Contd from Part 1: It begins and Part 2: Endless night
Rollercoaster Ride
I had had enough. Over 10 hours of painful labour and just 2 cms dilated? Cut me open, I moaned. Get this child out NOW!
Hang in there, the husband told me gently, stroking my forehead. You can do it. Come on, let's give it another hour or so.
The next 2 hours were a bit of a blur. The contractions appeared to have slowed down and were coming at 10 minute intervals. The pain was intense, but I know it was not so much the pain as the despair I was feeling that brought on tears with each contraction.
At 8.30 am, my doc finally put in an appearance. How're you doing, she asked. Not good Doc, I replied miserably, it's going too slowly. She examined me and looked up in surprise - but you're already almost 5 cm dilated, she said. I almost fell off the bed in shock. The husband gave me a huge grin and a 'see-i-told-you-so' look.
Then things really got moving - by 9 am, I was 7 cm dilated and the doc told me that since we were trying for a VBAC, I had to have an IV inserted and be hooked up to the fetal monitor for continuous monitoring from this point on. That effectively left me strapped to the bed, a terrible position for dealing with the contractions.
Having almost killed the husband by crushing his neck with my one free arm for the next few contractions, I finally gave up and asked for an epidural. I was exhausted from the all night labour, the puking, the lack of sleep, and being tied up on the bed was making it worse. Also, I knew that if for any reason I had to go in for a C-sec, having an epidural block already inserted would ensure that I could have the procedure without general anaesthesia, even if it was an emergency.
I got the epidural and though it was a low dose and I could still feel the contractions and slight pain, what blessed relief! The doc estimated that in two hours time I should be ready to push and left with a cheery I'll be back. The husband and I grinned at each other like maniacs and settled down to chat, get some updates from home on how Moppet was doing (absolutely fine, like the meltdown of the night before had never happened) and generally relax for the first time in more than 12 hours.
After an hour, the nurse came in to check on me and left looking rather unhappy. Not much progress, she said. The doc came in another hour and left looking unhappy too. Still at 7 cms, let's give it another hour, she said.
The third hour was tense. The husband watched the monitor and kept up a running commentary on my contractions in an effort to raise my flagging spirits. Wow, that's a big one; ooh that one hit 100; I bet you'll be ready in another hour; man, this kid's a strong one - look at his heartbeat etc...
The doc came back and there was still no progress. The contractions were strong, but the cervix was refusing to open further, and the baby's head was still high. The doc said that this could be an indication of CPD (cephalo pelvic disproportion) - and that we'd wait one more hour before taking a call on a C-sec.
Hour 4 seemed like it would never end. The husband was still trying to cheer me up, pointing out how strong the contractions were and reminding me of how quickly I had progressed from 2cm to 7cm, but my hope was fast fading. My body was failing me, and I felt a deep sense of disappointment.
When finally the doc came back, I knew even before she examined me that there had been no further progress. We should consider a C-sec, she said. Continuing this will put unnecessary strain on the baby, and increase the risk of uterine rupture.
I agreed. I had been mentally preparing myself for this over the last hour, but once I signed the forms, I couldn't help being consumed by bitter disappointment. The husband wiped my tears and held my hand in silence, instinctively knowing there was nothing to say at that point.
The rest was a familiar routine for me. Being prepped for the surgery. Lying in the operation theatre, staring up at the light, numb from the waist down, arms spread out like I was nailed to a fallen crucifix. A tug and a push, the sound of a baby's wail. Congratulations being offered. The husband's masked face hovering concernedly over mine. A pink squalling bundle laid next to my cheek. Tears. Joy. Relief. Exhaustion.
My son. Worth every single second of the pain and more.
Then someone turned up the morphine and I slept.
Coming shortly: Recovery room reflections.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
The birth story - Part 2
...Contd from Part 1: It begins
Endless Night
So anyway there I was, convinced I had been labouring all day, and just 1 cm dilated. This did not look good. With Moppet, I had very mild contractions and yet was already 3 cm dilated by the time I reached the hospital. I had thought the second time around would be easier, but obviously Munch was determined to destroy all my preconceptions about second kids, beginning with labour!
The husband and I discussed going back home versus staying on in the hospital and finally decided to stay on. The nurse contacted my doc who suggested pethidine for the pain because it looked like it would be a long labour and the hardest part would probably only happen the next day. The pethidine would let me get some sleep, she said, and help me conserve my strength for later.
So we headed to our room, and I took the shot, which might have been water for all the good it did. Really, it was absolutely useless as pain relief and the contractions just got worse and worse. The birth unit nurse figured that I certainly wasn't one of those pop-in, pop-out cases, and left the husband and me to our own devices for the rest of the night.
It was the longest 7 hours of my life. I spent most of it pacing up and down the room, hanging on to the husband during each contraction, soft moans turning into loud cries as the pain got stronger and stronger. Wave after wave of nausea would hit after each contraction, keeping me busy till the next one came along. I filled a large basin with puke, but long after my stomach was empty, I continued to retch after each contraction.
Finally, at around 6.30 am on the 26th, I begged the husband to get the birth centre nurse. I'd been in really painful labour for another 7 hours, I must be at least 5 cms dilated by now. Right?
Wrong again! The nurse arrived and said most matter of factly - 2 cms dilated. If I'd had the strength, I'd have kicked her in the face. Instead I burst into tears and told the husband, just cut me open and get this child out.
