Cora’s Birth Story (AKA free birth control)

I know I know, it’s been a while. But I have a really good excuse.  I had a baby.

So just a disclaimer: there is a LOT of TMI in here.  This isn’t really an exercise post, unless you consider giving birth exercise.  Which you will after reading this.  But you may also vomit.  Sorry about that.  

As a little background… My last post was when I was 24 weeks pregnant.  I was hoping to continue Crossfit and running for another 10 weeks but unfortunately, I developed hypertension and then preeclampsia around 30 weeks.  My last WOD was at 30 weeks and 2 days.  I crushed it, but it was not pretty.  My lunge jumps were what my coach called a “white man’s ‘Running Man'” and on my front squat set of 60kg, he also gently suggested I could switch to back squats at any time.  Translation: “your form really sucks.”  A couple days later I went to the OB and my blood pressure was 150/95.  Normal is 120/80 and I had been hovering around 110/65 for most of my pregnancy.  I was sent to the hospital for monitoring and was put on modified bed rest later in the week, which meant I couldn’t really exercise other than light walking, and I could work from home. 

The remainder of the pregnancy involved two visits to the OB each week for monitoring, and a couple more trips to the hospital.  I started “spilling protein” and having headaches around 32 weeks, which are additional symptoms of preeclampsia.  The goal was to keep Cora cooking until 35-36 weeks.  I received steroid shots to speed up her lung development (not to improve my deadlift PR).  I went through the same ordeal with Super Toddler but had to be hospitalized for a couple nights while he was in utero.  That was no bueno. 

At almost 37 weeks, my blood pressure spiked yet again and the headaches were worse.  This despite my being a sloth for almost 6 weeks and (sort of) watching my diet.  We won’t discuss my weight gain during this pregnancy.  It happened, it’s over, let’s move on.  My OB decided it was time for Cora to come out.  She was measuring over 38 weeks for height and head size – no big shocker there. I had put my hospital bag in the minivan that morning because I kind of knew that it was time. I had been contracting like crazy and was 1.5 cm a few days earlier.  I was having regular contractions at the doctor that day and was at 3cm so she also thought I may have been in the early stages of labor.

A note about that.  When I started dilating a couple weeks earlier, one of the OB’s told me that because this was my third child, I may not know when I’m in labor and that it would go really fast.  Like, have a baby on the toilet fast.  The prospect of having a baby without an epidural was terrifying.  Listen, props to all you natural ladies but that is not me.  Never. Ever. Ever.  So even though I have always wanted to have that “oops, my water broke!” moment and not have to bring a child into the world riding a wave of Pitocin, I was willing to trade going into labor on my own for not having a baby on the toilet.

I headed to the hospital with the knowledge that I would have to be on magnesium sulfate (“mag”) due to the preeclampsia diagnosis.  With Super Toddler, I was also induced right at 37 weeks due to preeclampsia but for some wonderful reason I was not giving mag.  I have read horror stories about it. Just google it. Mag is used to stop pre-term labor.  It is also used to prevent seizures, which is the risk with preeclampsia and high blood pressure.  Now re-read that sentence about stopping labor.  I was being induced, but I was also being given a drug that slows down labor.  Those don’t really go together do they?  I would soon learn exactly how much mag and pitocin don’t get along.

I was started on pitocin around 8pm and was feeling fine because the dose starts out really low.  Since I figured the baby would come really fast, I let our family know that we would be having a baby on tax day.  My mom, a CPA, was ready to work through the night to meet some tax filing deadlines, then rush over but I told her to wait because with Super Toddler, it took almost 48 HOURS.  That is 2 days people.  I knew that Cora was not going to fly out but I figured it would be faster than 2 days.  At 8:30pm the bolus of mag was started.  Within about 30 seconds, I thought that I was dying.  Really, really dying.  My teeth were sweating.  I was ready to vomit. I felt like I had been overserved at a frat party that was taking place on the surface of the sun, while wearing a suit made of fur.  I had this moment of “Oh my gosh it is going to be like this the entire time until the baby comes out? Because I cannot do this. I would rather give birth to octuplet elephants with no epidural after doing an Ironman.” My blood pressure plummeted to 70/30.  From about 140/90.  I am pretty sure that you are clinically dead when your BP is 70/30.  The nurse immediately stopped the bolus and called the doctor.  She said it was okay to just start a slow drip of the mag.  I felt better within minutes.  

