Lierre's Birth Story Part 2

(...continued from the previous post. Please start there, if you would be so kind. I promise Part 3 will have pictures, too.)

C-SECTION DECISION

So, we decided to take a little break. I was getting a little weary, but it was more so from not sleeping or eating than being worn out from pushing. I definitely felt like I had more in me. Tim asked the nurse if she thought it was ok for him to go and update my family and get a snack (I had to beg him to eat something, poor guy). She said yes and I leaned back and tried to relax some in between the few pushes I did with the nurse in the room.

Where was the doctor?? Oh wait, there she is. Finally.... maybe she can help me push better. Maybe we can try pushing in a new position. I bet she can make sure that Lierre has turned. WOMP WOMP. The doctor breezed into the room, gave a quick peek "down there" and then launched into a heart breaking speech. (Let me pause for a second and say that all of my feelings of being heart broken etc that are about to follow... I know we are blessed. I am so thankful for Lierre's health. I do not take any of it for granted, not one second. Just keep that in mind.) "So! You have been pushing for about two hours. I can't really tell which way she is facing... I tried to feel, but I just am not sure. Anyways, my opinion is that we should go ahead with a C-Section. You just have been pushing a long time. From what I've read, she might be a big baby. So... that's what I think we should do."

Every word she said laid heavy into my heart like a little person was stomping around in there. Stomp, stomp, stomp. "Not progressing." Stomp. "C-section." Stomp. " I felt like I was having an out of body experience, looking down on the doctor, the nurse, and me in the room. The nurse shuffling awkwardly and uncomfortably by the side (I think, looking back, that she disagreed with the doctor. Or that she just felt terrible about my joking having to become a reality after she had spent 2 hours cheering me on, saying I was progressing just fine), the doctor standing at the foot of the bed with vigorous nods meant to reassure me I'm sure, and me on the bed--pale, tired, alone. Tim still had not returned. I waved my hands around as I tried to ask them to please hold on, please, while I tried to get my husband back in there. I floundered trying to figure out how to do that, especially after the nurse pointed out that Tim had left his phone in the room.

I will not cry. Hold it together. You can do it. Do NOT be that woman from TLC who freaks out just because she has to have a c-section. It's ok. People do this all the time. But.... but I don't want a c-section. I still have energy. I think I can do this. My body was made to do this. I can do this. 

I snapped at the nurse to hand me my phone. I then texted every family member who could have possibly been in the waiting room-- "Tell Tim to get back here ASAP." I took a deeeeep, deep breath and blinked hurriedly trying to keep my tears at bay. I broke the rule about waiting until Tim got there.

Me: Are you sure? I mean... I'm definitely still willing to try to push. I still have energy.
Dr.: No, no.... I just don't think it would do anything.
Me: Can I ... I mean, can I try?
Dr.: I just think a C-section would be best.
Me: Is she doing ok? Is anything wrong with her?
Dr: She is doing well, I just worry that if we keep trying, things might change.

What?! I want to keep trying. But what if she is right? I don't want anything happening to Lierre. What if she gets hurt because I am arguing this? I should trust her.... but I don't! What if she gets stuck and it is my fault? Just do the C-section. Wait for Tim. Go ahead. Wait and try. What do I do?

Me: Do you think you could try something else? Uhm... forceps? Or the vacuum thing?
Dr: Well... if she is a big baby, her shoulders could get stuck and that would be the worst scenario.

At this point, I succumb to tears. And not dainty little tears that I can wipe away. I mean, heaving sobs. All of my weeks and months of preparation. My childbirth classes. Practicing my breathing. Every single daydream I had had about them placing Lierre on my chest and getting to hear her cry and look into her eyes and immediately nursing. All of that was gone in a poof it seemed. I had prepared for this moment for 9 months!... Actually, I was born to be her momma. I had been preparing for that moment since I was born.

This is where Tim returned---to see the nurse looking solemn, the doctor looking a little surprised, and me sobbing hysterically. A sobbing, sweating, pale, snotty mess. From the look on his face, I knew he assumed the worst--that something was wrong with Lierre. I gasped and gasped trying to pull myself together enough to reassure him. And I failed miserably. I actually cried harder, something I didn't think was possible. Thankfully they stepped in and started explaining everything to him. His first reaction was relief.... and then he had a very similar conversation with the doctor that I had had.

At what point is it convenient for the doctor verses it being a real medical issue you should trust your doctor with?

Our concern for Lierre trumped everything else and we eventually gave the ok for the c-section. Tim tried to reassure me, hug me, wipe the tears off my face. I swirled downward and wallowed in my disappointment and what was quickly becoming an overwhelming fear. I had never had a surgery before. Never, ever. I had never broken any bones, other than a finger and a pinky toe and they were minor. And here I was... almost 24 hours from the last time I had eaten, over 24 hours of not-sleeping, being told I'm about to go into major surgery.

I pulled myself together as best I could, we prepped ourselves, Tim got into his scrubs.... and then the doctor came back and said that the O.R. was full and we have to wait at least an hour and to not push. What. the. hell??! My body had been pushing for almost 3 hours at this point. The urge was still there. I was a mess. And then I was told to WAIT for at least AN HOUR when they can already see her HAIR? WHAT. We were furious and incredulous. The anesthesiologist came back and gave me more medicine (uhg) to make it so I would not feel the urge to push. I don't know what school these people went to, but just because I cannot feel the urge to push, does not mean my body is not naturally pushing on its own. Lemme tell ya--there's nothing like an hour and a half with nothing to do to really mess with your brain as you are driven mad with the urge to hold your baby and fear of what is to come. Just when we were about to demand something happen, they finally gave the OK for us to come back. But first I had to drink some nasty mess that would make the acid neutral in my stomach or something. The only flavor they had to this drink? Grape. I HATE grape. In fact, I had joked with my nurse earlier about it, and how grape medicine used to make me throw up as I was growing up. It tasted like Grape Kool-Aid mixed with ocean water. Bleckh.

I had been getting colder and colder and shaking harder and harder... the reason this time was that I had a fever of 100.2. Technically it's not considered a "fever" unless it is 100.4 so I still go the go ahead.

They moved along as I was becoming colder, more tired, more feverish, more afraid than ever. Tim was there walking beside the bed, trying to hold my hand, touch my head, whatever he could as we moved down the hall....