I have played the scenario over in my head many times and the only word that seems adequate to describe it all is thankful. Thankful for his safe arrival, thankful for my husband, and thankful for the support & love we’ve received leading up to and since.
I’d done as much preparation as I could for a natural childbirth that started with spontaneous labor. I was aware a million factors may cause it not to happen, but if asked to describe my perfect scenario, that was it. At my 40 week appointment on Monday, my OB, who had been nothing but supportive of my plans and preparations, wanted to schedule an induction. I understood her position and her mine, so with her wanting 40 weeks and me wanting 42, so we compromised with penciling me in for the following week at 41. Since I now had an official deadline, I asked to have my membranes stripped. It wasn’t something I’d wanted to have done but I figured it was better than the alternative if it had a chance of working. Also for the previous few days I’d had lots of cramping. Nothing terribly painful, but it was there. I told her about this but neither of us were sure if it meant anything. That’s the frustrating part about the signs of labor – sometimes they are signs and sometimes they are meaningless.
Since my 36 week appointment, at our first opportunity to know, my cervix had been very high and off to one side. It was not square in my pelvis, and after 4 weeks of activity, stretching, swimming, anything I could think of, I was only 1cm dilated at 40 weeks. Every time my OB checked me she commented how hard it was to find and that I was one of the most difficult – likely because of the way the baby was laying. If I pushed my belly to one side, my cervix became square.
My doula recommended going to a chiropractor who specializes in the Webster Technique, a minor adjustment that loosens the ligaments that supports the uterus and has been known to turn breech babies. So after my 40 week appointment on my due date, I also went to the chiropractor for an adjustment. With the blessing of my OB who said it couldn’t hurt, and even additionally suggested acupuncture, I was trying a bit harder to get this baby to come. I’d never been to a chiropractor before and was a bit nervous but she calmed my fears. There was no cracking and popping, just pressing. At the chiropractor, my sacrum was slightly misaligned, so the adjustment felt pretty good. And the highlight of my day – I got to lay on my stomach on the special chiropractic table. At that point I would have paid triple to just lay there. We scheduled another adjustment for Wednesday and Friday of that week, as well as a pressure point massage.
So to set the scene – there are a few factors at play here. Cramping on my own, membrane stripping which caused a whole lot of MORE cramping, and the chiropractor.
At dinner the night of my due date, the same day as the membrane stripping and chiropractor visit, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Nothing really helped me feel better, so I laid around most of the evening. Between 8 and 10 I noticed that my cramps were coming around 10 minutes apart and had a pattern to them. I didn’t want to get too excited because I’d been wondering on and off what labor would actually feel like.
Through the night, Monday into Tuesday, I couldn’t really sleep. I would lay down for an hour or watch some TV and was generally restless. Every ten minutes for 30-45 seconds I felt the tightening. They were uncomfortable enough that I couldn’t sleep but not so bad I couldn’t also do something else. I watched Larry the Cable Guy – Life in America. I wrote Thank You notes, realizing I wouldn’t have much time shortly to catch up on them. In the morning, I was still feeling pretty lousy but still wasn’t convinced it was here to stay.
Joe stayed home from work and we walked the dogs multiple times, did a few loads of laundry, and hung out. I went back and forth with timing because I didn’t want to be a slave to the clock. However, ten minutes apart became eight, then seven, then six and I was less able to continue walking, moving, or focusing when they came. Dinner was nearly impossible to sit through. I watched Biggest Loser, half of it with my eyes closed as I breathed, and then took a bath to try and relax.
It had been my plan to stay at home to labor as long as possible, not only because home is comfortable, but because I felt I had the best chance of avoiding interventions by arriving at the hospital in very active labor. I was on the cusp of the 5-1-1 rule I’d heard about – don’t go until your contractions are 5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute long, and are continuous in that pattern for 1 hour. Around this time the space between became a bit more erratic. I’d been in contact with my doula all day who gave me some suggestions to stay comfortable and ensure things kept moving along.
After 9pm, things got more serious. I had to really work hard on my breathing and I began to experience the I-can’t-move-but-I-can’t-sit-still feeling as well. Five minutes became four, then three. I called the doula to come to our house and around 11pm she arrived. I was laboring in our bedroom, no longer comfortable in front of my mother-in-law, who had been awesome and supportive and mostly stayed out of the way all day. In between I paced and alternated leaning, laying, squatting, and hanging on Joe. At that point things were very intense but I felt good and in control of how I was able to handle everything. We had such a groove going that I wondered if our doula Heather was really even necessary. Later I’d laugh at my naivite – how ridiculous that thought seemed in hindsight.
