Eamon’s Story

Though August 17, 2008 will surely be a day I’ll never, ever forget, I wanted to get all of the details leading up to Eamon’s birth down before my memory gets clouded by, say, sleep deprivation or numerous diaper changes. So here’s a timeline, starting about 30 hours before his grand debut:

Saturday, August 16
1:00 p.m.: After a mile-plus walk to Rite-Aid to pick up vanilla ice cream, OJ, and castor oil, I whipped up the ingredients in the blender and downed the “shake that delivers”

(Note: A few months before my due date, my friend Brittany suggested the “Shake that Delivers” as a way to induce labor once the time came. I didn’t think much of it then, but filed it away as a possibility when and if my patience wore thin in the later stages. Well, that time came on the 16th and I decided to give it a whirl.)

2:30 p.m.: My parents arrive from Maryland. I greet them at the door telling them not to expect anything to happen; I was feeling totally fine. We sit down in the living room and start chatting when I notice I’m having some pretty frequent Braxton Hicks contractions. These are painless, but come on pretty strong and every five to ten minutes.

3:00 p.m.: My mom and I take a walk around Hoboken. We climb up to Steven’s Institute and take a seat at a bench on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River and the Manhattan Skyline. It’s a gorgeous day, and we’re enjoying the weather, though the contractions continue. I tell my mom about them, but we both cast them off as nothing to worry about since they’re still completely painless.

5:30 p.m.: Mark, my parents, and I walk down to Benny Tudino’s for an early dinner. My mom mentions that she read something about eggplant inducing labor, so we order a large pie with eggplant and sausage toppings. The contractions continue.

7:00 p.m.: We return home and settle in the living room for the women’s Olympic marathon. Since I’m sitting still, I decide to start writing down each time I feel a contraction. Mark and my mom—thinking I was just getting a bit anxious—shake their heads and tell me to relax. We watch more of the marathon, but that gets boring fast—Deena dropped out, Paula Radcliffe is waning, and the pace is slow.

8:30 p.m.: I grab my “What to Expect…” book and start reading every detail about the stages of labor. I continue to write down the contractions, which are coming like clockwork every five minutes. I also turn on my laptop and read Brittany’s birth story, which she sent me via email, to see if what I’m experiencing is mirroring her situation. It is—and she delivered her baby only a few hours after her own Braxton Hicks contractions began.

10:00 p.m.: After putting down my book and computer, I feel the itch to re-read the chapters and email I’d already memorized by now. With one big reach over to the coffee table, I feel a pop. I sit up and feel a gush. I announce, “My water just broke!” And sure enough, it had.

10:20 p.m.: I hear from the OB/GYN nurse, who advises me to come into the hospital whenever I want, but before 7 a.m. Apparently, we’re not in any rush here. I then ask (more so strongly suggest) that we start making cookies. Another friend had advised me to bring cookies to the hospital for the nurses. Good thing we had the slice-and-bake version. Mark and my mom get to work on those while I shower and try to figure out what to wear to the hospital—quite the dilemma! I settle on adidas track pants and a tank top.

11:00 p.m.: The cookies are baking, and the final night of Olympic swimming is on. Michael Phelps is going for his eighth gold and I want to see history. We sit on the couch and watch the 4x100 free relay. Eamon Sullivan from Australia gives the U.S. a run for their money in the final leg but the U.S. wins. Still, I take that as a sign that Eamon, not Aidan, would be our little one’s name—we’d been debating about it for months!

12:00 a.m.: My contractions are becoming slightly painful, and we’re worried about NYC traffic on Saturday night, so we head to the hospital. It’s an easy trip that takes us through Korea Town. Everyone is dressed for a night of clubbing and here we are in sweats and heading to the hospital to have a baby. Surreal is the only way to explain that moment!

1:00 a.m.: I’m admitted to NYU. The delivery room is spacious and we set up our things. I climb into a hospital gown and what will be my bed for the next 23 hours. Dr. Tam comes in to check me and tells me the somewhat disappointing news that I’m only 2 centimeters dilated and 50% effaced (You need to be 10 cm and 100% in order to start pushing). Translation: I’ve got a ways to go, but because my water broke, I would have to have the baby before 10 p.m. on August 17. She orders some petocin to speed things up and I pass on the epidural for now.

3:00 a.m.: With my mom trying to sleep in the pull-out chair and Mark lying in bed with me, the petocin kicks into high gear. My contractions are very frequent and very strong. I’m in a lot of pain, so I request the epidural. I’m told it’ll be about 40 minutes; there are two emergency C-sections going on and the anesthesiologist is busy with them. My mom and Mark swap places; Mark sleeps while my mom helps me count through the contractions. They’re only 30 seconds long.

5:00 a.m.: The anesthesiologist finally arrives. She’s about 12 years old and tells me I might get paralyzed by the drug. Great. I take it anyway and am immediately soothed. I close my eyes and sleep for about two hours.

7:00 a.m.: With my eyes trained on the clock, I am still holding out hope that the baby will be born by 9 or 10 a.m. But after another check by Dr. Tam, I’m told I’ve only progressed to 6-7 cm. More waiting ensues.

11:00 a.m.: With the contractions coming regularly but little progression taking place, Dr. Tam raises my bed to an upright position and asks me to flip over. She hopes this will get the baby to turn around. But at this point, my right leg is completely numb and useless from the epidural, so it takes the help of the doctor and Mark to get me on all fours. I’m facing backwards with my chest against the upright portion of the bed, a position I hold for about 20 minutes at a time.

1:00 p.m. Still stuck at around 9 cm with the baby sunny side up. Dr. Tam jacks up the petocin and I begin to have very strong and painful contractions. A midwife appears and puts me on my side with my legs akimbo to try to get the baby to flip. The combo of the increased drugs, the awkward position, and the contractions sends me to tears for the first time since going into labor.

2:45 p.m.: In extreme discomfort and pain, we call in the nurse for assistance. She sends in the anesthesiologist—a guy this time—who gives me more drugs. His visit is followed by Dr. Tam who checks me and announces that, hooray, the baby has flipped, and I’m 10 cm. It’s time to push!

3:00: The pushing starts. I get a boost of a narcotic drug that sends me flying—I’m a rush of emotions and energy for the first 20 some minutes. Mark and Leezie hold my legs as I push through the contractions for 10 seconds each, 3 times. I was convinced I’d only push a few times, so after about the 16th go, I start to wane a bit. But my cheerleaders motivate me to keep going, and soon the baby’s head is visible.

4:04 p.m.: With one final push, Eamon Joseph Flynn is out and is quickly placed on my chest. We make eye contact and he lets out a wail and I wail right along with him! It’s an unbelievable experience to hold this tiny human being just seconds after he emerged from my body. It was truly love at first sight.