Birth Story
Here is my birth story. I know these things can be graphic, and this one is definitely verbose. I feel it is complete and readable enough, however, to satisfy the women who have asked me to commit things to writing. I wrote this birth story two weeks after the events described, with the intent to memorialize my experience, celebrate the day I met my son, and encourage anyone interested in a drug-free birth. On with the TMI!
Part I: Waiting
My son’s birth story
starts with an alarm clock, not the sudden onset of contractions or my water
breaking. After three weeks of painful false labor, I was stalled at 3cm,
fully effaced, and +1 station. As my due date approached and then passed,
I woke up each morning and found new ways to be optimistic and comfortable in
late pregnancy. I took long walks, I napped in
the afternoon, and I told everyone who asked that the baby would come in time.
At my 41-week prenatal
visit, everything still looked perfect. My doctor ordered another
biophysical profile ultrasound, my fourth one in as many weeks. At each
ultrasound, my baby would earn a perfect score and the tech would say, “See you
next week if you’re still pregnant!” But this time, she turned off the
overhead monitor, said, “I need to speak to the doctor,” and left the room.
I had my husband read from the small monitor, and I quickly realized that
the problem was with fluid measurements.
When the doctor came
into the room, she told me that my amniotic fluid measurements were too low,
“around two centimeters, and that’s being generous.” She suspected that
my waters had been slowly leaking for days, and wanted me to go directly to the
birthing center. I almost burst into tears at the suddenness of it all,
and my frustration. I had patiently carried this pregnancy to term, and I
had been adamant about wanting spontaneous labor and a healthy, drug-free
birth. I was sure that heading to the birthing center right then would
lead to a string of unnecessary and increasingly stressful interventions.
I pleaded with my doctor
to let me wait five days, until Monday (“not a chance”). I told her I was
coming down with a head cold (“doesn’t matter...a cold could last for weeks”).
I asked whether I could come in over the weekend (“no, because I might
not be able to attend the birth”). My husband was wonderful and
diplomatic through this whole discussion, and we finally agreed to show up at
the hospital before noon on the following day.
My doctor said she was
not even scheduling me as an induction, but a “paced augmentation,” and she was
certain I would go into active labor as soon as she broke my waters. As
we drove home, I was overcome with feelings...defeat, relief, anxiety, accomplishment.
My husband took me to a favorite coffee shop, where we sat in disbelief.
Before long, we would be holding our son.
Part II: Headed to the Birthing Center
Part II: Headed to the Birthing Center
So, it was an alarm
clock that woke me at 4:00 AM on the day I had my baby. When I woke up, I
was having mildly painful contractions every four minutes or so (normal for me,
since the onset of false labor weeks earlier). I sat on the floor of our
bedroom combing out my hair and timing contractions. My husband went out
to start the car, and reported back that it was genuinely cold outside, the
first real frost of the year. While I waited for him to scrape ice off
the windshield, I chugged a liter of coconut water and ate a protein bar,
although I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. I thought about making my daily
double espresso and cream, but I was too nervous for caffeine.
We left the house around
4:45, and stopped by my parents’ to tell them what was up. On the way to
the birthing center, the roads were eerily empty of traffic. We watched
oncoming trucks heading toward us and out of town for the 5:00 AM shift change
at the coal mine. A skunk ran across the road, and as my husband swerved
to avoid it, I thought “these contractions are really starting to hurt.”
I noticed a dull ache in my back, and suddenly wished I had stayed in bed.
By 6:20, we had been
shown to our suite at the birthing center. The nurses made sure they had
my records on file, asked some basic questions, weighed me, and took a urine
sample. I was excited to see the birthing bed and a double bed for guests,
mini kitchen, and deep whirlpool bath. I took a hot shower and tried to
calm down as I changed into a gown. The nurse assigned to my suite came
in and said my doctor would arrive around 9:00 AM. She handed me a stack
of routine paperwork. The consent form for C-section gave me some panicky
feelings; I ignored them and signed anyway.
A staff midwife came in for a quick check. Even though I was at 4cm, fully effaced, and +1
station, I felt nothing except intermittent abdominal pressure and a dull backache.
The midwife told me I had to lie down and stay hooked to the monitors for
two full hours before I could be free to walk around, eat, and drink. I got
out my iPod and listened to Beck’s Sea Change. From the window in the
suite, I could see a warehouse and loading dock. I watched the sun rise,
and I watched trucks loading pallets of bread and soft drinks. I listened
to a Beach House album and waited and waited.
