Dylan's birthday! Part 2

OH MY GOSH I HAVE TO PUSH!

I yelled at Jeff to get the doctor, a nurse, the janitor, anyone. This baby was coming. Quick. ....


The nurse walked in and nonchalantly got things ready. She told me to hold on. Seriously? You want me to wait? This is no joke lady. I am about to have a baby, with or without you. Someone better be on the receiving end to catch it!

And by the way, trying to hold in a baby is like trying to catch a water balloon covered in vaseline. It wasn't going to happen. So I turned on my side, bent my legs, and got into the fetal position and grabbed onto the bedrails with all my might. I had to wait to push and this was the only thing that worked.

I kept looking at Jeff and crying and asking him why the epidural didn't work. I kept thinking about the last time I was in the hospital. I was so stressed and so worked up. This was not the experience that I wanted. I was supposed to be relaxed. Jeff was trying with everything he had to calm me down, but it wasn't happening.

Poor thing. He really was trying. I can honestly tell you that I heard nothing he said to me. I was channeling my strength. I was trying to not go to pieces at the thought that another one of my babies may not be okay.

Then I looked up, and noticed the doctor gowned up and ready to go. She told me to push at the next contraction. Thankfully we didn't have to wait long because they were 30 seconds apart.


At this point, I remember getting dizzy, pushing, and then feeling excruciating pain. I think that I pushed about 5 times, through about 3 or 4 contractions, before the doctor told me that the baby was coming with the next contraction.


I started to panic. The pain was unbearable, but the thought of meeting my little man was greater than any pain I was experiencing. I wanted him out and I wanted to make sure that he was okay.


I pushed one last time, and his head was out, then I sighed a sigh of relief...until I realized that his shoulders were wider than his head. Crap, that was going to hurt. The doctor could sense my nerves and was being encouraging and told me that it was almost over and I was about to meet my son. Then, before I knew it, his shoulders and the rest of his body were out.


Let me interrupt this part of the story and tell you something. I asked the doctor how we would know if his lungs were good and how I could tell if he was healthy. She told me that a good strong cry is a surefire way to tell if their lungs are developed and that if he was just making little weak noises, then that meant there was a problem.


So back to the delivery room.


The baby came out, and it felt amazing. For several reasons.


First, the burning, excruciating pain was gone, and it was replaced by an ear-splitting sound. No, not by me.


By my beautiful baby boy. This child came into the world screaming so loud, that I think a few nurses came into the room just to check and make sure that we weren't shoving wooden shims underneath his finger nails.


I have to interrupt again. Each nurse, doctor, lab tech, basically any person that came into the room to talk to me while I was in the labor room asked me about my history. I had to explain about 12 times that I have had 2 miscarriages, once full term pregnancy, and that I had a son that died at three months old. I had to rehash this tale so many times that I seriously think that the entire labor and delivery team was aware of my story.


Therefore, when baby popped out and appeared healthy (despite the preeclampsia, HELLP syndrome, high blood pressure, and my history) every person in the room seemed to take a deep breath and look up to the sky and thank God. There was a very noticeable sense of calm that fell over the room.


Dylan Scott had arrived safe and sound!


Then we all switched gears and were wondering who was torturing the poor newborn on his mother's chest. As soon as they covered me and him, he calmed down. It's like he knew how is momma was and new exactly what to do. He rested his little head on my chest and closed his little eyes. I held him for what seemed like only a few minutes, and then the nurses took him to the other side of the room to give him his shot (again with the ear splitting screaming) and dry him off. Then they returned him to my chest. It was like he was born to be there.


Another thing they were concerned about was Dylan's blood sugar. Because I had gestational diabetes (dude, add it to the list of problems) the main concern was that Dylan's blood sugar would be too low after birth. They needed to check it right after he was born and every few hours to make sure that it stayed within normal range.


The first test was normal.


Dylan was healthy.


Breathing: check


Heart Rate: good


Blood sugar: normal


Ten fingers and ten toes: check


Cute as a button: heck yeah!


Seriously. There were so many things stacked against us going into delivery, that I couldn't stop starring at my healthy baby boy. It was unbelievable. 


He was born at 9:34 pm on Thursday evening. I didn't sleep that first night. Not one wink. I held him in my arms and stared at him. I snuggled, kissed and talked to him all night. It was the best night ever.


One other thing. Shortly after he was born, the nurse came in and said that because I was on the magnesium, they were going to take Dylan to the nursery (the well baby nursery) and make sure that I got rest and I recovered well. She said that they don't like me being around the baby because the mag makes me dizzy and uneasy on my feet.


I freaked out. Again. I said no. I told her that there was no way that they were going to take him away from me. He was going to stay with us. She looked a little shocked, and said that she was going to have to check with the doctor and she would let me know. She never brought it up again.


Dylan stayed with me in the room for almost the whole time. He left for 20 minutes to get a newborn screening test done.


The delivery may not have gone exactly like I planned, but in the end I got a healthy baby boy. 


I got to keep him in the room the entire time with me.


I got to have skin to skin time with him for like 5 hours.


Daddy got to cut the cord.


Dylan was able to breastfeed. That's another thing. He was totally a champ at it. Brendan was never able to breastfeed (although he ate my milk through a G-tube) and I was terrified that Dylan would have issues. Nope, not one.


We were able to take him home after 3 days and 2 nights in the hospital.


We were a family and we were going home! All three of us healthy and happy! Albeit tired. And scared. And nervous. 


Oh dear what did I get myself into?


Sleep deprivation and crankiness here I come!