1 Mother 2 Another

Ok, I was sitting here working on the blog
I’ve been mulling over for several days now –
it’s a doozy and hopefully you’ll get to read it
tomorrow.


You won’t read it today because I’ve been detoured by
babies.


My girlfriend Ingrid just delivered her second girl this morning.
Remember Maddie’s best friend Naomi from New York? Well,
Naomi just became a big sister. Give a shout out to baby Emily.


I’ve also found out that another friend from New York
delivered this morning, and yet another New York friend (must have
been in the water nine months ago) delivered just last week, and
let me tell ya, I love the name Ivy.

I’m excited about this, and
it’s certainly cause for a blog in its own right, but
I’ve also received an email from a second-time mom
contemplating a c-section and wanting my advice. I just spent some
time writing back to her, and in doing so was struck by how
different all my friends’ deliveries were: two had at-home
water births. Of those two, one had horrendous tearing and a small
baby, and one had an over-nine-pound baby with no tearing at all.
And as for my third friend, well, she fought the good fight but
ended up needing a second c-section. She spent her whole pregnancy
dreading the idea, and the worst-case scenario happened.


Except that it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. Because at the
end of the day, she and the baby are both doing absolutely great.


There are so many things we can control, ladies, and as much as we
bring in those birthing pools and scrub those sheets and threaten
those doctors if they suggest anything other than a VBAC, at the
end of the day we have to let go and trust someone else with our
baby. Whether it’s the doula catching the slippery little
sucker or the doctor gently saying, “It’s time to go
into surgery. This isn’t working,” we have to
relinquish control and be grateful for all these options.


The reader looking for my advice is going to have to make a tough
decision – to schedule a c-section when she may not need one,
or to risk it and try for a VBAC, knowing she may end up with an
emergency c-section or more serious medical complication.
She’ll have to go with her mommy gut and her doctor’s
recommendation, and still turn all this over to God and let go.


My friend wanted so desperately to avoid another c-section; she
knows the pain of recovery, and didn’t want that to
complicate dealing with a newborn and loving on an apprehensive
preschooler at the same time. When I spoke to her right before the
c-section she sounded defeated. But when I talked to her right
after delivery, she was simply tired and happy the baby was
healthy.


Of course, she was heavily medicated and probably doesn’t
even remember talking to me, but you get my point. When I was
pregnant with Cora I was adamant about a VBAC, and wanting to do it
naturally. We had to induce and so my “natural”
childbirth turned into me strapped to five monitors and a pitocin
drip, contractions every 20 seconds, and a huge amount of pain with
very little progress. When my doctor saw my blood pressure was 185
over 100, I saw the words “c-section” flash across her
face. And that’s when I threw my hope of natural childbirth
out the window and consented to an epidural in the hope that it
would relax me and get my pressure down.


And you know what? It did, and I avoided the c-section, and think
epidurals are the best. Thing. Ever.


There’s a bigger blog in here somewhere, about the control we
have to relinquish over our children’s lives, their safety
and health, before they’re even born, but I think this is
enough said for today. Let’s just say hi there to all the
baby girls, and be glad that three separate birth stories resulted
in three healthy babies and three healthy moms.

Since Madeleine was a c-section, I went into Cora’s birth as a first time laborer. I took a Lamaze class with Maddie, a refresher class geared specifically towards VBACs with Cora, and read all my books. I’d coached my girlfriend Abby through both of her births, and felt confident I knew what was in store though I’d never experienced it.

What can I say? I learned a few things. As much as you know that there’s a difference between reading about something and experiencing it first-hand, you don’t really get it until you go through it. Here are some of the fun facts I discovered I’d missed in all my research:

The whole vomit thing. I remember vaguely hearing the doula who taught my Lamaze class talking about this possibility; she’d instructed us to put a Tupperware bowl in our to-go bag in case we needed to puke in the car. For some reason, I associated the puking with the car and assumed it was motion sickness or something. This is not true. Apparently, the baby pressing down on your cervix can cause you to throw up. Who knew?

