I recently shared Isayah's birth story with one of my online groups and thought it'd make a cute post as we head into December...
Enjoy :-)
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I got pregnant at 19, still young with bright eyes and big dreams. Never wanted kids, but I was in love with a man that I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with so having a baby seemed to be the right thing for us to do. I believed him when he said he wanted me to be his wife one day (though I wasn't interested in marriage, EVER, it still felt good to feel wanted. So, I went with it.). My due date was projected for February 17th.
At the beginning of my pregnancy, we had a big falling out and he moved from Richmond (where we lived) back to DC (where he was from) and I stayed home to have the baby. Eventually we reconciled and he came down ever so often to accompany me to doctor visits, but he never moved back. We planned to move me and the baby to DC once it was born. From the start, I had no idea how to be pregnant. All I knew was I had a free ass free pass to eat whatever the hell I wanted and gain all the weight I possibly could, then have someone else to blame it on (just trifling as all hell, lol). I thoroughly enjoyed the attention I received as an expectant mother, and if I'd known then how that attention would soon shift to being 'all about the baby', I'd have tried to figure out a way to keep him en utero until college. *I'm serious*.
I DID eat whatever I wanted. I didn't have any strange cravings but the things I'd really enjoyed before pregnancy, I now had license to overindulge in. And, I did. OH, did I! I'm the QUEEN of spicy food so I was jalapeno peppering, hot saucing, banana peppering, fried fish and vinegaring it UP, you hear me?? My favorite was steak and cheese with extra jalapenos and extra mayo, extra hot. In hindsight, I'm surprised I actually made it through pregnancy alive without having a coronary, but hindsight is always 20/20. I digress. Well into my 6th month, i had an incident at work where I bent over to use the water fountain, blacked out, cracked my head on the fountain, and had to be rushed to the hospital. I stayed for about a week. The doctor told me that my blood pressure was entirely too high and that I was now restricted to boiled/broiled/grilled chicken and green veggies. And...that was it. *blink.* blink* *looks around wide eyed* Who he tawkin to? I KNOW he didn't just tell ME I can't have fried chicken, or Texas Pete, or *gasp!* JALAPENOS!!?? DAMN THIS BABY! I NEED MY JALAPENOS!! Lol. I tried to keep this info from my mom because I knew her hatin ass would shut down the whole spicy food operation once she got the news, but she found out anyway and for the rest of my pregnancy, I ate chicken, broccoli, and pasta w/no sauce or salt. *crying real tears just thinking about it* Hold on, I'll be right back. I'm about to go fry some chicken just to reassure myself that I'm not in that dark and scary place anymore.
*but I'm serious*
Anyway, on one of my son's father's monthly trips down --December 2nd to be exact--we got into an argument and I got so angry that, in a moment of haste, I screamed "I hate you! I'ma kill this damn baby!" Not by falling down some steps. Not by stabbing my stomach. Nope. I drove my fat ass to Virginia Center Commons mall, went to The Great Steak and Potato Company, ordered the biggest steak and cheese with every single pepper they had in the entire building, every squeeze of mayo, and a whole canister of black pepper, some fries and an XL coke and proceeded to CRUSH the entire thing. I finished it before I even made it outta the damn parking lot. In my own defense, though, I was parked in the expectant mother's parking space, you know, the one that was closer to the mall entrance, so it took me a while to actually leave the lot. If that helps any. No? You sure? *sigh* Fine.
About 2 hours later, I'm home in bed watching Seinfeld, the episode where Kramer decides to roast himself like a turkey and baste himself with butter every hour, and proceeds to sit up on the rooftop in the sun to 'tan' himself when I suddenly have to pee. But, it's not a regular "i gotta pee"; it's a "wait, is there a marching band inside my bladder??" i gotta pee. Immediately I know i'm not gonna make it downstairs, so I rush over to the trash can and sit down.
Now, it's important to note a few things here:
1. The trash can happened to be positioned directly in front of the TV so once I sat down, I went right back to watching TV and lost track of time.
2. It's only December 2nd, so I'm nowhere near 'omg, it's time for the baby' mode. I'm still in "I still got 2.5 more months to grow this little shit but I want it out NOW so i can finally get a decent night's sleep without back pain, and get back to havng sex that I can withstand for more than a minute and 37 seconds". Hmph.
