Sullivan's Birth Story

Here's Sullivan's birth story... for people who like that sort of thing. Heads up, it does contain the works vagina and catheter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm pretty sure the cherry coke made me go into labor. That or dancing at prom. But my money's on the cherry coke. Tuesday, the 6th, Henry and I went to my parent's house for dinner. I rarely drink soda - as in once a month or so I'll have a sip of Jared's. I also don't drink coffee. But seeing that can of cherry coke in the door of my parent's fridge inspired an irresistible urge to guzzle. I drank it down within ten minutes.

At dinner, I told my parent's about the phone message I'd gotten from my father-in-law earlier that day. It was his birthday and he was hoping it was going to be Sullivan's, too. My dad asked if I thought it might be. I shook my head confidently saying there was no way I'd have him that day.

Henry stayed over at my parents and Jared and I stayed up way too late chatting. I went to sleep around 1am. At 2:30, I woke up feeling contractions. They weren't too dramatic, but definitely happening. I waited a bit to wake Jared up figuring this whole thing would take awhile and one of us should have some sleep. But after hanging out in the living room by myself for a bit and them not going away, I decided he should probably be awake for this. At the birth center (with Henry) they wanted more of the labor to happen at home so told us to call them when the contractions were 4-1-1: four minutes a part, one minute long, for one hour. When I asked the doctors here, they said, "Oh no, don't wait that long. Call as soon as they are regular. 6-1-1 or even earlier."

By the time we started tracking around 3, mine were 2.5-1-1.

In between moans, I finished packing my bag and we set off for the hospital, 30 minutes away. Just like in the movies, they brought out a wheelchair and I was rushed to Labor and Delivery. They hooked me up with monitors and such, stuck an IV in my hand and I put on their gown. I was already seven centimeters dilated. My water hadn’t broken and they were waiting for my doctor to arrive. They quickly noticed the baby’s heart rate was dropping during contractions. It felt a little like déjà vu as the same thing happened with Henry. However, this time we could clearly hear his heart. It went from the horse-racing hoof sound of duh-dump, duh-dump, duh-dump at 140 beats per minute to the terrifying

Dump

Dump

Dump

They kept changing my position and made me wear oxygen. My doctor arrived around 4am and broke my water. With his calm voice, he brought up the c-section possibility and Jared, after hearing that insanely low heart rate for the last half-hour said, “Don’t dilly dally. If you need to do it, do it!” The doctor said they didn’t know why the heart rate was dropping – that it could be a cord thing or that the baby was just pissed off at how quick labor was going. He said they’d take me to the OR and if, along the way, my labor progressed to the point where he could use a vacuum for a VBAC, we’d still go that route.

I was rushed downstairs to the white, bright room I remembered from Henry’s birth. This time, they made Jared stay outside until they assessed. It was determined I’d need to be knocked out completely and emergency c-section was a go. There was a sweet woman holding my left hand and lots of running around. My eyes were mostly closed as I was still having intense contractions and was now lying flat on an operating table with very little to brace myself with. The nice woman left and was replaced with a blurry, deep-voiced, gruff terrorist who proceeded to tell me she had to insert a catheter. And she couldn’t wait until I was knocked out. And then slapped the inside of one of my thighs saying “Open up” while I was having a contraction. Then there was shooting pain, I’m pretty sure I screamed several times and she told the doctor, “I think I put it in wrong. Is that her vagina?” Lovely woman.

Eventually, my doctor did her job and they knocked me out (with a suffocating rubber mask that made me ask them if they were killing me). Turns out the cord was wrapped very tightly around his neck which is what was causing those practically flatlining heart “dumps.” Sullivan Brady McCannell was born at 5:21am. Less than three hours after I woke up feeling the first contractions. He weighed 7lbs 10.8oz and was 20.5 inches long. Perfectly healthy boy. Just really wanted to get out. It was the cherry coke, I tell you.

Bust a Move

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:42. Well, that’s my guess because I wouldn’t let myself look at my phone until 4:57. At some point in the night, Henry had climbed into bed with me. His tulip lips and delicately closed eyes were on the pillow next to me and his feet bumped my knees under the covers. I thought for the 137^th time how tall he’s getting and remembered when he’d first nursed in bed with me, his feet skimming below my stomach which I shielded with a blanket to protect my c-section scar.

After a few moments of enjoying my sleeping son, the to-do list bullets started firing in my head. Work stuff. My first job, my second assignment, and the committee I’ve been working on. Email so-and-so. Write up such-and-such. Finish that one thing. Assign those other things. Email someone else. And then the baby to-dos began to whine. Fish out the infant car seat. Wash both car seats. Where is the breast pump? Finish packing the hospital bag. Set up the co-sleeper. Clean out Henry’s new closet. Hang the artwork in his new room. Rearrange the nursery.

We’re getting close to the single-digit countdown. Jared’s big work event (Reunion Weekend) passed this weekend (a huge success). The ESL students start to arrive on Wednesday. After that, we are just waiting. On Friday, the doctor acted like I was overdue. They also act like I’m the one scheduling weekly appointments. “No questions?” they say each week. This time she gave me tips “to get things going” as if I’m past my due date. “I’m in no rush,” I told the doctor, “they are easier on the inside.” She shrugged, maybe surprised I’m not begging for induction.

 

Although… Friday night, we went to the first annual Alumni Sno-Ball (MCI’s version of prom). To celebrate the 90s in which we attended high school, some of us did some throwback dressing. I found a blue, glittery gown from the Goodwill that was very stretchy. With Aquanet bangs, blue eye shadow and my very form-fitting dress, we joked I was the token teen mom at the prom. (Pictures coming soon) Being mostly belly at this point, people seemed very concerned when I took to the dance floor. If you can’t dance to Bust A Move and the Humpty Dance when you’re 8 ½ months pregnant, when can you? And if that doesn’t speed along labor, well then, baby isn’t ready to come out yet. I’m happy waiting.

 

Gives me more time to pretend I’m going to finish those to-do lists.