Contd in Part 3: Rollercoaster Ride
(Apologies to readers who're in a hurry to find out what happens next, but it's not just that I get very little time to write what is a rather long story. It's also that this way, you get to feel a little bit of my pain too! ;-)
Endless Night
So anyway there I was, convinced I had been labouring all day, and just 1 cm dilated. This did not look good. With Moppet, I had very mild contractions and yet was already 3 cm dilated by the time I reached the hospital. I had thought the second time around would be easier, but obviously Munch was determined to destroy all my preconceptions about second kids, beginning with labour!
The husband and I discussed going back home versus staying on in the hospital and finally decided to stay on. The nurse contacted my doc who suggested pethidine for the pain because it looked like it would be a long labour and the hardest part would probably only happen the next day. The pethidine would let me get some sleep, she said, and help me conserve my strength for later.
So we headed to our room, and I took the shot, which might have been water for all the good it did. Really, it was absolutely useless as pain relief and the contractions just got worse and worse. The birth unit nurse figured that I certainly wasn't one of those pop-in, pop-out cases, and left the husband and me to our own devices for the rest of the night.
It was the longest 7 hours of my life. I spent most of it pacing up and down the room, hanging on to the husband during each contraction, soft moans turning into loud cries as the pain got stronger and stronger. Wave after wave of nausea would hit after each contraction, keeping me busy till the next one came along. I filled a large basin with puke, but long after my stomach was empty, I continued to retch after each contraction.
Finally, at around 6.30 am on the 26th, I begged the husband to get the birth centre nurse. I'd been in really painful labour for another 7 hours, I must be at least 5 cms dilated by now. Right?
Wrong again! The nurse arrived and said most matter of factly - 2 cms dilated. If I'd had the strength, I'd have kicked her in the face. Instead I burst into tears and told the husband, just cut me open and get this child out.
Contd in Part 3: Rollercoaster Ride
(Apologies to readers who're in a hurry to find out what happens next, but it's not just that I get very little time to write what is a rather long story. It's also that this way, you get to feel a little bit of my pain too! ;-)
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The birth story - Part 1
Warning: This post contains references to female body parts and bodily functions that one generally doesn't talk about in public. It is also loaded (far more than usual :-) with sappy emotion, so if you are the owner of a y chromosome and / or a delicate sensibility you are advised to give this set of posts a miss.
It begins
Despite my resolve to be all zen if Munch didn't arrive by his due date, I must confess to feeling rather antsy as the 21st of June came and went with no excitement other than a particularly agile housefly that confounded my efforts to kill it for most of the morning.
Bouncing around on the birthing ball, performing allegedly labour-inducing accupressure on myself, walking, swimming, visualizing going into labour, talking to the baby - nothing was working. (And no, don't tell me about orgasms - at almost 41 weeks pregnant I was NOT going to try that!)
It seems my body liked being pregnant so much it was refusing to give this baby up.
By the 24th, I was so desperate, I even considered castor oil, something I had sworn I would never do again. The next day, I was due for a checkup and a non stress test - to check if the baby was still doing ok and if the placenta function had started to deteriorate. If all was well, my doctor had said, it would just be a matter of waiting for another week. Ha, so easy for her to say!
(A word of explanation here - having had Moppet by C-sec, I was trying for a vaginal birth this time. This meant that labour couldn't be induced by the usual drugs since that has been shown to increase the risk of uterine rupture in VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean section) cases. It had to happen naturally. If it didn't, I'd have to go in for a repeat C-sec at 42 weeks.)
So anyway, on the morning of the 25th, as I was getting ready to go for the checkup, I realised that I was getting some mild contractions. Didn't tell anyone for fear that they might go away (it seemed a most reasonable fear at the time :-) and headed to the hospital. The doc did an internal exam and declared the cervix firmly closed.
But I'm having contractions, I burst out. The doc was not particularly impressed and told me to go on and take the test which would give us a clearer picture.
The birth centre nurse's reaction was far more gratifying. As the machine I was hooked to spat out a nice graph showing the baby's heartbeat and below it, my contractions, she looked at me in surprise. Oh, you're getting good contractions, she said. Yes, I grinned happily and added proudly, they're even hurting a little bit too.
Convinced I was cuckoo, she sent me back to the doc clutching my precious graph, but the damn woman was still unimpressed. Oh, she said with chilling casualness, they sometimes go away. But she was not entirely heartless, for she looked at my disappointed face and said, maybe you'll have the baby tomorrow, okay?
Okay!
So I called the husband and proudly announced that it had started, but that he didn't need to head home just yet; he should soldier on earning our daily bread (and medical coverage) and I would let him know when. Although after that bit of news, I doubt he really earned his daily wage that day :-)
Anyway, I came home and spent the day pretty much as normal, even heading out for a walk in the park with the husband that evening. The contractions were getting stronger but not coming any closer together. For most of the day the contractions were coming at 6-7 minute intervals, lasting for 35-40 seconds each.
By Moppet's bedtime, the contractions were so painful that I'd have to stop reading / talking / singing every time one came along, prompting Moppet to ask tearfully - Mama are you okay? I had wanted to put her to bed before I went to the hospital, but I realised it was beyond me. And worse, it was frightening Moppet to see me like that.
Eventually, it was Ammamma who put her to sleep, while the husband and I debated whether we should go to the hospital or not. I didn't want to go too early - somewhere in the back of my head, I felt my first c-sec was because I landed up at the hospital too soon - but staying and hearing Moppet cry for me and not being able to go to her was stressing me out even more.
