bye bye batignolles

So when Husband found out I was pregnant, one of the first things he said was:  We have to move.

Me:  Why?  I love this apartment.

Husband:  It’s tiny.

Me:  It’s charming.  Look at the French windows.

Husband:  It’s drafty.

Me:  The neighborhood’s great.  You can see the Sacré Coeur from the street.

Husband:  There’s no natural light.

Me:  Won’t you miss hearing the opera singer doing his vocal exercises in the morning?

Husband:  The insulation’s terrible.  With the baby our neighbors will hate us.

He made some good points so we started to talk about it and decided maybe it was time to buy.  So we started looking and realized that we both had very different ideas of the ideal place.  After much discussion we whittled down our criteria to what was the most important for both of us. Me: metro accessible.  Husband:  big. 

If you consider our budget and the fact that the average price per meters square in Paris is 8,000 Euros, achieving both criteria is extremely difficult.  Nay, almost impossible.

I gave up pretty quickly (as I was the least motivated between the two of us) but Husband forged on. 

Husband:  I found something.

Me:  Ok…

Husband:  It’s huge.  And it’s new.   

Me:  Ok…

Husband:  It’s in the suburbs but it’s metro accessible.

Me:  Ok… and we afford it?

Husband:  Yes because you’re pregnant. 

Turns out the fact that I was pregnant gave us some advantages if we bought something new.  The first was that the interest rate for part of our loan would be zero.  The second was a reduction in the sales taxes we had to pay.  5.5% instead of the usual 20%.

We went the very next day to check the place out.  It was the exact opposite of our current apartment.  It was big and modern.  The neighborhood was “up and coming”.  Basically what it lacked in Parisian charm it made up in practicality.

I was reluctant.  Was I really ready to move out of the city and into the suburbs? 

I felt the baby move inside me and knew that this maybe was not the right decision for me but it was the right decision for us.  As a family.

We decided to go for it. 

up close

transition

So at around 1am the midwife came by and said I was about 9 cm dilated. Hearing this I felt relieved and excited that the end was near.

Except I continued to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  2am.  3am.  When the midwife did finally come around again she explained to us that there were 6 other women in labor and the two on call doctors were pre-occupied with more difficult cases and she preferred that at least one of them was available before we began. Don't worry she assured me. The baby's heartbeat is very strong and there's no rush.

This made sense but at this point I had been having contractions for almost 24 hours and had been confined to a hospital bed for almost 12 hours.  I was exhaused and my patience was wearing thin. I was ready for it to be over.

Finally at around 4am the nurse came.  We're ready to begin she informed me.  I was relieved but filled with anticipation. This was it.  This was the big moment.

I waited as she proceeded to transform my hospital bed into a bed suitable for delivery, lifting up the bed and folding out the leg stirrups.  I was moved into position.  It felt a little like a stage setup for a big show.  Expecially when they pointed a giant spotlight right where the star of the show was expected to appear.

I was told to push with each contraction.

Unfortunately in this particular position my contractions weren't very strong.  I could hardly feel them at all.  Maybe I had overdone it with the epidural.

The midwife told me when to push.  I did.  She told me it wasn't good enough.

I wanted to kick her.

Get angry!  she told me.

Using my anger against her I pushed to the point where I was sure I was going to give myself an  aneurysm.

Not good enough!  She informed me.  I wanted to cry.  It was like seeing the finish line but as hard as I tried I just couldn't get there.

We continued for a while, me pushing and her telling me it wasn't good enough until she admitted the baby seemed stuck.  She brought in the gynecologist.

So they changed players in the middle of the game.  The gynecologist ready to catch the ball and the midwife by my side to assist.  She massaged my abdomen to feel for contractions except she couldn't feel them either.  I was convinced after all that time my contractions got tired of waiting, called it a day and left.

They had me push anyways and still nothing.

Then someone brought up the C word.

C-section.

I couldn't believe it. The thought of coming all this way just to have a c-section gave me renewed motivation.  

I must have made some process because they decided to try the vaccum.  I pushed and could feel the head come out.  I pushed again and felt the shoulders and eventually the sensation of something quite large leaving my body.

Curious I looked at the gynecologist and immediately knew something was wrong when I saw the look on her face.  She was staring down and concentrating intently on something.

