Delivering Lila

Part 2

Wednesday, January 8

Sharon, my nurse, is an African-American woman with medium length hair curled up at the ends and deep brown eyes. She stands to my right monitoring fetal heart rate and contractions after all the machines have been hooked up to me. Each time a contraction hits and I cry out in pain, she reminds me to breathe: “Use your breathing, Dawn.”

I count in my head like I do when I am going to sleep. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.

Ach! It still hurts!

James is out of the room filling out paperwork and getting me into the system. Apparently, despite the fact that I filled out every single piece of paper they gave me back in June, and despite the fact that I registered with the hospital at that time, I still have not officially been admitted to the hospital.

So, when Sharon is sitting to my left and asks me how I feel about pain management, whether or not I want the epidural, I immediately say, “Yes!” She laughs and says, “You didn’t even have to think about that!”

I start to go into cold sweats lying in bed. Sharon is holding my hand and still monitoring my vitals. James and Maya come in, and Maya says she is scared for mommy.

“Daddy, what’s wrong with mommy?”

“Having a baby is hard work, Maya. But mommy will be okay. Here, play with these toys/the iPad/your books.”

My good friend Brendalyn comes to the hospital to pick Maya up for a couple of hours so she can play with her friends. I'm relieved she won't be traumatized with the full scale birth of her baby sister, and happy that she will be with people who love her. I know she'll be back with us soon.

--
 

Alone with my nurse, as the contractions come faster and stronger, I start pleading with God to take the pain away. “Please,” is about all I can say.

To Sharon, I say, “How much longer?"

She reassures me my epidural is coming. She asks if I want some Fentanyl to “take the edge off?”

Yes, please!
I've never taken this drug before, so I don't know what to expect. It does help, but I’m still tremendously relieved when a man comes in wheeling a cart and introduces himself as the anesthesiologist.

It takes three tries to get the epidural into my spine. Sharon is holding my hands and telling me to stay still, you have to be really still.

On the third try, as I bear down through a contraction, it finally goes in. They tell me it will kick in shortly, and I will finally have relief.

--

Finally relaxed enough to focus on something other than pain, I can feel Lila move down the birth canal. It feels like pressure, not pain, but I can tell her head is right at the end.
Unfortunately, at my last check up, I tested positive for Strep B, so they had to administer antibiotics prior to delivery, and it takes 4 hours to kick in. So the last two hours of my labor is spent drifting on a high of pain meds knowing any second Lila will come into the world. The nurses keep telling me to resist the urge to push.

Not a problem!

--

Finally, the time has come. My entourage of nurses and my doctor enter the room. James is there, too. Together, we watch them set up the room. James asks if I am ready.

“I’m scared.”

I fear the pain. I fear the inevitable shift in our life together. I fear for my firstborn daughter. I fear for my second. I fear for myself.

The bottom half of my bed is removed, and up come the stirrups. I can’t feel my legs at all, so the nurses have to lift each one to get me into position.

My doctor is there cracking jokes to distract me, telling me about her two children and the difference between her labors, their personalities, her ability to breastfeed them.

“Don’t those women with refrigerators full of breast milk piss you off?” she asks me.

I chuckle at that. Apparently, she and I have that in common from our first babies.

Then,

“Push.”

I do, but I can’t feel a thing. I have no idea if this is working, but I bear down as much as I can.

We wait a few minutes, then,

“Push.”

Still can’t feel a thing.

We wait a few more minutes, then

“Push.”

And there she is – Lila Olivia Sadek. Just three pushes, and I can see her for the first time. She never cries, she doesn’t make a peep. At first, I am terrified she is dead, but they put her on my chest and suction, suction, suction her nose and throat.

 Her eyes are open, and she is observing me. How amazing she is. In my opinion, she isn’t as pretty as her sister, but she is definitely mine. Her hair and eyes are lighter than Maya's. Her head seems misshapen, so I ask James if my doctor used forceps because I think I saw something metal earlier between my legs.

No.

The nurses take Lila to weigh her and perform the necessary duties. She never cries. She only observes. James is with her snapping photos. I am trying to see her beyond all the bustle and commotion.

They bring her back to me and ask if I want to feed her.

Duh! I want this to work so badly.

She’s a natural! She latches on immediately. Even Sharon remarks her ability.

My Lila could not be more opposite of her sister if she tried, and, yet, they are both wonderful and amazing girls.

--

Maya is finally back, and I am so glad to see her. She brings me a present from Brendalyn.
Then my sister-in-law and my eldest niece arrive. My big sister! I couldn't love her more than in this moment. She holds my hand and looks into my eyes.

My mom and dad arrive shortly after. My mom is visibly upset that she missed Lila's birth. She had doctor appointments that day, though, and I had told James to delay calling her until we were at the hospital and knew for sure this was not a false alarm.

--

For me, the best thing about Lila's birth - other than the fact that Lila is alive and in my arms - is that I delivered her on my own terms. Even she seemed to know that, waiting at the bottom of the birth canal as she did for several hours. After such a difficult pregnancy, I am so grateful to finally have my reward - my clever new baby and the one who will round out our precious little family.