3. Because, at 19, I was incredibly stupid, I'd totally forgotten that I'd eaten my baby's weight in beef, cheese, spices, and cholesterol just a few hours ago so I was making ZERO connections in those moments. There were no lights on, and there was DEFINITELY nobody home in my brain cells.
So, when the credits on Seinfeld began to roll and another episode started, I (finally) noticed that I was still sitting on the trash can...and I was still peeing. To give you an idea of how blond my hair TRULY was, my first thoughts were "hmmm, how much water did i DRINK today??! *whispering to myself* I don't know, man, maybe this drink 8 glasses a day thing isn't such a hot idea. I wonder if other people pee like this when they ---*GASP!!!* OMG! OMG!! OMG, I'm peeing in the trash! OMG I'm having the baby! MY WATER JUST BROKE!" I fly up off the trash can, and urine goes everywhere: on the carpet, on the side of the trash can, all over me. I plop back down, and I'm gripping the sides of the trash can in a panic, mouth hanging open, blinking. I'm suddenly aware of EVERYTHING, all at once. It's way too early to have this baby. I can't remember the number to the doctor's pager. What am I gonna wear?? My hair isn't done!! I'm not wearing any makeup and I can't get up to put any on BECAUSE I'M HAVING A BABY! Then, as I searched my room frantically for something to hold in place until I could get downstairs, my eyes fell to the empty diaper bag on the floor beside my bedroom door. One of my closest friends and I had had a big fight recently and stopped speaking. She'd had a baby 2 years prior and, as an unspoken peace offering, had given me the bag a week ago. It meant alot to me so I'd set it by the door with the intention of filling it with all the adorable baby stuff I thought I'd have when delivery time came. I'd thought of her everytime I saw it. It was the one and only thing I had for the baby so far, and it was empty except for 2 lil lonely diapers. My baby shower had been planned for December 12th, so I hadn't even had a chance to get anything for the baby, yet it was on its way. Early. I didn't even know how many weeks I was; I just knew it was way too soon. What if the baby wasn't finished growing yet? What if it came out deformed?? What if it only had one leg?? One arm?? WHAT IF IT DIDN'T HAVE A NOSE??!! Lawd Jeezus, was this payback for those times I'd made fun of the retarded kids in school?? No! Please, Lord God NOOOOOO! *wails* Don't do that to the baby, Lord, take me insteaaaaad!! I couldn't take the pressure! (lmao, am I really this dramatic in real life? Yeah? You sure? *sucks teeth* Fine.)
I had to calm myself down before I called my mom up to help me because I already knew that when THAT negro heard the call, all HAYUL was gonna break loose. By then, the trash can was filling fairly quickly so I yelled down to her to come upstairs. I didn't wanna say why, but her ass was fussing about how tired she was, and to leave her alone cuz she wasn't in the mood. So, finally, I screamed "My Water Broke!" So Sure she'd heard me wrong, she dragged herself to the bottom of the steps and asked for a repeat. LOL. When I said again that my water had broken and that we needed to call Dr. R****, she said "Get the *&#! outta here. Are you playin? Alandria, I'm tired, I'ain't up for no sh*t outta you." as she slowly climbed the steps, sure I was kidding, and ready to pop me for having her climb the stairs for nothing. When she rounded the corner and saw me sitting on the trash can looking stupid, her eyes got so big, I thought we'd have to call an ambulance cuz she wouldn't be able to drive. Suddenly, a flurry of motion and activity. Her furry pink robe went flying *swish!*, she was talking a mile a minute, running down the stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to find a calendar cuz she was SURE it was too early....
I got left upstairs. Ass out, leggings around my ankles. On the trash can.
In her haste, she'd run over and turned off the TV (WTF?) then disappeared. The only thing heard was the steady trickle of amniotic fluid down into my light blue trash can. Well, at least I'd changed the trash earlier that day so it had been empty.