At around midnight I was having more contractions and was at 4cm. I asked for my epidural because again, this baby was going to come “really fast” and I didn’t want to miss out on my window to have an epidural.  After I got my epidural I slept for eight zero hours.  I was too excited about meeting my daughter.  And I was sure that the next time the doctor checked I would be at 9cm.  Well, the sun rose and at 6:30 am the doctor checked me.  Still at 4cm. No change.  WHAT? That cannot be true.  Did you get a hand transplant overnight?  Do you now have a gigantic gorilla hand which makes you thing that a couple fingers is only 4 cm when it is in fact 10? I was so pissed.  They upped the pitocin some more and finally broke my water at 8 am.  

A few hours later I noticed my contractions hurt a lot more and I could do leg raises with my right leg.  Hmmm, that doesn’t seem normal.  The nurse suggested I get my epidural redone, because I wasn’t having very strong contractions (really? Because these hurt) and once I had contractions that caused me to progress more, I would be miserable.  Translation: I can see you are a huge wuss.  You are complaining about contractions that have caused absolutely no cervical change in 12 hours. So you will pretty much pass out once you have a legit contraction. Okay, let’s do this.  The new anesthesiologist discovered the prior epidural had sort of come out.  So it was a good idea I chose to have it redone.  Except that this anesthesiologist apparently was coming off a 72 hour shift because it took FIVE TRIES to get the epidural replaced.  FIVE. I threw up three times during this 30 minute ordeal.  I was ready for her to just pull the baby out of my throat.  It was miserable.

Once that mess was finished, I was sufficiently numb.  But then Cora decided to do some river dancing, and I started having back labor.  The spasms in my love handles were unreal.  Way worse than my tiny contractions. They were unrelenting.  I wanted more drugs.  Anything to make the pain stop. The nurse said there was nothing she could do. I finally found a position where I laid on my side, grabbed the love handle closest to the bed with one hand, and shoved a rolled up towel against the small of my back. I asked Super Dad and my mom to leave so I could catch a snooze since I hadn’t slept in 36 hours.  Plus, I had not dilated at all in 13 hours so I knew we had a while to go. Yeah, one cm an hour after your water breaks or whatever- lies!!!

After sleeping for four hours 45 minutes, I woke up feeling a lot of pressure “down there.”  But the love handle pain was gone.  Woohoo! I told the nurse and she said I had been contracting quite a bit during my slumber.  Like, actual contractions that are strong enough clinically to cause change.  Apparently they have to be over 60 somethings on the monitor to cause cervical change.  They had been 50-55 from 9pm the prior evening until my second epidural, which is a terrible tease, but after the second epidural/”jab Jen with giant needles fest” and upping the pitocin to levels reserved for Godzillas’s wife, the contractions were measuring around 90-100.  The nurse called in the doctor and lo and behold, I was at 10 cm and full effaced.  Cora was ready to rock. What? 6 cm in 45 minutes?  I had to actually call my family back from the cafeteria.  Sorry I interrupted your pie eating Super Dad.

I immediately put my contacts in and put some makeup on.  I was fat but I still wanted my face to look good.  Doctor R. came in and said I could start pushing whenever.  She was putting her gloves on and looking around for some stuff, and they were waiting for the peds team to come in, but I could start pushing?  What if the baby shot out onto the floor?  No worries, it took three contractions (
about 10 pushes) to get her out. Overall it was less than 10 minutes, compared to an hour of pushing with Super Girl and Super Toddler.  The thing is, it was the hardest 10 minutes of exercise ever and (the lump of skin and tissue which used to be) my biceps were super sore the next day. I was so out of shape from taking almost 7 weeks off from working out.  I ran five miles the day before I had Super Girl. I only had to bed rest for three weeks with Super Toddler. So 10 minutes of laborious (pun intended) physical activity was exhausting. But well worth it.

Cora, henceforth referred to as Super Baby, was born at 2:01 pm on 4/15 and she was perfect.  She had a full head of hair and started crying just like she was supposed to.  I was able to have skin to skin with her immediately and she latched on right away.  She measured 6 lbs 3 oz and 20.5 inches, just 2 ounces less than her big sister, who was born at 39 weeks gestation! So yeah, she was small for a due date baby but quite large for being early.  She had jaundice just like her siblings but we got through it a lot more easily by supplementing and getting her on phototherapy right away.  By 2 weeks she was up to 6 pounds 10 ounces, thanks to being a champion nurser, which I am not used to after having two kids who basically would only take pumped milk from 2 months on. 

Overall, my birth experience with Super Baby was not at all what I had planned when I started having children.  I joked that I was meant to raise cute, super funny kids that sleep and eat well (knock on wood)- but I was not meant to carry them or give birth. I wouldn’t trade these babies for anything, and going through mag and being poked like a voodoo doll by the anesthesiologist was worth it to bring her into this world… but I am most definitely NOT doing that ever again. The shop is closed.  And my experience on Super Baby’s 2 week birthday only further solidified that.  More on that later…