Craven's Labor & Delivery: A Novel.

First off, let me just say that my birth plan got thrown out of the window. And that’s saying it lightly. Very lightly.

Chapter 1: The Precurser

At 34 weeks, I got PUPPP [Pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy]. Well, actually I had it earlier, beginning at 27 weeks, but it didn’t flare up until later. What I thought was a bizarre, unexplainable rash became the ugliest nightmare I’ve ever had, but the worst part about it what that it wasn’t an actual nightmare – it was real freaking life.
I have never been allergic to anything, and I’ve never had anything similar to an allergic breakout, but when my OB told me that research suggested that PUPPP was my body’s reaction to my son’s fetal DNA, I almost lost it. This kind of thing only happens to less than 1% of pregnant women. I guess I was part of that lucky 1%. Not only that, but I was the worst case my OB had ever seen. I looked like I had leprosy and I felt like it too. Being pregnant in the heat of the summer sure enough didn’t make it any better either. Long story short, over the counter meds turned into prescription meds. Steroids, antihistamines, topical ointments, round after round after round with no sign of improvement. Natural remedies offered no relief either. I spent probably over $200 on countless lotions, oils, capsules, baths . . . you name it, I tried it.


The night before PUPPP 8/25/10


But it wasn’t my discomfort that led my OB to worry. The itching was worse than any needle, any mosquito bite, or any pinch or thump that the strongest man on earth can give you. My whole body stung through day and night, through each of the hundreds of baths I tried to take. I couldn’t work. I was embarrassed to go out in public. I dealt with this hell for 5 long weeks, and out of those 35 days, I slept less than 60 hours total. If you do the math, you’ll realize that 60 hours of sleep in 5 weeks is BAD. The average person would be required to sleep 200+ hours during that same time frame. Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted to. I was dying to - literally. I began having symptoms of sleep deprivation, hallucinations, slurred speech, a wobbly walk, among other things. I didn’t trust myself to drive. My OB gave me the ok to take sleeping pills, but they only made me painfully drowsy and loopy. God only knows what my son was experiencing thanks to those pills. I stopped taking them. My OB’s last resort was to prescribe me Xanax . . . which I denied without hesitation.


At that point, we all agreed on induction.

Chapter 2: The Labor. 

It wasn’t what I wanted . . . to be induced. Then again, PUPPP wasn't what I wanted either. I desired a natural birth. I still do, even to this day. But for Craven, it wasn’t what he was going to have. Far from it. Though somehow I welcomed it, and my husband and I packed our bags and prepared our minds, bodies, and our home for the arrival of our little one.

It began with a 6pm call time on September 20th 2010 at the L&D unit one Monday afternoon. I was 38weeks, 5 days gestation that day. I was hooked up to the Doppler heart monitor, cursed with an IV, and given a cervical ripening medication. I was then left there through the night with nursing checking on me regularly throughout the next 12 hours. I sat on my butt all night in discomfort. I don’t remember getting any sleep. I was just ready for it to be over with at that point.

At 6am the following morning, I was given an enema (which was far beyond disgusting), started on pitocin, and demanded to stay in bed. I was only allowed to get up to pee. I was 1cm dilated surprisingly, and what do I get for making it to 1cm? I got my bag of waters broken. I didn’t feel it at all, but my OB had a hard time getting the bag to pop. Maybe because it wasn’t ready?

Throughout the day, the nurses, lactation consultants, and the anesthesia team would visit me often, asking questions as to what decisions I wished to make for myself and my son. I kept refusing an epidural, but they kept insisting that I get one. “Well, we may not be available when you decide you want one . . . there are c-sections that will be going on in the next few hours and we can’t promise you’ll get one during that time,” They would tease. I didn’t care. The pain of the contractions was nothing, or at least nothing compared to the rash I had.

