It's funny to think it was only four weeks ago that Dique and I were doing everything we could to pass the time and prepare for Des' arrival. We had both wrapped up what we needed to with work, the house was clean, the suitcases were packed, meals were in the freezer, immediate family was on speed-dial. We were scheduled to be induced on Sunday night, July 8th, and were waiting for a phone call to come in the afternoon telling us our check-in time. Sunday morning we ran errands (what's a weekend for the Holts without a trip to Home Depot?), had breakfast at Mel's Diner over on Geary, and raised our orange juice glasses to our final meal out as a twosome. We visited Dique's folks, we came home to do some final time-wasting chores - namely ironing curtains. I had decided that all the sheer curtains in the place needed to be ironed and I had two left to do on Sunday morning. I had just started the first one when we got the call from the hospital telling us we'd be called again at 5pm with a confirmed check-in time. As I started ironing the final curtain panel the phone rang again: hello, this is CPMC Labor Registration, we're ready for you now. It was 4pm. I told them we'd be there within the hour, and got back to the curtain. Dique thought I was nuts, but I didn't want to come home to that project. Makes pregnant-lady-logical sense, no? We both took showers, checked the list a couple more times, got in the car and started letting family know that the show was officially on the road.
I was admitted at 5:15pm and got settled in our "Labor/Delivery Suite" with our evening nurse. She was fantastic. She encouraged us to order everything on the menu, made sure Dique would be comfortable in his cot, and put my IV in so quickly I barely noticed it. My body hadn't advanced enough into labor on its own, so I was started on an inducing drug called Misoprostol. To put it bluntly, it's a tablet they put in the lady bits to get everything going. Getting the drug doesn't feel fantastic, but soon enough it's in and done and you have four hours to kill before the next one, unless labor starts. Labor didn't start. It's not uncommon for first time moms to need upwards of three or four doses of the miso tablet just because our bodies haven't been through this before and take some convincing. We spent the first dose having dinner, emailing, texting or talking to family and friends, watching Sunday night TV. I had another dose around 11pm (ouch) and tried to get some sleep.
I woke up with cramp-like contractions at 2am and by 3am I was starting to need to breathe through them. To everyone's surprise I was already two centimeters dilated so we began the typical labor-inducing drug: Pitocin, administered through an IV. And then my body seemed to wake up and get going with this labor business because it took off running. By 4am I was four centimeters dilated and really breathing through the contractions, sometimes up and moving to get through them. I inquired about an epidural and was told the anesthesiologist had just started a c-section with twins, could I wait an hour? Yes. I guess so. What's an hour I thought? Then came a sizable contraction and the nurse offered me Fentanyl, a pain management drug safe for me and the baby that would last about an hour. An hour, hah! More like twenty minutes, but I took it happily and watched the clock like a hawk.
5:00am.
5:30am.
6am.
Ouch.
Hello, where is the anesthesiologist? By now I had tried working through the contractions with the yoga ball, the rocking chair but couldn't sit down. I had been doing tribal-like dance-pacing near the bed, with my IV following me. Then my contractions picked up and we turned the Pitocin off - Desmond's heart rate wasn't responding well to all the pressure. We worried about labor slowing down with the Pitocin off, but my body was so happy to be in labor it kept going without it. Which was great except, YOWZA. Contractions - they really don't feel good, do they?
At this point I found a new position that worked: kneeling on the bed, which had been altered to a sit-up position. I clung onto the top of the bed for dear life and pressed my sweaty forehead against my hands and quietly breathed through each contraction. Dique was amazing, doing everything possible to distract me and just kept his hand on my lower back, staying silent when I just needed to work through it. The anesthesiologist made it to us around 6:30am and I was in an epidural-bliss after 7am. All my previous ideas and hopes of a completely natural birth were out the window and I couldn't have cared less. I was also checked then and was at six centimeters so we were all thrilled. The doctor stopped in and told us we'd probably start pushing around 11am, so we made phone calls and texts to family announcing Desmond's ETA.
I tried to get some rest and was just drifting off when I heard my old name. Not just my maiden name, but the name people who knew me in high school and before call me. Lo and behold! My labor nurse was a woman I used to have Easter with as a child! The younger sister of my mom's very best childhood friend, Nancy is now the most senior ranking RN at CPMC's Labor and Delivery unit and therefore gets to choose her patients. She happened to choose my room that day, without even knowing my married name, it was just luck! And what luck it was, Nancy was incredible. She guided us through the motions, was so supportive and encouraging and made my mom cry with joy "it's like a movie!!"