Lucky me, I was hooked up to all my machines the whole time. And luckier me, the first time I needed to vomit, Brian was using the room’s restroom. And the nurse was not in the room. Fortunately, Abby was, and all I had to say to her was, “I need to go,” and she was on top of it. My friend ripped all the plugs for all the machines from the wall faster than you could say Here Comes Last Night’s Dinner, and wheeled me towards the bathroom. I proceeded to block my husband in to the bathroom with my pitocin machine while I threw up in the extra sink.

At this time, the flatlining machines caused my OB to come check on me. Sticking her head into the room, she said merrily, “How’s it going?” “I’m puking,” I groaned. “Excellent!” she replied, practically rubbing her hands together. “Means the baby’s moving down. Keep up the good work.” And then she left.

I threw up a couple more times – once more during labor, and right afterwards when I got up for the first time to pee. That one, though, was a result of almost fainting from standing up too fast after an epidural. Something else They don’t tell you not to do.

There’s no such thing as a little pitocin. My OB swore to me that she’d induce me by starting me off on a very low dose, and gradually increasing it to mimic natural labor. Guess what? Even a little pitocin is a lot. My contractions were 90 seconds apart, with only 20 seconds of rest between each one, very quickly. Ouch. And that sadist of a nurse kept coming in every 20 minutes like clockwork to turn it up some more.

Rocking really does help. I know, I should have believed this one since I’d made Abby rock during her labors. I don’t know why it works, but I know that holding still during a contraction was almost impossible. I say almost, because –

Epidurals aren’t instantaneous. I didn’t expect immediate relief, and I understood it would take some time to prep, but when I asked how long I’d have to hold still, the anesthesiologist replied, “Three to four minutes.”

Are you kidding me??? Do you know how many contractions I’d have in three to four minutes???

Honestly, this freaked me out the most about the epidural. I’d had a spinal before for the c-section so the needle didn’t worry me, and I wasn’t scared of him “missing” and hurting me – I knew my OB would pick a good doctor. But I didn’t know how I’d make it through a couple contractions without standing and rocking. I suggested (quite reasonably, I thought) that he do all his prep work and then let me tell him when to start: I’d have a contraction, hop back on the table and yell “Go!” so we’d have as little contraction time as possible. He politely demurred. So there I was, sitting, and hunched over no less (which makes it WAY worse), for a good three contractions while he did his thing. As incentive, he cheerfully pointed out that if I moved at all I could be paralyzed. Thanks.

The OB is in charge. Not the mean anesthesiologist. Before leaving, he issued dire warnings against anything passing my lips except ice chips. Several hours later, starved and empty, I begged for some Gatorade. To which my OB replied, “Of course you can! I specifically wrote in your notes you can have any liquids. Did he not tell you?”

Um, nope.

There’s tape for labor, too. One of the worst parts about the c-section was the Removal of the Tape, both covering my incision and holding my catheter in place. Let’s just say that skin came off with it and it wasn’t fun and I was happy I was on a self-controlled morphine drip.

I didn’t realize there’d be tape involved with an epidural, as well. First, they insert a catheter and tape it in place, resulting in another nice skin abrasion on the thigh. Then they tape the epidural thingie all the way up your spine. With no skin prep. I was so happy to get the epidural I didn’t really notice the tape going on. I just noticed when the resident came in afterwards, leaned me forward, and said, “Time to get this off!” before peeling me like a grape.

Epidurals are subject to gravity. What do I mean by this? While lying propped up in bed and happily enjoying the epidural, I had a nurse come prop my right butt cheek up with a wedge; she said the baby’s heart rate was down and they wanted to shift me towards my left side to help out. I didn’t care at all and cheerfully complied.

About an hour later, I noticed I was getting intense spasms in my right side. They felt like muscle cramps, then intense muscle cramps, then – wait- contractions! My OB came in and I asked if I could shift positions to stretch out, and she agreed. As I was rolling onto my right side, I noticed my left leg was totally numb while my right leg had almost complete feeling. When I pointed this out, she said, “Of course! The epidural responds to gravity. That’s probably why you’re feeling the contractions now. Didn’t the anesthesiologist warn you about that?”

Um, nope. Just glad I found out early enough to re-numb the right side before pushing.

Epidurals don’t make you completely numb. I was amazed at how much control I had over my pushing muscles –my abdominals and my pelvic floor. It was the coolest thing ever, to be able to push confidently but without pain. That totally made the birth rock.

