At 8am the next morning, the doctor came in to see how I was doing. This wasn't my doctor but one of the others from the practice that I happened to dislike based on a bad office visit experience a few weeks before but that's a whole other story. I had been having contractions all night (so they tell me, I didn't feel anything) they checked the whole "dilation situation", nada, nothing, zilch. Sassy was content in her 'oven' kicking the crap outta me. They amped up the Pitocin again and said they'd be back in a few hours to check again.
Fast forward to around 11:30, they come in check me again and nothings doing. The contractions were, according to the little screen, getting stronger but I was still not feeling anything. The doctor then suggested that if I wanted an epidural that this would be a good time because they were going to see what they could do to get me dilating...whatever that means.
The anesthesiologist came in wearing an orange TN do-rag so we were fast friends. Thank goodness we had things to chat about while he was back there stabbing me in the back because Mr. Pickles face when he saw the needle was less than comforting. After the epidural was in my BP dropped to insanely low levels and then and there my claims to a vomit-free pregnancy ended.
After my BP stabilized to acceptable levels, the doctor came in to explain what they were wanted to do. I don't remember the specifics now but it involved a balloon, several more hours, only a slight chance of success, and a sharp refusal from me to let them "try" it. So the decision was made to do a c-section.
At 12:32pm on Friday, September 23, 2010. Sassy made her grand debut. She weighed exactly 7 pounds and was 18 1/4 inches long.
She had a lot of fluid in her lungs and was swept off to the NICU before I even got to hold her. The nurse did let me see her but this was as close as we got.
After they finished me up and got me into recovery, I sent Mr. Pickles to check on Sassy. After what seemed like forever, he came back and delivered the news. She was on oxygen and would be staying in the level 2 nursery for up to 10 days. My baby was hours old and I still hadn't got to hold her. To say I was devastated would be an understatement. I was still hooked up to the magnesium drip and had a hole in my belly so I couldn't even be taken to the nursery to see her until the next day.
The pediatrician working the nursery came in the next morning with good news, at midnight see had been taken off the oxygen and the fluid was clearing from her tiny little lungs. She was still on antibiotics and fluids to clear out the effects of the magnesium.
It would still be several more days before they'd even consider letting her go home. I spent the next 8 days in the hospital, sitting in the nursery with her every moment that I could. When I wasn't with her, I was crying my eyes out. I wanted my baby and they wouldn't let me have her. Looking back now, I know that we were lucky; she wasn't the sickest baby there and she left the hospital with a clean bill of health. But in that moment, seeing other moms leave the hospital with their babies, seeing the "healthy" babies that the moms sent to the nursery so they could "get some rest" (that will always be a seriously sore issue with me now) all I could feel was "they won't let me have my baby".
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