Everything is becoming a blur, so I need to write this before any more slips away.

On Sunday evening (October 30th), we went to John and Leah’s house for dinner. On the way there, I felt a cramping similar to a menstrual cramp accompanied by the “winded-flushed-face” feeling I had been having, which I was finally able to identify as a contraction. I felt several more through dinner and on the way home there were two 20 minutes apart that were strong. (I must quality that – they felt strong at that point. I had no idea how strong they would become).

We watched “Rome” and Sunday Night football, and by about 11pm, the contractions were coming 5-7 minutes apart. They were uncomfortable enough that I had to breathe rhythmically through them. I called the hospital, who said to come in.

We went, were checked in, and, unfortunately, were not dilated one bit. Not one little bit. We ended up going home about 2pm. I was given some Visperal to help me sleep. I took it but was woken up throughout the night with contractions.

On Monday (the 31st), I had contractions all day long, never more than 15 minutes apart and sometimes as close as 8 minutes. I started ranking them from very mild to very hard to see if I could see a pattern. What I did notice was that when laying down, they were very painful. Again, I wasn’t yet to know how painful. I was breathing rhythmically throughout them and yelling at times.

That evening, again around midnight, the contractions were hard and regular and coming 4-7 minutes apart. I called again and we went in. Still not dilated. I started crying when the nurse told us. I just couldn’t help it. I cried and said, “No!!” She and Steve were very supportive and I decided to agree to a shot of morphine so I could sleep through the night and not be any more worn out as I hadn’t sleep, really, since Saturday evening – going on 48 hours.

I slept some at the hospital that night, but, as morning came, the contractions subsided until I felt only one in a 45 minute period and hadn’t dilated any further. The doctor on call surprised me when he asked me if my doctor had discussed the possibility of a C-Section due to my frontal to posterior pelvic measurements. She hadn’t. Not once. He said, as had several nurses by that point, that I measure very short front my pubic bone back. I tried to absorb what he was saying and evaluate against what I’d researched. I wasn’t sure what to think.

We were discharged around noon.

The moment we got in the car to go home, the contractions became virtually unbearable and began to be 10 minutes apart. I had stopped ranking them and just tried to survive them. I don’t know how to explain how they felt to me – but between noon and 3pm, there wasn’t one that I wasn’t yelling through. They were blinding.

By 3pm, I was getting only 30 seconds between the end of one and beginning of another. I asked Steve to call the hospital again to find out if a) we should come in again, and b) if we do, and I still wasn’t dilated, could I get morphine again because I couldn’t bear the thought of getting in the car for nothing, because every single movement started another contraction. He did, and they said to come in, but couldn’t promise anything.

We went back, I stood at the registration desk trying to survive the contractions, and was taken to a room. I had dilated to 3 cm by that point. It was such a relief.

Steve and I had spent the last day talking about pain management and the pros and cons. I was very aware that I couldn’t take another 12 hours of the type and intensity of contractions had been feeling that morning, and I was certain that Steve couldn’t take me having the level of pain I was having for another 12 hours. He was truly and deeply distressed. I even tried at points to not yell or to soften my reaction the contractions for his sake, and found that I simply couldn’t mask the intensity of what I was feeling. He would have and did support every single decision I made, but I wasn’t experiencing this in a vaccum. I expressed my concerns to my nurses about breast feeding and the effect an epidural might have on that. I asked for all the possible complications and ultimately decided that to progress any further I would need to manage my incredible discomfort. Some of my contractions at that point – only 3 cm dilated – were measuring off the charts. The decision to have an epidural was a very difficult one for me but I made my decision based on what I thought was in all of our best interests – mine, Steve’s, and the baby’s.

I was prepped for and received the epidural. It was an incredible relief. Over the next 5 hours, my contractions were monitored and they were regular and intense. So, it was much to our disappointment that after that length of time, I had progressed only to 4.5 cm. The on call doctor (the same one from that morning) and our nurses, and Steve and I discussed the option of having a c-section at that point.

Again, it was a hard decision, but one we made thinking everything through as much as we could.

The C-section itself was very manageable. I was scared, though, and had tears running down my cheeks throughout. Steve was by my head and watched William being pulled out of me. He sobbed and laughed and I had to judge everything by his face because of the curtain up between me and my belly.

