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Erica Jo Adams' Birth

This is quite a lengthy story, and I apologize in advance for that, but it was a long, drawn-out situation. 

My water actually began to leak on Friday, April 11, 1997.  I wasn't sure what it was and since it had seemed so long since I'd became pregnant, I was sure that this wasn't "it".  I went to the hospital that night and there wasn't any sign of amniotic fluid present.  I went home and had a repeat performance.  I called my doctor on Sunday morning and told him that I felt as though I was leaking. He told me to wear a pad and ignore it, sure that this wasn't it and I was being overly-paranoid.  My fiance, Ed, and I did quite a bit of running around, visiting, to different parts of Kansas City.  Finally, we ended up at my grandma's house and she told me how her amniotic fluid was leaking while preparing Thanksgiving dinner in 1950 when she was pregnant with my aunt.  It sounded exactly like what I was going through and I made up my mind to proceed to the hospital.  When I stood up to go, I had soaked my clothes.  We rushed the 4 blocks to the hospital and they checked for amniotic fluid.  I had been leaking since 9:30 that morning, and it was indeed amniotic fluid.  The nurse contacted the doctor and they began discussing starting pitocin to induce labor since I was only dilated to 3 cms and was going nowhere fast.  I kept thinking, "pit=epidural=c/section" and began to panic.  When the doctor arrived, I begged for prostaglandin gel in place of the pit, but he was afraid of infection and wouldn't consent to it.  

Up until this point, I had pictured my labor to be around 12 hrs, in and out of the jacuzzi, sitting on a birth-ball and giving birth in the squatting position.  Things were not going as I had planned and I began to panic.  The induction started out pretty easily, feeling like menstrual cramps, which I could deal with without any problem.  They quickly escalated into something that I couldn't hardly deal with and the contractions were overlapping.  The nurse had told me that if I had regular contractions, they may be able to turn off the pitocin.  I begged and pleaded, cussed and cursed at them to turn the thing off, to no avail.  The doctor went home, thinking I'd be many hours and he may as well get some rest.  He no sooner got home than I reached my transition stage and began to say, "I can't do this anymore." Up until this point, I hadn't had any pain medication.  The nurse gave me a small amount of nubain "to take the edge off" of the contractions.  All it did was make me sleepy and nauseous.  I had screamed at Ed early in the hard contractions and he had went to the waiting room to talk to my grandparents, feeling useless.  The nurse had guided me through breathing techniques that kept me from screaming, in any case. 

All I kept thinking was, "This is going too fast.  I don't even have any laundry done!"  I actually wanted them to stop the labor so that I could go home and prepare the house for the baby. 

When I reached transition, the nurse, who was wonderful, I might add, had the sense to check my dilation and said, "Honey, you're almost there.  You're at 9 cms!"  I was dumbfounded! Hadn't we just started this pitocin drip?  From what I understand, she walked out of the room, then RAN to the nurses' station to call my doctor because I was actually at 10 cms and ready to bring this child out into the world.  She came back in after calling him and said  to me, "Your body is ready and if you'd like to start pushing, that would be okay." My mind went, "DID SHE SAY 'PUSH'?!" and I began pushing immediately.  I hadn't even had the faintest URGE to push up until she said the word, "push".   I began to push with all my might. 

The doctor must've lived close because he made it there in less than 5 minutes.  Ed came back in and a nurse and Ed held my legs up while I pushed. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I had managed to get her head out of my cervix and into the birth canal on my solo push, but she wasn't out yet, by any means. The doctor felt to see if the umbilical cord was interefering in any way, which it wasn't.  I pushed her head out to her nose, the doctor was happy, she went back in, he wasn't happy.  She came back out with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck once and on top of her head.  I had always thought that you had one session of pushing, got the head out and before you felt the urge to push again, they turned the baby so that the shoulders could come out, then when you felt the urge to push again, the baby would come out. Not so.  As soon as her head was out, he turned her and ordered me to push some more and she was out in one fell swoop, pretty much.  I began to tear as her head emerged that time. I don't mean, "A little tear," I mean TEAR. The doctor grabbed the scissors and immediately began to cut me upon seeing the severity of the tear.  Erica was born at 10:08 p.m. on Sunday, April 13, 1997.  Just a little over two hours since the pitocin drip had begun. 

As soon as Erica was out, she was put on my chest and I noticed her blue feet.  They were concerned about her body temperature and almost immediately took her away from me to the warmer in the corner. I could vaguely see her, but not enough to keep me from hollering that I wanted my baby.  I delivered the placenta without incident and the doctor began to sew me up.  She weighed 6 lbs 11 ozs and was 19 inches long.  I hate to think what an 8 lb baby would've done to me. 

From such a short delivery, I definitely have ONE thing to say: it sure does make a pretty baby.  She wasn't cone-headed or anything like that. Her skin is as pretty as the sunset and she has yet to get a rash.  I know I must be partial, but she's the prettiest baby I've ever seen. 

Erica has changed my life.  I never thought of myself as a "mothering" type.  I knew that instincts would kick in, but it's amazing, the bond between mother and child.  Shortly after her birth, my entire family was in my room and they were passing her around like a sack of potatoes and she was bawling her head off.  I said, "GIVE HER TO ME."  They reluctantly handed her over to me and I looked into her eyes and said, "Hey there, sugarbug," and she just stared back at me, ceasing to cry.  My mom said, "What did you just call her?" I said, "Sugarbug. For nine months, in my womb, I've called her 'sugarbug'.  She thinks it's her name now."  It's incredible how a baby can recognize your voice upon entering the world.

I hope to send some pictures once I get them back from being developed.  I think I'm the happiest person alive.