*sigh*
Minutes later, she comes back upstairs with the number for the doctor. We paged him but he was taking a while to call back so we're trying to get stuff together while waiting to see if we should leave or if this is a false alarm. LOL. Only, there's nothing to get together. So, we grabbed that lonely diaper bag, found me some oversized sweat pants and a tee shirt, and headed out. We're backing out of the driveway and one of my friends who lived on the same street happened to be passing by, so we stopped and told her what had happened. Screaming and tires screeching, and we're finally on our way to Henrico Doctors Hospital. I failed to mention that I'd called the father and told him about it, but his response was rude, ignorant, and disrespectful so I won't repeat that conversation here. Anyway, we arrived at the hospital and, because I'm me and in my mind my life is always a movie, I expect that we're gonna arrive dramatically in front of the hospital, there'll be a wheelchair that I'll get rushed into, then rushed up to labor and delivery while high tempo action music plays in the background, but on the way, something crazy will happen and I'll have a miraculous emergency delivery in a faulty elevator that shut off on our way up. And I'll name the baby after the intern who delivered it. Then the news will come, a reporter will interview me and marvel at how, even right after child birth, I'm still so glowy and my skin is so fresh, and my beauty wasn't tarnished at all, not even by all the blood and mucus.
What ACTUALLY happened was:
My mom and Kede helped me outta the car, my momma cussing the whole time about me peeing in her seat and how I'ma have to clean that up when I get home, i walked into the hospital and even after i told them i was leaking, they still made me STAND and wait at the front desk to fill out paperwork--with no wheelchair. After I filled it out, we all filed into an elevator with another family that was going into labor. I won't say the pregnant lady got offered a wheelchair because she was white, cuz i don't know if that's the reason, lol. But, she WAS white, and she DID have a wheelchair. I didn't. And I was making a horrible embarrassing mess on the floor of the elevator. Once I got into the labor and delivery room and got situated, I think my mom and my friend thought there would be more lights and explosions too because they sat on the sofa all nervous and anxious, watching me like a new puppy on white carpet. After the doctors checked everything, they announced that I wasn't even dilated, but to be sure, I had to go under supervision so they strapped me up to the baby monitor. And we waited. And waited. ....
.......
.........
...........
And waited some more. Eventually, my son's father arrived and we felt sure that it would be soon...but still.....nothing. The doctors prepared me for an emergency C Section and told me that "if I'd eaten anything today, I'd better pray this baby waits at least 24 hours to make trouble". 0_o Wait, wha?? LOL. After about an hour of nothing, my little family got tired of checking their watches and waiting, and left. I slept. Woke up the next day at 4am to a bright light overhead, and needles being inserted into each of my elbows. Once it became clear that I wouldn't deliver that day, they moved me out of LABOR AND DELIVERY and into a holding room on the same floor, hoping I would dilate. When I didn't, the doctor announced that I would have to stay there, in that bed, until my delivery date...on February 17th...or at least until the baby was actually ready to come out. But, I couldn't eat anything because I needed to always be prepared for a C Section. Me + hospital bed rest for 2.5 months + no food + my dumb ass son's father who I still wasn't really speaking to = DEATH. This was NOT about to go good. And yes, i meant to say 'go good'.
For the next 6 days, that's how my life went. I couldn't do anything because the amniotic fluid was still slowly leaking, I could barely eat, i couldn't really sleep, and every morning during what I now know to be 'rounds', I was awakened and stuck with another needle. By Day 3, we'd terrorized so many nurses, they threatened to put us out of the hospital. :-/ My son's father had walked to Toys R' Us and bought toys and games, so we'd played every card game, every board game, I'd sent almost every cup of pudding they'd sent on my food tray zooming past the nurse's head on her way out (hence Isayah's nickname Puddin), and I don't even wanna THINK about what my hair and makeup looked like. (oh, and btw, don't ever tell him I told you I call him Puddin. He thinks I only call him that when its just me and him. *giggles*)
Each day, the doctor came in saying "we're gonna induce, it's time." We'd prepare for it, then by 9pm, he'd come back and say "naaaah, let's wait and see what the baby does." Every.single. day. It got to be so frustrating! By Day 6, I was losing too much fluid and there was fear of infection if we let the baby incubate any longer so Dr. R**** said "ok, we're inducing for sure tomorrow. Get yourself ready and let your family know so they can be here." I had an IV needle in each elbow, in each leg, in both feet, and on the backs of my hands. I was a pin cushion. Before, I'd had to go to the bathroom and drag that damn IV machine with me each time. By Day 6, there were too many needles and attachments so I had to have a bed pan. #gross. I gotta give it up to my son's father though. He was there, every day, changing bed pans and bed pads, entertaining me and holding my hand. He never left, not once, not to shower, make phone calls, to change clothes, and definitely not to sleep. The only times he left the room was to go down to Subway on the first floor and get a meatball sub (this was back when Subway used to have the 6" sub of the week for like 2.50, and that week, it was meatball. so, he ate meatball subs for every.single.meal for 7 days. #supergag. But he was determined not to leave.).
