Thursday, July 14, 2011

One week

At 6:30 a.m. last Thursday, I forgot about the treadmill and my the 8:45 doctor’s appointment, leashed up Denali and headed out for a walk. A 3.5-mile walk on a beautiful morning that left me feeling accomplished and rejuvenated.

And it was all because of a comment from Lauren.

“In the beginning you'll be doing so much sitting; breastfeeding, pumping, bottle feeding, cuddling le bebe that you'll wish you could just get out anytime you want. So I’d leave the sitting for post pregnancy and walk, or hike or get out as much as possible.”

I had no idea just how right she would be.


The Story of Miles’ Birth

Thursday was just another day and another weekly check-up with the OB/GYN. Go in, get weighed, get the blood pressure taken, get measured.

Just one thing: I had a different doctor (mine was on vacation) and she said I was measuring small. Small enough to alarm her.

I was immediately sent to have an ultrasound, where it was determined that Miles was definitely small – his estimated weight at 4 pounds, 15 ounces. The doctor was concerned that he wasn’t growing properly and felt that at that point in the pregnancy, he would do better outside than in. I would have to be induced. That day.

The plan for the induction was to give me a medication called Cervadil to soften things up over a 12-hour period at which point I would be given Pitocin to start contractions. If all went right, I’d have a baby Friday morning.

Right from the get go, though, it was obvious things wouldn’t go according to plan. The Cervadil was delayed because of a small blip on the fetal monitor. When it was inserted, there was another blip – Miles’ heart rate dropped – and it was taken out until the doctor decided what course to take next. And during that “thinking period” Miles’ heart rate dropped two other times when I got up to go the bathroom.

Three strikes and you’re out.

The doctor on call determined that Miles was already stressed just hanging out (more than likely from sitting on the cord) and labor would put him in greater stress. While he was able to bounce back like a champ during the previous episodes, she feared it wouldn’t be so easy in delivery. The best option would be a C-section.

I can’t tell you how scary it all was – from the army of nurses rushing into the room every time his heart rate dropped, the oxygen mask strapped to my face, the fear that I had done something to hurt him. I didn’t want to have a C-section but it wasn’t about me.

Two hours later, he was born. I really don’t remember it all – the doctor held him up for a only brief – just the sigh of relief when I heard him wail and then when they said he weighed in at 5 pounds, 14 ounces.

My boy was OK.

Ten toes. Ten fingers. Two balls. A head of red hair. And the healthiest pair of lungs in the whole wide world.


P.S. Mom and babe are doing OK post C-section. Not being able to walk down the block is killing me and hanging out on the couch watching “The Kennedys” mini-series is about to make me crazy. That, and near constant feedings with Miles. It seems he inherited his mother’s appetite.

P.P.S. While I’m not commenting, I’m enjoying everyone’s blogs. Mostly at 3 a.m., as I read on my phone when I’m breast feeding ;)