Our Baby’s Birth Story (Part III)

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh

Continued from Part I and Part II.   

We knew that I wanted to use the birthing center tub right away, but I would have to wait.  I was among the 25% of women who are Group B Strep positive, so I would need to receive an initial dose of antibiotics through an IV, and had to have a hep-lock kept in place for more doses as the labor continued.  Additionally it is standard procedure to be hooked up to an external fetal monitor for at least 20 minutes upon admittance, in order to get an initial read of the baby’s heart rate.

Thankfully the nurses honored our birth plan request that all monitoring after the initial strip be kept to a minimum and be done with a handheld device.  Being hooked up to the monitors for that first half hour or so made the contractions especially difficult to get through.  My mobility was severely limited, and all I could really do was bounce on the birth ball.

The baby’s heart rate was strong.  The contractions started to slow to 6 minutes apart, but were reaching a terrible pain level.  The tub was ready at 6:45pm, and I got in with the hope that the contractions would speed up and I could get some relief.

The hours I spent in that tub are one physically excruciating and emotionally draining blur.  I struggle to find the words to explain the agony of transition-level contractions, or the degree of exhaustion I was feeling after working through them on a 32-hour sleep deficit.

From 7pm until 8pm, the contractions moved back to being 4 minutes apart.  I knew that for the pain level I was feeling, they should have been much closer.  I started to panic in between contractions, asking Rachael why they weren’t moving closer together even though the pain was getting worse.  Having that much time in between might sound great, but it was terrible; the more time that passed from one contraction to the next, the harder the next one would hit when it finally did come.   When I did have the odd contraction that was right on top of the previous one, it wasn’t nearly as intense as when they were spaced out.  The ones that were spaced further apart were so much worse.  That time in between was spent recovering from the last contraction and anticipating the next one, when I would feel an excruciating SLAM in my body from the inside out.  Rachael had to remind me each time, “That one is gone.  It’s over.  It’s never coming back.”

But it did come back.  It came back worse.  I started shaking, crying, and showing classic signs of transition.  The nursing shifts changed and a new nurse, Kale, came in to introduce herself.  My nurse is named after a vegetable, I thought.  A vegetable that I hate.  Is this a dream?  My brain barely registered Mia coming in and out, Kale taking my vitals, Rachael telling me to breathe, and Matthew pouring hot water down my back.

“I can’t do this,” I cried.  You can, they said.  I was writhing, screaming, and shaking badly.  I felt like a wild animal, desperate to get out of my own body.  But I was stuck.

Rachael helped me focus.  When I made a high pitched scream, she told me to turn it into a low moan.  Then I turned inward, blocking everyone else out.  A line from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was playing over and over in my head:  We can make the best or the worse of it.  I hope you make the best of it.  And I hope you see things that startle you.  I hope you feel things you never felt before.

I started to think about my mom, and how badly I wanted her to be there.  I remembered her telling me that birth was a privilege.

I started to think about my sisters and my aunties who labored before me.

With each contraction, I thought of someone different.  I dedicated that contraction to them.  I thought of my grandmother, who birthed eight children.  I thought of my other grandmother, who birthed four.  Every meaningful person I could think of, I would focus on with all my energy.

I started to feel the baby move after each contraction.  He’s telling you it’s okay, Matthew said.

By 8pm, the contractions had slowed even further and were now only 6-7 minutes apart.  More time passed.  At one point, Mia and Kale came in, trying to get a read of mine and the baby’s vitals. As Rachael eyed her phone to time the contractions, Matthew, Mia, and Kale all stared at the clock on the wall to time the baby’s heartbeat.  It was eerily quiet.  I knew what everyone was thinking: why aren’t these contractions coming quicker?

Mia wanted to check my progress.  Unlike the first time I was checked, this time I didn’t think twice about how far I might be.  I was positive it was almost time to push.

