Adventures at the Health Department

We took a big adventure to the Health Department last week to pick up a copy of my son's birth certificate. And  because I'm on a maternity leave, a big day is putting on a real bra and changing into some fresh PJ pants, so this trip was especially interesting.

We parked in the front and walked into the building, which housed a clinic. The free clinic, I suppose. We asked the girl at the front desk where we could get his birth certificate.

"OK, walk down the hall, you'll see two doors. Take the right door. Then keep walking down another hallway. The 4th door on your left, go through that. Then keep walking some more. You'll go through the nine circles of hell, through the candy cane forest, look for the signs that say "Birth and Death Certificates". Follow that sign. Walk 4 more miles, then you'll be there."

Well.

We finally reached the Birth/Death Certificates sign and found these lovely and festive Christmas deco:

Merry Christmas! THIS WAY TO YOUR DEATH CERTIFICATE.

How inappropriate is that skeleton dressed as a Santa? I mean, even if you are a fan of Nightmare Before Christmas, wouldn't you think twice about setting up that particular decoration where people are headed to pick up the final reminder of their recent dearly departed.

So we order the birth certificate, which is scarily easy to do. Just show up, pay your $15 and pretend like you're someone's legal guardian or spouse. They didn't' even check a drivers license. A few minutes later it was ready.

"Mrs. Austin?"

Only one problem -- my husband was the one who ordered it. His first name used to be a male name and now is used for many girls, so he gets it a lot and I think it's super rude and presumptive of people. Also in the same "hate hut": when people call me Amber (which is all the time) or think they are too important to remember my name in a business setting because I'm a young looking woman, but those are all complaints for a different day.

"Don't you mean MR. AUSTIN? CLEARLY HE'S A MAN," I smarted off to the lady at the front desk and my husband ushered me out quickly. I can't be let out in public.

We left through a different door and found more adventures.

The Rash Room, y'all. It's for people who need to go to the free clinic but have communicable skin diseases. There is a side door, even, so it's sort of like an exclusive club. 

So there you go, our fun and exciting trip to the health department. 

I need to get out of the house more often.

My last 4 days of pregnancy

Well.

Hi.

It's been awhile.

I felt a huge amount of guilt for not posting for, like, three weeks. I have a super good excuse. But instead of dwelling on how strange it felt to push the new post button on blogger (much less how it took me this long to even log into my account), I'm going to distract you with a cute baby picture.

Right? RIGHT? Do you forgive me now?

So here goes my epic, non-gory birth story. If you aren't interested, please stop back by later this week (and by later this week, I mean whenever I get around to it) when I discuss all the ridiculous television I've watched while rocking a baby.

It all starts with Thanksgiving Day, my due date. I got my turkey, so thank you, Luke, for listening to me. Wasn't that turkey delicious? It so was. We had stuffing, cranberries, the whole 9 yards. It was fantastic. I got a nap and everything.

But then my pregnancy began wearing out it's company. My in-laws, sister and brother-in-law were all visiting, just waiting for this little man to pop out. All eyes were on my belly. The sun set on Thanksgiving and we started the longest weekend in the history of the world.

Friday and Saturday consisted of us getting into each others way, me propping my feet up and being grumpy, walking, looking up ways to induce labor online, rolling around on my balance ball for about 10 hours total, eating and watching sports. Also: my mother-in-law suggesting things such as not drinking water and telling me how awful I looked. It was terrible.

Sunday morning my brother-in-law had to drive back to Cincinnati. Later that afternoon we all decided to go out and do some shopping because I was going stir crazy. Sis and I stopped at Walmart and on a whim I took my blood pressure, which was really high. I decided not to say anything until we got home because it was probably due to a trip to WALMART, or the fact that 5 of us were out shopping during the busiest shopping time of the year OR the fact that I was 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Any of the above.

On the way home we stopped by CVS for another blood pressure check, because we're classy like that. It was still very high, so we called labor and delivery to get their advice. They told me to come in and have it monitored. Although we already had my bag packed and loaded in the car, we left the house thinking we'd be back. I even told the crew that I'd be home with Chinese for dinner.

I want to stop here and mention we'd eaten a late brunch, but I hadn't eaten since then. It was 5.

So in L&D, they stuck me in a triage room and strapped a cuff to my arm like the other 3 times I'd been there -- but this time asked me to put on a gown "just in case". Still didn't occur to me that this might be "it". They monitored me for two hours and my BP still didn't go down. The nurse said, "I'm no fortune teller, but these numbers ain't pretty. You'll probably be staying tonight."

A few minutes later, the tiniest doctor on the planet stopped by to check me. She patted my leg reassuringly and said "What do you say we get this baby out of you tonight?"

With a combination of shock, excitement and a little fear, I agreed.

They started the pitocin drip an hour or so later. I was already dilated to almost 5, but my water hadn't broken yet. Over the next two hours, our crabby night nurse kept increasing the pitocin drip and asking me to rate my pain from 1 to 10. It was a 2 or 3 and I wasn't lying but she thought I was.