Finally around 11 pm, with a whispered word to Ammamma, we headed out to the hospital. I was relieved that Moppet was finally asleep, and confident that I would be at least 3-4 cms dilated by the time I reached. After all, the pains were coming fast and furious and they'd been really strong from around 8 pm that evening. Right?
Wrong! We reached the birth unit and the nurse examined me and announced that I was 1 measly cm dilated. What?!!!
Contd in Part 2: Endless Night
It begins
Despite my resolve to be all zen if Munch didn't arrive by his due date, I must confess to feeling rather antsy as the 21st of June came and went with no excitement other than a particularly agile housefly that confounded my efforts to kill it for most of the morning.
Bouncing around on the birthing ball, performing allegedly labour-inducing accupressure on myself, walking, swimming, visualizing going into labour, talking to the baby - nothing was working. (And no, don't tell me about orgasms - at almost 41 weeks pregnant I was NOT going to try that!)
It seems my body liked being pregnant so much it was refusing to give this baby up.
By the 24th, I was so desperate, I even considered castor oil, something I had sworn I would never do again. The next day, I was due for a checkup and a non stress test - to check if the baby was still doing ok and if the placenta function had started to deteriorate. If all was well, my doctor had said, it would just be a matter of waiting for another week. Ha, so easy for her to say!
(A word of explanation here - having had Moppet by C-sec, I was trying for a vaginal birth this time. This meant that labour couldn't be induced by the usual drugs since that has been shown to increase the risk of uterine rupture in VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean section) cases. It had to happen naturally. If it didn't, I'd have to go in for a repeat C-sec at 42 weeks.)
So anyway, on the morning of the 25th, as I was getting ready to go for the checkup, I realised that I was getting some mild contractions. Didn't tell anyone for fear that they might go away (it seemed a most reasonable fear at the time :-) and headed to the hospital. The doc did an internal exam and declared the cervix firmly closed.
But I'm having contractions, I burst out. The doc was not particularly impressed and told me to go on and take the test which would give us a clearer picture.
The birth centre nurse's reaction was far more gratifying. As the machine I was hooked to spat out a nice graph showing the baby's heartbeat and below it, my contractions, she looked at me in surprise. Oh, you're getting good contractions, she said. Yes, I grinned happily and added proudly, they're even hurting a little bit too.
Convinced I was cuckoo, she sent me back to the doc clutching my precious graph, but the damn woman was still unimpressed. Oh, she said with chilling casualness, they sometimes go away. But she was not entirely heartless, for she looked at my disappointed face and said, maybe you'll have the baby tomorrow, okay?
Okay!
So I called the husband and proudly announced that it had started, but that he didn't need to head home just yet; he should soldier on earning our daily bread (and medical coverage) and I would let him know when. Although after that bit of news, I doubt he really earned his daily wage that day :-)
Anyway, I came home and spent the day pretty much as normal, even heading out for a walk in the park with the husband that evening. The contractions were getting stronger but not coming any closer together. For most of the day the contractions were coming at 6-7 minute intervals, lasting for 35-40 seconds each.
By Moppet's bedtime, the contractions were so painful that I'd have to stop reading / talking / singing every time one came along, prompting Moppet to ask tearfully - Mama are you okay? I had wanted to put her to bed before I went to the hospital, but I realised it was beyond me. And worse, it was frightening Moppet to see me like that.
Eventually, it was Ammamma who put her to sleep, while the husband and I debated whether we should go to the hospital or not. I didn't want to go too early - somewhere in the back of my head, I felt my first c-sec was because I landed up at the hospital too soon - but staying and hearing Moppet cry for me and not being able to go to her was stressing me out even more.
Finally around 11 pm, with a whispered word to Ammamma, we headed out to the hospital. I was relieved that Moppet was finally asleep, and confident that I would be at least 3-4 cms dilated by the time I reached. After all, the pains were coming fast and furious and they'd been really strong from around 8 pm that evening. Right?
Wrong! We reached the birth unit and the nurse examined me and announced that I was 1 measly cm dilated. What?!!!
Contd in Part 2: Endless Night
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Pregnant pics
This is me, today, at 31 weeks:
Now before all of you start composing stinging comments on how I've been frauding you about how big I am, please watch what happens in profile:
Isn't that a big bump? With 9 weeks left to go? I'm already almost at the weight I had reached with Moppet at full-term. I was looking for a picture of me pregnant with Moppet at the same stage and I found this one:
See what I mean? I think this might have been around 28 weeks or so, and maybe the denim overalls make the bump look smaller than it is, but still...
Funny story about that maternity dress - one of my biggest cribs when I was pregnant with Moppet was the unavailability of decent maternity wear in Bombay. Pants and capris came in the most horrendous colours and materials and the tops were either in ghastly prints or in cutesie colours with teddy bears and silly messages on them. And as for skirts and dresses, ha, forget it! (Quite a contrast to Bangkok, where the range of maternity wear is absolutely stunning. I've even seen maternity hot pants and mini-skirts!)
But coming back to the story of the dress - I had mentioned casually to my dad how I really wanted denim overalls, but couldn't find any in Bombay. His next overseas trip happened to be to Prague, and sweet man that he is, decided to spend his spare time finding denim maternity overalls for me.
Finding a store was hard enough, but that was the least of his difficulties. The salesperson spoke no English, and my dad didn't know a word of Czech. After several minutes of charades, he managed to explain what he was looking for, and was shown a few suitable options.
Then came the biggest hurdle yet - what would be the right size? He looked around the store and saw no one - customers or salespeople - who could function as a proxy for me. The only one who came close to my size was...himself.
