(Birth announcement and picture below!) After Friday's false alarm, I was incredibly stressed out because I felt that induction was inevitable. I was wrong, but I didn't know it yet. On Sunday, Clanna suggested that perhaps pampering myself would be a nice idea. Perhaps some nice subtle blonde streaks. One crochet hook torture device (not the first I would see in the next few days) and four hours later I was blonde--no streaks and even more stressed out. How could I meet my baby with 70's brassy hair? The delivery pictures were going to suck.
And, as I showered the color off, the first contractions hit. At first I dismissed them as more false labor, but by four it was clear that these were different and that they meant business. Plus the bleeding was back. I spent a lot of time on the birth ball, and the contractions got stronger and stronger. Around 1 am, the bleeding got heavier and I got worried. Off to labor delivery we went. To my surprise, the contractions immediately registered on the monitors. The bleeding checked out okay, so L&D let me walk around to try to get some more dilation going. By 6 a.m. it was clear that despite 5 minute apart contractions that that wasn't happening. I was still stuck between 1 and 2 cms.
We were sent home to rest, but the contractions were too strong for more than an hour or two of fitful sleep. An induction was scheduled for 7 p.m. to help the dilation part of labor get going, and all day, my mantra was "just make it to 7." I worked my way through my list of pain coping strategies--birth ball, shower, breathing, visualization, focusing/not focusing, position changes. Around 5, we learned that the induction had been moved to 7 a.m. due to understaffing. I needed to be actively dilating to be admitted that evening. I wept with frustration and pain and barely managed to eat some dinner. I asked my doula to come over.
By the time she arrived the pain was hard to cope with and my techniques weren't working so well. My doula agreed with my assessment that poor fetal positioning was hindering my progress. We tried several techniques from spinnning babies including the rebozo sling. I started needing to vocalize my pain. By ten the contractions were close together, and I was vomiting from their intensity. I winced at the thought of a car ride, and we decided to go in before it became unbearable. I needed a lot of time to get to the car, working through contractions as Freak and the doula packed up the car.
Once in the car, the pain became unbearable, and the vomiting was non-stop. We had to pull over to empty my puke bowl. I swore that I was going to take a line from the Girlfriend's Guide and just refuse to leave L&D if I wasn't dilating. But, that wasn't a problem. Finally, we had progress--3 cm and 80-90% effaced. I was admitted, and bribed with a hot tub. The wonderful nurse had the tub filled and ready by the time I made it to the room.
The tub was heaven, and for the first time in hours, I felt I could deal with the pain. Freak sat with me while the Doula caught up on sleep. The pain slowly intensified, and vomiting came back full force. By 4 a.m., I was thrashing in the water from the pain, and worn out from well over 40 hours with almost no sleep. An amazing nurse (every single person we encountered during our stay was simply stellar) saved my sanity by teaching Freak and I an effective breathing technique. After discovering that my progress had stalled at 3 cm, she compassionately suggested that sleep & hydration needed be my top priorities.
The doula, Freak, I, and the nurse discussed options. I felt good about our final decision to start with an intermuscular injection that would provide about four hours of pain relief and nausea control. I managed to doze for about an hour, but the injection wore off in less than hour and the vomiting was back even worse than before. The midwife was called, and pitocin was scheduled to begin at 7 a.m.--at this point, I no longer cared about "natural"-- I needed to see an end to the stall.
The midwife suggested an epidural prior to the pitocin to allow me to re-hydrate, sleep, and deal with the unmangeable pain. I was simply too worn out to utilize my arsenal of pain coping methods, and concurred with the doula and midwife that the epidural was my best bet at progressing. I knew that no one was recommending it lightly, and actually felt very empowered at the decision. I would recieve a "light epidural" that would be stopped prior to transition and pushing once I had rested and recharged. Several more vomiting episodes and hard contractions 2 minutes apart further convinced me that this was the right choice.
While we waited for the epidural, I was able to cope better with the breathing technique knowing that rest was near. The only thing I would do differently about the whole labor would be to practice breathing a lot more beforehand. I got cocky that my yoga and meditation experience was sufficient and that weeks of false labor had strengthened my ability to hypnotize myself. But, as hard and fast as the contractions were, I'm not sure that even that would have been enough. I was unprepared for the unrelenting pain from poor positioning and vomiting.
