The day before turning 39 weeks pregnant, I do a detailed growth scan and see my obstetrician. The little one was measuring a little large for a typical Asian lady (to deliver naturally), especially since I struggled to push Blueberry who was already smaller than Raspberry is.
My OB suggests and induction which I have no opposition to. Being able to plan took away a lot of stress worrying about my waterbag breaking and calling my parents at 2am. My mum also said to induce before COVID got to me. Practical woman.
We check in in the late afternoon for induction. Contractions immediately come in every 10 minutes according to the TOCO but I couldn’t actually feel them all, quoting my OB “that’s good, but not good enough.” When they were done monitoring me I accompanied the husband down to the food court for dinner. After which we settled into the ward room and I decided to call it an early night, just in case my sleep was cut short.
True enough, 3 hours later I woke feeling contractions 3-5 minutes apart. It was still tolerable and felt like bad tummy pains. But over the next 1.5h they escalate to the point I need to stop, lean over and breathe slowly whenever they came. I wake my husband to tell him we probably need to go back down to the labour ward for some pain management.
That’s when things get exciting. They ask if I want to empty my bladder so I walk to the washroom in between intense contractions. By the time I’m settled in with the monitors and all in the labour ward, I’m 4-5cm dilated. It’s quite painful so I ask for an epidural when I get back to bed. They also call my OB whom I just robbed of some good sleep and a leisurely breakfast. The anaesthesiologist says he/she’d be here in 10mins. In between gassing up, I grumble in my head that it’s so slow. But 2 minutes later, my water bag breaks. I groan, and when she checks, I’ve gone straight up to 8-9cm and the nurse tells me to forget the epidural. “Oh sh*t.”
Within the next 2 minutes I tell them I feel like I need to push. Apparently my husband says by then Raspberry was already crowning and the nurses tried to get me to stop pushhig. It was a bit of a blur by then, but two big pushes and she was out. Minimal tearing and all. (A huge improvement from my first birth of a third degree tear, an episiotomy and forceps delivery. Thank God). Husband decides to cut the cord this time, they collect her cord blood, and I’m meanwhile back to feeling like a normal human being.
My OB walks in a few minutes later (probably after driving like a mad man). “Sorry, she couldn’t wait,” I say. I don’t blame him, this baby had no chill and nobody would have made it on time if they weren’t already in the room. With the little one on my chest, he delivers the placenta and stitches up while we have random chitchats about (night) life as an OB and the exorbitant prices of the housing options around the hospital.
“Hey there, you’re here.” I think I’m pretty bad with words at crucial milestone moments. But Raspberry had arrived, in perfect timing, quick and smoothly like we had prayed for. That way we could look forward to going home to her excited sister as soon as possible.