You don’t have to lie on your back to push. I know we all learn those different pushing positions in Lamaze class, but when it comes time, everyone seems to push on their back. I think this is mostly because that’s where you are when the doctor does a check and discovers it’s time to push. Talk to your doctor ahead of time, but most will let you choose from a few different positions. When I asked my OB in advance, she laughed and said, “Jennifer, you can push from a headstand for all I care. As long as I’ve got a clear view you can do what you want.” She was good on her word, and I pushed lying on my side. It was comfortable and made me happy.

Giving birth is the coolest thing in the world. Yes, I know I gave birth with the c-section, but I was so removed from the process that she could’ve handed me a little bunny and told me it was what she’d pulled out of my uterus and I’d have believed her. This was so intimate, so empowering, and so cool that I wanted to do it all over again right away. My doctor helped Cora’s head and shoulders come out, then had me pull her out and bring her to my chest myself, and it’s an experience I’ll never forget. Plus, I had drugs and felt no pain.

So that’s what I learned. Lots of things about pain medication, something new on the vomit topic, and a bit about myself. I know I have more power in those situations than it feels like. I know that when I throw up, I want someone around to hold my hair off my face for me (thanks, Abby) - and I suspect that all of us want our mommies. I know I couldn't have done it nearly so well without my husband and best friend by my side. I know that I am stronger than I think, and can do anything I have to. And I know that I’m a different person now than I was before, and that’s no small matter.

For the first time since Maddie’s been born, Brian and I spent the evening out together last night – from late afternoon until well after she went to bed. Though Gamma’s done a dry run putting Maddie to bed while we were hiding in the basement, this was the first time we’ve both been absent for such a long period. Giddy with freedom, we went to hear a romantic little talk on such topics as camelback contractions and episiotomies.

Yep, it’s time for that labor refresher course.

Though I had a scheduled c-section the first time around due to Maddie’s being breech, I’m going to try one more time for a vaginal delivery, so we went to a VBAC class – vaginal birth after c-section. There’s apparently no real difference between a VBAC class and a Lamaze refresher course, except for the fact that the teaching staff expects a VBAC to be harder for a woman than a second vaginal birth, since your body didn’t learn from the first labor. I guess I’d been anticipating some sort of tailored class talking about VBAC risks, possible complications, positions to avoid, I’m not sure what. But the nurse teaching the course deliberately avoided discussing VBAC risks; she said she assumed we’d have that conversation with our OB.

I’m not going to tell you the risks and stats for VBACs here – there’s a good website for VBAC information like that. I’ll just say that if the pregnancy is uncomplicated and the baby’s not huge and in a good position, a VBAC is the safest method out there (from what I’ve read), with a scheduled c-section following a close second. We trust my OB implicitly and have given her full permission to make the call towards the end of the pregnancy. So right now we’re planning a VBAC, with the understanding that if the baby doesn’t turn or gets too big then all bets are off.

Since I had a scheduled c-section last time around, I’ve not experienced labor at all. Which means that my body’s a complete rookie and I don’t get that easy 2 ½-hour-labor my girlfriend Abby had with her second (though she’d probably argue with my use of the word “easy”!). No, for me, it’s getting to experience all over again that first-time apprehension: how will my body respond to this? What’s my pain threshold like? How long will it take? What the heck did I sign up for nine months ago???

The last time around I’d hoped to be in a birthing center in a hospital, with lots of freedom for movement and support “staff” and so on. This time around it’s out of the question, and I’ll be hooked up to a monitor a fair amount of time as they keep and eye on my uterus scar and the baby’s heartbeat. I know I’ll be chafing at being confined and so was diligently taking notes last night as the nurse offered labor position suggestions that you can do while hooked up.

I think that the biggest thing this class did for me, though, is bring home in a very real way that I’m going to have a baby soon. Obvious, I know, but it’s much more real now than it was 24 hours ago. Suddenly I’m remembering I have to put together a birth plan and labor music playlist and dig out those battery-powered candles and aromatherapy and buy those ginormous maxi pads and nipple cream and breast shields and . . .whew. So far this pregnancy’s been mostly about 1) how it will affect Maddie; and 2) how it will affect my sleep. We’ve been working on preparing Maddie, and I’ve been trying (unsuccessfully) to psyche myself up for a return to those sleepless nights and sleep-deprivation days.