So what does he do? He tries it on, causing much consternation among the sales people. Heaven knows what they thought of this lone middle-aged man, trying on maternity clothes!
Anyway he found a size that fit, and brought it back for me, much to my delight - the dress is wonderful, but its story makes it even more precious to me. I love what he was willing to do for me, despite the cost to his dignity. I love even more that he is cool enough share the story. He could so easily have just given me the dress and not told me that he actually had to try it on himself :-)
After Moppet was born, I gave away all my maternity clothes, except the denim overalls, of course. I haven't worn them much this time around because they're heavy denim and it's way too hot here, but that's one item in my wardrobe that I know I'm not going to give away. Ever.
Now before all of you start composing stinging comments on how I've been frauding you about how big I am, please watch what happens in profile:
Isn't that a big bump? With 9 weeks left to go? I'm already almost at the weight I had reached with Moppet at full-term. I was looking for a picture of me pregnant with Moppet at the same stage and I found this one:
See what I mean? I think this might have been around 28 weeks or so, and maybe the denim overalls make the bump look smaller than it is, but still...
Funny story about that maternity dress - one of my biggest cribs when I was pregnant with Moppet was the unavailability of decent maternity wear in Bombay. Pants and capris came in the most horrendous colours and materials and the tops were either in ghastly prints or in cutesie colours with teddy bears and silly messages on them. And as for skirts and dresses, ha, forget it! (Quite a contrast to Bangkok, where the range of maternity wear is absolutely stunning. I've even seen maternity hot pants and mini-skirts!)
But coming back to the story of the dress - I had mentioned casually to my dad how I really wanted denim overalls, but couldn't find any in Bombay. His next overseas trip happened to be to Prague, and sweet man that he is, decided to spend his spare time finding denim maternity overalls for me.
Finding a store was hard enough, but that was the least of his difficulties. The salesperson spoke no English, and my dad didn't know a word of Czech. After several minutes of charades, he managed to explain what he was looking for, and was shown a few suitable options.
Then came the biggest hurdle yet - what would be the right size? He looked around the store and saw no one - customers or salespeople - who could function as a proxy for me. The only one who came close to my size was...himself.
So what does he do? He tries it on, causing much consternation among the sales people. Heaven knows what they thought of this lone middle-aged man, trying on maternity clothes!
Anyway he found a size that fit, and brought it back for me, much to my delight - the dress is wonderful, but its story makes it even more precious to me. I love what he was willing to do for me, despite the cost to his dignity. I love even more that he is cool enough share the story. He could so easily have just given me the dress and not told me that he actually had to try it on himself :-)
After Moppet was born, I gave away all my maternity clothes, except the denim overalls, of course. I haven't worn them much this time around because they're heavy denim and it's way too hot here, but that's one item in my wardrobe that I know I'm not going to give away. Ever.
Monday, March 31, 2008
This day that year - III
March 31, 2006
4:00 AM
It's taken me a while to figure it out, but I finally realise that these mild cramps I'm feeling must be contractions.
8:00 AM
"It's started!" I announce happily to husband and mother. "Actually, it started about 5 hours ago."
"5 hours?!" The husband springs into action "Let's go then! I'll get the suitcase. Can you get to the car? Should I call the doc? Where are my pants? Where's the blue notebook? Where's my stopwatch?"
I am feeling strangely calm, but the husband does not quite appreciate my being so zen. He hops around timing my contractions as I have a light breakfast and take a shower.
"Come on! Let's go, let's go, let's GO!"
9:30 AM
"Everything's looking good," says the doc cheerily, giving me a friendly pat on the hip. "But it will take a while - you're only 3 cms dilated. So make yourself comfortable, I'll check on you later."
Now that we're actually in the hospital room, the husband and mother have relaxed somewhat; and we settle in to what looks like will be a long wait.
Every once in a while, the assistant doc comes in to check the fetal monitor. The contractions are getting stronger, but not by much.
Time appears to have slowed.
This is b-o-r-i-n-g.
Yawn.
11:30 AM
The assistant doc and a couple of nurses burst into the room.
"Lie down, please. We need to give you some oxygen."
"What? Why?" I am bewildered.
"Nurse, start an IV," the doctor barks. To me, she says, "The baby appears to be in some distress. We'll see if things get better with oxygen."
"But how, I'm not feeling anything! What is causing the distress? What's different? What do I need to do?"
I feel like I've forgotten how to breathe. My mom looks like she's going to faint. The husband grabs my hand and squeezes it.
"Just stay calm. It may be nothing. We'll just keep monitoring for a little while."
12.00 noon
The baby's heartbeat is way above normal. It appears my contractions, puny though they are, are still too much for the baby.
My main doc arrives. They rupture the amniotic sac and find that the fluid is meconium stained. Apparently the baby is so stressed out at having to be born that it's pooped itself.
We listen in disbelief as our doctor explains that in these circumstances we have no option but an immediate C-section. The danger to the baby is real and immediate.
Assorted forms are thrust in my face, and I sign them shakily. I am crying hard. I had played different birth scenarios in my head several times, but none of them had involved any possibility of the baby's life being at stake. My own, yes. But not the baby's.
Never the baby's.
1:05 PM
"It's a girl!" the doc announces over the baby's thin, reedy cry.
"She's ok, right? She's ok?" I yell, or at least try to. I've been given a spinal anasthetic, so I'm fully conscious, but it appears to have triggered a major shivering fit. My upper body is trembling uncontrollably, and my teeth chatter as I try to talk.
