Thanks to my high blood pressure, my doctor decided I should be induced early, rather than allow my levels to get out of control and wind up with an emergency situation. I was called in to be induced on Friday morning, but had to wait for several hours before being treated with a Prostin gel to soften and ripen my cervix. Babydaddy loved any reference to my cervix ripening and kept making fruit-related analogies during the labour. We were sent home with instructions to return later that night to check my progress. The nurse emphasized that Prostin rarely ever brings on labour on its own and I would likely need to be induced the following day. Babydaddy and I watched TV, napped and ate before making the trek back to St. B. My own doctor was on call, so she checked me and reported that I had made a little change and was two centimetres dilated and 50% effaced. Another round of Prostin, which for some odd reason made me vomit up EVERYTHING I had eaten earlier in the evening, and we were sent home once again.
After a decent sleep, I woke up at 7:53 in the morning with contractions. I relaxed, napped and threw up in a regular cycle and eventually Babydaddy called the hospital. We learned there were no beds and told to wait at home, as an induction wouldn't be possible until later. Induction? Isn't this labour? I was confused, but laboured on, as the contractions became more intense. My sister joked that perhaps the baby would be born in a manger if there was "no room at the in...patient wing". Finally, we decided it was hospital time. Babydaddy claims it was very challenging to get me ready to go...he blowed dried my hair, I recall, and probably dressed me. It's kind of a blur for me. My parents picked us up and I do remember listening to Bob Dylan Christmas in the car on the ride to the hospital...Si-lent Niiiiight. Ho-ly Niiiight. Oh Bob.
The next couple of hours was a mixture of pain, vomiting and yelling. When we arrived at triage, I was three centimetres dilated. I was eventually hooked up to an IV for antibiotics and saline. The nurse checked me an hour later and I was five centimetres. Feeling discouraged, I told Babydaddy I wanted to die. And I wanted an epidural, something I was against during my pregnancy. There were still no beds, so I continued to labour in triage. Eventually, I started bucking from the contractions. I felt possessed. During one contraction there was a gush of fluid. "My water broke!" I cried out. No, Dana the Nurse confirmed, you peed. She checked me and exclaimed that in half an hour I had fully dilated and was now 100% effaced and the baby's head was pushing against the membrane. I said I had to poo and went to the washroom. "Don't push!" she said through the door. "I CAN'T HELP IT!!!" I yelled back. She burst in the bathroom and got me back in the bed and then was on the phone yelling "My girl is going to go! I need a bed now!"
I offer my sincere apologies for the lack of posts! Blogging has taken a backseat to a plethora of events and issues that have arisen over the last few weeks.
The last week of November, my blood pressure started to rise to alarming levels. After a number of doctor's visits and a trip to the hospital for monitoring, I was placed on medical leave from work. To ensure my and baby's health, I was prescribed medication and placed under the supervision of an antenatal home care program with daily visits from a nurse. I also started going for weekly fetal assessments and ultrasounds, which was nice -seeing my baby was a bonus- but also stressful -parking around the hospital is atrocious.
To make matters worse, our neighbour's house exploded at the beginning of December. Details are still being sorted out, but our house, shed and Babydaddy's old car caught fire. Damage was entirely exterior, but the firefighters trampled all over our brand new kitchen floors and left soot marks on the walls during their search of the house. We lost all our camping gear and the car was completely destroyed. This happened two days before I officially moved into the house, after all the renovations Babydaddy and his dad did to make the house comfortable for our little family. The move went smoothly, thanks to the assistance of our families and friends and after settling in, I felt infinitely more prepared for baby to arrive. We're still dealing with the aftermath of the fire, but Babydaddy is taking charge of that, meaning more rest time for me.
On the up and up, the fire has given us a reason to sing various renditions of Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire"...because we didn't.
