On April 15 at 11:01 PM Henry Vincent was born. He weighed a whopping 9 pounds, 11 ounces. We never learned how tall he is. Vincent was Steve's maternal grandfather's name. I never met him, but Steve adored him.
The labor was long and hard and everything about the second one being so much faster/easier does not ring true for me. Because my water had broken but contractions were not regularizing, they gave me pitocin (although they weren't treating me as if I was on the clock for a c-section at 24 hours). Eventually it did the trick but not quickly. It was weird to be laboring and watching the drama of the Boston Marathon bombings play out. It felt so far removed from what were focused on, but we have so many loved ones in the Boston area that it felt like it was happening at home (not that we even know where that is).
The only part that was easier this time was pushing. Much shorter and easier. However, after the final push, it was clear that Henry's umbilical cord was around his neck (not to me but to Steve and the team). All of a sudden after the "final" push, they told me to keep pushing and then they were yelling for the attending and the chief resident who was supervising the intern jumped in and started pulling, and there were nurses pushing on my belly, and I heard someone say it's been 30 seconds. I didn't know what was going on but I registered that and knew it meant his heart had been stopped for 30 seconds. They finally got him out and put him on my chest and he was blue and limp and silent. I think I remember saying something like "come on, baby, come on, baby, but it was all so blurry and then the pediatric team yelled that they needed him and away he went.
I was terrified. I felt like I hadn't pushed hard enough and had killed my baby. He wasn't crying and the moments, however long they lasted, were the longest of my life. I thought Steve would never forgive me. The obs kept telling me my baby was fine, but as far as I could tell, they had no way of knowing. They told Steve he could go over with the baby, and after a bit Henry did start to cry and Steve came back and said he was fine. They did have to do a "delivery room resuscitation", and Steve estimated that his heart was stopped for 3-5 minutes, but part of the reason he didn't cry for so long was that he was intubated for meconium.
And thank God for the meconium. They hadn't been sure if he had meconium or not, but because there was a possibility, they had the pedi ICU team there. Apparently, they don't normally have pedis at uncomplicated births at UCSF. We may never know for sure, but it seems like Henry's life depended on the fact that someone thought there was enough of a possibility of meconium to call in the pediatricians. Even though I wasn't sure about the color of the amniotic fluid since it didn't match the meconium descriptions I had heard, I'm glad I mentioned it.
In the end, it seems Henry is fine except for a broken clavicle from his shoulder getting stuck. It is painful to him but will heal over the next few months and shouldn't have any long term consequences (though Steve is hoping it may mean he pitches lefty).
We are so thankful to have our baby boy with us. Just writing the above, I'm again overcome by emotion.
Since Grace was breech and had to be turned before birth and due to all this with Henry, I am so grateful for the medical care both of them (and I) received. I think many people in western countries take improvements in maternal and fetal mortality almost for granted, and it's easy to forget how high fatality rates are without adequate medical care. However natural it is, giving birth used to be one of the most dangerous things a woman could do. People have strongly-held beliefs on the medicalization of childbirth and I can appreciate the arguments, but after my two experiences I am very happy to have been in world-class hospitals for both my deliveries, and I think my kids are here today because of it.
Sometimes we call him "cheeks".
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