At midnight as Tuesday night turned to Wednesday morning, we decided to head to the hospital. All signs pointed to active labor and I was beginning to become excited to meet our baby. Time alternately flew by and stood still. The ride to the hospital was only about 6 minutes, and as we left I asked Joe not to hit any bumps. There was snow at the end of the driveway, and my soon to be dad of a husband backed out of the driveway so fast over the rough snow I nearly hit the ceiling. At that point pretty much everything hurt even between contractions. There was constant pressure everywhere and sudden movements I could not control were very difficult to handle. That was one thing I was not prepared for during labor – while you get a break between contractions, so many pieces parts are readjusting that there is a nearly constant ache. The pain is not on and off like a switch, which is how I had it in my head. He drove five miles under the speed limit and after about half a mile I said “Ok, please go faster.” I was anxious to get out of the car – sitting with a seat belt on was not fun.
Arriving at the hospital, we parked near the front entrance, which was of course closed. We took a walk to the ER because the cold air felt great and it was just around the corner. Only problem was that I forgot the ER had been recently remodeled and moved. So, around the corner turned into a quarter mile walk around the back of the hospital complex. Once we realized how far it was, I had to weigh which was worse – getting back into a car or continuing to walk. We decided to keep walking, and at the ER entrance had to double back through the entire complex on the inside to get to the maternity ward – conveniently located a few steps inside and on the second floor from the main entrance with a nice view of my car and best parking space in the house.
The floor was very quiet and we were shuffled into triage quickly. As soon as I changed into my gown, I felt like I’d peed myself. The nurse didn’t think it was pee, and as I sat on the bed for her to take my vital signs, more gushed out. It was around 1am at this point, and they confirmed that my water had broken. The nurse noticed it was tinged with green, and after they tested it, it was confirmed to be meconium – baby’s first bowel movement. I knew enough to know that it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign, but it wasn’t a good one either.
She checked my cervix and matter-of-factly announced that I was dilated to just over 2cm. All of the air instantly was vacuumed out of the room. ”Only 2?!” I yelled, exasperated. Over 24 hours of labor, 8 of which was increasingly difficult, and I was a 2. My doula Heather quickly reframed and said “This is progress. Progress is good. You were 1 yesterday.” My mind immediately went to a very bad place. I was not nearly as far along as I wanted to be, my water had broken and I knew not only would I be admitted but that I was on the clock, and my blood pressure was very high so pre-eclampsia labs were ordered.
I was hooked up to the telemetry contraction and fetal heart rate monitors as we checked into our room. My OB had already sent over a copy of our birth plan so it was in my chart and everyone was more than accommodating of our wishes. My doctor’s partner was on call and said she’d call my OB and explained that two of our wishes were not negotiable at this time but everything else was still on track. First, I’d have to be continuously monitored (contractions, fetal HR, and blood pressure cuff) until the labs came back, and second, rather than putting the baby to my chest right away they’d have extra staff for him/her in our room to examine his lungs and rule out a meconium aspiration.
The blood pressure cuff soon became the bane of my existence. It cut off circulation to my hand and made it turn purple every time it took a reading, kept sliding around, and rendered my left arm pretty useless. I had a hep lock in my right hand, so I felt many of my previous coping tools slipping away as my movement was restricted.
The three of us – Joe, Heather, and I managed to find a groove and labored successfully until shift change at 7, when my OB and new nurse arrived. My OB checked me herself and said I was comfortably more than 2. So, six hours at the hospital in hard labor and I had progressed millimeters. I tried not to internally panic. She was confident with a wait and see approach, said my labs came back great and that while my blood pressure was likely high from the stress of the environment, they still wanted to watch it. It had never been more than 120/80 at any of my weekly appointments and I was thankful she was there because she knew. We talked about the meconium in my water and she said that it it isn’t often a problem but they would have to scope the baby to be sure nothing was wrong. She over-explained everything and for where I was mentally at that point, I was grateful. I was totally on board with the revised plan both because the safety of the baby was always first priority and I understood the reasoning behind it fully.