It was indeed a joyous morning. Until we started hearing Des' heart rate drop with strong contractions. I was put on oxygen and made to lie on my side. It wasn't scary-low, yet, but we needed to be careful. At 8:30am my doctor was checking me and thought I had fully dilated when, surprise! My water broke mid-contraction. I was actually between eight and nine centimeters so the push-time of 11am was still on target. Family started arriving and, being in an epidural state of bliss, I was happy to offer some of the drinks and snacks Dique and I brought with us to the hospital. My mom still teases me about that. There I was, mid-contraction, with an oxygen mask and sweaty head offering anyone and everyone in the room some cranberry juice and cookies. Hey, I couldn't have any of it at that point, so someone should.
I started pushing right on schedule, at 10:55am. I'll be honest. I had no flipping idea what I was doing. For the first hour I felt like every few minutes I was just sitting up and holding my breath for a long time. Then the doctor came in for The Talk. She told me Des was struggling and she was going to get another team on stand-by in case we needed an assisted labor. She was also going to alert the surgery unit in case of a cesarean birth. You see, everyone thought Desmond was going to be, to use my OBGYN's words, enormous. At 38 weeks they all thought he was nine pounds, we had an ultrasound confirm their suspicions. Lucky for me, even ultrasounds can be wrong! Regardless, his heart wasn't coping with the big contractions well and he needed to get out. The second team was readied should we need assistance - a vacuumed birth or c-section. Dique and I were super motivated to get our son out safely and quickly, in fact, Dique coached me through every step, encouraging me to get four pushes out of every contraction instead of three. The way he knew exactly what I needed and what we needed to do still brings tears to my eyes. He was incredible. My parents were sitting on my left side, my mom cheerleading and rooting me on as she always has done and my dad breathing with me as he always has done. With everyone's love and support Des was born about a half hour after The Talk. Go Team Baby Holt!
My first reaction to seeing my son? Besides choking on my own tears? He was beautiful. Actually "he's SO CUTE!" rang through my brain. Now, I just keep picturing his long body, that long torso, stretched out in front of me and placed on my tummy.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I embraced his slippery body - he really does have such a long body! - and pulled him up to my chest. Finally he's here. Finally I can hold him. Finally I have proof he's okay, he's healthy, he's here, he's ours. All these thoughts. All this happiness, relief. But I hadn't heard him cry yet. I remember asking if he was okay, why wasn't he crying...? And then we heard it. I can still hear it. I hope I can always hear it, always remember that initial call of life coming from my baby. My child, my son. He's here. He's HERE!
After a few initial moments of cuddling, Nancy took Desmond to the other side of the room for a quick wipe down and to get his vitals. The moment of truth surprised us all: eight pounds twelve and a half ounces! Twenty two inches long! Sure, that's not a petite peanut of a child, but definitely not in the "enormous" camp. I watched him on the scale, turning a beautiful shade of pink. His fine hair covering his cone-head (thankfully that rounded out nicely by the next day). Looking at Dique's face made me cry. He was elated. He was big and grown-up and capable and proud and responsible and overjoyed and the best person possible for me to have children with and thank goodness he wanted to marry me. I felt so incredibly lucky. I feel so incredibly lucky. We had a steady pregnancy, we had a pretty textbook labor, we have a healthy kid, we are elbows-deep in this together. How lucky are we?
Soon Dique's parents came in and held their first grandchild, which made me cry, again. I have the best in-laws. The best family. My brother came in and held his nephew, rocking him in his arms. Two of my oldest and dearest girlfriends were there, cradling and rocking my boy as if he were their own. I was overcome with feelings of luck and joy and fulfillment. I felt like a big piece of my life had been put into place. I felt like life was right.
Once I could feel my legs we were able to get upstairs to the recovery ward and, bless the heavens, I took a shower. We had a room with a window facing west and though it was overcast the whole time we were there (two days), there was something magical about knowing the ocean was right out there. It somehow made it more real to me, though I can't explain why. Desmond stayed with us the whole day, we nursed with some help - and we're still working at getting that right - we swaddled him which he just loves. We held him skin-to-skin and Dique and I kept grinning at each other. Telling each other "he's so cute!" as if we had just discovered his face. After giving us a couple hours to settle into our recovery room, our family and friends came back in. Des met his aunties, uncles and cousins, was passed around the room as I looked on took it all in. People kept apologizing for wanting to hold the baby, saying that surely I'd want to hold him.
And I did, but I was so proud watching my boy in my family's arms. And, as I said then and still say, I get to feed him, I get to sing him to sleep, I get to hold him in hours when no one else can. I'm happy to share the joy that is Desmond.
Welcome you sweet, sweet boy. We love you so.
Dique and I have been blessed with this little man, he continues to make every day quite magical, or at least quite something. We'll be back soon to share more photos and tales from our adventures in Desi-Land.
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