First off – the important part:
Rya Jane Myllymaki was born August 16th at 10:27PM.
She weighed 9lbs 4oz (we still don’t know her official ‘length’ – but we are guessing around 21-22″)
We are all back home, healthy, and settling in to our new family of three.
For those who have called and emailed, and are still waiting for me to reply – my apologies. I’ve avoided most “2-way” communication, as questions about what happened still sets me off in tears.
So, I’m sharing our story here. That way, when we do talk next, we can pick it up today – simply with, ‘how’s everyone doing today?’ – and not, “What happened?”
(I should note that while I may inject some humour while I write, I found nothing funny about any of this. Humour is simply one of my coping methods. So, no jokes about my labour or our week in the hospital when talk – unless you want to reduce me to tears, ok?)
I also found that once I started to write this post, it was becoming a novel. And bringing me to tears again. So I’m breaking it up into parts, so it’s manageable for you to read, and for me to write!)
The Long Way Home. (Part 1 of 4 – Rya’s Grand Entrance)
My baby girl is 15 days old today. I can hardly believe it.
I can’t imagine life before her.
But I also never could have imagined the ‘adventure’ we would have when our daughter made her grand entrance into this world.
We live 9 blocks from the hospital. It took us just 6 minutes to get there. But it took us 8 very long days to get back home.
August 16th
It’s 7:30am, and I wake up feeling a little “off.” I recall a girlfriend telling me her start to labour felt like menstral cramps. Could it be?
I figured, with it being our actual due date (when only 5-7% of babies are actually born) the odds were against it.
I was also secretly hoping I wasn’t in labour for 3 reasons:
1. I really, really wasn’t ready to give up being pregnant
2. Our toilet had been removed from our main bathroom and I was planning on doing much of the labouring at home so that would be a pain
3. The kitchen was still under construction.
But by 8AM, there was no denying it. I was in labour.
“Ok. Relax. This is going to take some time. Start timing them so you know when to call the doula & midwife”
I was about to get a pen & paper, when I thought…. ‘hey – I bet there is an app for that!’ Indeed, there is.
Not that I really needed it. It became clear that I skipped the whole ‘early labour’ thing…or else I slept through it the night before.
By the time the app had downloaded on my iphone and I had timed the first few contractions, they were already 45-50 seconds long and 3-5 minutes apart.
What the….?!?!? Our little girl appeared to be in a hurry. Didn’t she know she came from a family of procrastinators?
Just after 10AM, our midwife arrived, and at the time, thought I was close to 9cm dilated. Were we going to make the move to the hospital as planned, or just deliver at home?
At this point, I figured, ‘Hell, if I’m that close, everything must be going great – please don’t move me”
Wrong decision.
For the next 7 hours, I would continue to labour, with my stubborn cervix just not fully thinning. Apparently, our little peanut was pushing the last of the cervix against me and dragging it down with her.
I felt like Dr. Suess’s Green Eggs and Ham book – but instead listing off the places to eat, I could list off the places I was labouring.
I will labour on a bed. I will labour on my head. I will labour in a pool, I will labour on a stool.
I will labour on a ball or in the tub just down the hall.
When they finally broke my water, we discovered the meconium, and off to the hospital we went.
At 10AM I thought it would be uncomfortable to be moved.
8 hours later, it was more than just “uncomfortable.”
We live just 6 minutes from the hospital, but it felt like eternity. I think I may have even left teeth marks in the leather on our backseat.
When we got to the hospital, it felt like I was living out a scene from a movie.
Car flies up to hospital entrance. Wheelchair suddenly appears. Loud groaning pregnant lady in a robe is wheeled furiously down the halls while making a spectacle of herself and scaring small children along the way.
Pregnant lady gets into elevator where unsuspecting man stands uncomfortably in the corner, trying to ignore loud moans emitting from dramatic pregnant lady. Big nurse tries to throw pregnant lady onto hospital bed. Pregnant lady snaps. And so on…
Yes…that was my grand entrance to the Royal Inland Hospital. All that was missing was the dramatic movie music. Left my ipod at the house. Damn.
Once in my room, an obstetrician was called in to help assess our situation. My vitals were good. Baby’s heart-rate was good. And so, it was decided the labouring would continue.
However, because I was no longer able to ‘not push’ during the contractions, and my cervix still had some thinning to do, it was determined that an epidural would be the best way for me to relax.
So much for a natural birth.
However, I assure you, at this point, I really, REALLY didn’t care. I just wanted my baby to arrive safely. And soon.
After I was given the epidural, for the first time in about 5 hours, I opened my eyes and looked around the room.
I saw my husband. He looked as rough as I felt. I realized that while I was experiencing the physical demands of labour, this had taken a toll on him too.
I was still able to feel the pressure of the contractions, but with the pain removed, I was able to breathe my way through them and avoid pushing – which was a blessing. Because at this point, my contractions were 2 minutes long and just 30 seconds apart.
By 9:30PM, my cervix finally cooperated and the “real” pushing began.
I had envisioned standing, or squatting, and gently ‘breathing my baby down.’
HA!
Blessed are those women who have that experience. I sure didn’t.
I’m on my back, with monitors and IVs strapped on, in a position that could have landed me a spot in Cirque du Soleil – feet up on a bar, a sheet wrapped around my wrists, pulling myself up into a horizontal ‘standing’ position.
I had a mirror so I could see what was happening (when my eyes were actually open) – and when they told me her head was starting to crown, I looked down, saw the hair, and reached down to touch my daughter for the first time.
I though perhaps I was going to be meeting her within minutes, and I got another surge of energy (the reality: it would be three very long days before I was able to hold her).
I pushed and pushed and felt like I was making no progress. It felt like eternity.
When I was writing my ‘birth plan’ I thought, “I don’t want anyone coaching me to push, or cheerleading on the side”
Another big HA!
I didn’t just want someone to tell me how to push my baby out. I NEEDED someone to help me. No ‘positive thinking’ on my part was getting the job done!
When her head finally came out, I glanced in the mirror again and saw the meconium oozing out of her nose and mouth.
Panic.
Get her out – now. Fast. Is she breathing?
I tried to push again. They told me to wait for the next contraction. I couldn’t wait. That was my baby girl, stuck.
I kept thinking, “Aren’t babies supposed to come out quickly after the head made it through? Why isn’t she coming out? What am I doing wrong?”
More panic. The team of doctors and nurses were waiting bedside to suction the meconium.
Panic. Her shoulders were stuck.
Finally, she was out. The cord was being cut, and in a blur, I saw her being passed to the medical team. I was searching the nurses eyes for signs that she was ok. I could hear her sputtering. Ok. This is good.
But where is her cry? Why isn’t she crying? (it would be days before we get to hear that sweet sound).
Suddenly, my beautiful girl is put in front of me for a quick kiss, and then they vanish to the ICU.
My husband goes with them. I am feeling ok, confident I’ll be holding my girl in the next hour.
Two hours later, we are told they are going to be airlifting her to the NICU at the Children’s Hospital in Vancouver.
I hyperventilate.
At 5 AM, I am in an ambulance with my baby girl, heading out the airport. Erik is going to be driving down to meet us in Vancouver.
I kept thinking, ‘I’m dreaming…this has to be a dream.’ And yet, I’m so in love with my daughter, I don’t want it to be a dream.
An hour later, I’m following my baby girl into the NICU at Children’s. This is no dream.
(Part 2 of 4: Our time in the NICU…coming soon)
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