Plus there was no crying. Then I felt some liquid splatter on my face and there it was finally.  The sound of a baby crying.  I was filled with relief.

They placed the baby on my chest.  I looked at this strange creature.  It looked like it had gone through a lot.  I could relate.

What is it?  Asked the midwife as we had waited to know the sex.  The midwife maneuvered the baby so we could all have a look.  It's a girl!  she exclaimed.

So there she was.  My little baby girl who had somehow gotten the umbilical chord wrapped around her neck not once but twice (It was blood splatter I felt on my face when the gynecologist quickly cut the chord).

She's already mischievous remarked her dad.

And how.

active phase

So as soon as I was admitted, the midwife asked me if I wanted the epidural right away (apparently everyone in France gets the epidural).

I had mixed feelings about the epidural.  Ideally of course I wanted a completely "natural" birth and I wasn't exactly keen on a long needle being inserted near my spine.  Then again I had no delusions about my ability to deal with a lot of pain.

Still at this point, although painful, I could still deal so I decided to wait.

Then I got to 4 centimeters and the contractions came much harder and much faster and my coping ability was wearing thin.  In between contractions (which seemed to be coming 3 minutes apart) I considered all I had read about labor.  How I had a good 6 centimeters to go.  How on average it's one centimeter per hour.  How at the end contractions are so close a part that one feels there's no break in between them at all.  How if I did choose to have the epidural the needle would be inserted in between contractions because you are under no circumstances suppose to move.

Short version: It f-in hurt.  It was only going to get worse.  I had a long way to go.  Staying still while needle is being inserted near spine is probably easier now than later.

I asked for the epidural.

It honestly really wasn't that bad.  The worse part is the anticipation and fear that you're going to freak out during the injection but it was fine.  Didn't hurt at all.

And afterwards active labor is a piece of cake.  You almost get bored.

At midnight we welcomed 2015 just the two of us in the labor room, Husband and I, knowing the big change awaiting us in this new year.  

latent phase

So after a ride with the world's most callous/dense taxi driver (He seemed to have no reaction whatever to the fact that there was a woman having contractions in his cab heading for the hospital except for "That'll be 15 euros please.  Thanks and have a nice day") we were at the hospital.

During the taxi ride my contractions became irregular again and not that strong.  Concerned that it was in fact false labor I headed to the consultation section and followed protocol for a normal appointment which was to take a number, wait to be checked in by the receptionist, and then wait to be called by the doctor/midwife.

Except this time with my contractions and my bags I looked like a woman in labor so I probably looked like an asshole sitting there waiting my turn.  Everyone was staring at me (I don't blame them).  I looked at the number I had drawn.  Two people ahead of me.  I looked at the woman next to me.  She looked concerned.  I put on a smile that hopefully communicated:  Don't worry a baby is not going to pop out next to you.  Promise!

Fortunately we arrived late so the midwife came out and called for me without having to check in.

Her;  Madame Orange?
Me:  HiyesI'mhereformyappointmentbutI'malsohavingcontractionsbutthey'renot regularor5minutesapartsoIdon'tknowwhattodo!!!!!!!
Her:  How long have you been having contractions?
Me:  Since this morning.
Her:  Ok I'm going to admit you to the maternity ward.

At the maternity the midwife did an internal exam.  I was two centimeters dilated which is apparently not a lot so they decided to put me on my side to measure the baby's heartbeat and contractions for one hour.

An hour later the midwife came back and confirmed that my contractions were indeed not regular (not that this was news to me) but she would do an internal exam to see the state of my cervix.  2.5 cm dilated.

Not bad, she concluded.  She told me we would wait another hour to see where we were.  She suggested I take a walk around.

So we did (How about a coffee? suggested Husband).  I quickly realized 4 things:

1.  Most places are closed New Year's eve even if it's not eve yet.
2.  My contractions are very strong and frequent when I'm completely vertical.
3.  Walking requires being completely vertical.
4.  When searching for a place open you walk a lot.

In a way I was glad because the last thing I wanted to do was go to back home and then have to come back in again.  Hopefully the contractions were doing their work.

We finally found a café open where I could discreetly have contractions without bringing attention to myself by pretending to cool down my very hot tea.  Yes it was very hot indeed, the hottest tea in the world.

So there I was sitting in a café having contractions on New Year's eve and drinking very cool tea.

This is crazy remarked Husband.  I had to agree.