I became an epidural convert within 3 or 4 contractions. The epidural was in place by 6:30. By 7 a.m, I was already progressing again--5 cm, and my water broke shortly after a hydrating IV was started. Pitocin was begun--I felt good about this because the progress showed me that vaginal delivery was still possible, but I wanted to see an end in sight. I had an overwhelming urge to talk to my own mother, and I had a brief conversation of which I remember almost nothing. I dozed till 10:30 or so, and then was able to work through the gradually increasing pressure/pain with breathing. I actually enjoyed being able to still feel the contractions without excruciating pain--it reminded me that I was still laboring and working. I also felt thrilled that I had gotten so far prior to the pitocin. I felt relieved that my natural personality returned, and this bolstered my confidence.
But, by noon, the pain was becoming bad again, and I was still only 6 cm. I considered asking for a booster on the epidural because it was predicted that I would still be laboring into the evening, and I was still very exhausted from all the hours without sleep. But the midwife arrived around 12:15 and checked me herself--she pronounced me a good 7 cm and nearly completely effaced. She also discovered that the water wasn't completely broken afterall, and with my blessing, broke it.
Because I was 42 weeks, I knew the chance of meconium was quite high, and indeed there was a fair amount. Everything after this point becomes a blur--the pain was intolerable and I requested the epidural booster, but there was a flurry of other medical activity around me. The midwife wanted to check again before she decided whether the booster was a good idea. It was still only 12:30, and I was stunned when she pronounced me "almost there" and ready to start pushing.
I felt unprepared to start, and despite now feeling every contraction in full force, and having plenty of feeling to move around, I felt paralyzed by fear and pain. I tried to summon up the "gentle pushing" recommended by my books and classes, but this wasn't effective for me. I was vaguely aware of increasing concern about the baby, but I forced myself to block this--I had enough fear already to work through and I needed to get down to business about pushing.
I was so exhausted that I'm afraid I became very whiny--I was sure I couldn't do this, and pushing seemed like a very bad idea. I wished very bad things for all the people who said pushing would be a relief. I'm pretty sure that I asked for both a c-section and a vacuum, and the increasingly crowded room laughed and told me I was doing great and was very close to crowning. Freak and the doula traded off getting their fingers mashed and whispering breathing instructions--they were an awesome team. Bars were produced to help me push, and these were an amazing tool. In retrospect, I remember increasing concern about the baby, but at the time, I was blocking everything but pushing, and all that is a blur. The midwife left the room a few times, and at some point, an oxygen mask appeared. I kept slapping it off, and Freak and the nurse kept replacing it, and warning me not to hyperventilate.
The room became increasingly loud and vocal with their instructions. I was guided to feel the crowning head, and this was a huge boost. I wanted to get this done, and finally understood that there was no way but out. I redoubled my efforts. I declined the offer of a mirror--I had decided a long time ago that this would actually increase my fear. I needed to stay in my zone.
I was pushing with everything I had, but I could feel the resistance at the point of crowning. I could also feel additional meconicum coming down with the head. I knew I had to do this and tried even harder to follow the instructions of my cheering squad. I still felt like I had no clue how to push, and that I was doing it all wrong. At the time, it felt like the room thought I was doing a very bad job, but in retrospect, I think it was all meant to encourage me and tempered by concern for the baby. I was also under the impression that I pushed for 10 minutes total--I still can't believe that it was 2 hours.
Freak had moved to watch the crowning. The midwife told me that the baby had been crowning a long time, and that if I couldn't get her out on the next push, she was going to have to give me some help with an episiotomy. She knew how opposed I was to one, and we had discussed in the office how very few she does each year, and that fetal distress is always the reason. I felt a huge rush of adrenaline as the seriousness of the situation started to hit me, and I gave it everything I had. The midwife actually ended up giving me a few more chances because it seemed like it was going to happen, but that final ring refused to budge and I was acutely aware of how tight it was. My doula later confirmed this. I wasn't afraid to tear, so I knew it was the tissue itself holding me back. The midwife used tons of oil and massaging, but it wasn't doing the trick.
The episotomy ended up being a huge relief--a tiny snip and the adrenaline surged. She came out with the next push, and I was stupefied as this huge flailing body emerged. I sobbed " we did it." That sight of flailing limbs was the single best moment of my life. The time was announced as 2:40, September 25.
I think somewhere in my subconscious I was prepared for her to need a lot of help, so the movement was even more incredible to me. She was so very clearly alive. In a daze, I looked down--I thought "it's a boy," confirming all my pregnancy suspicions, but then she wriggled and I was amazed to see all girl. I forgot our plan of having Freak announcing the sex and said it before he could.
