My pregnancy was beautifully uneventful. Though I was closely monitored due to some pre-existing conditions, Alice was growing perfectly, I had no issues beyond the normal discomforts of pregnancy, and I got to enjoy all the little milestones that a first pregnancy brings. I took weekly “bump” pictures even though my bump didn’t emerge until almost week 19. At 19 weeks + 2 days I began to feel the itty-bitty echoes of flutters that would become the very strong and frequent baby kicks, and I saw my little peanut as she was affectionately known every 6 weeks for ultrasounds monitoring her growth. At every ultrasound I stressed to the tech the importance of not telling me the gender, as I was adamantly “team green” since finding out I was pregnant.
As my August 7th due date drew closer, I spent the majority of my time in the house. Summer of 2016 was one of the hottest on record in Northern CA and I was not leaving my extra cold air-conditioned house without a great reason. As the first week of August crawled slowly by, I was growing increasingly bigger and worried: the women in my family carry pregnancies notoriously late (I was born 3 weeks overdue!) and the thought that I would reach 42 weeks and be induced as is the practice at my OB’s office was daunting. Something about having an induction with my first baby, not knowing what my body would be able to do on it’s own, was just overwhelming and disheartening.
At my 39+5 week checkup everything looked great: 50% effaced (thinning of the cervix for you non-medical folks), about 2cm dilated (cervix opening), and even opted for the membrane sweep (this is when practitioner sweeps their finger between the cervix and the amniotic sack in an effort to induce labor). Went home with some low-abdominal Braxton Hicks contractions and high hopes that I will be in the 5% of women who go into labor on their due date…
My due date flew by and while I had some promising contractions the day after, at 40+2, not a hint of baby. Little peanut was still lodged high up into my ribs (no lightening or baby dropping for me!) and I figured I was still a week or more away from baby time. The worries of induction kept creeping in and I found myself bouncing on the birthing ball and eating spicy food in small efforts to naturally induce labor. Nada.
Throughout that summer, but especially in the last month of pregnancy, I had gotten into the habit of getting up at 6am and heading out to the nearest park for a walk. It was the only bearable time to be outside and was a lovely way to start out my days. Plus the added bonus of fresh air and exercise for me and the peanut I was growing. On August 10th I went for my usual 6am walk as my mom (and my labor support person) got ready for her third day at a brand new job. As I neared the end of my walk, I began feeling relatively regular tightening sensations in my lower abdomen. These were not Braxton Hicks, these were not cramps. There were definitely something new.
I was home by 6:45 as my mom was headed out the door and after a few minutes of the sensations not going away with rest/change of position, I was sworn to going into the hospital with my stepdad if things got more regular and keeping my mama posted. In another two hours, things seemed to progress and regulate, and I called L&D as the contractions hit the 5-1-1 rhythm a little while later. They advised to come get checked out and let me tell you, the car ride was not fun. I was gripping into the door handle quite strongly, though the real fun was yet to come. At the hospital I was checked out and despite the very regular and seemingly strong contraction, there were no changes to my cervix. Still 2-3cm, just as I was several days ago. To my shock and disappointment, they sent me home. Things were feeling pretty painful and overwhelming and I refused to go home. We sat in a nearby Starbucks for a bit, (a caramel macchiato being the first and only thing I’d consumed that day) and then walked around a nearby Ross store; though by that point there was a lot more standing and gripping merchandise than walking happening on my end.
After probably 45 minutes, I called the hospital and asked to come back in. While they were fine with my returning, they said if I hadn’t progressed any, they’d send me home. With the frequency of contractions and the amount of pain I was in, there was no way I hadn’t progressed. Making it back to L&D, I was checked and to my absolute dismay and tears, was still 2-3cm. I was not coping. I was upset. I was in pain that I wasn’t managing. And they sent me home. Again.
My mom showed up just as I was getting dressed and I expressed my fear and disappointment to her (albeit a bit dramatically). She encouraged me to go home, take a shower or bath and just try to get some food and rest, as I would need strength later on. She should know. She had two unmedicated births. Despite the fears and pain, I had no choice. I relented and began the walk from L&D to the front door of the hospital where her car was parked and waiting. What should have taken 3 minutes took us 15. Now I understood what gripping into objects actually felt like, nearly ripping a hospital railing off the wall as I was riding out yet another contraction. A nurse passing by stopped to ask if everything was alright and when my mom told her “yes, she’s just in labor”, the poor girl who couldn’t have been more than 22 looked absolutely terrified. Think maybe I put her off having children for a while? HA.
We made it to the car and as I was getting in….THIS GETS GRAPHIC!…. I felt something… come out. To my complete and utter panic, I thought it was either a foot or worse, the baby’s umbilical cord. I refused to go home. A dear friend (and med student!) who was with us grabbed me a wheelchair and ran me back to L&D. The nurse there looked slightly annoyed to see me back, having just sent me home 15 minutes prior. But to appease me, they decided to give me a gown and take me into triage. They hadn’t even had time to turn over the room I had been previously checked in just a little while ago. As I was changing the mystery of the what had “fallen out” became clear: it was a large blood clot. At which point the nurse actually became concerned and asked the doctor to check me out instead. And behold: those 15 minutes of walking took me from 2-3cm to 7!! And so it was go time: admitted to labor and delivery and preparing to have my baby!!!
