A piece that's been sitting on my desktop for some three months now:
Been meaning to write, and there’re all these feelings and
thoughts floating around in my head. Just that I’ve been way too lazy to get
down to it and prefer to be on the receiving end (i.e. reading other people’s
stories and thoughts and simply going “yeah, that’s how I felt/ feel/ am
feeling too!”).
So. Let’s backtrack to the Big Day itself. With two more
weeks to EDD, I’d counted on Baby K to arrive just a few days earlier. Hot
dates favoured by the Mister and I include 29 Apr (same birthday as Grandma!
Biggest present to her ever!) and 1 May (Labour Day! Every birthday will be a
public holiday!).
But as luck would have it, Baby K decided to come early. Way
too early, in my opinion. Being the procrastinator that I am, the bags were
barely packed, room was still in a mess and I was going to enquire about cord
blood collection the following Monday. On Good Friday night, I was yakking away
on the phone with the Best Friend about the list of things I still had to get
ready before Baby’s arrival, and how I would be really frazzled indeed if Baby
decided to come early. And in the wee hours of Saturday morning, my water bag
broke.
Thought it was pee at first. And felt embarrassed that I
lost control of my bladder. Then it struck me – could this be it? The Mister
and I felt all nervous and giggly at once. Uncertain of what to do next, we
were still joking about whether it could be a false alarm and would we
embarrass ourselves checking into the hospital so soon. Still, after a quick
shower and mad rush to finish packing my bags, we decided to go ahead.
Along the way, the Mister was rambling on about how Baby K
was such a good boy for giving us the alert in the wee hours, when the roads
were deserted and which made it an easy drive for him under the rather
nerve-wrecking circumstances. I was rummaging around the glove compartment,
trying to find a couple of CDs that would supposedly help me relax while in the
labour room – recommended, according to the birth plan – and fretting about
forgetting to pack socks – which, again, was in the checklist provided in the
birth plan.
A half-hour drive later, during which we kept asking each
other nonsensical questions like, “So, are you ready?” “Is this it?” “Are our
lives going to change forever?” – we
reached the hospital. It was 4:30am when I checked into the delivery suite. No
contractions yet. The room was rather
staid and sterile – what happened to all the warm lights, aromatherapy and
soothing music that the Head of Midwifery said I could indicate in my birth
plan? Hey, the nurses didn’t even ask me for my birth plan!
Half-an-hour later a nurse came to give me an enema. Suffice
to say that what ensued was plain grossness and I felt so mortified that I
actually tried to clean up after myself before the cleaner came. Poor Mister
witnessed it, ugh.
By 6am, when it seemed like my contractions were still not
coming, the nurses hooked me up on a drip and to the CTG machine to track Baby
K’s heartbeat and my contractions. By this time the Mister was so sleepy he
crashed onto the couch and drifted off to sleep. Not feeling any discomfort, I
tried to relax and sleep too, but Baby K’s heartbeat, which sounded like a
horse galloping, kept me wide awake.
Every half-an-hour or so the nurses would pop in, point to a
pain intensity chart with various smiley / frowny faces and asked me which I
was feeling like. And every time I would joyfully reply, “I’m feeling ok,
nothing unbearable!” In fact, I was actually feeling rather hungry, and had a
sudden craving for chocolates.
Unfortunately, the nurses said I could not have
any food at all. Finally, at about 8am, the nurse said, “It’s not good that
you’re not feeling anything at all, you know.” “Oh, really? You mean it’s not
because I have a high threshold of pain?!”
And then it came. The pain. From a mild discomfort, it
gnawed its way into my insides until I felt as if it was drilling a hole right
through me. Hoping for an au natural birth, I endured the pain and tried to
will it away with pants and sighs. The nurses kept asking, “Are you sure you
don’t want an epidural?”
After a while, I relented, and asked for laughing gas. But
it neither made me laugh nor relieved the pain. If anything, it only made me
more frustrated, because I was expecting some pain relief but the pain was
intensifying instead! By this time I was
all curled up, moaning and groaning in pain. The final straw came when, at
around 11am, the nurse checked and announced that I had dilated a grand total
of 2cm, and that, in her experience, “the dilation is usually 1cm per hour for
first time mothers”. Eight more hours of this?! That did it. I opted for the
epidural.
Everything else happened in a blur after that. I vaguely
remembered the anaesthetist to be a really jolly and reassuring fellow; though
I was in so much pain I could not even look at him and could only grunt in
reply to his cheerful greeting. The fear I had felt for the long epidural
needle was the last thing on my mind. All I could think was – Put. Me. Out. Of.
This. Misery. Now.
Once the epidural took effect, I felt a lot calmer. So much
so that I could feel hunger again. And the dilation happened much faster after
that. By 1pm, the nurse came in and asked if I was ready to push. Yes! I sure
was! So the Mister held my hands, as I took a deep breath, and pushed hard
while he counted to ten. Being the joker as usual, he teased me by counting
really slowly. Luckily for him, I was overwhelmed with excitement and was more
amused than irritated by his antics.
For the next two hours or so, I only remember pushing,
pushing and more pushing. Dr Lim came at around 2pm, calm and nonchalant as
usual. “Baby will arrive before 3pm,” he coolly declared. And indeed, at
2.50pm, we heard a cry – the cry!
Thinking about the moment still makes me weepy. The Mister
and I were both choked with emotions, and I couldn’t stop calling Baby K’s
name. Holding him in my arms, it felt so surreal. So this is my baby, my boy, someone
we have created, someone who had lived within me for the past 8 months and
someone who will change my life – our lives – forever now.
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| as Baby K lay in his crib, sound asleep, his parents knew that it would be quite awhile before they get to sleep like babies again... |
