid to get cleaned up and checked out, I received a few small internal stitches, was cleaned up, and served a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and a biscuit. I ate the biscuit and some of the eggs, Dan ate the bacon and walked over to the nursery to visit Ethan while he was in the warmer for a few minutes. My mother helped the nurse and I move everything to the recovery room (aka prison), and Dan and I took a much needed hour long nap.
Ethan was returned to me after only 2 hours in the warmer so that we could practice nursing again, and didn’t end up going back to the nursery for any big length of time from then on (yay I’d been told it would be a mandatory 4 hour wait, and that he wouldn’t be able to stay with me at night if everyone in the room was asleep).
Dan crashed on the bed and slept for the next 6 hours while my mother and I relived the events of the morning and admired my squished baby’s head (the rest of him was wrapped up in the blanket most of the time since the hospital was pretty chilly).
The pediatrician on call decided that we should be able to go home after a 24 hour observation period, so Ethan was circumcised that evening. Dan and my mother went home to recoup, and I stayed at the hospital. When Dan came back the next morning to pick me up, we learned that the pediatrician on call (a different one from the day before) had decided that he wanted us to wait the customary 48 hours before he was comfortable discharging us. I remained at the hospital as a guest (no vitals and no food...except the food lady felt sorry for me and gave me meals anyway), and we left the hospital bright and early on the 13th.
On the 14th, we took the baby to get his blood tested, and it was decided that a “bili bed” would be delivered that evening to ward off the jaundice that I think was already on its way out of his system. He stayed in that for a couple of nights, and the blood test taken two days later was much more appropriate. My mother stayed until the following weekend, driving me around, changing diapers, and trying to claim the “first smile” award. At one month PP, Ethan weighs in at just over 10 pounds, and I am back into almost every pair of pre-baby jeans. The stretch marks (which didn’t appear until after the baby was already out... I swear!) are fading, and I am once again exercising somewhat regularly. Nursing is going wonderfully, and like they say, all’s well that ends well :)
speaking of recipes, I have got to find a good one for tiramisu. We bought one in Motta (couldn't figure out how to ask for a piece, so we bought the whole pie. stupid americans.)
this is the big one, we also like it. The boy is thrilled to have something else to sit on other than tile.
and the back yard
this is our neighbor's garden in Motta
When it seemed clear that I would certainly not be delivering late, I was finally able to convince my mother to change her plans and arrived on the coast on July 9. On the 11th, my birthday, we drove an hour west to New Orleans so that she could see–in her words–devastation. 
We walked for about 3 hours in the hot, humid Louisiana sun admiring houses and sweating. We had beignettes at a little pastry shop right next to the NO police headquarters
, and admired one of the cats that they apparently feed every day, and we talked with a very nice man (about Grandpa M's age) who asked if he could pray for us. We also were accused, I think--of being gay while walking briskly through the shady section of Bourbon street, but that's another story. 
Yes, Brenda, I wore plenty of sunscreen. I was experiencing pretty regular Braxton-Hickswere also accused--I contractions all day, but was unconcerned since I’d been noticing those since about 36 weeks (they became regular around 38 weeks).
It was a little high for me, but I could shut the door and close my eyes and not let myself get distracted, which I think kept my labor from stalling. My mother parked herself in a rocking chair between the bed and the bathroom, and chatted with Dan and the nurse, and in general tried to stay out of my way so that I wouldn’t kick her out. Apparently at one point she opened the door to watch me, and I didn’t have the nicest reaction:
After the cord stopped pulsing, he clamped it and asked Dan if he wanted to cut the cord (and basically handed him the scissors), and I carried Ethan from the bathroom to the bed. I was able to hold Ethan, clean him up a bit, and let him experiment with nursing while the doctor helped me deliver the placenta. After they took the kid to get cleaned up and checked out, I received a few small internal stitches, was cleaned up, and served a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and a biscuit. I ate the biscuit and some of the eggs, Dan ate the bacon and walked over to the nursery to visit Ethan while he was in the warmer for a few minutes. My mother helped the nurse and I move everything to the recovery room (aka prison), and Dan and I took a much needed hour long nap. 
Ethan was returned to me after only 2 hours in the warmer so that we could practice nursing again, and didn’t end up going back to the nursery for any big length of time from then on (yay I’d been told it would be a mandatory 4 hour wait, and that he wouldn’t be able to stay with me at night if everyone in the room was asleep). 
Dan crashed on the bed and slept for the next 6 hours while my mother and I relived the events of the morning and admired my squished baby’s head (the rest of him was wrapped up in the blanket most of the time since the hospital was pretty chilly).
On the 14th, we took the baby to get his blood tested, and it was decided that a “bili bed” would be delivered that evening to ward off the jaundice that I think was already on its way out of his system. He stayed in that for a couple of nights, and the blood test taken two days later was much more appropriate. My mother stayed until the following weekend, driving me around, changing diapers, and trying to claim the “first smile” award. At one month PP, Ethan weighs in at just over 10 pounds, and I am back into almost every pair of pre-baby jeans. The stretch marks (which didn’t appear until after the baby was already out... I swear!) are fading, and I am once again exercising somewhat regularly. Nursing is going wonderfully, and like they say, all’s well that ends well :)
