The Contingency Plan

How Wonderful Life Is...

I know, It's horrible of me to keep this information from you. I keep trying to think of a creative or clever way to write about it, but am too excited. Too sleep deprived. Too hormonal. Too focused on feedings.

Yes, I've had the Wolf.

Hugo Wolfgang was born on Wednesday 10 November 2004 at 6.48pm, 18 days early.

After a night of little and restless sleep, I woke at 7.30am with the awful realisation I'd wet the bed. Shocked, I woke Lucas up who, despite the time, managed to tease me before getting me a towel. It's then I realised my water was breaking.

Calm yet silently scared, I called the hospital, packed my bags and called mum while walking up our nine flights of stairs. Lucas and I then drove to the hospital where we were shown our delivery room.

The room was plush with a big bed, a few couches for a support partner/s, a stereo, computer, and a separate room with a bath, shower, exercise ball and bean bags. I was suddenly impressed with the public health system. Lucas kept thinking we were to be ascorted out to a different, dingier room, but no, this was it.

Without taking off my shoes I went and sat on the bed, knowing I'd give birth that day to our baby. I was filled with a sense of excitement and fear - I would finally get to meet Wolfie yet knew I'd experience more pain than I ever have, and possibly will.

Due to some minor complications, the doctors decided to induce my labour and put me on antibiotics. I found the drip to be most uncomfortable, but it did the trick as within a couple of hours I had entered the first stage.

It's around this time Mum arrived at the hospital in a flurry of excitement and colour, dispelling the calm atmosphere Lucas and I had achieved. Brightly dressed in a pink fluffy cardigan, tight, dark denim jeans and stilletos, she bounded into the delivery room, almost shouting her excitement, gave Lucas a bag of food (so he wouldn't go hungry), took off her jacket and asked the midwives when she could expect her grandchild. This all within the span of around a minute.
I told her to calm down, but that's after I noticed her lips. They were huge. They were swollen. They were almost shiney and the first thing I had to ask was, 'What the hell have you done to your lips?' She told me not to worry. Her plastic surgeon had suggested the adjustment when he last checked her breasts and she saw no harm in it. My life momentarily felt like an episode of AbFab again.

Anyhow, my labour continued smoothly with contractions occuring every 3-5 minutes for the next couple of hours. I was on gas but the pain was increasing with each contraction so at around 2pm, when I was 5cms dialated, the midwives offered me an epidural. I wanted to hold off for as long as possible before having one, but after a few more contractions, accepted their offer.

In retrospect, the level of pain I experienced increased with each procedure - from the drip to the epidural, the delivery and the stitches, not to say they each had their agonising merits. My pain threshold is relatively high too, something the midwives all commented on. Anyhow, it took the anethiest three attempts to get the epidural right and besides being a little freaked out by the fact that they were inserting a needle into my spinal chord, it was hard to stay still while still experiencing my toe-curling contractions. Nevertheless, I was able to nap and relax after the drug had kicked in.

I was also able to take calls and had an amusing time talking to the girls at work, other friends (news travels fast) and my tax accountant, who called me from my apartment wondering where I was. Luckily I had a good excuse for not being there.

This lull continued for four hours, during which I'd fully dialated and had already started to experience pressure in my lower abdomen as the baby's head and shoulders travelled lower. My Dad had also unexpectedly arrived, meaning it was the first time my parents had been in the same room together since their divorce had turned a bitter leaf nearly two years ago. Thankfully they kept their cool and Lucas managed to keep me feeling supported while entertaining everyone so the tension didn't rise above the occasion.

And it while Lucas had taken Dad out for a coffee that I first felt the real need to push. The widwives explained the urge was similar to when you really need to go to the washroom to do a number two and I have to agree. It's similar, except much worse.

And it's also at this point that I lost all dignity. With three midwives, a doctor, my mother and Lucas in the room, my legs were splayed and my mind focused on staying calm and pushing (Dad and Natasha were outside waiting). One of the midwives later told me I was the first person she'd ever seen look relaxed during labour, but I have to reassure you that although I tried to be mentally strong, there was a point I thought I couldn't handle the pain any longer and didn't know how I'd get through the rest of the delivery (the doctors had lowered my epidural to a minimum so I'd know when to push so I felt everything).

Nevertheless after 45 minutes of pushing, I was told to stop and so occured the birth of my first child. As soon as he was delivered, Hugo was placed on my chest and I felt a mixture of relief, pain from the event, shock and utter love for this tiny baby covered in blood and gunk. Lucas and I kissed, I held the baby and then it cried.