On December 9th, a Thursday, the doctors came in to move me over to Labor and Delivery. This was it! It was FINALLY time! I was gonna see my lil stinka! I was BEYOND excited!!! They hadn't let me eat at all the day before so, though I was grouchy because of hunger, you couldn't tell me SHAT that day! I was about to do the biggest thing I'd ever done in life, and while my family and I were on the outs at the time, I had my son's father, the love of my life (or so I thought at the time) right there holding my hands so I didn't need anything else. At 8am they came in and started dressing and preparing me, telling me rules, and walking me through the procedure. They said I should make any phone calls to family right then so people would have time to get here and not miss the birth. I called my mom but she didn't answer her phone at work, and I paged my dad. When he called back, he said "well, you know I'm at work so I'll see if I can come when I get off..." and hung up. I wanted to cry, but I refused. I was about to be a mom and have my own family, and I REFUSED to let the beef with my family ruin my moment. I changed into the gown, and they put my feet up but no epidurals yet. After about 30 minutes, we hear this noise coming from one of the other rooms down the hall. It was sort of a...a growl...well, it started out as a low growl...then became a...a chain saw wail. Then, after an hour or so, it was a full blown scream. I swear, we thought someone was being massacred. We looked at each other like "What da hell do they DO to people in this hospital??!" I PROMISE YOU we were ready to bail outta that bitch, hospital gown flying in the breeze, butt cheeks jiggling, and not even care. Then a nurse came in and told us that it was a pregnant lady at the end of the hall, in labor, having a NATURAL birth. So, the nurse closed the door, assuming that would stifle the noise. You still couldn't tell us that the lady wasn't sitting right outside our door, having her baby on the floor, because her screams got increasingly louder and louder until finally I said to him "i changed my mind. I'ont wanna have the baby now. Let's just wait." *shaking my head frantically* LOL. Induce time was 12pm and it was almost 11:30. There was no way around it. I sat and listened to that woman cry and scream and curse for hours and hours until 11:45 when the nurses came in and said "ok, ms. terry. it's time."
I got 2 epidurals -- top and bottom-- so I didn't expect to feel much pain. They broke the placenta at exactly 12, I remember that the news was just coming on when they went in. At first, I didn't feel anything. I was actually annoyed that it was taking so long to get to the action. I was SO keyed up from listening to that woman, I was seriously expecting the worst. I was ready to wipe black war paint under my eyes and duke it out with this damn baby that had given me so many problems. And I was NOT intending to lose. lol. The labor pains started around 2 hours later. They weren't that bad, more like strong menstrual cramps but for someone who'd gone their entire life and NEVER had menstrual cramps, that was A LOT. Slowly at first, and then as the hours became minutes and i could feel contractions every 20 minutes, I began to get nervous. I felt like I was on a roller coaster that had seemed like a good idea at the time, you know like when you stand on the ground and see how high it goes, see that BIG ASS drop and think to yourself "man, i can do this shit! I ain't scared of this bitch ass roller coaster!", then you stand in line and wait your turn, watching everybody else get on and get off, scanning faces for crazy reactions or tears, snickering to your friends at the people who cried. Then you get on, strap yourself in, heart pounding as the attendant zooms by to tap your safety harness down to make sure it's in place...then wait for the takeoff. You feel confident and sure when the ride starts...but....as it climbs that hill oh-so-slowly...you suddenly think of every news report you've ever seen where a roller coaster fell apart and people died. You begin to wonder if the attendants here are inmates. Your heart beats impossibly fast, and you realize this was a baaaad idea, that you actually don't like roller coasters at all, that you ARE, in fact, A BITCH ASS, and you've let your mouth write yet ANOTHER check that yo ass canNOT cash. Sweat. Panic! And, in my case, lots of blinking. That's what i felt when my contractions got down to 10 minutes apart, and I squeezed his hand tightly in increments. I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready. I didn't even wanna have this damn baby!! I don't even like this dude!! I changed my miiiiiind!!!!!!
