I remember the day the itching started. Itching that was so intense that I’d leave myself bleeding. I was 36 weeks pregnant with hundreds of tiny red bumps surrounding my belly button in a ring, embedded within more stretch marks than I’d like to admit. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it spread. Up my chest, down my legs. Every inch of me. PUPPS is what the doctor called it, “pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy.” Essentially, my body was having a histamine reaction to my baby inside of me, and the only way to make it end, birth. That’s right. If I were to go to term, then I would have 4 weeks left of incessant itching, sleeping with icepacks and bathing in any remedy I could find on google. Less than 1% of women will get PUPP’s rash…lucky me.
By week 38, I was essentially sleep deprived and still itching when my blood pressure spiked. At my appointment that week, I was told I was being induced. I had heard how difficult inductions could be, but truly, I was willing to take on anything if it meant the itching would disappear.
I was allowed to go home, shower, and eat some dinner and reported back to the hospital at 7pm that night. I never would have imagined it would be 30 more hours before I’d meet my little girl.
I was 1cm dilated. The induction started with the insertion of a foley balloon which was more comfortable than I imagined having put in. I was told the balloon would stay in for the next 12 hours and to try to get some sleep. That was pretty comical, considering within one hour, I was in unbelievably excruciating pain. I did all that I could to pace, breathe through it, and talk myself off a ledge. The contractions were only a minute apart with this balloon. I thought for sure it must have been working way too well. Ultimately, I couldn’t handle the pain much longer and a nurse was able to give me medication through an IV to help me sleep. Thankfully it worked!
When I woke up in the morning, the balloon was still in. They told me I could pull it out, but I really couldn’t imagine doing that. I thought for sure I’d rip my insides out, so an amazing nurse came over, pulled on it and popped it out like it was nothing! The floor was an absolute horrifying mess from that, but I was excited to hear that I was now 5cm dilated at 7am! Halfway there!
My team started me on Pitocin and encouraged me to walk the halls. I paced up and down for a few hours, shocked by how comfortable I was. My husband and I laughed and talked, and I was beginning to think that contractions wouldn’t get that painful for me. Again. I was wrong. At 1pm, the doctor came in to break my water, AKA the cushion keeping the contractions from feeling too intense. Shortly after the water broke, the intensity really began to pick up. Every three minutes a contraction would hit. I was managing though and breathing through it, talking to my mom and husband in-between.
I remember around 3 pm my husband making me laugh in the middle of a contraction. I couldn’t breathe and entered into a panic. Tears started pouring down my face, and as quick as a switch, I was mentally out of the game. I couldn’t stop crying and was truly exhausted. I kept fighting and fighting willingness for an epidural. The thought of the needle had me so scared. Instead, I opted for more medication in my IV. This time though, it didn’t work nearly as well as the first time, and instead, I found myself really out of sorts. I remember saying to my husband, “Hey, will you make sure that I keep breathing? I think I keep forgetting to breathe.” Talk about drugged out.
When I finally came out of that around 6 pm, I was sobbing again. My husband sent the nurses and my mom out of the room and convinced me to get the epidural. At this point, I was 23 hours in and really needed something to help me. I chose to listen and clung to my nurse as the anesthesiologist gave me the epidural. Looking back, I can’t believe how scared I was. I hardly felt it at all over the contractions and pretty quickly was in such relief. I was finally able to smile again and get back into a better mindset. Note to self though: when given an epidural, you’re handed a clicker to keep giving yourself the medicine…. don’t forget to use it. You better keep on clicking. Don’t be fooled by how good you feel. I didn’t click. Not even once. I was confused on how to know when to click and didn’t think to ask.
She grabbed the olive oil and lubed me up. Yup you heard that right. Olive oil. A whole gallon of olive oil. It was the only sense of comedy I’d had in hours, but let me tell you. It worked. 45 minutes of intense pushing and my daughter was born, at 12:08am, with only one mild internal tear. As they lifted her up to me and began suctioning some fluid out of her mouth, my midwife began taking care of my needs. She helped work out the placenta, which felt like the biggest relief of pressure that I had ever experienced.
Everyone kept telling me how beautiful my daughter was. I remember hearing them and thinking, “I haven’t really seen her yet.” She was laying on my chest, but I was too tired to move. Too tired to pick my head up. I had to ask the nurse to show her to me, and as soon as she did, it was pure bliss. It almost didn’t feel real to me. It was as though we’d wake up the next day and I’d realize it was all some dream. I still feel that way to be honest. 2.5 years later, and sometimes I consider that this journey of motherhood may have all been a dream. Getting pregnant wasn’t easy. Being pregnant wasn’t easy. Labor wasn’t easy. Early motherhood wasn’t easy. But the love came easy. Oh, and guess what, by the morning, that rash really did go away!
Katie
ForTheMoms 