The husband, who has been sweetly crushing the bones of my left hand all through the surgery, unceremoniously drops it as he reaches out to hold his daughter for the very first time.
"She's fine," says the doctor "We got her out in time."
She proceeds to explain something about delivering the placenta, and how I'll feel something or the other, but I can no longer hear what she's saying. All I can see is the little pink blob that my husband is proudly holding near my face.
It's squishy, and pink, and loud, and look - I can see tiny fingers curled over the edge of the swaddling blanket.
"Hello, Moppet!" are my eloquent first words to my daughter before the tears and laughter come together and render further speech impossible.
Welcome to the world, baby girl!
4:00 AM
It's taken me a while to figure it out, but I finally realise that these mild cramps I'm feeling must be contractions.
8:00 AM
"It's started!" I announce happily to husband and mother. "Actually, it started about 5 hours ago."
"5 hours?!" The husband springs into action "Let's go then! I'll get the suitcase. Can you get to the car? Should I call the doc? Where are my pants? Where's the blue notebook? Where's my stopwatch?"
I am feeling strangely calm, but the husband does not quite appreciate my being so zen. He hops around timing my contractions as I have a light breakfast and take a shower.
"Come on! Let's go, let's go, let's GO!"
9:30 AM
"Everything's looking good," says the doc cheerily, giving me a friendly pat on the hip. "But it will take a while - you're only 3 cms dilated. So make yourself comfortable, I'll check on you later."
Now that we're actually in the hospital room, the husband and mother have relaxed somewhat; and we settle in to what looks like will be a long wait.
Every once in a while, the assistant doc comes in to check the fetal monitor. The contractions are getting stronger, but not by much.
Time appears to have slowed.
This is b-o-r-i-n-g.
Yawn.
11:30 AM
The assistant doc and a couple of nurses burst into the room.
"Lie down, please. We need to give you some oxygen."
"What? Why?" I am bewildered.
"Nurse, start an IV," the doctor barks. To me, she says, "The baby appears to be in some distress. We'll see if things get better with oxygen."
"But how, I'm not feeling anything! What is causing the distress? What's different? What do I need to do?"
I feel like I've forgotten how to breathe. My mom looks like she's going to faint. The husband grabs my hand and squeezes it.
"Just stay calm. It may be nothing. We'll just keep monitoring for a little while."
12.00 noon
The baby's heartbeat is way above normal. It appears my contractions, puny though they are, are still too much for the baby.
My main doc arrives. They rupture the amniotic sac and find that the fluid is meconium stained. Apparently the baby is so stressed out at having to be born that it's pooped itself.
We listen in disbelief as our doctor explains that in these circumstances we have no option but an immediate C-section. The danger to the baby is real and immediate.
Assorted forms are thrust in my face, and I sign them shakily. I am crying hard. I had played different birth scenarios in my head several times, but none of them had involved any possibility of the baby's life being at stake. My own, yes. But not the baby's.
Never the baby's.
1:05 PM
"It's a girl!" the doc announces over the baby's thin, reedy cry.
"She's ok, right? She's ok?" I yell, or at least try to. I've been given a spinal anasthetic, so I'm fully conscious, but it appears to have triggered a major shivering fit. My upper body is trembling uncontrollably, and my teeth chatter as I try to talk.
The husband, who has been sweetly crushing the bones of my left hand all through the surgery, unceremoniously drops it as he reaches out to hold his daughter for the very first time.
"She's fine," says the doctor "We got her out in time."
She proceeds to explain something about delivering the placenta, and how I'll feel something or the other, but I can no longer hear what she's saying. All I can see is the little pink blob that my husband is proudly holding near my face.
It's squishy, and pink, and loud, and look - I can see tiny fingers curled over the edge of the swaddling blanket.
"Hello, Moppet!" are my eloquent first words to my daughter before the tears and laughter come together and render further speech impossible.
Welcome to the world, baby girl!
Friday, March 28, 2008
This day, that year - II
March 28, 2006
The time, 8:30 pm:
The bottle is small, the liquid in it a thick, clear gold. It looks quite innocuous; inviting even, but I know how vicious its contents can be.
Should I, shouldn't I? I turn the bottle around in my hand.
Heck, I can't take this any longer. I just want this to be over.
I add one tablespoon of the liquid to the tall glass of strawberry squash standing ready on the table and stir.
A deep breath, a quick look into the still swirling red depths, and then I gulp it down in one shot.
The effect is immediate. And terrible.
I clutch at my throat, retching and coughing so much that my eyes almost pop out of my head.
*************
Earlier that day:
'Sorry to have kept you waiting', said my doctor, not looking or sounding sorry at all. 'I just delivered Hrithik Roshan's baby. A gorgeous baby boy. Susanne had no trouble at all.'
'Much as that gladdens the heart, Doc, what would really make me happy is if you would tell me what you're going to do about this baby of mine which is refusing to come out.'
Having been told on my last visit that the baby's head had 'engaged' I've been expecting to go into labour for a whole week, and getting increasingly frustrated at the lack of action.
'Castor oil,' suggests the doc. 'Works almost every time.'
'Castor oil? Blech! What are my options?'
'Well we can wait another week or so....'
'I see. So will you write me a prescription, or do I pick it up at my local store?'
*************
After the first dose, 8:40 pm:
'ACK! AUGH! GRRRHAH! I've brushed...GAK!...three bloody times. This is all YOUR fault!'
'Mine? How?' The husband is genuinely surprised.
