I thought this thread might be the best place to post this. No one has really asked me about what my whole labor experience was like. I'm assuming they felt I wouldn't want to talk about it. During the whole event, and a few days after, I didn't really remember anything. But as the weeks have gone by, I remember just how terrible it was. I wanted to write it all down so I wouldn't forget, and so people would know what hell I went through. I could never tell my friends and family, I would feel like I'm begging for sympathy. But not you strangers. You have no emotional connection to me. You will not feel sorry for me, and I would not feel guilty making it worse. My story is just a story. So here it goes.
When we found out I was pregnant, my then boyfriend was thrilled. I was terrified. He comforted me and assured me it would all be okay. Fantastic even. In the months leading up to his birth, I felt the overwhelming joy and excitement that he felt.
Months passed, I grew, Kylar was healthy and perfect in every way. We rented a house for him, spent days painting his room and setting it up. He had more toys and clothes and blankets that any boy could ever need. He would move the most when I was in the bath, so I would take them often, so I could watch him stretch.
One night in October, a Month before he was due, I went into labor. We rushed to the hospital at 3 in the morning, and once they determined I was having contractions, they gave me medicine to stop them. Also, in case he tried to come again, they gave me steroid shots to make him grow faster. Even though he was two days from being too developed for them to do those shots.
All went well, as we prepared every day for him to come. Two weeks before his due date, I started having irregular contractions and I passed my mucus plug. So it was just a waiting game.
I couldn't shake this feeling of something was wrong though. I went to the doctors 4 times before his due date within the 2 weeks, and each time they said he was fine. The last appointment, the doctor brushed off my questions, clearly in a hurry to get to other patients. I took that as a sign that I was just being paranoid.
I should probably mention that I was huge. I'm a small girl, 5'0", 120 before pregnancy. I was massive in the last month. Miserably so. Even my pubic mound had a stretch mark the thickness of a half dollar. This is relevant later on.
So his due date arrives, and still no signs of actual labor. Contractions and cramps and pain, but not constant and not unbearable. We have my best friend and her boyfriend over for some games. Towards the end of the night, I realized that I hadn't felt him move in a while. So I poked and prodded my tummy trying to wake him up. At this point, I could feel where his feet were, so I searched for it and tickled it like I normally did, but he didn't react. I took it as a good sign; hes resting up for labor.
Knowing what I know now, that moment haunts my dreams. I poked my dead sons foot. I felt it move, his knee bend in my stomach against my pressure. I felt him dead before anyone even knew.
I got more and more concerned, so we decided to go to the hospital. I was trying to stay positive, I thought, "he's fine. Things like this don't just happen to perfectly healthy pregnancies. I'll just go to the doctors to get some peace of mind." My husband was panicking. I tried to calm him, but he was terrified.
We got to the hospital, he pulled me along, desperate to find out he's okay. We got to the labor ward and was sent to our room. I began panicking when a staff of 2 doctors and 3 or 4 nurses rushed in with the ultrasound.
I saw plenty of ultrasounds of him. More than most moms. I know what I was supposed to see. A curled up little baby, his perfect little ribs, and his even littler heart beating away. In this ultrasound, all I saw was stillness. I knew in 2 seconds he was gone. And judging by my husbands whimpers, he knew too. The doctor dragged it on heartbreakingly long, looking for who knows what. The other doctor looked for another what seemed like 20 minutes before confirming his heart stopped. I asked everyone but my husband to leave the room. I kept my composure until the last person left. Then him and I held each other and cried harder than I've ever cried.
We called our family after some time. They all rushed over. Only thing left to do was induce me and give birth.
They inserted a pill next to my cervix to soften it and advised me to sleep while I could. No more than a half hour later, my husband and I heard a loud pop, and I felt a pain in my side. I sat up, and my water gushed out of me. I didn't think it was possible to have that much fluid inside me. I think the nurses didn't expect that much either, because when I told them I'm pretty sure I soaked through the towel to the sheets, she didn't believe me until she went to change the towel a couple minutes later.
