Induction Schminduction...

You know how people say, "If you want to make God laugh, make a plan"?

Yeah. About that. 

We were getting really excited by 37 weeks. The doctor had already told us that at 36 weeks, we were dilated 1/2cm, and that anytime after 37 weeks, she wouldn't stop labor if it started on its own. She estimated her to weigh 7 lbs, 11 ozs at birth. Of course, every movement, every cramp, every contraction had us on edge. After all, since we were going to induce at 39 weeks, we only had two weeks to go! The bag was packed, the vet had been contacted about boarding our pup while we were in the hospital, the family was all on stand-by... 

Friday before the scheduled induction. When we went for our 38 week appointment, the last Ob/Gyn appointment of the pregnancy, my dilation had disappeared. Our daughter had squished herself back up into my belly. Dr. Ollar examined me, and the words came. "I don't think you're a good candidate for an induction right now." WHAT? I just cried and cried. Maybe it was emotional. Maybe it was me being impatient. Maybe I was already nervous and tired of being pregnant all summer and now we're talking about tacking that extra week back on. Ugh. But as she examined my belly, and felt around on our baby girl, she said, "I'd like to schedule an ultrasound." 

Instantly, I was worried. When I asked why we needed one, in my obviously panicked voice, she said that she thought the baby was getting quite large, and was worried that she would get stuck on the way out. Luckily for us, there was an ultrasound tech still there that afternoon, and she was able to do the measurements for us. As she scanned all over my belly with that cold wand, we watched her measure bones, head diameter, and torso size. As she plugged the numbers into the computer, a box popped up for just a few seconds and I thought my jaw would hit the floor. Those numbers had her weight estimated THAT DAY at 8 lbs, 12 ozs, +/- ONE POUND! The screen flipped off just after it flashed up there, so, of course, I say, "Did that just say 8 lbs, 12 ozs, +/- a pound??" Her response was, "Uhhh, I just give all the info to the doctor, and she'll fill you in." 

But I know what I saw. And I know that, that late in the pregnancy, she was gaining an ounce every day. 

We walked back out into the hall, and the tech handed Dr. Ollar the printout. Dr. Ollar looked at it for about 5 seconds, and looked up at Bobby and I and said, "So, how much do you like your vagina? Because I think we need to do a c-section."

I broke down in tears. This was not in the plan. I'm terrified of being cut open, especially while I'm awake. She said we could either induce and let me labor for 20 hours and then end up doing a c-section anyway, or we could just schedule it, and try to be relaxed about doing it in a non-emergency kind of situation. So we scheduled it for the following Tuesday, four days later. I cried all the way home. I went from ready to not ready in about 2.3 seconds. Bobby could hardly console me. I had not read any books or articles on c-section recovery. I hadn't bought any recovery supplies for a c-section. I felt so unprepared. 

All that evening, all I did was google "c-section" and "c-section recovery" and "c-section packing list for the hospital." At one point, I made the huge mistake of searching YouTube for "c-section", only to be greeted by some cell phone video of a traumatic c-section in some third world country. OMG. Huge mistake. All weekend, I tried to prepare my mind for what was coming. Looking back now, I know I overreacted, but I had a plan, and this was going to be a huge deviation from it. The night before the the big day, my sweet husband dropped our dog off at the vet to board, and took me to eat Pho. We sat and talked about how it was our last meal before becoming parents, what we thought she'd look like, and how excited we were to finally meet her. He was going to be in the room with me, holding my hand the whole time, and for the first time in days, I finally felt calm. 

The nurse had told us that I couldn't eat anything after midnight the night before, so after we had Pho that evening, we went home, packed the car, snuggled, and set our alarms for 11:50pm. We both got up and had a bowl of Cheerios together just before midnight. Alarm was set for 5:30am. No turning back now!

Time is flying by SO FAST now!

Let's talk about the glucose test(s). UGH. Some people say it's no big deal, and some have a terrible experience with it. So, here's the scoop. The shit you drink is nasty. It tastes like flat orange soda with three times the sugar. You can't eat before you drink it, so that's pretty much all you get for breakfast. And at 28 weeks, no breakfast kinda feels like a death trap. So, you get blood drawn, drink it, and then wait an hour to get blood drawn again. Supposedly, they are trying to see how your body metabolizes the sugar. Sounds good, right? WRONG. I failed. And when you fail, you have to take a more extensive test. Even though 50% of the people who fail the first test end up being fine. So, I went back two weeks later and signed in for the three hour test. Draw blood, drink more crap (this time, twice as much sugar as the last one), wait an hour, draw blood, wait an hour, draw blood, wait another hour, and draw blood again. That's FOUR different needle sticks in one day. I'm out on doing that again. Passed that one with flying colors, but it wasn't a good day. A half day with no food and nothing but a super sugary drink when you're 30 weeks pregnant is disgusting.

Hmmm... I just re-read all of that, and I know it sounds a little (or a lot) whiney. I know there are people who would kill for the opportunity to do a nasty glucose test, because that would mean they are pregnant. And believe me, I know how it feels to want to be pregnant more than anything else in the whole wide world. In the grand scheme of things, I would've done anything it took to make sure my pregnancy was a healthy one. :)

So, at 30 weeks pregnant, we found out that my glucose was fine. No gestational diabetes for me! Which was great, because I was eating everything I could get my hands on. The next few weeks were a blur. I planned to work for as long as I could, but it was definitely getting harder in the middle of summer. I can't wear shorts and flip flops to work, or I would have! It's funny... I always said I wanted to time it right and get pregnant at the end of summer, be pregnant all fall, winter and spring, and then have the kid right before summer so I could stay home with the baby during the heat. If you want to make God laugh, make a plan. He gave me the exact opposite!

I feel like the first trimester was so slow-going, not knowing if we were going to have a viable pregnancy, always worrying about miscarriage, etc. The middle trimester was just kinda normal, and as we entered the third and final trimester, time just seemed to fly by. In the grand scheme of things, the only hiccup we had after we knew we had a heart beating was the glucose test. And I know that's not even really a hiccup. I was blessed with a very healthy pregnancy. By 37 weeks, we talked to our doctor about inducing. She said she would induce at 39 weeks if we wanted to, and trust me.. in the heat of summer, that sounded AMAZING. I know some people have their own opinions about "letting the body do what it knows how to do", and "let the baby come out when it's ready", but we knew she was healthy, we knew she was BIG, and we knew we were READY! So, we planned an induction at 39 weeks. And waited.

27 WEEKS!

32 WEEKS!

 

ALMOST 37 WEEKS!