The first thing I noticed when the group of nurses walked in was that the lead nurse was an Asian male, looked very young. I started to crack a joke, then remembered that i was lying on a hospital bed with my feet in stirrups and he was pushing my gown up and over my knees, showing every pair of eyes in the room all my goodness and mercy (big shout out to Raycal!). It was hella breezy in the room. When he measured my cervix, a blond chick took over and said "ok, honey, now its time to start pushing, k? We're gonna get you started; Dr. R**** is on his way. Now, when I say go, i want you to bear down as hard as you can, okay? you're gonna feel a little bit of pressure (bitch, I'll kill you for callin this shit pressure. This ain't PRESSHA! THIS SHIT H.U.R.T.S!! Is that what they teach you to call it in med school??) but I want you to push past it, okay?" I nod. Ok, here goes.
*quick neck crack* I can do this, i can do this, it's time, it'stimeitstimeitstime. I take the deepest breath possible, and I bear down.
Imagine it's January. let's saaaay, oh I dunno, January 13th, a random day. Let's say you haven't had a bowel movement since, ohhhh, I dunno, OCTOBER 13th. And today, on January 13th, your bowel decides its high fuckin time it made an appearance in your life again, while the sky is blue with puffy white clouds and its a chilly 37 degrees outside. Your rude ass bowel decided TA-DAY would be as good a day as any to show up so that you could take a BIG ASS DUMP. So, you head to the bathroom, and sit down. Every single morsel of food you've consumed in the past 60 days is now fighting its way out of your rectum, vying for top billing in your new toilet comedy "Splashdown: The Sequel".
THAT is what it feels like to push out a baby.
They tell me to bear down for a count of 10. I think i made it, that first time, to about 8. On the second push, the nurse yells "Oh, dear, there it is! I can see the head! You're doing great, let me go find the doctor." So, she heads out and someone else takes over. I'm on push #3 when Asian nurseboi runs back in screaming "STOP!! STOPPP! HOLD THE BABY!! DR. R**** IS STUCK IN TRAFFIC!! PUSH IT BACK IN, PUSH IT BACK!"
*frowns* UHHHHH, WHAT??!! Do WHAT?! *small eyes*
Yes. Every nurse with a free hand proceeded to shove his or her hand down into my vagina, on top of my poor baby's head, trying to force him back inside. Yes. It happened. In real life. This was the dramatic interlude I thought I would have in the elevator. (LOL) At this point, I'm already pushing, and he was already half out, so there was no going back in, not in a way that wouldn't rip me to shreds. So, they opted to do just that: rip me to shreds. Picture this:
Me, 19, frantic and sweaty, ass-up on a hospital bed trying not to move because i have not 1 but TWO epidurals and IVs stuck into my back and arms, screaming like a new fool, with 4 pairs of hands reaching down between my legs, LEANING IN, feet dug in, PUSHING my infant back into my birth canal. I mean, they were SERIOUS about having this one particular doctor deliver this baby, and refused to call another one in. No one there was ready to, or knew how to, deliver a baby. It was the worst. I mean, I don't even know if that shit is legal in the United States. Anyone who knows me knows I curse like a sailor. An ANGRY sailor. An angry, redneck sailor. And on that day, my mouth put together some of the bluest, most profane curse word combinations that even I've ever heard of. *chuckling* I was frantically searching for something to throw at them when Dr. R**** burst into the room, walked right into his blue gown, someone strapped his mask onto his mouth, and he runs over looking at me. Talk about an evil side eye. *smh* Hmph.
He says 'Ok, Ms. Terry. We can finish now."
