Because Birthing Horror Stories are FUN! (everybody’s doing it!)

03 Mar

Do I come off as a mommy blogger? Or just a regular old run of the mill won’t shut up blogger? Which direction should I take? I’m thinking today I’m going to scare the crap out of any sort of would be mom. I should take this on the road to every high school just to scare girls out of having unprotected sex. Or sex at all. Because in my mind sex is not better then violence, sometimes it leads to violence.

(note to people who have heard this story a billion times already, move on, don’t read. Nothing has changed.)

My Story of Oscar’s Birth:
It started out terrible. After I found out I was pregnant I started throwing up. All day every day. Morning, night, it didn’t matter. I had a nice 8 hour day job, and everyone loved me, and then I got pregnant. They stopped loving me, because somedays I couldn’t show up to work because I was puking too much to leave my bathroom. And then when I did show up I spent half the day in the bathroom puking. I even once got this comment from the Sales Manager. “Hey, what’d you eat today?” Me: “UHM Nothing” Him: “well it sounded like tacos.” The worst was there was another girl in the office pregnant but a little farther along then me, and she had one of those easy breasy pregnancies, and everyday I was thinking “man they probably think I’m faking all of this.” And by all rights I would have thought I was a wuss too. There was one day I hurt so bad that I called the dr. in a panic because I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. Constipation. That’s what was wrong with me. By the time I got to my ninth month I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t sit and I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t do anything. So I left work early, well like a week before my due date. Oh and then he decided not to show up until we forced him out a week after his due date. I went in on my due date. I was only at 1 inch and my dr. said “well we can wait up to two weeks. And I said “NO! I will wait a week tops, I will not have a 11lb baby” And she said “Oh he won’t be that big.” (FORESHADOWING!) So we made a date to get induced on the fifth of September. I went in at 9am, a week after his due date, still only at a 1. YAY! So they put in this little thingy that “softens the cervix” and it felt really awesome! Wait no it didn’t it felt like someone had given my vagine a good paper cut. So I hung out at the hospital watching TV and sitting around, then walking, and then taking a bath around 10 pm because I couldn’t take a bath with the paper cut thingy in my hoo-haa. They checked me again and I was at a 2. Yay! So I got some sleeping pills to help me sleep to get me ready for the next day. (They didn’t help) The bed they had me in was an airbed and it kept refilling with air and waking me up. Oh I got another paper cutty thing in over night too, to help me along. Wake up in the morning and I think I was still at a two. So I hung out. The contractions started kicking in during that time and we were excited. They didn’t hurt, my mom who is an awesome coach was there to tell me when to breath and keep me focused. I think around 4pm my water broke. It was the weirdest pressure release and then I was wet. And the nurses were excited, and had to check me before they would let me get up and change the damn sheets. I was at a 4. I remember just saying “OH! I think, yup! My water just broke!” And then my mom got her game face on. And the contractions started getting more intense. (Oh yes I had pitosin too..didn’t do much) At one time Jesse had to tell on me because mom wasn’t around and he told me to breath and I said “I AM breathing DAMNIT!” And he said “ANN!! She’s not breathing and not listening to me!” (He’s such a tattletale!)

I don’t remember anything remarkable except getting told that I was strange because I was laughing and making jokes in between contractions. But that’s how I deal with pain, I joke. I think around 9:30 or so I was fully dialated and ready to go. I had a nurse and my mom on my sides and Jesse at my head. The nurses were telling me to push and then I look and my doctor is quietly telling me to slow down so I don’t rip…I didn’t hear here. I said “FUUUCK” And pushed and pushed, and ripped. And I think after his head came out I told my mom “Okay, I’m done, I want to be done now” and she said “No sweety, you have to get his shoulders out now.” “No, mom, I don’t want to, I’m okay” There wasn’t a lot of screaming an gnashing of teeth it was just pushing and then breathing. I had big lapses of time between pushing contractions. So I caught my breath in between. When he was finally out the doctor who was helping my doctor said “where the hell were you hiding him?!” He failed to realize that I’m 5’9″ and kinda big. Oscar weighed in at 9lbs6oz before he peed on the scale, he went down to his official weight of 9lbs5oz.

