And Then There Were Four

Last week, two obstetricians, two anesthesiologists, two pediatricians, four nurses, and two scared parents--twelve people in all--entered a room.

A short while later, fourteen people left it.

A week ago today, I gave birth to two beautiful baby boys.

On Tuesday, their dad and I--assisted by two very excited grandparents armed with tank-like carseats, snowsuits, and assorted blankets--braved the bitter-cold New York winds and took them home.

Now I get it.

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We arrived at the hospital before 7 am. I filled out a bit of paperwork, and then Ty and I were led into a nice quiet room. An IV was inserted and the process of induction began. Everything progressed swimmingly. Weeks of praying and kegels and strategic sleep positioning had paid off. Terrified of surgery and its attendant recovery while trying to care for twins, I was on track for the vaginal delivery that I wanted. We talked, laughed, watched TV, and chatted with my parents, who came in periodically for updates.

Contractions progressed. If you're not familiar with them, they feel very much like menstrual cramps. C.S. says that menstrual cramps are the "chicken" of women's health complaints--everything feels like them. When they became uncomfortably strong, I asked for the anesthesiologist to come in and start the epidural.

The epidural felt no worse than a simple injection in the back, and better than some injections in recent memory. Inserting it was a bit scary, because one is supposed to remain totally still, but one possible effect is that it causes a feeling like an electrical surge through one's leg. This happened to me--strongly--and scared me, and I moved a little bit, and then I got upset because I moved, but the doctor assured me that everything was fine.

Within a very short time after insertion, I felt WONDERFUL. Warm, tingly, cozy, and pain-relieved. If epidurals didn't require so much skill and advanced training for insertion, I'm sure that they would be sold on the street for phenomenal amounts of money.

Labor progressed. After a while, I started to get extremely uncomfortable. The pain was increasing, despite the epidural. I can't describe the feeling exactly--it wasn't horrendous pain or anything, but, yet, I knew that something wasn't right. I told the nurse, and the doctor came in to check things out.

He discovered that I was no longer dilating. The contractions had stopped being productive. What was happening was that my son's head was pushing hard against my cervix. I had been right about something being wrong. It became clear to me that my son and I might actually be hurting each other. The repeated bashing would ultimately cause fetal distress, and put both babies at risk. After 9 months of not wanting a C-section, my instincts suddenly switched over and told me that it was probably the right thing to do about five minutes before my doctor gently suggested, "Let's give it a little more time, and then maybe talk about an alternate plan." I felt at peace knowing that my thoughts were on the right track, that my body was telling me what I needed to do.

A short while (and no progress) later, my doctor pulled up a chair. He and I agreed to wait what we both considered to be a more than reasonable amount of time for my body to catch up, and then to proceed with a C-section. He answered all my questions. When the time was up, he checked; still no change. With that, the medical team sent Ty to don some scrubs while they pumped up my epidural and wheeled me into the OR.

In my opinion, the OR is an oddly peaceful place. I find the bright lighting soothing. A whole team is assembled, ready to tackle a challenge and get a job done. In the case of a C-section, there is a sense of wonder about the whole thing. Everyone knows that life is about to enter the room in all of its screaming, kicking, gooey glory. And as for the mothers, we lie still in the midst of all the energy and activity, meditating on our last few moments of being in one body with our babies before the end of a long road.

About ten minutes after Ty joined my side, we had babies. Pink, beautiful, wonderful babies. Babies with my hair and his nose. Babies with two families and at five nationalities flowing within their veins. The OR team held up the babies for me to kiss and smell, and placed them in Ty's arms. I couldn't hold them because of the anesthesia. That was probably the most frustrating part of the whole delivery, but I knew that they were happy in their daddy's arms, and that made it easier. I just sat and stared at them as long as I could.

I'll continue the story in my next post. Thanks for reading with me as I get my blogging-feet wet again. :)