When we got back the midwife did another internal exam.  A good 3 cm. She admitted me.

Bam!  I totally nailed that exam.

water break

So my water broke on December 29th.  Well sort of (I woke up to a soaking wet bathroom and it turned out to be due to the broken water heater).  The plumber couldn't come to fix it till the 31st which already was really inconvienent seeing as how it was December and freezing (coldest day of winter they were calling it on the news).

It became even more inconvenient as on the 31st I woke up to contractions.  By the time it was 10am the contractions were coming every 10 minutes (we were told only to go to the hospital if they were 5 minutes apart for at least an hour).  The plumber came around 11.  Husband was in the shower.

Plumber:  [Ring, ring]
Me: [Gets up from couch, opens door]  Bonjour.
Plumber:  Bonjour.
Me:  My husband's in the shower but won't be long.  Would you like a coffee while you wait?
Plumber:  Yes please
Me: [Gets coffee]  Here you go [Contraction] [Almost drops cup]
Plumber:  [Takes cup] Thanks. [Stares at me]
Me:  [Stares back.  Why isn't he drinking his damn cup?  Oh right... ] Do you take milk?  Sugar?
Plumber:  Sugar please.
Me:  [Gets sugar]
Plumber:  [Takes sugar.  Stares]
Me: [What now?  Drink your damn coffee!  Oh right.  Gets spoon.  Hands him spoon]  Here you go.
Plumber:  Thanks.  So, blah blah blah blah...
Me:  [Contraction]  Oh really? [Continuing contraction]
Plumber:  Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me:  Uh huh... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber:  Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me:  Right... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Considering how freaked out this man would be if I told him I couldn't chat because I was having contractions]
Plumber:  Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me:  [Probably pretty freaked out enough that he might bolt and my future baby won't have any hot water right away]  I see...
Plumber:  Blah blah blah blah blah blah...

Fortunately at this point husband came out of the shower so I could go back to the couch and discreetly have contractions while the plumber did what he needed to do.

He finally left around noon at which point my contractions had gotten irregular.  They even stopped for about an hour around noon (had I become so French that even my contractions were taking a lunch break?)

Coincidentally I happened to have an appointment with a midwife at the hospital at 2pm which raised the question if I should go or wait at home till my contractions were regular and 5 minutes apart.

We called the hospital and they recommended we come in.  We then had to decide if we'd take the metro or taxi it with the packed bags.

Husband thought we should metro and leave everything at home and he would come back and get everything on the off chance I would be admitted.  You're so irregular it's probably false labor he concluded.

I got up to get ready to go and that's when the contractions hit harder and faster.  5 minutes apart.  I looked at husband dead in the eyes.  Take the bags and call a taxi I said.

We were on our way to the hospital.

pregnancy signs

So as a married woman the minute you chose a non-alcoholic beverage when there are alcoholic alternatives around people immediately assume you are pregnant.  Suspicions can be calmed by then making a show of consuming alcohol not unlike how mental patients have to prove to their caretakers that they have taken their pill by lifting up their tongue.

When I did suspect I was pregnant I was back in the States for a friend's wedding with an open bar.  Luckily there was non alcoholic wine available so I could sneak past the radars.  Shaking off people who insisted on waiting for me at the bar for my drink proved a bit trickier.

When I got back to Paris I took a pregnancy test before getting on the plane to go to Saint Petersburg.  I indeed was pregnant so it would be no caviar or vodka for me.

I figured out quickly that the best way to draw attention to myself was to refuse alcohol so it's best to accept it and then not drink it as most people don't monitor you after the intial glass pour.

Unfortunately I learned this lesson a bit late so people were already suspicious.  To shake them off the scent I would make a show of accepting and then place the glass next to Husband's where he would drink both glasses.

Food is trickier still especially in France where everything is raw and unpasterized and people don't understand why all of a sudden you want your steak well done.  Eating outside the home becomes a game of Microsoft Minesweeper as you surgically try to remove parts of the meal you can't eat while people look at you suspiciously.

Of course people do end up asking and I do end up lying because who the hell wants to have to announce that something went wrong if something were to go wrong (which statistically there is a pretty good chance in the first trimester). That's just awkward for everybody.

I was glad when I cleared my first trimester and refusal of alcohol or food was no longer a sketch but rather a chance to let people know the good news.