Her cord was really short, so it was cut by Freak before she was moved up on my belly. She was coughing and not crying, and was quickly whisked away. I think I remember exhorting them to help her, and telling Freak to stay with her--not that he needed instruction.
Finally, a cry emerged from the table. I later learned that she had 8 cc's of meconicum suctioned out. Her apagars were 7 and 8. The pediatrician and several nurses later told us how lucky we were, and how much worse things could have been. I'm glad that I was able to block most of that concern at the time and stay in my zone--the panic would have paralyzed me and only made things worse. In the weeks of false labor, I started to regret not choosing a home birth, but I have to confess that both Freak and I are now unbelievably grateful that we chose the hospital, midwife, and doula route.
The placenta was delivered--it was bigger than the baby! No wonder she had such trouble positioning herself. She emerged at an odd angle with quite the little cone head--I'm pretty sure she tried come out laying on her side and never completely flipped face first. Freak held her while I was stitched up, and finally she was brought to me. I immediately directed her to my nipple, trying not to expect too much, but she was pretty eager to latch on, and I got my first lessons in nursing.
Everyone was telling me what an awesome job I had done, and I made the decision to believe them and discard my earlier belief that I had somehow failed the pushing exam. Indeed, all I felt was elated and triumphant. Every decision along the way felt necessary, and I felt empowered and respected throughout. Besides, I had the ultimate trophy on my chest.
The room cleared, and the doula left. The three of us were alone to bond. The next few hours remain a blur--in fact, most of Monday and Tuesday are blurry, and Freak's memories are different from mine. Luckily, he is writing his own version of the birth story. He concurs on the major point though--everything that happened was necessary given the situation, and I did the best I could.
Around 7, my mother arrived bearing pink roses and disbelief that we had gotten the girl that we had both secretly longed for. Watching her hold the baby, it slowly started to become more real to me. I had a daughter. I had done it.
I was ravenously hungry after labor, and I was up and walking pretty soon after the delivery. Freak and I took turns showering the sweat of three long days later that evening. The pediatrician pronounced her healthy, but slightly stunned from a difficult delivery, and we breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. My last remaining fear was eliminated as she passed multiple blood sugar tests.
After more nursing, the three of us slept till 5 a.m. when she truly woke up for the first time, ravenous and angry to find herself outside her happy uterine home. I received a trial by fire nursing education as she nursed on and off till 8, and Freak showed off his already awesome diapering, burping, and soothing skills. Once she was down, we tried to sleep again, but the sounds of another labor kept us awake.
This was the single most stressful part of the whole experience. My own experience became less blurry, and I felt overwhelming empathy for the mother-to-be. I wanted to tell the poor woman how incredible the coming relief would feel, and how quickly the pain fades to nothingness. The pain seems like a surreal detail now. Freak assured me that I had never sounded so abjectly terrified, but it was still a haunting experience, and contributed greatly to my desire to get home as soon as possible.
The rest of Wednesday was a constant stream of hospital personnel visitors, and Freak and I became increasingly convinced that taking the 24 hour discharge offered to us was the best possible decision for the three of us. I was still riding a wave of euphoria, and felt way better physically than I ever could have imagined. Indeed, even when I visualized my ideal birth, I never imagined feeling as good as I do. Our nursing success was a huge confidence boost.
She slept the whole way home, but woke up for a marathon five hour nursing stretch around 2 a.m. Cluster feeding at 1 day old--I was strangely proud. This marathon contributed to my milk coming in at less than 48 hours, and I spent the whole day Thursday either nursing or sleeping. My peace with the whole birth experience continued to grow.
I have no regrets, and in fact, I have tremendous confidence that I could do this again. I learned an awful lot from the experience, but most of it was stuff I had no way of knowing beforehand. I do know that I would never feel guilty requesting an epidural again--I would honor my need to rest sooner. My experience fits all the exceptions outlined for inventions in my even my very crunchy natural birth books. My outlook on birth is far less absolutist now.
This was a GREAT birth story. I got so much of what I wanted, and more than I ever dared hope for. While the hormones are hitting me with full force, I feel confident about my ability to figure this mothering business out. We've already discovered that she would have rather been born into a diaper-free family, loves the pram, and has a love-hate relationship with swaddling. I can't wait to learn more.
If anyone reads this far, you have my extreme sympathies. I have read far more eloquent birth stories, but words simply can't capture my experience right now. I will try for poetry later, but right now, I have all the eloquence I need sleeping beside me as I type.