This is still push #3. As I began to really push, I looked up in a panic and said "oh gawd, oh Gawd NO! Oh no, there's been a mistake! Dr, there's been a mistake! The baby's comin outta my ass!! Dr. R****! THE BABY'S COMIN OUTTA MY ASSHOLE!! NOOOOOO!!!!" *looks over at my son's father* Baby! Baby,
tell them re-route! RE-ROUTE!!" He just shook his damn head and laughed. "Mama, the baby's not coming outta your ass. I can see his head, and I promise, he is NOT coming outta your butt. I'm looking right at him. He's got a head full of hair. And he has my nose. Matter of fact, he looks just like me. YES!!! I get to name him!!" #jerk
And so it was, at 6:14pm on Thursday December 9th, 1999, my little Puddin' was born weighing exactly 4 lbs and 1 ounce, during the evening news. He weighed about as much as a small bag of sugar, lol. At first, he wouldn't breathe, and there was this panicked silence that filled the room. One of the nurses came over to stand in front of me so I couldn't see him, in case he had actually died...but my baby is a rock star, even with underdeveloped lungs, and soon enough, he made his little noise. When they put him in my arms...there hadn't been any other feeling like it. Still isn't. That smell, his pasty skin, everything about him I loved. His wild, spiky hair, his tiny little body with the bloated belly and the clipped purple belly button, the little mouth curled into an O. The little hands throwing up gang signs. I was in love. I'd promised him I would spank his lil butt for all the trouble he put me through, so yeah, I tapped his lil booty twice with my index finger, lol. I took his little off to rub his hair when I saw it. My baby had a cone head! No one warned me that vaginally birthed babies' heads took cone shapes, so Lawd, i thought the baby was deformed and God was punishing me. LOL. They just laughed and assured me that that was completely natural, and that it would shape itself in time. #whew. I'd hate to have to put the baby up for adoption for being a conehead. Psht! Whatever! I have my limits. I ain't no killa, but don't push me.
When I had to put him back into the incubator, I handed him over so I could get my stitches. After a few minutes, a very strange yet familiarly pungent odor wafted past my nose, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me where it was coming from. I sat in silence, trying to figure it out for about 3 minutes, then finally I blurted out "Am I the only one who smells Shit??" My son's father said "no mama, we all smell it. we're looking right at it. it came out with the baby. you WERE doing a lotta pushing." "oh. Ok. Carry on. Juuuust wanted to make sure it wasn't just me...When this is over, Baby, can you go down to Subway and get me a steak and cheese please?" 0_o
(Why am I such a fat girl?? Bwahahaha!)
I'd finally gotten in touch with my mom but she'd opted not to come to the birth, and decided to go to my little sister's recorder recital instead. At the time, I was crushed. But, again, in hindsight, I know that's who my mother is, and I'm okay with it now.
They kept him for about 2 weeks because he had a horrible time breathing on his own, keeping up his own body temperature, and he didn't take to the bottle very well. I had known I wouldn't breast feed, so when they tried to convince me that it would be better for him and I actually let that lil f*cker latch onto my nipple then promptly SNATCHED him right off, I knew I'd made the right choice. #don'tjudgeme
My parents finally made it to the hospital after about a week, right before I was discharged. They went down to the NICU to see him in his little plastic crib under the heating lamp. I'd decorated it with pictures I'd drawn, teddy bears, and stuff I'd gotten from the gift shop. It was very quiet in the NICU and I didn't want him to feel alone, in case some of the other babies tried to start some beef. I wanted him to know I had his back in case some shit popped off. LOL. I went down to feed him every 3 hours, but soon he had to get the feeding tube put through his nose, so i would just go sit and look at him as he slept. He never opened his eyes, just made noises every now and then. The nurses said he was still in the womb--in his mind--so that, too, was very natural for preemies. Surprise surprise. now I can't get his butt to shut up. *smh*
I went home alone and used that time to get my room ready. A few people had heard I'd gone into pre-term labor and had brought some stuff to the house in my absence. I got the room nice and ready, and my friend's mom--the one who'd given me the diaper bag--took me back to the hospital to pick him up a week later. He slept for the first 5 months of his life; getting him to open his eyes, or to catch him with his eyes open became a little game I played with him, lol. I took a bazillion pictures. They're gone now, but my mom thought I was gonna blind him in his sleep with the camera flash. He was too little for a carrier, and he always disappeared in the car seat, so I carried him around in my hand, lol. Two days after Christmas, we boarded a one way train to Union Station.
Happy Birthday, Puddin!
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