'Let me count the ways. First, for getting me pregnant. Second, for passing on your lazy bum genes to this baby who doesn't want to come out. Third, because I'm the one suffering and you're not. And fourth...'
'...well I think we're better off with a baby who has my lazy bum genes rather than your manic-bouncing-off-the-wall energetic ones!'
'Oh you do, do you? You can drink the next dose then. I'm NOT having any more. NO! I'll stay pregnant for another month if I have to!'
*************
Edit: I realise there's some confusion on account of me being currently pregnant. The 'This day that year' series of posts is about my first pregnancy, leading up to Moppet's birth on March 31, 2006.
The time, 8:30 pm:
The bottle is small, the liquid in it a thick, clear gold. It looks quite innocuous; inviting even, but I know how vicious its contents can be.
Should I, shouldn't I? I turn the bottle around in my hand.
Heck, I can't take this any longer. I just want this to be over.
I add one tablespoon of the liquid to the tall glass of strawberry squash standing ready on the table and stir.
A deep breath, a quick look into the still swirling red depths, and then I gulp it down in one shot.
The effect is immediate. And terrible.
I clutch at my throat, retching and coughing so much that my eyes almost pop out of my head.
*************
Earlier that day:
'Sorry to have kept you waiting', said my doctor, not looking or sounding sorry at all. 'I just delivered Hrithik Roshan's baby. A gorgeous baby boy. Susanne had no trouble at all.'
'Much as that gladdens the heart, Doc, what would really make me happy is if you would tell me what you're going to do about this baby of mine which is refusing to come out.'
Having been told on my last visit that the baby's head had 'engaged' I've been expecting to go into labour for a whole week, and getting increasingly frustrated at the lack of action.
'Castor oil,' suggests the doc. 'Works almost every time.'
'Castor oil? Blech! What are my options?'
'Well we can wait another week or so....'
'I see. So will you write me a prescription, or do I pick it up at my local store?'
*************
After the first dose, 8:40 pm:
'ACK! AUGH! GRRRHAH! I've brushed...GAK!...three bloody times. This is all YOUR fault!'
'Mine? How?' The husband is genuinely surprised.
'Let me count the ways. First, for getting me pregnant. Second, for passing on your lazy bum genes to this baby who doesn't want to come out. Third, because I'm the one suffering and you're not. And fourth...'
'...well I think we're better off with a baby who has my lazy bum genes rather than your manic-bouncing-off-the-wall energetic ones!'
'Oh you do, do you? You can drink the next dose then. I'm NOT having any more. NO! I'll stay pregnant for another month if I have to!'
*************
Edit: I realise there's some confusion on account of me being currently pregnant. The 'This day that year' series of posts is about my first pregnancy, leading up to Moppet's birth on March 31, 2006.
Monday, March 24, 2008
This day that year - I
March 24, 2006
The Big Blue Sofa
I am yelling at my husband. Again.
"You and your #$@% veto! I don't want to hear that word any more, unless I'm the one saying it! I swear if we can't agree on at least one boy name and one girl name soon, I'm going to go with my own choice. You can veto till you're blue in the face, I don't care!"
He is sprawled on our enormous blue sofa, cushions precisely arranged to ensure that his angle of recline allows him a straight line of vision to the TV. Assorted remotes and a late-night snack are laid out on the broad arm of the sofa.
He flashes his crooked, boyish grin at me. "Relax, will you? Look, I've set everything up. Star Trek: The Next Generation. Come on!" He plumps up the cushions he's arranged for me.
I mutter evilly about lazy fat asses as I heave my bulk in next to him, but I'm not really upset. The big blue sofa seems to magically expand to accomodate us - the husband, who no one can accuse of being a small man, me, fully nine months pregnant, and four outsize cushions, so big that we sometimes use them as floor cushions.
The sofa was the first piece of furniture we acquired after we got married, custom-made for us in Bangalore by a friend in the furniture business. We had no idea what he was sending us, having told him only that we wanted an L-shaped sofa, and that it should be blue. I was quite nervous until it arrived, 2 pieces that fitted in an L shape, each the size of a twin bed. It was deeply blue and absolutely perfect.
When we are at home, our life plays out on the sofa. Talking, eating, reading, watching TV, playing Scrabble, fighting, making up (and out ;-), and falling asleep cuddled up against one other with the lights still on. We have spent the better part of 3 years on this sofa, so much so that its grooves appear to have moulded to fit our bodies.
Tonight, I stretch out in my groove and adjust my husband's arm around me as the familiar opening track of Star Trek: TNG plays. I know this baby is coming soon, and that life as I know it will change for ever.
What I don't know yet is that in just a few days, when we come home from hospital with our firstborn, the beloved blue sofa will be the first place she will rest her head.
Edit:
Just found this picture of Moppet on the sofa, napping by the window after her bath. It's not her first day at home, but she's certainly not more than a week old in this one. She would spend most of the day on the sofa, and move to her crib only at night.
Sadly however, this is not a tradition that Munch will have the pleasure of following. When we moved to Bangkok, we thought long and hard and eventually gave away / sold all our furniture and appliances, including the sofa.
My only consolation is that the sofa went to another young couple like us who were furnishing their first home. I hope it is part of as many fond memories for them as it was for us.
The Big Blue Sofa
I am yelling at my husband. Again.
"You and your #$@% veto! I don't want to hear that word any more, unless I'm the one saying it! I swear if we can't agree on at least one boy name and one girl name soon, I'm going to go with my own choice. You can veto till you're blue in the face, I don't care!"