At 8:50, the suite nurse
came back in and unhooked me from the monitors. It was such a huge relief
to be able to get up! I tore off the monitors where
they had been digging into my back, and put on shoes and a sweater. For
the next half hour, my husband and I paced the hallways of the birthing center.
The center was well heated, dimly lit, and calm. Some of the nurses
and midwives were eating pastries and talking softly near the front desk.
Off in the distance, I could hear a woman groaning and pushing while
someone counted aloud.
At 9:30, my doctor and
her intern showed up. She commented immediately that I looked like I was
“finally in real labor.”
She also commented that my ensemble of Tom’s shoes, dressing gown, and
cashmere cardigan was “a little Grey Gardens.” (FYI, I have never NOT
seen my doctor in four-inch heels, looking totally put together, even after an
all-night delivery).
After reading through my
chart and scrutinizing the monitor print-outs, my doctor said, “I’m going to
break your water, okay?” I was nervous, but I agreed.
As she placed internal monitors, she remarked, “You are at four!
Wait…no…five!” Apparently, the
baby’s head had been pressing into the membranes and causing stalled labor.
My doctor placed internal wireless monitors that left two bizarre
antennae protruding. I was thrilled that I was still free to walk around the room.
As she left, my doctor
said, “you will be holding your baby before midnight!” I looked at the
clock. It was 9:46 AM.
Part III: Active Labor
Part III: Active Labor
I should mention here
that the monitors made a lot of noise. The fetal heart rate monitor had a
low little tone for each heartbeat. It was pleasant and regular.
For the whole experience, from active labor to pushing, those heart tones
did not waver. I watched my baby’s heart rate on the monitor from time to
time, and it stayed between 140 and 160. During the most difficult times,
I focused my breath on the monitor heart tones (four counts in...four counts
out). I am so glad I had a point of focus (and for this reason I would
recommend having some relaxing music or a metronome or ticking clock during
labor if this appeals to you).
I should also mention
that I was wearing a wireless, automated blood pressure cuff that took my BP
and HR every fifteen minutes. It made this horrible hissing and whirring
sound as it tightened around my arm, then beeped loudly. Because I was
moving around so much, it kept reading as “ERROR” and making this
“waaaahamp-wooooomp” noise. I swear, I am a saint for making it through
active labor without snatching that thing off and smashing it.
Having my waters broken
threw me into active labor almost immediately. So, I should stop and warn
you that the rest of this story will be sort of disjointed. There was a
large clock in the birthing room, so I was never NOT aware of the time.
It just seemed that time passed by in a completely abnormal way.
Everything seemed to happen instantaneously and last forever. I was
so focused on my own experience that I was only vaguely aware of events around
me. I observed everything passively. Even when people spoke
directly to me, I either couldn’t process what they were saying, or I couldn’t
produce a response. At one point, my husband got out a pack of trail mix.
I was so confused...it honestly didn’t occur to me that enough time had
passed for him to become hungry. I was living another reality, and the
only thing I could compare it to would be some sort of hallucinatory experience.
I also want to write a
bit about the physical sensations of labor. I confess that frequently
during my pregnancy, I Googled, “What do contractions feel like?” The very
word “contraction” made it seem like my body would just be contorted or flexed
by an unseen force. For more than a month, I had been kept awake at night
by hardening sensations in my belly, sometimes by pain that felt like a giant
zipper being opened in my pelvis. I knew these sensations weren’t enough
for active labor, but I wondered if they were a preview of the real deal.
For me, contractions
felt like an iron band closing around my waist, hips, and lower back. I
felt incredibly intense physical sensations, but I wouldn’t really call it
“pain.” Actually, my midsection felt very similar to the way my leg
muscles feel at the very end of a long run (if that makes sense). Each
contraction lasted ten breaths (I was still counting along with the monitor
heart tones...four counts in...four counts out). Each time, the third
breath was the peak of the intensity. Then, the contraction tapered off
to nothing and I was left alert but disoriented. I could not predict or
control when the next contraction would start, so all I could do was collect my
wits and sit calmly.
I got through about ten
contractions while I stood in the middle of the room like an idiot. I
think I intended to lean over a chair, but I couldn’t figure out how to bend my
legs comfortably. I was also vaguely aware that I was leaking amniotic
fluid on everything in my path. Even during hard labor, I was still
politely using a hand towel to mop up after myself, and feeling genuinely upset
that I was dirtying the wood floors, linens, and furniture. In
retrospect, this is hilarious. I eventually sat down on a small couch
next to my husband (after carefully arranging a pillow covered with a few
towels, ha).