What followed was relatively typical progression of events: IV line and blood work done, narcotic medication to take the edge off a little, deciding on an epidural as I was not prepared to cope with the pain, and finally, a bit of a nap once the epidural took. Ahhhhh, sleep. Glorious after the morning that I had. My mom and two best friends were there throughout the afternoon and evening. They kept me entertained as the hours went on, and even made fun of me because I kept apologizing about my labor “taking so long”. (I’m still hearing jokes about that one, almost 17 months later!). Around 6pm (about two hours after being put in), my epidural decided to stop working in ONE spot, a relatively small circular area on my lower abdomen, right where the fetal heart rate monitor was placed. Of course. Re-positioning did nothing but I felt as if I was coping okay with it. 8pm rolled around and I was fully dilated, my water was broken by the doctor, and we could start practicing pushing! Wow. Exciting. I would be meeting my baby very shortly!!
But little peanut had other plans. She was still quite high up, and was not fully engaged in my pelvis. As I tried pushing, she was not tolerating it. With every push, though it was good on my part, her heart would decelerate and the nurses and doctor were concerned. After a few more attempts, it was decided that I would get a little top up of the epidural and was put on the peanut ball to help baby come further down, called laboring down.
The epidural top up did nothing for me, except tank my already low blood pressure, and after bringing it to normal by use of meds, I was left to labor down, rotating side to side every 30 minutes. A few hours later we attempted a few more pushes but she was still too high and not liking it. So more laboring down was to be had.
By midnight on August 11th, everything felt to be too much. The epidural was wearing off and completely gone where the fetal monitor was placed. The laboring down was now happening on it’s own, without the peanut ball: with every contraction, my body was shoving out the baby without my explicit consent and against doctor’s orders. I had never understood what women meant by “I have to push” when they were in labor until that moment. Despite every attempt in me to just breathe through contractions as I was told and not push, my body had other plans. In many ways I felt like I was no longer in charge, like the primal instinctual bodily functions of the generations past were taking over: my body was pushing the baby out even when not supposed to; I was making these involuntary low-pitched sounds with every contraction, and in between, I was unaware of my surroundings, completely taken over by this ebb and flow of labor. Looking back, I realize it was all part of the normal process of labor but at the time, I was entirely overwhelmed. There came a moment when I was convinced the words “c-section” would be next and I was ready to give up and give in to one of the most undesired labor outcomes for me at the time.
My wonderful nurse Jolene kept the encouragement going strong, as did my mama who, with tender love and care, reminded me that everything was fine. I wanted to turn onto my back but Jolene insisted that if I do, the baby will come flying out and the doctor is delivering another baby so I would have to wait. WHAT?!!! I have to WAIT?! Somehow, that really perked me up!
After another 15 minutes, two pushes and a weird but necessary episiotomy, OUT CAME MY BABY at 1:54am on August 11th. Wow. What a relief to hear that little cry. I will never forget seeing her right ear, her tiny tiny little ear, as her head has already emerged and her body was still being birthed. She was in a diaper and on my chest within a minute, at which point I asked about her gender. In the excitement of her birth, everyone had somehow forgotten that I didn’t know and the doctor asked if I wanted to guess. Somehow, after 9 months and 19 hours of labor, NO I DID NOT WANT TO GUESS!!! And that’s when I found out I have given birth to a daughter. A perfect little smooshy daughter who, almost 30 hours later, was named Alice Annette.
Wow. What an experience. One I will treasure and carry with me until the end of my days. My birth story was not perfect, and let’s face it, few stories are. Certainly, there are things I hope to do differently whenever I decide to give Alice sibling(s). But as Gini Baker very wisely says, “you did the best you could with the information and support you had at the time”. I do not have regrets about Alice’s birth. It brought me a perfect, healthy little girl who entered the world exactly when and how she wanted to. Strong-willed and determined, from the womb. But lessons can be learned without having regrets, and here is what I know for next time:
- Take childbirth preparation classes – the natural series. Even if I feel as though I cannot handle a fully unmedicated birth, it will still prepare me with more coping strategies than I had going into my birth experience with Alice
- Walk and stay upright as much as possible, especially if/while laboring without the epidural
- Utilize water for comfort, whether at home or in the hospital
- EAT! Most doctors are now going with the evidence-based practice of allowing food and drink during labor but even if I am in a position where I cannot eat once admitted, eat on the way to the hospital. My strength reserves were next to nothing by the end of the day
- Wait to get the epidural as long as possible (if at all), at least try to wait until transition, as this will minimize slowing labor progress, a common side effect of epidurals
Whew. I know. Long post. And this is me cutting it waayyyyyy down. How do you sum up your child’s birth, them entering into the world, coming into a clear, perceivable existence, in a couple hundred words? Or even a couple thousand? I do not think any language on Earth is capable of adequately expressing all that goes on in the head and the heart of a mother during labor and birth. I always feel as if words do not do it justice…