Now, though, I’m forcing myself to slow down a bit, make a connection with peanut in a way other than a quick “Please don’t kick mommy right now” sort of way, and start looking forward to meeting her for the first time. I’ve got plenty of time to stress over the birth itself, but the truth is babies come out – they do it all the time. So now I’m simply taking more time to experience the moment, develop a bit of anticipation, and think about the day when our family will increase.

Oh, yeah, and try very hard not to think about camelback contractions and episiotomies.

(Please note – this is the third in a four-part Friday series on c-sections. Read Deciding On A C-Section and Having A C-Section to catch up.)

You’ve had a c-section. The spinal anesthesia has worn off and your new best friend, the morphine drip, is happily running. You’ve been cleared to head to your new home for the next few days, your recovery room. Your OB smiles and waves bye-bye, promising to check up on you in the next day or so. Your baby is wandering around making new friends in the nursery.

Now what?

Here comes some of the icky stuff. 

 You’ll be in the hospital for around three days. It’s not required, but insurance is required to allow it if you need it. Don’t be in a rush to get home; remember, there will be no nice nurse answering your request for more drugs at three a.m. At the same time, if you feel ready you can go home before the three days are up. But first things first (and keep in mind your situation may vary):

Your baby will continue to be brought to you for nursing. If you choose to room-in, the baby will stay there with you and your spouse (remember, the baby won’t be left alone with just you!) except as needed for testing. Your spouse is welcome to go with the baby for these tests if he’s concerned about a possible kidnapping or switcheroo, but they’re pretty tight with security.

You, meanwhile, are still on drugs and still plugged in to the catheter. And as annoying as that sounded when you got to the hospital that morning, you’re pretty grateful for it right now since you couldn’t stand up if someone told you Brad Pitt was in the next room. They’re going to keep you on an IV drip to make sure you’re getting nutrients. They are also pushing pitocin through your IV; you need it to get your uterus to start contracting back down to its original size, and to start stimulating milk production.

And here’s Something They Don’t Tell You:

They won’t let you eat until you pass gas.

Apparently, there’s a worry about your intestinal function because of the location of the incision. So no food for you until your intestines start moving. They also have a rule about not letting you go home until you have a bowel movement. That’s a fun one, which they waived for me because I really really wanted to go home. And it’s a good thing, since I didn’t have one until five days after the surgery.

You’ll spend your first night being constantly interrupted by people checking your vitals, making sure the baby’s doing well, and so forth. You’ll try to sleep and your husband will try to figure out how to diaper a newborn as you watch helplessly, still tied down by your paraphernalia.

At some point the next day a few things will happen.

First comes Painful Moment Number Two (remember Number One was the dry shave!): you’ll have the big dressing over the incision removed.

You have two layers to the incision covering: the tape immediately on the incision, and a bunch of gauze and stuff on top of that. Someone will come in and, without much warning, start taking all that tape off. DO NOT encourage them to just “rip it off” to get it over with quickly. You’ll lose a good chunk of skin. My OB put down some sort of “skin prep tape” and I still had a few holes in the ole epidermis. It was incredibly painful, never mind the drugs. I spent the next few weeks having to put medication on the open sores.

Then the doctor will remove your catheter, which is surprisingly pain-free (or perhaps that was just in comparison to the dressing removal). Know what that means? You’re free to stand up now.

Which leads us to Painful Moment Number Three, the Mother of All Painful Moments: standing up for the first time.

I’d been warned this would be painful, so I knew it was coming, just not when. But listen: if a nurse comes in and starts swinging your legs over the side of the bed, chances are she’s about to make you stand up. When I realized what the nurse was up to, I frantically began pressing my morphine button and saying, “Wait! Wait!” incoherently. Alas for me, I’d stopped using it and it was pretty much out of my system. And the button only allows for one dose every fifteen minutes. If I could have spoken, I would have insisted the nurse come back in half an hour, when I’d have a couple more doses under my belt. But it happened so fast that she was dragging me to my feet, knocking the morphine button out of my hand before the protest left my lips.

I rarely cry out in pain. This ripped a scream from me, and scared Brian to death.