Immediately after, the biggest desire to push I had ever felt began. I had an epidural soon after, but that did not stop the need to push. What I felt wasn't really painful, but I still writhed around in my bed and begged the nurses to let me push. I needed it so bad. That went on for about 24 hours. I threw up a couple times, but my family had to remind me of that. I learned after about 12 hours that if I pushed just the slightest bit, it felt a lot better. The doctor came in for what I thought was just another cervix check, but he told me to start pushing. My husband, the most supportive person I could have ever hoped for, talked me out of my fear.
The nurse kept saying to push. Everyone kept saying to push. I pushed and pushed as hard as I could for the contraction. After it was over, the doctor would shake his head, and push his hands deeper into me. I pushed for another contraction. He shook his head again. My husband told me he could see Kylar's head, and he had so much hair. This made me laugh, despite it all. I knew he would. Thick, dark hair. I pushed harder. The doctor shook his head. I pushed even harder. He shook his head. After what felt like an hour, he finally pulled his hands out and told us that Kylar is just too big, and he cant fit through. We would have to have a c-section. He rushed out to prep for that, and we told our family the status. I was given more epidural, so I wouldn't feel anything below my waist.
As we waited, I avoided any talk of Kylar. Everyone in my room was watching me, I suppose expecting me to break down. To show any emotion. But I couldn't feel anything until he was born. I kept thinking that there was still a chance. That he would come out crying, and the doctors and nurses and my husband and I would laugh and cry and exclaim that it's impossible, that its a miracle. So I talked about video games and how hungry I was. Anything to not give up hope.
Once I started being wheeled into the operating room though, I began to panic. I was shaking terribly, and I was begging the nurse to make sure I couldn't feel anything down there. I couldn't of course. She was touching and poking my stomach to check and I didn't even know. My husband was right next to me, holding my hand and telling me things that would make me smile.
C-sections are unlike anything you could imagine. You can feel everything. Not the pain, but the pressure of the nurses holding my body open, the tug of them pulling out organs, and the immense release of pressure when they took him out. And the silence that followed. My husband asked if I would be okay if he went and held him while they sewed me up. Of course I said okay. I couldn't see him, but I could hear him sobbing. I could also hear the nurses and doctors saying he is too big, and they must have gotten my date wrong.
My husband asked if I wanted to see him, so I said yes. Even though he wasn't alive, he was beautiful. Ten pounds, eleven ounces. Exactly as I imagined him. My husband told me he had blue eyes, like we thought. I've been obsessed with blue ever since. I still laughed and smiled at seeing him. I waited so long. It didn't matter at that moment that he wasn't alive.
What really drove that in for me was seeing him naked. His skin was falling off in patches. He had red blotches all over him. That killed me, seeing him like that. Another thing that haunts my thoughts. I couldn't even stand to bathe him. I asked my husband to. I couldn't hold him either. Not until the next day when no one was there. I know I would lose it.
As I healed, we kept him in our room. He would have to be put in a refrigerator type thing every night, but he stayed with us for as long as we could have him. Almost everyone held him, took pictures with him, comforted us. After the epidural wore off, I was in a lot of pain. Turns out during the labor, my tail bone was fractured. It still hurts me today.
The doctors tell us that he was too big. My placenta couldn't support him anymore, and he died. Two days before, I was at the doctors and they told me his heartbeat was strong and heathly.
His funeral was beautiful. My husband and I got tattoos for him. We wear necklaces every day with his ashes. His urn is close by our bed. We talked to our landlords, and they agreed to break the lease so we could move. We couldn't be in that house without him. We couldn't change his room. We had to move in with my parents.
It's been two months. We just started new jobs, and I went back to college. We both still have days where we can't function. I had one today. So I thought I would finally get around to writing this. Thank you for reading. It was a relief to get out. Rest in Peace, Kylar. My sweet son.
Submitted January 28, 2016 at 01:15PM by TheFalseShepherd77 http://ift.tt/1OZswZv offmychest
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