He is sprawled on our enormous blue sofa, cushions precisely arranged to ensure that his angle of recline allows him a straight line of vision to the TV. Assorted remotes and a late-night snack are laid out on the broad arm of the sofa.
He flashes his crooked, boyish grin at me. "Relax, will you? Look, I've set everything up. Star Trek: The Next Generation. Come on!" He plumps up the cushions he's arranged for me.
I mutter evilly about lazy fat asses as I heave my bulk in next to him, but I'm not really upset. The big blue sofa seems to magically expand to accomodate us - the husband, who no one can accuse of being a small man, me, fully nine months pregnant, and four outsize cushions, so big that we sometimes use them as floor cushions.
The sofa was the first piece of furniture we acquired after we got married, custom-made for us in Bangalore by a friend in the furniture business. We had no idea what he was sending us, having told him only that we wanted an L-shaped sofa, and that it should be blue. I was quite nervous until it arrived, 2 pieces that fitted in an L shape, each the size of a twin bed. It was deeply blue and absolutely perfect.
When we are at home, our life plays out on the sofa. Talking, eating, reading, watching TV, playing Scrabble, fighting, making up (and out ;-), and falling asleep cuddled up against one other with the lights still on. We have spent the better part of 3 years on this sofa, so much so that its grooves appear to have moulded to fit our bodies.
Tonight, I stretch out in my groove and adjust my husband's arm around me as the familiar opening track of Star Trek: TNG plays. I know this baby is coming soon, and that life as I know it will change for ever.
What I don't know yet is that in just a few days, when we come home from hospital with our firstborn, the beloved blue sofa will be the first place she will rest her head.
Edit:
Just found this picture of Moppet on the sofa, napping by the window after her bath. It's not her first day at home, but she's certainly not more than a week old in this one. She would spend most of the day on the sofa, and move to her crib only at night.Sadly however, this is not a tradition that Munch will have the pleasure of following. When we moved to Bangkok, we thought long and hard and eventually gave away / sold all our furniture and appliances, including the sofa.
My only consolation is that the sofa went to another young couple like us who were furnishing their first home. I hope it is part of as many fond memories for them as it was for us.
Monday, March 3, 2008
6 things you probably don't want to know about me
Another tag, this time from Sue, that I'm twisting for my own purposes.
1. I'm big. HUGE. Like never before. At a little over 5 months pregnant, my belly button's already turned into an outie, something that didn't happen until the very last month of my first pregnancy. Could it be all the left over fat from the last time? Surely it's not because I'm stuffing my face all hours of the day and night? It's a mystery, I tell you ;-)
2. When I was pregnant with Moppet, I wanted to eat fish a lot. So the husband and I would go to this Konkan restaurant every weekend and I'd order 3 or 4 different types of fish and eat it happily, imagining all the lovely omega-3 oils filling my baby's brain and making her a super-genius. That they didn't take is another matter altogether, but I was happy that my craving coincided so nicely with what was supposed to be good for both the baby and me. This time, I have no specific cravings; it's anything goes. Except when we go out - I always feel like I want to have a banana choc-chip muffin from Starbucks. Don't ask me why!
3. I am sleep-deprived, and I cannot blame Moppet - more's the pity. Unlike the last time, when insomnia hit in the last couple of months and I could still snatch a few hours of sleep sitting in the recliner, this time there's no relief. I make 5 trips to the bathroom, and 2 to kitchen every night, simply to have something to do. I sit up in the dark and glare at my fast-asleep husband, only barely restraining myself from waking him up and saying, 'You're breathing too loudly!'
4. Munch apparently shares my insomnia. He's rarely quiet, and is way more active than I remember Moppet being at this stage. We always thought Moppet was a strong kicker - her Papa was most excited about it, and would keep encouraging her to practice kicking with the left foot in-utero, because 'every football team needs a player with a strong left foot'. Munch however, appears to have taken up Thai kickboxing as his favourite uterine sport. Sometimes, I feel jabs in 3 different places at once. How one little baby with only the normal human number of limbs can achieve that is beyond me, but there you go.
5. Everything makes me cry - a cheesy sad scene in a movie, an old song, a pretty picture, a nice view, Oprah (ok, well that's understandable!) - the waterworks just turn on, even as I'm aware of how ridiculous I'm being.
6. I'm relaxed and enjoying myself. Apart from the insomnia, I've been lucky to have had no other major discomforts so far (touchwood). The first time around I was reading, measuring, thinking, and worrying all the time. Taking ante-natal classes, scribbling notes in a little notebook, practising my lamaze breathing, lecturing the husband on all the things I thought he should know, making lists of all the things I would need... I never took the time to enjoy being pregnant. I'm doing that this time, and you know what? I'm lovin' it!
Tagging all the other pregnant bloggers out there. You can do the tag this way, or in its original format.
The Rules:I'm going to make this 6 random points about being pregnant. Just because, ok?
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website
1. I'm big. HUGE. Like never before. At a little over 5 months pregnant, my belly button's already turned into an outie, something that didn't happen until the very last month of my first pregnancy. Could it be all the left over fat from the last time? Surely it's not because I'm stuffing my face all hours of the day and night? It's a mystery, I tell you ;-)
2. When I was pregnant with Moppet, I wanted to eat fish a lot. So the husband and I would go to this Konkan restaurant every weekend and I'd order 3 or 4 different types of fish and eat it happily, imagining all the lovely omega-3 oils filling my baby's brain and making her a super-genius. That they didn't take is another matter altogether, but I was happy that my craving coincided so nicely with what was supposed to be good for both the baby and me. This time, I have no specific cravings; it's anything goes. Except when we go out - I always feel like I want to have a banana choc-chip muffin from Starbucks. Don't ask me why!