So take it from me: make them let you take your time, and get doped up and ready to go. You will stand up and feel like the front of your body’s being ripped off. The nurse dragged me to the bathroom and “helped” me use the bathroom and get washed up. She was brisk and pushy and I finally insisted she slow down.

The washing up is for Something Else They Don’t Tell You: even though you don’t have a vaginal birth, you’ll still have the vaginal bleeding for a good couple weeks after the delivery. Isn’t that fun?

Once you’re “mobile”, they’ll take you off the morphine drip and give you Percocet instead. Percocet is great, but it’s got a couple disadvantages. For one, it’s oral instead of intravenous, so it takes a bit longer to work. Plan accordingly. For another, you can’t self-administer. You have to page the nurse of you need more, and they may look at you as if to say, “Come on, you can’t take this? Try harder!”

But it’s nice to be off the IV. Once you’ve stood up once, the world is your oyster. I preferred nursing sitting up so I’d move to a chair every time she needed to eat. It took a while but was much more comfortable.

And this is how you spend your time in the hospital. You’ll take progressively longer and longer walks down the hospital hallway. The nursing staff will try to help you take a shower, though I beat them to it and took one myself the second morning. You’ll eventually get the joy of the lackluster hospital food. You’ll take your Percocet happily, and your doctor will visit and admire her handiwork. You’ll stare at your feet, grossly swollen to twice the size they ever were while pregnant, and be reassured it’s a by-product of the surgery. It’ll go down in a day or so.

As far as clothing goes, I know everyone talks about how much more comfortable they are in their own clothes as opposed to hospital gowns. I disagree, at least for the first day or so. Remember, you’re not up and moving. You’re wearing a maxi pad leftover from 1960 that a nurse briskly changes periodically, and you’ve still got iodine on your body. Why not stain someone else’s clothing?

I brought comfy clothing and put it on my second full day in the hospital, after I’d been standing for a while. I finally felt ready to for the shower thing and the clothing made me feel better. Wear what you want, and don’t worry about that pretty nursing gown you can’t wait to try out. Trust me, you’ll use it a ton at home.

When you’re ready, you’ll head home.

Next week we’ll discuss the long-term recovery.

(This is part two of a four-part Friday series on c-sections; click here  for the first installment.)

When my daughter was discovered to be stubbornly breech, my OB talked through our options with us. Many doctors will automatically schedule a c-section for a breech baby; they worry about he head and neck being damaged during delivery; the chin can get hung up on your pelvis, the doctor can pull too hard . . . and brain damage results.

My doctor was willing to allow me to try a vaginal delivery if I went into labor naturally, provided the baby didn’t get too big and nothing seemed to be wrong with the situation. After much discussion and research, we decided to try it. My OB warned that she would have final veto power, and if I went into labor and anything even “smelled funny”, she’d whisk me into the operating room for a c-section. She also said she reserved the right to insist on a c-section if it got too close to my due date and I didn’t go into labor.

Baby girl didn’t turn, and I didn’t go into labor, and the c-section was scheduled. I was very nervous – not about the surgery itself, since I implicitly trusted my doctor and her track record. This just wasn’t how I’d envisioned the birth experience, and I didn’t want to spend my first important bonding weeks with my daughter on pain medication and distracted by the whole recovery process. I couldn’t find anyone who had had a c-section to tell me what to expect, how much it hurt, what “they” don’t tell you.

So in the event you need a c-section, here’s what to expect, how much it hurts, and what “they” don’t tell you. 

As a qualifier, please note that I had a scheduled c-section. That means that we had plenty of advance notice and the doctor was able to take her leisurely time making a pretty incision. If you have an emergency c-section, seconds are precious and you may have a different type of entry than I did. I had a small, horizontal incision right around my bikini line. Emergency c-sections may have a larger, vertical incision running down the middle of your stomach. This may take more time to recover from and have different ramifications for future pregnancies, so listen to your doctor over my anecdotal (though charming) information.

The night before baby girl was born I was asked not to eat at all; it’s the whole “anesthesia on an empty stomach” thing. I showed up at the hospital several hours before the surgery to take care of paperwork, pre-surgery monitoring, etc. I’d encourage you to try to schedule your surgery in the early part of the day, so you have a better chance of being on time and not being bumped for an emergency operation.