When Mia told me I had only progressed to 7cm and the baby was still at 0 station, I LOST IT.  Completely lost it.

“I can’t do one more contraction.  NOT ONE MORE!”  I screamed.  This was immediately followed by, “I want it!  I want it NOW!”

“You want what?” someone asked.

I couldn’t believe they were going to make me say it.  I couldn’t believe I was asking for it.  I wanted a natural childbirth.  With all my heart.  I had fought so hard for it.  But I was EXHAUSTED.  All I could think about was lying down.  The pain was unbearable, yes, but more than anything, I was tired.

I knew because I had asked for the epidural during a contraction that I wouldn’t be taken seriously.  Once it passed, I cried that I was sorry, so sorry, but I couldn’t do it anymore.  “Don’t trick me,” I begged, worried that they wouldn’t give in to my request.

In fact, I found out later that everyone was relieved when I finally asked for the epidural.  Though we had specified in our birth plan not to offer pain medication, Rachael told me that she was starting to get pressure to discuss it with me once it was clear that my labor had stalled, and the anesthesiologist was already on our floor.

I got help out of the tub, and ran, practically naked, back to our birthing suite.

Here’s the thing about pain medication during childbirth: once you decide you want it, you want it YESTERDAY.  I was told the epidural would take about 45 minutes.  I was beside myself.  A nurse offered me a narcotic that she said could be administered through my IV.  It would take immediate effect.

“YES!” I screamed.

Rachael, ever so respectfully, told me that I could get the drug if I wanted, but I should know that unlike the epidural, this would get to the baby.

Saying no to that drug was the hardest thing I have ever done.

Though I kept insisting that I couldn’t do one more contraction, I had to do about 15 more before the epidural was finally administered.  People have since asked me if the needle was scary, or if the insertion was painful.  My answer is that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could have been worse than the contractions I was feeling.

Because we hadn’t planned on a medicated birth, I had to sign all the paperwork in the midst of the worst contractions yet.

I felt a mixture of immense relief and immense guilt.  Matthew said I appeared vacant and defeated.  Empty.  I remember thinking, I’ll probably need pitocin after this.  Who knows, maybe I’ll need a c-section.  But none of it mattered at the time.  I was lost.  I had forgotten we were there to have a baby, and that is a scary place to be.

They told me the epidural would need a while to take effect, but I felt instant relief.

Matthew crawled into bed with me, and in a matter of seconds, I was konked out into a hard, deep sleep.

It was an hour later when I semi-awoke to a flurry of activity.  I felt the sensors on my belly being adjusted and moved around.  Two nurses stood above me.  I was half asleep but managed to make out what they were saying.  My blood pressure had tanked.  They were going to give me medication to bring it back up.  They needed consent.

I remember thinking that I should have been more worried than I felt.  I hazily mumbled some words.  Yes to the meds.  Was the baby ok?  Yes.  More sleep.

I was checked again at 11:30pm.  I told Mia that I thought I felt my water break, and it had.  I was dilated to 9cm and was 100% effaced, but they were having trouble picking up the baby’s heart rate.  An internal fetal monitor would need to be inserted.

I was scared.  I knew from our birth classes that this monitor was like a screw in the baby’s head.  I was about to protest when I remembered something Mia said during the hospital tour, months prior:  If I ever suggest an internal fetal monitor, you want me to use it.  It means I’m worried about the baby’s heartbeat.  I consented and, once things were okay again, fell back asleep.

I woke up at 2am.  The room was quiet and dark.  Mia came in to check me, and I was at 10cm and the baby was at +2 station.  It was time to push.  Everyone in the room rejoiced.  Everyone but me.

In all my readings, I had heard about how natural childbirth gives you “the overwhelming urge to push” when your body is ready. For years, my mom has told me about how much she actually enjoyed pushing and what a relief it is, physically and mentally. I had looked forward to pushing to experience the natural urges of my body.