My new nurse Jenilee had a 5 month old baby herself and was extremely upbeat and positive – something I didn’t fully appreciate until later. Anytime she came in to check my vitals or see how we were doing, if a contraction came, she immediately yanked off the blood pressure cuff and said “Let’s just wait.” She left us mostly alone except when she had to. Visitors felt incredibly intrusive at that point.
By this time, my contractions had slowed to five minutes apart but were still in a good pattern, so I was left to labor mostly on my own. Many comments were made that the three of us made a good team. As morning turned to noon, we found our groove again in the hospital and I used both Joe and Heather to work through the contractions. They took short food breaks, which made me insanely jealous. I asked for an IV because I felt incredibly dehydrated – those ice chips just were not cutting it. I focused on each contraction and how it was bringing me closer to my baby. He/she was tolerating everything incredibly well. I was proud because I thought I was too. I was able to manage the hardest pain I’d felt in my life.
In early afternoon, the moms came to the hospital. Mother-in-law brought my exercise ball from home because it was smaller than the one in the hospital – I could barely sit on the one they had and figured it was made for 6′ tall basketball coach mothers. My mom came just to see how I was doing, and after much persisting, I allowed her in the room to say hi. She burst into tears as soon as she saw me, I totally lost my focus, and she was banished again.
Around 3pm, my OB and Jenilee came to check me again. Every time I was checked it was awful, not only because I had to be on my back, but because the baby was laying in such a way that it made everything that much worse. And moving to that position caused more contractions. They both agreed that I was around a 3 but that the baby had moved to a better position. Neither said a word about my progress not being adequate and both made a point to say how great I was doing. At this point I’d been at the hospital with my water broken 13 hours and I knew enough to know that things were not looking good. I believed their positive words were genuine, but I lost it. Heaving, ugly, guttural sobs came out of me that rivaled the moans I’d been uttering to cope with the pain. I began to doubt myself. I yelled, exasperated, that it had almost been 2 days. Heather told me getting to 4 was the hardest part. Joe said he was so proud of me. I asked how in the world this was going to work. I wanted a break. The disappointment took over. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t stop crying. Contractions suddenly felt ten times worse because I was not in a good mental place to handle them.
My OB said that everything looked great, I was doing just fine, and before we threw the baby out with the bath water suggested I try something to take the edge off – if I did in fact want a break. I could get 1-2 hours of relief with a dose of nubain and that would very likely allow me to power through what was ahead. I cried some more. Sweet nurse Jenilee said “Honey, I am going to go grab a few things and come back. When I do, I’ll have the nubain in my pocket. If you want it, say so. If you don’t, don’t mention it and we’ll forget the whole thing.”
She came back and I said “Yes, please.” I was out like a light and slept harder and more soundly than I’d ever in the last 9 months. I woke up a bit woozy but within 15 minutes was my normal self and relaxed once again. Over the next 2 hours, I felt really good about the decision to get some rest. I was able to cope with the harder and stronger contractions and really felt good and positive again. The baby had moved at some point prior, because rather than wanting to sit, I now wanted to lean. I labored a long time on the exercise ball while leaning forward on the bed. I demanded Joe stay in front of me and hold my hands. Even though I had my eyes closed most of the time, it would no longer do just to have him in the room. He had to be front and center and I had to know he was there even if we weren’t interacting.
At 5pm, my OB and nurse came back again. This time I was a “solid 4″ but they could stretch me to a 5. The meconium in my water was also becoming darker. I didn’t have to ask what was coming. I was exasperated. My OB said she knew I didn’t want pitocin but given the time frame, my (lack of) progress, the meconium, being group B strep positive, and my sustained high blood pressure, she wanted to get things moving along. I’d been in the hospital 16 hours and had progressed 2-3cm. Anyone else would have given up on me long ago. I love her for that and I was in total agreement that for all of our health, this was best.
I was ready to be done, so I asked for an epidural. Nobody pushed it on me – they waited until I was ready. And I was. I gave it my best shot. Everyone was hopeful it would help me relax enough to have the baby by midnight.