To top of my misery, the number of guests that showed up to wish me well wishes was staggering. I never had a moment to myself. As soon as one person would leave, another few would walk in behind them. I couldn’t focus on actually giving birth to my son. There was always someone there to ask me ridiculous questions and blabber on about how much this baby will change my life while my contractions bore down on me with full force. The nurses failed at keeping people out of my room, even when I asked them not to let anyone other than my own mother visit me. “They slipped by,” would be their excuses.

Somehow, the anesthesia team got their wish around 1pm. I can’t remember why, exactly, but I told them to go ahead and give me the epidural. Maybe it was because I let what my “visitors” said get to me. “It’s gonna hurt more than you can image! You better get that epidural as soon as you can!” Maybe I wanted the anesthesiologist to leave me the hell alone? Maybe the contractions actually did start hurting . . . or maybe it was what would happen in the following hours that caused me to lose my memory of such an event.

By 9pm, my legs and hips had swollen to 4 times the size they were when I walked into the hospital. I couldn’t lift them, and when I felt of them it did not feel like my own legs. They were the legs of some other 300 pound woman . . . not mine. To make matters worse, I had only dilated to 3cm. To make the situation even more dire, my nurses stated that my son’s heart rate was dropping too low during contractions.

They turned down my pitocin, and shortly after 10pm, my labor came to a complete halt.

Chapter 3: The Delivery.
At 10:30pm an emergency c-section was ordered. I tried to be as happy as I could be, but after all, I was excited that I was about to meet my son.




Jon and I moments before we became parents




At 10:58pm, my beautiful baby boy was pulled out of me.



8 lbs, 0 oz.        20 1/2''




Jon holds him for the first time



When we first met.



What happened next was out of my control. My epidural wore off – during the surgery. I was then knocked out with stronger meds through my epidural and that’s where my memories start to break apart. I came to in a recovery room while in the midst of a panic attack. My husband told me that I was never unconscious, although I couldn’t remember anything other than seeing my son for the first time. My epidural was magically gone, and so was my rash.

They brought my son to me in the room. I can’t describe the way I felt about him . . . he didn’t seem like he was mine. It was surreal . . . it was like someone handed me someone else’s baby.

But I loved him.

Chapter 4: The Recovery.

We stayed in the hospital for a total of 5 days – from Monday afternoon to Friday noontime. I was so out of it from the pain meds that it’s difficult to recap much of it. I remember feeling like I would never leave, and the pain from my incision site hurt like a mother . . . I wish I would have tried walking before I let them remove my catheter, else I would not have let them do it! Walking to and from the bathroom was the most excruciating, gut-wrenching pain I have ever felt. I almost vomited every time I inched out of bed.

As for my son, it’s heartbreaking to say that the only memories I have of him from the hospital are in the form of pictures. I can’t remember interacting with him during my recovery. I only remember his blood-covered body when they pulled him from my belly and leaned him over the blue sheets for me to see before they took him back to dry him off.

Though the pictures almost speak for themselves.



Coming Home


Recovering from that blasted c-section was the most painful experience (both mentally and physically) I have ever had (yes, it was worse than PUPPP). It took me 10 days to be able to hold my baby while in a standing position. It took me 3 weeks to be able to stand up completely straight (without hunching and holding my incision). If I could do it over again, I would have endured the last 2 weeks of my pregnancy in hope I’d go in labor naturally. If I was to become pregnant again, I will avoid induction at all costs and find a provider in favor of a VBAC.

My hospital birth experience was negative on so many levels. I adore my OB, but the staff was rude and the interventions were extreme. Yes, I feel like my own delusional self allowed that to happen to me, and there are so many things I would love to go back and change about it, but it is what it is. I have my son now and we are healthy and happy.

I will pace myself carefully next time.

My feet still swollen 2 weeks after my hospital stay.
They were twice this size while at the hospital.
The stretching caused me to have stretchmarks on my inner
legs from my thighs to my ankles.

I could only hold and feed him with the help of the bobby.

Daddy did almost all of the work



He was daddy's little boy.



"A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for" - Anonymous