I am officially postdate.
For those of you who might not speak pregnant woman, that means that my due date was yesterday and now I am on borrowed time with this baby. In America, it is unheard of for the most part to allow a pregnancy to progress beyond 42 weeks. Most doctors get itchy around 41 weeks and start talking inducing.
I am in the unique position of being totally unable to be induced, though. I had a c-section with Rhi, as most people know. It wasn't what I wanted, and followed an induction at 40 weeks, 1 day after there were some serious issues with the amniotic fluid levels in my uterus. I've come to terms with Rhiannon's birth, although it was quite unlike anything I wanted. However, the c-section makes it possible that if I were to be induced, my uterus could rupture, leading to serious issues and/or death for Keira and me. I'm gambling that anyways with a VBAC, but the odds increase exponentially if I'm chemically induced.
So two weeks from yesterday is the longest possible time I could go before I have to have a c-section.
I'm not happy about the idea of this, to put it mildly.
I healed well from my inital c-section. My body is a champ and takes what I throw at it with a lot of grace. So I'm not worried about that, or the pain, or anything. I have a small weird paranoia that I'll die in childbirth but that actually appears to be a fairly common fear, so there's that.
But my c-section before was just so disappointing. I remember being taken into surgery. I remember it taking FOREVER for them to get the spinal in (apparently, I have nice, thick cartilage. That's not the compliment you'd imagine when they have to stick you about 9 times to get it to go through.) They laid me on a table (the second the spinal worked, I lost all movement from my mid chest down and just kinda flopped over.) They poked me several times to see if I was numb enough, and then my ex came in. He and the anesthesiologist sat by me while my OB was cutting me open. I remember thinking, "Pfft, this isn't that bad."
Then it happened. Despite the fact that they'd given me anti-nausea medicine, despite the fact that I hadn't eaten anything for over 24 hours but Bomb Pops, and despite the fact that I have a cast iron stomach and rarely vomit, I had to puke. Epically. But I couldn't. The spinal had made my muscles too weak to allow me to. Which scared me terribly. I remember being convinced that I was going to choke on my own vomit and die and I wasn't even a freaking rock star post drunken binge. And I got hysterical and started shrilly talking about this to everyone. So Mike and the doctors are trying to calm me down, and I just kept telling them that I didn't want to do this anymore and to please stop and take me off the table now. I actually tried, at one point, to get up, which - and this may shock you - doesn't work when you're given a spinal. And, in retrospect, is a bad plan when someone has cut the lower half of you apart.
It was terrifying, and I have never been more sure in my life that I would die. I know I sound melodramatic, but it is true.
When they pulled Rhi out, I saw her for all of five seconds - I can't even remember if I got to touch her - before they left with her. And then they stitched me up and I was so exhausted that I passed out on the table.
When I got to the recovery room, I did, in fact, get to hold and nurse her right away, which is fairly unusual for many women post c-section, I guess. But the experience had been so traumatic for me that I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and I really felt...disconnected from the whole thing. Understand, Mike and I tried for this baby for a long time. I spent every second of the pregnancy waiting anxiously for her. I was so connected to the whole process, so ready to have my baby, but the events and the drugs of the day made me almost ambivalent to my own kid. And then they shot me up with morphine, and I projectile vomited all over the room. So that was special.
The c-section also made my milk come in later than it normally would have, leading to issues with nursing. And there were a lot of things I wasn't supposed to do right away, either, because of the c-section. It made me feel very weak and almost powerless, which is not a feeling that I enjoy.
Because of the events of then, I'm pretty against having another c-section.
I want to birth my baby normally. I want to hold her instantly. I want it to be a beautiful moment for Shane and me. I want to see her, touch her, hold her before everyone else this time. And I want to be able to bond with my kid without being all doped up and traumatized.
So far, my body doesn't seem to be cooperating. Keira's head down, has been forever, I'm having Braxton Hicks contractions, but I'm not dilating or anything. At all. I take some solace in the fact that there are many people who just...don't, until they actually go into labor. Those measurements appear to not matter for a whole hell of a lot.
Which is only slightly reassuring. Because I have, again, maybe 14 days to spontaneously burst into successful labor before I lack choice in the matter. Which seems like an awfully short amount of time.
I'm doing everything possible to encourage my body to go into labor, but, in the end, it's really my body's call. I can wish and pray and prepare all day long, but if everything's not perfect, it's just not gonna happen.
And that's kind of depressing.
It depresses me, too, that people get elective c-sections. Seriously. Reading an article about some chick going into the hospital 5cms dilated and *opting* to have a c-section to "avoid the pain of labor" made me want to jab that person in the throat with something sharp. Fuck you. I'd love the pain of labor. Send it my way.
I know being all resentful doesn't help anything, but I'm a hormonal psycho right now and not entirely normal anyways. And I think even if I wasn't all hopped up on pregnancy insanity that I'd be pissy reading that stuff. It's human nature. I'm not justifying it, or saying that it should happen, but it does.
I'm not even sure where I'm going with this blog anymore. I think I just had to write it to get my feelings out about this whole thing. Because this mixture of dread and depression and jealousy and resentment and anxiety is a pretty crappy one. And although I've talked about it before, I don't think I delved into it this much.
*Sigh* Makes for pretty boring reading for you guys, though. Sorry.
I promise a funny, happy blog soon.
Also, I'm not spellchecking this. Because I hit the button and it flagged a bajillion words like "Braxton" and I thought, "Man, screw this." So if my spelling sucks, I'm sorry. Kind of.