15 December: Finally, we're three. (Jen)

Although I was given an epidural, I could still feel pain. I'd been told that by other mothers thatI'd still be able to feel pressure, but no pain. The anaesthetist had given me a little hand-held control, to "top off" the medicine that was going into my spine, in case I was in pain. So, as the contractions worsened and the pain in my pelvis became more intense, I happily topped off my meds with every contraction. Eventually it was explained to me that an epidural should get rid of 90% of the pain of a contraction and about 50% of the pain of pushing. Ah ha. I still like epidurals and am glad that I had one -- mainly because it let me get some much-needed sleep after almost 24 hours of labor. But now I know that they're not even intended to get rid of the pain.

Ben -- and the nurses, etc. -- were able to monitor my contractions, too. There was a tube stuck up next to my cervix which provided moment-by-moment reading on a screen of the intensity of my contractions. So Ben was able to help me through the pain by telling me that the intensity had peaked, and was on its way down to nothing. But, near the end, we were all focused on her heart beat and her head -- not my pain, nor the contractions. I could have been completely blind and numb, and I still would have known exactly when her head finally came out -- there was a rush of energy in the room. Everyone was rejoicing and awe-inspired. When the noise of the excitement quieted, and in between my panting breaths, we were able to hear Sophia! Her body was still inside of my body, but she whimpered. Almost like a baby puppy. And I melted. My baby girl. Wow.

With the next push, her entire body came sliding out. Ben and Thea, our mid-wife, had to do some fancy twisting because her cord was wrapped around her once under her chin, and another under her arms. But there was no pressure -- just pure joy. Once she was unwrapped, my gown was untied and she was put on my chest. I had no idea what to do, or how to hold her. After a few seconds, she was moved. Ben cut her cord and watched the pediatrician clean her up and do her APGAR. Then the nurse, Michelle, weighed her and measured her. Meanwhile, I was still having contractions. The one which immediately followed Sophia pushed out her placenta (we have it in our freezer -- I was shocked at how big and heavy it is). Then Thea stiched me up (I had a second degree tear -- of both skin and muscle). I didn't feel any of the stitching. Crazy. Part way through that, Sophia was brough back to me with a little hat on her head, and I positioned her or nursing -- not easy, especially when colostrum only comes out in the tiniest amounts. Ben came over and we looked at each other with wild eyes. We talked to her for a little while, and then we sang the Doxology together.

Then everyone left us alone in the delivery room -- to give us time to be a family for a moment. I was so strange. I felt a bit abandoned. Eventually, though, we felt more comfortable. That was an important time for Ben and me to step in, with both feet, to this new life together. Soon, Michelle and Thea came back, unhooked me from most of my IV bags and such, and supported me as I walked to the bathroom. After having an epidural, your bladder continues to fill and expand, but you don't know that you need to pee. Similarly, you don't know how to make yourself pee. I tried a couple times, and then we decided to relax and wait longer. So Ben pushed my wheelchair while I held Sophia, and we made our way to our recovery room, in the Dogwood wing of BC Womens' Hospital. The doctors were concerned that she had some gunk in her lungs yet, so they told us to keep an eye on her and be ready to put her on her side and tap her back if we heard her gurgling or struggling to breathe. And then, everyone was gone.

We were all completely worn out. Ben had to make his bed on the floor, with a mat and a pillow from the hospital. I felt sad for him down there. Sophia and I were given so much attention, and Ben was just on the floor. I wasn't sure how to feel about Sophia. I knew how to care for Ben -- almost instinctively. But I had no clue what to do with this little bitty person who needed us, but was wrapped in two hospital towels, sleeping in a plastic bassinet on rollers, next to my head. All I wanted was sleep -- and a sense of normalcy for Ben and me. The last couple days had been SUCH a wild ride!! I'd expected to be overcome with maternal feelings -- to maybe cry or coo or not be able to put her down. But no. More than anything, I wanted my body to be normal, and for Ben to climb up in the hospital bed and sleep with me until we both felt whole again.

8 December: Unto Us a Child is Given. (Jen)

She’ll be 3 months and one week old tomorrow. As I look back at the photos of Sophia’s birth, and see our timid postures, I wonder why they ever trusted us with this innocent and fragile little girl. We look … happy… I guess. And tired and totally uncomfortable.

Near the end of our 38.5 hours of labor, after two applications of hormones to my cervix, after a 10-minute long contraction (the pain from which made my body shiver and my teeth chatter), after water breaking at home in bed and then all over the bathroom floor, after an epidural and an IV put in twice, after throwing up at least four times, after having all kinds of tubes and monitors and wires put up into me by various different doctors (one fetal heart rate monitor actually gets screwed shallowly into the baby’s head, and if it’s done poorly the first time, a different OB will come in and take the first one out and screw in a second one), after losing track of her heart rate, and finally, after learning how it felt to push successfully (much like pooping), Sophia’s head was out. I had been hearing the cries of other newborns for almost 24 hours in the delivery wing of BC Women’s Hospital. Each new set of cries signaled miracle and life and hope. I had been longing to hear the sound that meant that she was out, and that her lungs were okay. I think I didn’t really believe that I had a person inside of me, and I wanted that proof. Between contractions I had asked Thea, our midwife, if Sophia would be able to make any sound when just her head was out. Nope – she can’t make sounds until the fluid in her lungs is squeezed out, as happens in the process of a vaginal delivery.

They’d set up a mirror on a stand, with a bright light, so that I could watch our progress. I’d been looking at the wet, wrinkled, white top of Sophia’s head for what felt like hours. I had even reached down and touched it. But it felt so foreign, so unlike a soft baby – more like an internal organ. And for a long time, it didn’t seem like it was even moving. It would come out a bit and then get sucked back in. But Thea, the nurse, and Ben were all assuring me that I was doing a wonderful job of pushing. I kept pushing and catching my breath and looking in that mirror. Eventually, I ran out of tolerance for the pain. I took that as encouragement. After I saw blood in the mirror, I stopped looking. I just focused everything on pushing.

To be continued… Ben just set the table with black bean soup for lunch (we’ve been saving by having soup everyday except Sundays).