I heard, “He’s perfect! He huge!” from the nurses, who, I’m sure, say all babies are perfect, but it was wonderful to hear. I had asked to be able to seem him right away and was partially granted that request. I saw his hand over the curtain and then they layed him by me but I was so upset by that point, I couldn’t connect with the idea of this baby being the one that had been inside me. My mouth was dry, I was crying and very full of muscus and flat on my back so I had a very hard time making sense of this new creature and his relationship to me.

I was angry, and I got angrier. I felt utterly deprived of my baby and left totally alone. I asked Steve to go with William to the nursery and when he came back and I was in the recovery room, I wept and told him how angry I was. I was clear enough that I made sure he knew I wasn’t angry at him or the baby or even the medical staff, but just at the situation – I had failed to imagine what a c-section might entail – the separation and the disconnect.

We were then taken to our room and the baby followed shortly after. We tried to breast feed both in the recovery room and in our room without success. My nipples wouldn’t make a shape that he could latch on to.

Over the next few days I reconciled my experience with the love I was beginning to feel for this little person. Waves and waves of love and anxiety would wash over me. They still do.

The next part is painful for me, but ultimately positive. Over the course of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we tried very hard to breastfeed. I used a nipple guard and fed a tiny tube from a syringe into it, with formula in the syringe and depressed the syringe to inject formula into the nipple guard so that Will could stuck it out, hopefully stimulating my breasts in the process.

At times it worked. Mostly, it didn’t. Will became too impatient waiting for the setup and moved around enough that we often spilled formula down both of us. I was having a very hard time just positioning him correctly against me because of the pain in my stomach and the c-section incision.

We had multiple consultations with various nurses and lactation consultants. None of whom really seemed to connect with our situation. There was always a subtle sense of criticism about the amount of food he was receiving. I was bewildered and upset about it – after all, many women’s milk doesn’t come in for several days – what do they want those babies to eat?! I felt singled out – especially by one nurse who was just horrendous. She was so shrill and so over weight she could barely stand to walk down the hall – she weazed and critiqued everything we did – from me using a straw to sip some liquid to making sure every other nurse knew we were having “trouble” breastfeeding. I finally said, “I think we’re doing just fine. We’re working at it and he’s getting enough to eat.” That seemed to help.

I didn’t realize that my discomfort was due mostly to gas and constipation from surgery – I wish I had known that earlier because I would have limited my movements less. Thinking the pain was from my incision, I didn’t want to push it. But, had I known, I might have worked more to re-position myself for Will.

On Friday night, our first night home, as formula is poring down both of us and Will is frantic with crying, and Steve and I are tired and bewildered and frustrated, we decided that we would feed him from a bottle that evening and that I would pump my breasts to see what I could get from them.

I was able to use the very weak Madela pump we got at the hospital to pump about 10ml 3-4 times per day for the next several days. I was thrilled. That may not sound like much, but it was success to me. I felt like I was giving him something of me.

Yesterday I did some calling and discovered that, unfortunately, my insurance wouldn’t cover a mechanical breast pump, and so I decided to try the Advent Isis pump. We went to Target this morning and Eureka! I pumped 1 ENITRE OUNCE at one sitting – almost 3x as much as with the Madela pump. There was actually a stream of milk coming from me. I was elated, and Steve congratulated me on my results, as he has throughout this process.

So, I think we have hit upon the solution for us – supplement formula with my milk. Because Will first learned to suck with the nipple guard in place, his suction is far too powerful and painful for my naked breast, even if I could get him to recognize my skin as something to suck on, and he is not patient enough, at least at this point, to learn how to suck more gently.

I am so happy to be able to provide him with at least some breast milk.

My mother was here for several days and that was wonderful – very helpful for both Steve and I. Joel and Dad came later and while they weren’t as helpful, it was wonderful to see how much they were into Will. William is my father’s middle name.

I have had some moments of tears and a sense that my heart has just been ripped out of my chest and placed in front of me in the form of this little boy. My husband moves me to tears as well – I’ve never been more in love. Of course, we have had frustrations with each other and Will, but I can’t imagine anyone else sharing him with me. We finally found 20 minutes to snuggle today and it was like being re-connected with my own self – we can truly snuggle again now because I’m no longer a walking bowling ball – it was astonishing how sustaining that contact was.

This evening will be one week that Will has been in this world. I am healing very quickly. This is the most profoundly difficult thing I’ve ever been a part of, but truly the most profoundly amazing, as well.