Today is my youngest's 11th birthday. I remember his birth like it was 11 years ago and very traumatic.
Graphic description follows.
Star Trek TNG was on and I didn't want to watch it. I was in the hospital, for the fifth week, because he kept trying to show up early. (It was five weeks before his due date, by this point.) I told my husband, “I think my water's fixing to break.” Hubby said, “You can't know that.” Two minutes later it did. But it didn't dribble or drip, it exploded all over the wall, along with about four pints of blood.
Hubby ran to get the nurse who started wiping the blood of my toes. (Very strange.) They gave me a sedative. I was asking, “Are you sure you want me to take this?” (I'm thinking emergency C-section with a sedative in my blood stream.) They say yes. I take it. Ten minutes later I throw it and the three french fries I've managed to eat up. Thank God. Because they couldn't get the contractions stopped.
My MD was out of town for the first and only time in a year. So her partner showed up. Well and good but we lived in a very small town and I'm supposed to have two doctors. The only other one available is the one I chose not to be my OBGyn. (Thankfully he's still good.)
I feel bad. I'm hurting. I thought I was trying to crawl out of bed, but apparently that was a pain induced hallucination. My husband said I did everything they told me.
I did keep saying, “You are going to tie my tubes, aren't you?”
I lost one third of my blood. (Less than the previous pregnancy/emergency C-section.) But when they cut me open, they couldn't get the baby out. His head was lodged up between my ribs. So one doctor is leaning on my chest while the other is sticking his hand as far inside my body as it will go, trying to get around the baby's head so they can pull him down.
He's without oxygen for 11 minutes. He's black. He's not breathing. He's five weeks early and last time they tested (five days earlier on Monday), his lungs were insufficiently developed to breathe on his own anyway. The nearest children's hospital is three hours away by car.
They resucitate him. He's such an interesting case they have all the med students and nurses come in to watch.
When they show me a picture of him, to let me know he is all right, he is orange with bruises, covered in bandages and vaseline. That doesn't look all right to me.
But he is 11 now. He's sweet, cute, and smart. I'm waiting for the soon-to-come day when he changes into a preteen, but right now he's mostly still an enjoyable kid. I'm so glad we didn't lose him. He's made life much more interesting, from before his birth.