For the next hour or so
(?), I labored sitting on the couch. During a contraction, I would use my
arm and shoulder strength to push myself up on my hands, and remove pressure
from my back. I had my husband press his palm into the base of my spine
as hard as he could. The harder he pressed, the more relief I felt.
He put so much effort into this that he broke a sweat, and we had to swap
sides a few times. I tried so hard to rely on the techniques we learned
in the Bradley childbirth classes (total relaxation, visualization, deep
breathing, etc.). Honestly, most of these techniques failed utterly.
It seemed like I had been thrown into the middle of hard labor without
any warmup, and I found it impossible to relax while doing something that
required all of my attention. I used yoga breathing techniques and concentrated on flexing the muscles of my arms and shoulders.
Part IV: Transition
Part IV: Transition
At 11:12, my nurse came
in to check on me, because my contractions were coming almost right on top of
each other. Around this time, the physical sensations of labor had become intolerable, and the way I was coping was using so much energy, I
somehow convinced myself that it wasn’t sustainable. Combine this with
the thoughts in the back of my mind (“I will probably labor until midnight”),
and I had somehow convinced myself that I needed an epidural. I tried to
talk to the nurse about it in a reasonable way, almost trying to get her to
make the decision for me. (Mind you, this conversation took place between
insane contractions, while I sat on a couch in a crunchy-granola birthing
center, mere hours after telling the entire staff how OH NO, I didn’t need pain
medication. Hilarious.) The nurse was an absolute saint. She
said, “I don’t recommend any choice over another, but why don’t you wait until
11:30 and see how much progress you have made?” In retrospect, I
understand that there was nothing magical about 11:30. The nurse later
told me she realized I was entering transition, and was just trying to get me
to focus.
From 11:12 to 11:30, I did not take my eyes off the clock, and I am convinced it was the longest
eighteen minutes of my life. The contractions were almost back-to-back,
with no more than 20 seconds between each one. I never broke out of my
breathing pattern, and I whispered “relax, relax, relax” after each
contraction. My husband stayed sitting next to me on the little couch,
motionless and completely quiet. The lights were off, and the room was
filled only with the sound of my breathing and the fetal heart monitor.
When the nurse returned,
she helped me to the breakaway delivery bed, which she folded into an upright
position. She said, “I want to keep this bed upright, since you are doing
so well sitting up.” It occurred to me that she might be getting me into
a position for delivery. She confirmed that I was still thinking about an
epidural as she leaned me back for a check. “Too bad!” she said, "the baby's on his way now!"
The nurse disappeared.
I heard her say something out in the hallway, and several people
responded with clapping and cheering. My room was suddenly filled with
activity. Two midwives covered a low table with draping and surgical
tools, and a nurse set up a warming table and scales. I watched
everything with detached fascination while I had four more contractions.
Then, as quickly as the staff entered my room, they all filtered out.
The sudden emptiness and darkness were surreal.
I sort of lost track of
time at this point. I do not believe I checked the clock from this point
onward. I started feeling myself bear down at the peak of each
contraction. It also became impossible to stay quiet (until this point, I
hadn’t really made any noise). I started saying “heeeeeeeeee” and
“hooooooo” with each exhalation. I couldn't help it. When my
husband asked how I was doing, I said, “I’m pushing, I’m pushing.” The
nurse came back in and said “I can tell you are getting ready to push.”
Part V: Pushing
Part V: Pushing
The nurse broke the news
that my doctor was attending a birth at the hospital next door, but that she
had been called. The nurse adjusted the bed flat, then tilted it so my
feet were higher than my head, “to slow you down a bit.” I honestly
cannot think of a time in my life when I have been more uncomfortable in a
reclining position. I lay there like a beached whale while the staff came
back into the room. They switched on bright lights and started putting on
scrubs.
Someone standing in the
doorway finally said, “They are getting off the elevator!” My doctor and
her intern rushed into the room, and it was go time.
I will tell you right
now that I did not like pushing AT ALL. It was much more painful that the
very worst contractions. I also felt insecure and unable to fully commit
to the process, because it seemed like my pushes were incorrect or ineffective.
A little voice in the back of my head said, “This isn’t right...any
minute now, the nurses will stop me and I’ll have to try something different.”
It seemed like everything I had read or learned in Bradley classes was a
big fat pack of lies (“pushing feels natural and comfortable, your body knows
what to do, all you have to do is bear down,” blah, blah, blah). In fact,
pushing felt insane, I was scared I was doing irreparable damage to my body, I
couldn’t tell if I was making any progress, and the sensations of pushing did
not in any way resemble “bearing down.”
