Baby V was born at 6:28 pm, after 10 hours of induction.

We arrived at 8:00, and our wonderful nurse filled out forms for about half an hour, verifying that we were indeed who we said we were and that we were indeed here to have a baby and that we indeed granted this hospital and its staff permission to help us deliver said baby. Around 8:30, the most efficient blood-drawing nurse Lori has ever encountered told us about a story she had seen on 60 minutes, where a couple who had had twins took them home, and didn’t realize until six months later that one was white, and one was black. So, theoretically, Steve Martin is being raised as a poor black child somewhere in that area.

Yes, by the way, we know which baby is ours. Yes, we’re positive. No, you can’t fool us with a different baby, ours is perfect. Okay, now you’re just being silly.

Back to the story. Wondernurse put in Lori’s IV, and started the Pitocin (oxytocin) drip. Pitocin, for those uninitiated into the world of babydom, is the artificial version of the hormone that brings on contractions (at least, that’s how I understand it). Contractions on Pitocin aren’t, as a rule, stronger, but they do come much faster and closer together than natural ones. But let me tell you, it takes a while for them to get started. We spent the next five hours, with the exception of about 10 minutes, being really bored. We watched 2.2 episodes of Prison Break (the toe-cutting scene didn’t do much for Lori’s stomach) before the files crapped out on us. We listened to a lot of Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. We played Scrabble. I read a bit of Anansi Boys. Lori tossed and turned.

The aforementioned ten minutes came at about 11:00, when the Doc came in, checked Lori’s dilation, and decided that she was far enough along for her water to be broken, which took all of five seconds. So add general discomfort to the mix above.

Finally, Lori’s contractions started to pick up, but she was only three centimeters dilated (seven short of goal). This is the part where Lori says she got mean, but, it’s Lori, she doesn’t know mean. I held her hands as the contractions got stronger. She’s a tough soldier, she stuck it out for about an hour before she asked for help. Wondernurse convinced her to keep trying for about half an hour more, but after that, she demanded the epidural.

For those who weren’t familiar with Pitocin, let me just say this. An epidural is the natural enemy of Pitocin, much like the lion and the antelope (if the antelope was somewhat painfully evil, and the lion was blessed relief from on high).

Before Lori could get the epidural, however, she had to get two full bags of fluids through her IV to keep her blood pressure steady (the epidural can tank BP). Since this was going to take about another forty-five minutes, they gave her a dose of Stadol in the meantime. Lori’s reaction to the Stadol was pretty ordinary, meaning it knocked her nigh-senseless. She was in and out for the next while, digging her fingernails into my hands during contractions, and completely senseless otherwise. Add to this a far-too-sensitive monitor with an alarm that goes off exactly in the middle of nearly every contraction and a phone that wouldn’t stop ringing and you can see how Lori started to go a little insane.

Then the shaman came with his magic epidural, and made all the pain go away. Within ten minutes of having the epidural installed in her back, Lori was back to full awareness and complete numb happiness.

This happiness turned to sheer glee when wondernurse checked and found her to be fully ten-centimeters dilated. Shazam, just like that. Even though Lori thought she wimped out (her term, not mine), she actually worked her way through 7 cm worth of contractions. She’s so awesome.

So, we brought the family in for a while, and Lori baked for a while, and they paged the Doc after an hour or so.

After that, it’s really all a blur. Wondernurse had Lori push a few times, gently, just to get ready, but made her stop lest she deliver before Doc answered her page. Finally, Doc arrived, Lori pushed five times or so, and WOW, the head just pushed its way right out! They were whoa-ing her to a stop it came out so quickly. The cord was wrapped around the baby a little bit, so Doc went ahead and cut it (sorry, dad), and then next thing I know, there’s a whole baby, right there in front of us! A poor, traumatized, absolutely perfect and beautiful child, Baby V.

As Doc cleaned up Lori, I held Baby V’s tiny hand while she was poked and prodded a bit, and I trimmed the cord, so I got my chance there.

So, skipping ahead, Baby V is back in our room after having her bath, she’s feeding well, and she can already almost hold her head up. She is fabulous. Lori is feeling great, and I am exhausted (as are we all, really). So we’re all going to bed. Good night.

Posted by Dan on September 27, 2005 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (1)