In my mind I was ready for my son to be born. Again I had a labor plan. The maternity ward at the hospital I used had been moved to newly renovated floor. I toured it and put in a written request to both the hospital and my doctors that I would like to use the new labor pool, whirl pool bath style during my labor. I also refused to have a repeat c-section which took a lot of convincing but I was finally able to get the doctors to consent.
Although my labor with DeAna had been long and traumatic, there would good points. They'd given me and my children's godfather (since I didn't have a spouse) a nice little "couples dinner" with shrimp and everything to celebrate her birth. This time, they'd done away with that but had a beautiful new rooms you didn't haven't to change from after delivery which was great.
I went over my due date and was hugely pregnant. When I finally did go into labor, it was just as slow a process. My water didn't break right away like it had with DeAna so I was able to stay home longer. My mother and my parent aid stayed with me off and on in turns even after getting to the hospital. DeAna stayed with family which was hard because I had not really been away from her. I was worried and yet in so much pain, I had to put my worries to the back of my mind. I missed her though.
As with every happy event in my life, there were shadows of darkness just floating around close enough that I can never fully enjoy every moment of what should be so blissful. I didn't want my son's father to know the exact moment I was in labor, we'd been having some major arguments. At one point he'd threatened to take custodu of our son when he was born and bring him back to Puerto rico, when I'd called a lawyer, they told me I really wouldn't be able to stop him. I wanted to get through the rough labor without the emotional strain of seeing him so I didn't call him when I'd gone into labor right away but I did want him there for the pushing part, to see his son born. A friend of ours had called him anyway.
Again it was three days of brutal labor. I ended up with the one doctor I didn't want from the group of doctors so I was upset. The same doctor who'd not given me the ultrasound picture of my daughter, he had no bedside manner. Yet, God has a reason for everything and in the end I was blessed that he was the doctor on-call, because he worked a miracle to get my son here safely. His skill more than made up for his lack of personality.
The labor was brutal. My son was kicking the monitor wrapped around my stomach so hard it went flying off. I kept requesting to use the whirl pool and they told me it was broken ( brand new and broken?) In my third day of labor, I again agreed to drugs and gave in to taking any medication the offered, I was getting drained of any energy and just weak. I had a shot of pain killer, and medicine to speed up the birthing process. This did nothing but make my head dizzy and my contractions a thousand times more painful. I begged for an epidural and got one. I was terrified of the needle going into my spin again but then..sweet relief. I was able to go in and out of sleep while the labor continued on. I was really confused from the drugs.
I heard a lot of commotion in the hallway but when i asked no one would tell me anything. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was my son's father. He wanted to know why he wasn't allowed in the room. I told him he could come in, but he told me a security guard was outside my door! A security guard!! Why? I asked those around me, but everyone hushed me and rushed me to get off the phone. I told him to try again to come in and see his son born, he asked me to name him after him. I told him I would think about it and hung up. I was too confused to make sense of anything and I still had a baby to deliver. I kept seeing two old woman in polka-dot dresses in the corner of my room watching me, they weren't really there. It was still a policy to not allow you anything to eat or drink, I occasionally got a Popsicle or ice, and an I.V. kept me hydrated.
When it finally came time to push I couldn't believe it. I'd ask in my birth plan for a mirror to be able to watch him enter the world. At first they did provide it, but his entry into the world was so difficult that they took it away in fear i would go into shock. For one thing, they had to cut, and I mean really cut me to get him out. When that didn't work, they used suction. When that didn't work, they used forceps. I could see the doctor sweating, I could see my mother looking pale. My parent aid had gone home for rest, she'd driven her son back to college in between sitting with me and was exhausted.
Then finally, he was out. I reached for him, he had his little hands over his cheeks Home Alone style. They put him in my arms. He had jaundice and was a dark yellow. His hair was long and black, his head was elongated from pulling him out by suction. His rotator cuff had been injured, I'd later learn but he was perfect. They let me hold and nurse him a few minutes and then they cleaned him up. He was 8lbs, 5oz. 21 inches long. I knew he wouldn't be a Matthew like his father. Matthew Raymond Morales didn't suit him. The names I'd floated around with were Carlito, Keenan, or Giovani. One look at him and he was a Giovani all the way. Giovani Matthew and I gave him me and his sister's ( my daughter's) last name because WE WERE A FAMILY.
IN THIS PICTURE:About five or six months along at my baby shower at Stephanie's house.