I started pushing at
12:44. At first, I had my feet propped up on these really high stirrups.
I could tell that I was too tall for the table, and things weren’t
positioned correctly. I pushed through two contractions, and everyone in
the room was giving me different instructions (“bear down!” “hold your breath!”
“harder!” “relax your calves!” “curl around yourself!”), which was very
disorienting. Finally, my doctor said, “You need to STOP and listen to
me. I want you to hold your feet, and the nurse is going to coach you
through this.”
After that, everything
was much calmer. I got out of the stirrups, and just held the soles of my
feet. Between contractions, I would rest. It
still blows my mind how lucid and content I felt during these breaks. I
was able to joke with the staff in the room, answer questions, and collect my
wits. When a contraction started building, everyone would get quiet and
the nurse would guide me through one deep breath to relax. As the
contraction started, I would breathe in and hold it while I pushed for a count
of ten. I did this three times for each contraction.
After a while, the pain
did not subside between contractions. Instead, it got WORSE when I
stopped pushing. It felt like a giant, immovable foreign object was
splitting my hips apart. At least twice, as soon as I stopped pushing I
screamed involuntarily. My deepest apologies to all the other women
calmly laboring at the birthing center that afternoon.
I know that I probably
slowed down the whole process of pushing, by being confused and wasting energy.
But, at one point, I was just like “WHOA this pain is
unbearable, and I am going to push as hard as I can without stopping until this
baby is out of me.”
I heard my doctor say,
“Your baby is soooo bald!” and my husband went down to the foot of the bed to
check it out. The nurses brought in a mirror so that I could confirm
that, yes, my child was bald. And also, his head was starting to crown.
Very surreal. After another set of pushes, the doctor told me to
reach down and feel his head. It was so warm and much softer than I
expected.
With the next push, the
nurse stopped counting and said, “You’re going to feel lots of burning, like
fire.” Indeed, it felt like a live electrical wire was embedded under my skin.
My husband said, “His
head is out!” and then I head soft cries. A nurse announced, “Time of
birth 13:16.” Then, my husband said, “One shoulder is out...the other
shoulder is out.” Almost instantly, my baby was on my chest and screaming.
I watched my husband cut the cord, after some confusion over his
left-handedness (FYI: he cut with his right hand, and the photos documenting
the event show that he was sooooo awkward and terrified, haha).
Part VI: The Rest
Part VI: The Rest
The next moments are
very blurred in my mind. I announced my son’s name and gave him a bunch
of kisses. A nurse helped me latch on and breastfeed for a while.
The doctor told me "no tears, great job." I laughed at the noise my placenta made dropping into the little
plastic bin they use to examine it. Someone said the baby’s APGARs were 9
and 9. They took him to the warmer and said he was eight pounds, one
ounce, and 22 inches long. Everyone remarked on his long legs and big
feet.
When my husband took the
baby out to meet some family who had been waiting in the lobby, and then to see
the pediatrician (who makes calls to the birthing center nursery from the
adjoining hospital). I was able to get up and walk around almost
immediately. I had some extra bleeding, so I had to get a drip with a
unit of pitocin. I felt almost completely like myself, too; just slightly
disconnected and shaky.
When my husband came
back with the baby, we all settled into the bed. A few nurses made up the
bed with a memory foam mattress and fresh sheets. They told us we could
order anything off the hospital cafe menu, and started suggesting all their
favorite foods. That was when I realized how hungry I was. I
ordered a grilled cheese, crinkle fries, a spinach salad, milk, and hot tea.
When the food arrived, I absolutely crushed it...best meal I have ever
eaten in my life! My husband got a cheeseburger and we just hung out
eating in bed.
We were discharged the
next morning, and it was so good to get home. My milk came in right about
48 hours after the birth, and breastfeeding has been going well. My son has settled into
a routine where he wakes one or two times during the night to breastfeed.
He is already developing such a cute little
personality, and I love him to pieces. The best moments are late at
night, when the whole family is awake and cuddling in the bed.
I am surprised that two
weeks post-partum, I have already lost 24 of the 28 pounds I gained.
Today, I went out for a jog and felt almost like my old self! I
know I wrote a lengthy and graphic story, and I’m not sure how it comes across,
but I also want to say that I truly enjoyed labor and delivery. I had so
much fear and anxiety going into it, but the experience was entirely positive.
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