Can you imagine if I would have held him in for another week?! So then the doctor that was helping said “We have to get the placenta out.” I had always heard that the placenta comes out by itself just after birth, no one ever mentions this part of birth by the way. My sisters don’t recall the placental birth, because they had their babies in their arms. Me? Nope. I had a doctor in my hoohaa up to his elbow digging out my placenta because he decided it was time and it wasn’t detaching. Then the half hour it took to stitch me up and my dr. saying “Just one more” and me saying “Shit! Are you sewing me shut?!”
So that was at 11pm. At the hospital where he was born every time a baby is born they ring the bells, so we went by the bell button and rang him into the world. The next week I would hear that bell a lot…I was the start of a wave of babies.
The aftermath is the best part of my horror story. The next day I got up to go to the bathroom, and passed out trying to stand up from the toilet. Yes, to the ground, passed out. Okay reminding you, me: 5’9″ 200lbs at the time. Nurses: 5’1″ each and maybe 170 combined weight. Yeah they had fun getting me into the chair. Passed out again on the chair. Realizing that the bed well, the bed, had a lot of blood on it. Lots of bustling and talking and then a nurse coming up to me with a catheter.
Me: “what the fuck is that?”
Her: “A catheter, we need to empty your bladder to help your uterus”
(by this time I was done. Done with pain)
Her: “Yes, I have to, you are hemorrhaging, that means you are bleeding really bad and will die, I have to do this.”
Me: “fine. whatever.”
More pain insues while getting a catheter shoved in me. A young male doctor comes in looks in my hoo-haa and says “give her some pain meds, I’ll be right back to ‘clean her out'”
They gave me pain meds that only last to their word a half hour. Right when he left. He was gone for 45 minutes. He comes back and I said “can I get more meds” “NO you’ll be fine” And proceeds to shove his hand into my body. I swear I looked down at one point and he was up to his elbow…And that’s when the screaming started. My mom was on one side, my doctor was on the other. I think I might have said FUCK at least 20 times. Mom said “Breath Randa, remember to breath.” and I said “I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING BREATH ANYMORE. GET YOUR FUCKING ARM OUT OF ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” And then I was worried about having to get stitched up again. They had to hold me down because I was trying to kick away from the deamon doctor. In the end yes he probably saved my life. But could he have drugged me up? Yes probably. I was a couple of quarts low after that, and they wanted to give me some more, but my dr. and I talked about it and decided that I was alright and it would have made my stay even longer if I would have gotten the blood.
I was in the hospital for a week. What was supposed to be an easy 3 day trip to the hospital ended up 7 days of me getting poked with a needle every hour and Oscar as well, because compared to me they thought he was dangerously yellow. I wanted to say. “hey I just lost a lot of blood and am naturally pale, you think that anyone would have color next to me.” We had to convince the doctor to let me go home after a week, they wanted to keep me in for another day or two because they thought I was going home to an empty house. We had to continually tell them “No I have help, I will not be exerting myself, I will be okay” They wanted Oscar back in to do yet another blood test the next day, and we refused to do it. When we went in for his 2 week check up the doctor noted how good he looked. “Yes because he was never jaundice to begin with” When I got pregnant I was 230lbs. When I went in for my check up I was 205. Best weight loss EVER! That was the only nice thing about it. Oh yeah and this little baby boy…So there you have it folks. Hey girls. Don’t get pregnant. It sucks. And now I don’t want to have another one! YAY! I cured myself! And I managed to get through this without crying.


5 responses to “Because Birthing Horror Stories are FUN! (everybody’s doing it!)

  1. Lindsey Stannard

    March 4, 2010 at 7:54 am

    Birth in America is increasingly dangerous. It’s a big business, so we never let things run on their own schedule. We force it and medicate it and then we live with the after-rips. I have not yet personally known a woman in my generation that has had a positive birth story.

  2. Lushy

    March 4, 2010 at 5:48 pm

    Yet another of many reasons I’m glad to be gay.

    • randadawn

      March 4, 2010 at 5:57 pm

      And if you weren’t sure before…YOU ARE NOW!! lol!! Kidding!

  3. Kari

    March 4, 2010 at 10:46 pm

    how absolutely miserable!! Thank you for the birth control/if I do get pregnant, to have it at my house while heavily medicated with herbs and keep creepy doctors out of my vagine(luv that term!). Thanks for taking one for the team, Miranda! I’ll get you a beer one day for that one!! : )

  4. fracas

    March 5, 2010 at 8:43 pm

    I hate to break it to you, but just like they (teens) always think they won’t get pregnant… teens will read this and just think that *you* might’ve been unlucky to have it like that, but *they* won’t.

    ROFL. Teens. They’re smarter than us, don’t you know that? Stuff doesn’t happen like we say… it only happens how they think, dream and wish it to.
    I suppose you’ve now figured out that I have them. Or did, sort of.

    2/3 of them are now not teens, but old enough that I have somehow gotten smart again. It’s amazing how that happens to us parents. When our kids get to be about 13, we become incredibly stupid and we stay that way until our kids are about 20. It’s a horrible burden I tell you…



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