When I was pregnant with Gabriel, I was still teaching high school English. I wanted to have as much time with the baby as possible, so I planned on working right up until my due date, which was a Friday. I figured I had a pretty good chance of going into labor after the actual due date, so I thought it worked out perfectly. However, as the time got closer and working got harder, I decided to take off the week before my due date as well. Of course, Gabriel had his own plans.
Friday, February 21 was supposed to be my last day of work, and I had everything all set up. The day before that, I was getting ready for work. I took a shower and started getting dressed, but something wasn't right. I sat down to have my breakfast, thinking I would just wait to see how things went. It became apparent pretty quickly that my water had, in fact, broken. So instead of going into work, I let them know I wouldn't be there and headed to the hospital. By the way, if you want to know the definition of embarrassment, try walking down the hall of a hospital and waiting for a bed after your water has already broken.
For the first hour or so of labor, I was texting with work to let them know what I had planned on teaching that day. Labor was going pretty slow, and we sometimes joke that Gabriel had been playing and accidentally broke my water, but didn't actually want to be born yet and tried to take back what he had done. Obviously a joke, but it fits him.
Because labor was slow and my water had already broken, I was put on pitocin to speed things up. Unfortunately, the pitocin was a little too effective and sped up the contractions so much that they were overlapping. This was making Gabriel hold his breath, which caused his heart rate to drop. After taking me off the pitocin, getting his heart rate back up, and putting me back on pitocin to get labor on track a few separate times, at least five nurses came running into my room. I guess this time his heart rate had dropped dangerously low and they told me I would be needing a C-section. I had prepared myself for this possibility. I wasn't happy about it, but I was okay.
When they got me into the operating room, the doctor looked at everything and said something to the effect of, "Oh, he's fine now, but better safe than sorry." Part of me wanted to protest, but I was scared and wanted to believe that everyone had the best interest of me and my baby in mind. Looking back, I have no idea if that was true or if I should have fought for things to go differently. What I do know is that I have a healthy, happy little boy, so I can't regret or wish away anything about the way things happened.
I've heard about postpartum depression depression, and I've heard that sometimes it can be more difficult for women who had C-sections to feel connected to their babies. I was very fortunate that this was not at all the case for me. The doctor held my baby boy up so that I could see him and I was so overwhelmed with love and joy that I couldn't help but cry. I had wanted this baby so badly and already loved him so much, it was unbelievable to finally see him. He was, and still is, a beautiful little boy full of love and joy himself. I'm so blessed to have him.
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