I was nearing full term in a ridiculously complicated high risk pregnancy. 35 weeks and 5 days, I had my routine OB appointment, the first of the every week appointments. Everything was normal, and Charlie and I headed to Costco. Two days before Thanksgiving...brilliant.
We got the few things we needed, ran into a friend, and got into the check out line. When I was getting ready to pay, the Costco guy told me that something was leaking in my purse. I went to check and discovered my water bottle had opened and was pouring everywhere. I closed the bottle, apologized, and turned to go back to the counter...and slipped in the water. Naturally, I grabbed the first thing I saw, a little old lady. Of course. Amazingly she managed not to fall with me (thank goodness,) and I was suddenly surrounded by very concerned people. I'd landed on my knee, my stomach spared all impact, so I assured everyone I was fine, apologized profusely and tried to make myself invisible as I paid. I heard a Costco employee in the next line ask, "Um, what is that?" and realized it probably looked like my water had broken. "Ha ha," I thought, "Scheduled C-section, my water's not going to break."
We went home, put away the items we'd picked up for Thanksgiving, had lunch, and I considered packing a hospital bag. This was quickly dismissed. Maybe do laundry...nah. The day proceeded normally, nap time, dinner, TV, bed. For some reason, I decided to put a towel on the bed, just in case the impossible happened, but as soon as I laid down I realized it was uncomfortable, and threw it on the floor.
About an hour later, it happened. An intense amount of water was pouring out of me. I was immediately awake, and without thinking sunk to the floor where I knew the towel was and started yelling for Tim to wake up. Eventually, he found me ( I was invisible from where he was, since I was huddled on the floor,) and we tried to figure out what needed to be done so we could leave. He got my dad and set him up to take care of Charlie, I pulled dirty yoga pants from the hamper (why didn't I do laundry? why didn't I pack a bag?) then sat on the bed shaking for awhile. The shock was overwhelming me, and I was terrified for the baby. It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't follow Charlie's footsteps and go straight to 39 weeks without so much as a contraction. We headed for the hospital around 11:30.
We entered the hospital through the ER - and no one was there. It was a ghost town. I had to call the baby center to find out where to go. We checked in, and went to triage, where the told me they had to confirm that the torrent of water still coming from me wasn't just pee. In the meantime I was strapped to all sorts of monitors, an ultrasound was done to confirm the baby was still breach, and we were introduced to the doctor on call. Now, let me just say, I'm sure this doctor is great. I'm sure she's super experienced, and can do a c-section in her sleep. But, we were tired, stressed, and scared. So, Tim asked if my doctor could be called. Well, this offended the doctor who was there so completely that I thought there was going to be a brawl. She lectured, scolded, yelled...and finally agreed to call my doctor and see if she could do the surgery. When she was unsuccessful and getting through to my doctor, it was clear she had washed her hands of us, so she told us we could just wait until the morning and try again. We confirmed that there was no risk to the baby, and agreed.
We spent a long night monitoring the baby, my temperature, and waiting. Around 9 am, a different doctor came in, and told us that my doctor wouldn't be able to be here until Friday, and would we like to wait? It was Wednesday morning. Obviously, waiting two days was not the best solution, so we told her we'd be happy to have her do the C-section. We weren't trying to be unreasonable, we simply wanted to know if Dr. Brown could do it, and if not, get the party started. We were going to have the baby that afternoon. It was settled. I was nervous, but we were happy with the situation.
A little bit later, my phone rang. It was my doctor! She'd rearranged her whole schedule, and would be there at noon to do my C-section. Amazing! We were more than thrilled, she'd done my C-section with Charlie, been there for most of my delivery with Isaiah, and I'd been seeing her for 4 years. It meant a lot that she would do it.
We kept getting pushed back as emergency C-sections kept cropping up, but eventually we made it into the OR. I was very anxious, remembering the last time I'd had this done. Thankfully, this time around, I didn't react to the spinal block like I did before, and I didn't feel all the pressure and pulling that I did with Charlie. And, at 1:41, on November 27th, Weston Peter was born. A NICU doctor took him to the corner of the room to examine him, and Tim went with them, but it was positioned so that I could see him. I stared, crying, and the tiny baby while they put me back together. For some reason, I couldn't stop sobbing. I was so relieved to hear him cry, see him wiggle, see that he was, indeed, a boy (something that had been up for debate at my later ultrasounds).
I was transferred to a hospital bed and wheeled back to my room. I passed my pastor and his wife in the hall...since our C-section kept getting pushed back, they arrived before it was done, and as a result were sent away since I had yet to meet Weston, and the nurses were eager for me to start recovering. Then my tiny boy was placed on my chest, we had our first feeding time, and he was whisked away to be evaluated. His blood sugar was extremely low, so they started giving him formula, without my consent, which bummed me out, but I assumed it had to happen. The rest of the hospital stay, I struggled to get him to latch, only succeeding about 4 times in three days, so I pumped and pumped and pumped, and we supplemented with formula as needed.
Now, off the put the toddler down for a nap and feed the wee one again.
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