I guess it started at the H-Mart.
In what feels like a lifetime ago, Ky and I were spending a quiet Sunday in Aurora picking up a few noms and lunch. As we drove back, I distinctly remember us discussing how frustrating it was that baby hadn’t arrived yet, and how Ky had already burned through a week of maternity leave. Little did we know.
Arriving back home, Ky had an inkling her waters may have broken. It’s certainly not like the movies, where a tsunami arrives instantly and without warning, and initially neither of us were convinced. Deciding that we’d rather be safe than sorry, and more importantly, with nothing of note planned in the afternoon, we headed off to the hospital to get a second opinion.
Once we arrived and checked in, the nurses did a quick test to see what the matter was, and within two seconds the results came back. Dark blue. The baby was on its way.
Before all of this happened, I was under the impression that “labour” was the period of time where you were pushing and squeezing. I mean, it does, but it’s like saying that flying in a plane is just the landing sequence.
A few thoughts on this period:
Drugs work: as someone who has had very limited experience of pharmaceuticals beyond what you can buy over the counter, I was AMAZED at both how effective and how quick the drugs at the hospital are. At one point, while Ky’s contractions had begun in earnest, she was in so much pain I thought she was going to pass out. Cue a single shot of fentanyl (provided by the hospital, not the sketchy guys in the car park). Within 30 seconds of it going into her bloodstream, it had completely kicked in. Combine that with an epidural, and Ky was able to sleep overnight with no issues at all!
Hitting the hay was easy for me, and after 7 hours, I woke up the next day for the big event, delivery. You’ll read about that one tomorrow.