As far as what to bring, a ton of books cover that stuff, so I’ll only add a couple things. Bring a nursing pillow of some kind, like a boppy. It will make holding the baby for nursings much less painful on your new incision. Bring a couple pillows from home to make yourself (and your husband if he’s rooming in) much more comfortable. And as far as what to wear home from the hospital, choose your pants carefully. You’ll look about six months pregnant still, so you’ll need maternity pants. A lot of maternity pants these days are the low-slung ones, and this will put the most pressure at the exact spot of your incision. So choose a pair of comfy pants that come up high and loosely over your belly. Don’t wear a dress; it’s difficult access-wise for nursing and you’ll be stressed enough when you hear your newborn cry without adding the whole having-to-get-undressed-to-feed-her thing to the mix.

Once the paperwork was finished I was put on monitors and started with an IV drip. They fill you up with fluid; I can’t remember why but it’ll come back the next day as grossly swollen feet. And then comes Painful Moment Number One (there are three in all): a nurse will shave you for the surgery.

Without shaving cream.

Yep, it’s surprisingly painful. If you ever get a bikini wax regularly, I encourage you to talk it over with your OB in advance. I’m not sure how far ahead of time you need to schedule the wax; it may be 24-48 hours for possible infection reasons. But I’d STRONGLY encourage you to get the wax rather than the hacking-away-with-a-dry-Gillette job that I had done. They are not allowed to use shaving cream since it would create too close of a shave (!!!) and could encourage a nick or cut, which then might become infected, etc. etc. So there you go.

When you finally get to surgery time you’ll waddle your way into the operating room and hop up on the table yourself (or at least I did). My doctor permitted my husband to be in there with me; most places allow that as long as it’s not an emergency c-section. He’ll have to suit up in surgical blues and look a bit like a smurf, but you’ll be incredibly happy to have him there holding your hand. He gets to sit up by your head and say wonderful things to you. He can probably bring the still camera with him; the doctor will tell him when he can take a picture, and the anesthesiologist or some assistant may offer to take a few pictures for you. Video cameras are most likely out, though, for liability reasons.

The spinal block will numb you completely from the rib cage down. Don’t stress about the long needle going into your spine; they use a local anesthetic that’s sprayed on so it’s a little pinchy feeling but better than, say, a shot in your arm. Then you’ll lie down quickly before you go numb and fall over, and you’ll feel the numbness spread slowly down your body. It’s kinda cool. And don’t worry; the doctor will test you and make sure you’re numb before picking up the scalpel!

Your doctor will probably narrate the surgery while it’s happening; you can listen or not if it skeeves you out. It’s a pretty fast thing; your baby will most likely be out within 30 minutes of starting the process. You have a vertical surgery blue screen under your boobs so you can’t see what’s going on even if you lift your head, which is probably a good thing. But I was totally alert and talking the whole time; no grogginess or anything. I’d heard rumors that they tie your arms down, which they definitely did NOT do. I did have an IV in one hand, but that was it. I even kept my glasses on the whole time! My OB said I might feel a faint “tugging or pulling” during her removal, like someone was rummaging around. I didn’t feel that at all.

Once the baby is out the doctor will lift your newborn up to show you over the screen. It was so weird to me that she was there, and I felt exactly the same! My husband and I cried, and we took pictures.

If this had been a vaginal birth, at this point in the proceeding I would have had definite preferences. I wanted to hold her immediately and keep her in my arms for a few minutes before the doctor examined her. I wanted them to wait on the eye smear thing and give us some bonding time. Unfortunately, the rules are a bit different for a c-section.

For one thing, the pediatrician is hovering right there, ready to take the baby. She needs to examine your newborn right away to make sure he wasn’t distressed at all by the surgery. So don’t fight it, and say “thank you” for taking care of your child. After a brief examination they’ll happily hand the baby over to your husband to hold. Our doctor slipped the goop in Maddie’s eyes while we weren’t looking so we had no control over that, but Brian was holding her within probably five minutes of her birth.

You, unfortunately, won’t be holding her for a while. Have your husband bring her up to your cheek, shower her with kisses, nuzzle her and stroke her cheek. But know that you just can’t hold her right now. And it’s okay. You’ll have the rest of her life to do that.