I had another good cry, and then almost cried some more when the anesthesiologist came in with a student. It’s never good to hear someone behind you explaining how to do a procedure when you’re trying not to writhe in pain. Unlike nice nurse Jenilee, they don’t wait for you to finish a contraction. Holding still was pure agony. The student couldn’t find a good spot in my “bony spine” and claimed “everyone’s anatomy is different.” More words I didn’t want to hear. Joe was holding me and I looked up once to see tears in his eyes and then I couldn’t look again. He had been so strong throughout all of this, but seeing me without relief was difficult.
The main anesthesiologist took over. It took him five tries. I was hanging on Joe with the blood pressure cuff going off on my left arm, antibiotics in my right, needles in my back, and a vise grip on my front. I don’t know if my water gushed or I peed myself or what, but I soaked the bed. Forty-five minutes, countless awful contractions and another sobbing breakdown later, the epidural was in.
I could still feel my legs but the contractions were much better. In the first 20 minutes I felt a lot of intense pressure. Jenilee announced I’d gone from a 5 to a 6 in that short time. I joked that I was going to deliver before her shift was over at 7. She excitedly exclaimed that would be awesome. She placed an internal fetal monitor as well as contraction monitor since the telemetry ones weren’t picking up much anymore. With the pitocin going, they needed to know. I needed to know too, because up to that point, the baby’s heart rate was incredibly strong and tolerating labor well – not even dipping during contractions. I wanted to see what the interventions did.
Sure enough, the baby’s heart rate dropped. I was rolled from one side to the other, still very uncomfortable from the increased pressure. I did manage to get on my hands and knees at one point. As I was laying on my left side, the only place the baby’s heart rate liked, I started feeling contractions again. My legs were heavy and I lost my previous coping tools, so I laid there gripping the bed and crying. Heather got right in my face and talked me through how to focus and breathe. It was so hard not to panic and I think without her I would have. I was on oxygen from there on out. They called anesthesia and I yelled that I had to push. Sure enough, I was almost 10cm. In an additional 20 minutes, I went from 6 to 10. So, to recap – it took me 46 hours to go from 1 to 4, 2 hours to go from 4 to 6, and 20 minutes to go from 6 to 10.
Until the epidural was topped off, I was the most miserable I’d been. I am very lucky it was a short time, because it was my worst nightmare of labor come true. Feeling out of control of my body while also feeling the pain of my lower half stretching and worrying that my baby was no longer handling all of this very well.
It was time for nurse Mary to take over, and she gave me the blessing to push in whatever position I liked. We tried the squat bar, laying on one side, but the one that worked the best was the tried and true legs in stirrups with a forward lean. Joe had gone out to tell the moms I was pushing, and half an hour into it, there was a knock at the door. My mother. We’d just figured out what position worked best and I was able to move the baby down a little – we’d barely gotten started. Mary announced who it was and if she could give my mom an update. I screamed “Tell her to go the fuck away!”
(As an aside, in the middle of the night I apologized to Mary for cursing at her and she said “It’s really ok. She wasn’t upset. Your mom replied excitedly ‘Oh, I guess that means we’re getting somewhere!’”)
Over the next hour, I worked as hard as I could. As the baby moved down, they announced he/she had dark hair and neither Joe nor I could believe it. We both figured if he/she had hair at all it would be lighter like when we were little. I remember I kept asking if I was making progress and they said yes. I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and needed constant reassurance.
Just as everyone was setting up, I felt the last kicks I’d feel of my pregnancy. It was one of the most bittersweet moments – one I had all to myself. It was like my baby knew exactly what I needed in that moment. ”We’re going to make it, mom.”
William Joseph came out in one push at 8:27pm on February 16, screaming at the top of his little lungs. He weighed 7lbs 11oz and was 20 inches long. Joe announced to the room that he was a boy, which I suspected all along. The nurses and pediatrician checked him out and he showed no adverse signs from the meconium. They handed him to me and he immediately calmed down on my chest. I couldn’t believe it was over.
We both had slight fevers but they were resolved by morning. I have two stitches from a small first degree tear. Life is settling down wonderfully.
Looking back, I almost can’t believe it happened. I feel really good about everything – I was confident in the medical staff, thankful for their respect, and appreciative that they went above and beyond to make our experience a good one. I wouldn’t change a thing and know that I did all I could as I was pushed beyond my limits.
And after it all, I have the cutest healthy baby with big blue eyes who I don’t want out of my sight.
He’s named after his great-grandfather, my awesome g-pa, who died in 2000.
What You've Been Saying