3. I am sleep-deprived, and I cannot blame Moppet - more's the pity. Unlike the last time, when insomnia hit in the last couple of months and I could still snatch a few hours of sleep sitting in the recliner, this time there's no relief. I make 5 trips to the bathroom, and 2 to kitchen every night, simply to have something to do. I sit up in the dark and glare at my fast-asleep husband, only barely restraining myself from waking him up and saying, 'You're breathing too loudly!'
4. Munch apparently shares my insomnia. He's rarely quiet, and is way more active than I remember Moppet being at this stage. We always thought Moppet was a strong kicker - her Papa was most excited about it, and would keep encouraging her to practice kicking with the left foot in-utero, because 'every football team needs a player with a strong left foot'. Munch however, appears to have taken up Thai kickboxing as his favourite uterine sport. Sometimes, I feel jabs in 3 different places at once. How one little baby with only the normal human number of limbs can achieve that is beyond me, but there you go.
5. Everything makes me cry - a cheesy sad scene in a movie, an old song, a pretty picture, a nice view, Oprah (ok, well that's understandable!) - the waterworks just turn on, even as I'm aware of how ridiculous I'm being.
6. I'm relaxed and enjoying myself. Apart from the insomnia, I've been lucky to have had no other major discomforts so far (touchwood). The first time around I was reading, measuring, thinking, and worrying all the time. Taking ante-natal classes, scribbling notes in a little notebook, practising my lamaze breathing, lecturing the husband on all the things I thought he should know, making lists of all the things I would need... I never took the time to enjoy being pregnant. I'm doing that this time, and you know what? I'm lovin' it!
Tagging all the other pregnant bloggers out there. You can do the tag this way, or in its original format.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Bring it on, baby!
Although Moppet has been doing a fabulous job of raising her parents single-handedly, we figured she could do with some help. All the arrangements have been made (what fun!) and the kiddy force in our household will receive a boost in the form of a baby brother for Moppet, expected to make a quiet, undramatic entry (!) in June this year.
Baby Boy needs a blog name, and no, Poppet is not an option, thank you very much! Here are some of the names I've been considering:
* Junior. This is what we've been calling him in the family already and it sort of fits, although it is a bit boring.
* Munchkin, or if he'd prefer it, the more macho Munch. I like this one, especially since 'Moppet & Munch' has a nice Laurel and Hardy ring to it, but I've been told that no boy will forgive me for giving him such an awful, public nickname. I have a feeling that may be true.
* Young One, to be called Yo, or when I'm feeling particularly silly (which is most of the time, I know), Yo Baby! :-) I suppose the argument against Munch holds for this one too....
What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments which option you like, and fresh nickname suggestions arebadly needed welcome.
Talking about blog names, both mine and Moppet's Papa's names will also need to change. And I'm not even thinking about an actual real world name for the baby yet. With Moppet, after having looked for and argued about names for the entire duration of the pregnancy, we finally settled on one girl name - the ONLY name out of about 8000 that we both liked - just one day before I went into labour. I remember my relief when the doc announced it was a girl. It's true - first thought that came into my head when I saw that squishy pink face was : yippee, we have a name for her!
Seeing that I have only about 4 months to come up with a suitable boy name, I have much work to do. The husband has already told me that since I was so rude about his chosen options the last time around, he's not going to come up with any options of his own this time. This is a good thing, because he is particularly inclined towards comic book and superhero names - no child of mine will be called Kal-el or Conan! He still retains veto power though, and with his uncanny ability to convert every one of my options into a silly nickname and veto it, it's going to be hard work finding a satisfactory name.
But then, that's only just the beginning of all the hard work, isn't it? Bring it on, I say!
Baby Boy needs a blog name, and no, Poppet is not an option, thank you very much! Here are some of the names I've been considering:
* Junior. This is what we've been calling him in the family already and it sort of fits, although it is a bit boring.
* Munchkin, or if he'd prefer it, the more macho Munch. I like this one, especially since 'Moppet & Munch' has a nice Laurel and Hardy ring to it, but I've been told that no boy will forgive me for giving him such an awful, public nickname. I have a feeling that may be true.
* Young One, to be called Yo, or when I'm feeling particularly silly (which is most of the time, I know), Yo Baby! :-) I suppose the argument against Munch holds for this one too....
What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments which option you like, and fresh nickname suggestions are
Talking about blog names, both mine and Moppet's Papa's names will also need to change. And I'm not even thinking about an actual real world name for the baby yet. With Moppet, after having looked for and argued about names for the entire duration of the pregnancy, we finally settled on one girl name - the ONLY name out of about 8000 that we both liked - just one day before I went into labour. I remember my relief when the doc announced it was a girl. It's true - first thought that came into my head when I saw that squishy pink face was : yippee, we have a name for her!
Seeing that I have only about 4 months to come up with a suitable boy name, I have much work to do. The husband has already told me that since I was so rude about his chosen options the last time around, he's not going to come up with any options of his own this time. This is a good thing, because he is particularly inclined towards comic book and superhero names - no child of mine will be called Kal-el or Conan! He still retains veto power though, and with his uncanny ability to convert every one of my options into a silly nickname and veto it, it's going to be hard work finding a satisfactory name.
But then, that's only just the beginning of all the hard work, isn't it? Bring it on, I say!
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