After some time in the OR with you, the baby will be taken to the nursery. Your husband can stay with you or head on up with the baby. Don’t argue with them and fight to keep her with you; there are strict hospital rules, and you are in no condition to try to check up on her every few minutes in her bassinet.

Your doctor will take longer closing you up than he did getting the baby out, and when you look at the neat stitches later you will thank him. It will take maybe 45 minutes for the second half, and you’ll then head to recovery where the spinal will wear off and the morphine will kick in, hopefully overlapping each other. All I know is that the longer I spent in recovery, the foggier my brain got. Brian split his time between running up (different floor – genius design) to the nursery and videotaping her, and running down to me and showing me the video. I had family and friends visit in recovery and learned there how to use the self-administered morphine button. And don’t worry – you can’t overdose on it; the machine won’t let you administer a dose more than every 15 minutes or so, and they monitor how much medicine you’ve given yourself fairly frequently.

And let me say here – don’t be a hero. There’s no need to let the pain in just to see “how much you can take”. The good news is that it’s a morphine drip, so it will hit your system almost instantaneously. That means that you don’t have to keep administering it even if you’re not in pain, just to stay ahead of it. But don’t wait until it’s unbearable before pushing the button. No one’s keeping score. I tried to ride with a bit of – not pain, but awareness – because I didn’t like being so doped up I couldn’t talk. But I definitely was not in pain.

Unless you had complications during surgery, they’ll probably bring your baby to you and allow you to try and breastfeed. Don’t freak out if you don’t feel that instant bond looking at your child, or if your baby doesn’t take to nursing right away. First, you are stoned, and second, lots of infants don’t nurse like a pro first thing; it’s not just c-section babies. It doesn’t mean it won’t work soon. If you are too out of it to hold your baby, don’t be afraid to say so; no one wants you to drop your infant just to prove you love her. And again, you most likely won’t be allowed to keep the baby with you while you’re in recovery; they simply don’t have the staff to watch you and your baby both. So don’t argue if she needs to head back to the nursery. It’s not for long!

When you are deemed stable and there’s a room available, you’ll move to the recovery section, into your new home for the next couple of days. If you want the baby in the room with you, the only way it will be allowed is if you’re in a private room and your husband is staying with you. Realize that you are on a catheter and IV, heavily bandaged, and unable to stand up. You will not be able to change your baby, pick her up, go see what’s wrong, and so on. So you’ll only be allowed to have the baby room in if someone else is there. If you choose or need to have your baby in the nursery, make sure you make your feeding preferences clear so they don’t give her a bottle without your permission, and they bring her to you for nursing periodically.

Next week – we’ll talk about recovering from this thing. 

• An MP3 player!  Music makes a huge difference, transforming a sterile hospital room full of beeps and blips into something closer to your living room.  Program a couple playlists in advance – one full of your favorite upbeat and energetic tunes, and one full of soothing, mellow songs.  You never know what you’ll be in the mood for when the time comes.  Also make sure to bring speakers for it, and that the speakers run on batteries, since most hospitals won’t let you plug into their outlets for fire reasons.
• An exercise ball.  Many birthing centers and even hospitals provide them now, but it’s a good idea to bring your own in case theirs is in use.  And honestly, one of Abby’s favorite labor positions used both her ball and the hospital’s at the same time.  This ball made a huge difference in the number of positions we could use, and since the hospital didn’t have a seat to use in the shower, the doctor encouraged us to use the ball as a chair while she let the hot water run over her.
  
• Mood lighting.  When looking for props for my own labor, I discovered you can’t use candles in a hospital – fire hazard.  Then a doula I know recommended these battery candles she found.  They look just like flickering firelight and run for dozens of hours; since we’ve been home with Madeleine, we’ve used them in her room sometimes as well.  If you'd rather not have a glass holder, you can check out something similar in plastic.  These are rechargeable, which is great; I just like the look of the others better.  Click here, then click on "sleep time."
• Massage tools.  I found these great body massage sticks, and they were a real hand-saver, giving Abby a much-needed massage on her lower back during contractions without wearing me or her husband down too much.  You may also want to bring some unscented massage oil – like almond oil – in a Ziploc bag for rubbing legs or back or feet.