My in laws and sister came in around 11 to visit one last time before the baby got here and to wish me luck. My sister was a ball of excitement, but my mother-in-law couldn't stop telling me how bad I looked and how my feet were purple. I asked her if maybe they weren't so much purple as they were dirty because I'd been walking around in black flip flops with no shower and hey...it happens. But no, they were purple, she said.

I guess the kind of purple that rubs off on the sheets? Right.

Anyway, back to this night nurse. I know we all have days where we truly hate going to work and that night was her night to hate her job, I think. She was no-nonsense and very crabby at the beginning of her shift. I guess I just expected a nurse that was a little more caring and patient to a woman about to pop a child out.

At 3 or so they broke my water and that's when the contractions got really bad. I was prepared to go as long as I could without an epidural, but because my blood pressure was so elevated I had to stay in bed (so there went all the exercises   I practiced in our childbirth ed class). About an hour or so later, my nurse said, "Listen: you don't get an bravery award or trophy for not getting an epidural. If you need it, get it." And then after the doctor told me if I wanted one I should get it sooner rather than later because if someone came in who "trumped" me (like a c-section), then relief might be delayed when I really needed it.

That made up my mind and the nice anethesiologist came to my rescue.

The epidural was bull crap, though. I swear that it worked for maybe an hour before I started feeling the contractions very strongly. They had to give me an oxygen mask at one point because the baby's heart rate was either too steady or not steady enough, and It was all I could do to get through each contraction. I asked for an increase in the epidural medicine and the anesthesiologist took his SWEET time getting there. By the time he uped the dosage, I was starting to feel the urge to push. And when that time comes, do you know what they do? TURN OFF THE EPIDURAL. I'll all, WTH? Is that something at my hospital, or just normal procedure?

It was about 6:45 when I started feeling like pushing, and by 7:15 the doctor was getting ready to go. Hubby said to the staff, "Well, we know his birthday will be November 29, now just need to find out the time. Probably sometime before 8, right?" The doctor laughed smugly and said, "That's optimistic. Most first time moms push for at least an hour or two."

I pushed Luke out at 7:46 am.

I'd like to thank my extreme hunger for speeding things up. Someone in the room told me the faster I pushed him out, the faster I'd get some breakfast. Challenge? Accepted.

He weighed in at 8 lbs 11 oz and 20.5 inches long. He was (and is) a beautiful baby.

And grumpy nurse? Turned out to be fantastic. Her shift ended at 7, but she said she didn't stay all night just to miss this baby's birth. 

All in all, I really had a wonderful pregnancy and a pretty low-key labor and delivery. Sure, I would have rather done it without the pitocin and would have liked to have the "honey, it's time" moment at home, but it is what it is and as I said all along, God had a perfect plan for this baby's birth. My "birth plan" was to have no birth plan -- but to let it happen as it happened and stay cool and calm. Yeah, there were times when it sucked. A LOT. Like the contractions that even the epidural couldn't tame, or the fact that pushing felt like I had the biggest poop EVER, or the fact that I was so nervous during the actual epidural insertion that I shook uncontrollably WHILE having contractions, but the truth is I'd do it again and again for such a sweet, beautiful wonderful blessing.

Little did I know, the labor was a cakewalk compared to the first few days home...

That's a story for another day.

And to close out this birth story, here is the first picture Hubby took of me and my baby boy, which I refer fondly as my "teen mom" pose because I look like I'm 16 freaking years old:

Pregnancy was really good to my skin and nails.

Lower. No, Lower.

Yesterday I had a OB appointment.

I'm 27 weeks pregnant and it was time for the dreaded glucose screening. And then they were going to give me a shot of some antibodies because I have Rh negative blood and my blood might fight with my baby's blood? SCIENCE. And while I was there, they were going to recheck my blood pressure (which ALWAYS goes up right before my appointment because I have white coat syndrome and am terrified of doctors). So it makes sense they would be rechecking my blood pressure when I have all those other things to worry about. (And by "makes sense", I mean "makes not once tiny lick of sense".)

The glucose screening wasn't as bad as people wanted me to think. It tasted a lot like fruit punch. But you guys, they are NOT kidding around about the test times. I was to take the medicine an hour before my appointment, EXACTLY, and then let them know when I got there what time I took the medicine so they could test me IMMEDIATELY. I got to my appointment about 20 minutes early because I was so terrified of it messing up.

Everything went fine, blood pressure was normal (after taking it 3 times), but then it was time for the shot. I don't do shots. I have been known to pass out when I LOOK at a needle. This isn't just for medicine, either. When I got my ears pierced at 8 or 9 I passed out. So after 30 years, I know the drill. The nurse told me the injection went into my hip, so I laid on my side and pulled my jeans down a little. She said, "actually, just a little lower." I pulled them lower. "Actually, looowweer...." I pulled lower. "Actually, this goes right into your buttcheek," she said. So there I am, laying there trying not to have an anxiety attack over this needle. My buttcheek is just hanging out saying "Oh hello! Wow, I didn't expect to be out of my underpants today, this is a lovely surprise, OH WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME???"

And when it was over, I got a Tweety bird band-aid. It was like my badge of honor.

When was the last time you had to get a shot at the doctor's office? Was it in your cheek? Do you get panic-y around needles?  Want to read more about my baby, cause it's here on my baby blog.