But because of the epidural, I was numb. I had no overwhelming urge to push. I was still exhausted and I couldn’t fathom how I would ever do it.

Rachael seemed to sense my hesitation and asked me what I was worried about. I told her I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do it.  I didn’t feel ready, and the lack of physical sensation made the idea of pushing seem forced and artificial.  She assured me that I would be able to, that my body had come this far and that it would carry me through. Epidural or not, my body was still doing the work to birth this baby.

Mia had to finish up another birth, but Kale said if we wanted to do a couple of “practice pushes” while we waited, it might help build my confidence.

Because I couldn’t lift my legs, I would need assistance. With Rachael on my left and Matthew on my right, they each lifted a leg. I was told to arch my back, curl my spine over my stomach, and push “like you are having a bowl movement.”

We waited for my next contraction to show up on the monitor. When it did, I took one deep breath, exhaled, took another deep breath, and pushed. From the very first push, they told me that they could see the baby’s head.

That was all I needed to hear.

Right then, I decided that I didn’t need to feel the urge in my body to push this baby out. I just needed to feel it in my heart.

In quick succession, I took two more breaths and pushed after each one, making the most of the contraction. Mia came in 15 minutes later and was impressed by my progress.

Even with the epidural, pushing was exhausting.  I could still feel an immense amount of pressure down there, and progress was hard to gauge.  As the time passed, my motivation was waning.  I was asked if I wanted a mirror to see the baby’s head.  I hesitated at first, but agreed.  The baby would come down, just to inch back up.  It was two steps forward, one step back.  But with each push, Mia said she saw the baby adjusting himself and getting into position.  She was shocked; he was helping me.  We were working together.

I pushed and pushed and pushed.  Matthew would watch the monitor and tell me when a contraction was starting, and I would push three times per one contraction, each time asking, “Again?  Can I push again?”

I had started to get nauseous and had to stop several times to ask for a bucket, but nothing ever came up.  Halfway though, I remembered we packed some Shot Bloks and I started chewing on those, which helped to boost my energy.

Two hours passed.  I was so focused on pushing that I hadn’t noticed the room was buzzing.  A cart was brought in and the warmer was turned on.  The baby nurse had arrived and was waiting.  Matthew had asked to catch the baby and cut the cord, so Mia instructed him that on her cue, he was to drop my leg and a nurse would take over holding it.  Everyone was ready, but there was still no baby.  I told Mia I needed some motivation.  She said, “Well, I’m pretty sure he has reddish blonde hair.”

That was when I remembered why I was there to begin with.

I barely recall that last 15 minutes of pushing.  Matthew later said that he has never seen me so determined, so focused.  I was no longer asking if I could keep pushing.  I would just push, sometimes five or six times in one contraction.  The whole room was cheering me on to keep going.

What came next happened so fast.

First I heard Matthew, who had been so gentle and quiet for the past 30+ hours, exclaim with pure, pure joy:  “Lara he’s coming!  Oh my God, he’s coming!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!”

Then I heard my baby.  I heard my baby, but I didn’t see my baby.  He was screaming before he’d even been fully born.

A nurse hastily unbuttoned the top of my hospital gown, and Matthew dropped my leg to “catch” him.  Before I knew it, he was placed on my chest.

{Try to enjoy the following photos and overlook, if you can, MY EIGHT CHINS}

I couldn’t believe how perfect he was.  I still can’t.

He got two 9’s on the APGAR.  (“He aced his first test!” said Matthew proudly.)  Kale (who, despite being named after my least favorite vegetable, was an incredible nurse) did his initial exams while he was still on my chest, where he stayed for the next two hours.

Never have I felt such tremendous gratitude in my life.

I turned to Rachael and, with great relief, sighed “It’s over.  It’s over.  Thank God it’s all over.”

She smiled and said, “Oh sweetheart, it’s not over.  It’s just beginning.”

 All photos in this post are courtesy of Aspin Photography.  Thank you, Brandi!