Liam’s Birth Story

Monday I went to work and felt like hell pretty much all day.  Braxton Hicks contractions plagued me (a “practice” contraction that makes your belly muscles hard), so that my stomach and ribs were aching from 10am on.   At the end of the day, The Professor called and said he couldn’t come and pick me up because Jack had a fever and was really ill.  So I caught the streetcar home, something I rarely do in the afternoons because of the heat.  I boarded a crowded car, and not a single person offered me a seat.  Two other people got on with me carrying very small babies, and they were similarly left to stand.  This lack of manners made me grumpier, but I grabbed a rail by the side door and stood for the whole 35 minute ride home, talking to a lovely woman who kept throwing her arms out to brace me every time we stopped and started – very sweet of her.  She would have given me her seat if she’d had one, I’m sure.

On the way home, about three stops from mine, it began to pour buckets.  Lightning struck literally blocks away, and we passengers all gazed wide-eyed at one another, shouting “did you SEE that??”  It was a gale.  I had about a mile to walk, I had no umbrella, and was wearing my favorite shoes that also happen to give me blisters.  When we got to my stop, I stepped off the car and was soaked in three seconds.  Oh, the misery.  About 5 blocks from home a lovely couple stopped their car and offered me a ride.  They were going the opposite direction, and I was nearly home, so I thanked them profusely and declined.  A block later, a man pulled over and stuck his umbrella out the window.  That I took with a smile and a thanks – New Orleanians’ manners redeemed.  When I got home, soaked through and exhausted, Jack was wailing in the back bedroom, and I saw puke all over the couch.  And I thought – well if this isn’t the time for me to inconveniently go into labor, I don’t know what is!

I snuggled Jack while the Professor cleaned up, and though the boy very quickly improved, I continued to feel rotten all night.  I slept in Jack’s room with him because he was feverish and I wanted to monitor the throwing-up situation.  He woke up a few times, calling my name, and then snuggled his rump up to my belly, which was very cute.  I slept as best I could, and woke at 6:30 to a fever-free boy, a puke-free bed, and a still sore belly.  Feeling weary and tremendously sorry for myself, I rose to get a shower and get ready for work.  I felt rotten still, but thought I was just recovering from my miserable Monday.  Once out of the shower and breakfasted, I realized that I was feeling rotten for about 40 seconds about every 5 minutes or so.  Hmmmmm.  I decided to wait to leave for work and just catch up on facebook and see what happened.  They wouldn’t mind if I was a little late.

By about 8:30 I knew I was in labor.  I still wasn’t sure if it was a false start or true labor, so we made some hedging phone calls to family (um, you might want to start driving?  Or maybe not?  We’ll let you know . . .) and I facebooked and blogged and watched tv with Jack and tried to stay busy.  I called my midwives, and they said to take a warm bath and see if that ended the contractions, and if not I could come on in and get checked, just to see if I was progressing.  The bath slowed things down but didn’t stop them, so at around 11:30 I drove up to the midwives and they gave me a look-see.  I was 2-3 cm and 60% effaced – labor-speak for “making some good progress, and yes you’re in labor for realz.”  I was THRILLED, thrilled I say.  We headed back home, stopping for a delicious smoothie on the way, and I did more facebooking and what-have-you, trying to pass the time til things got serious.  Early labor with both of my babies was actually almost pleasant.  It’s moderately painful, but exciting to know that the baby is coming, and a huge confidence booster to be able to relax into each contraction, to ride the wave of it, and feel like a total badass laboring earth mother goddess.  Yeah, so that doesn’t last, but you soak it up while you can, and I was feeling quite good and strong.

A little after 1pm the contractions were getting more intense, and to be frank, I was all done with my two-year-old, so we decided it was hospital time.  We drove Jack to a neighbor’s house, where he enthusiastically joined his little friend without even a backward glance at his distressed mother (I’m happy about this, really), and then we headed to the hospital.  Upon arrival I immediately regretted coming, because:

(a) something was malfunctioning with their oxygen sensors, and shrill alarms were going off all over the place.  Maintenance was trying to figure out how to silence them, but man did those WHEE WHEE WHEE WHEE shrieks ruin my Zen Labor Mindset for the 2 hours or so that they were on.

(b) all of the Delivery rooms were full, so we were put in a tiny observation room for several hours til a real room came free, meaning the Professor wasn’t able to start setting up my rented portable water birth tub (which takes a long while to construct, fill, and heat).

(c) the nurses were all frazzled and tetchy, given the chaos of the alarms and full rooms and whatnot.

Well, we were there, and there we were, so we made the best of it.  I laid (lay?  lie?) in the bed for half an hour for my non-stress test (where they check the baby’s heart and your contractions using monitors), and then the Professor and I walked the floor.  Up and down, up and down, for a couple of hours we walked the halls, waiting for a room to come open.  One finally did, and then we waited another hour for someone to START cleaning it.  By the time the older cleaning lady toddled her way in there with her bleach and rags, my contractions were very close together and very difficult to get through.  I would grip the hall handrail and rest my head against the wall, and the Professor would rub my lower back.  Some of these I handled with a moan, but when our (very wonderful) L&D nurse Lynette saw me sob through a particularly difficult one, she went in to hustle the old cleaning lady along, and I heard her get sassed back for it.  Come ON, lady, I am in the freaking HALL here.  This was the point where the earth mother goddess nonsense started to fade, and I sort of folded in on myself and began to think that perhaps it is Crazy Talk to try to have a baby without pain medication.

Finally, sometime between 4 and 5 I think, we were let in the room.  The Professor immediately started dealing with my tub, and Lynette went and fetched me a birth ball.  I had to be in the bed again for 15 minutes for another non-stress test, which I loathed – being in the bed is the worst position to suffer through a contraction, in my opinion.  I much prefer to be up and moving through it, rocking or stretching or just doing something, rather than laying there powerless.  However – Baby must be checked, so I dutifully suffered through.  Lynette checked and announced me between 5-6 cm at this point – I was progressing pretty slowly, but progressing, which was better than my last labor when I stayed 1 cm for 8 hours of increasingly painful contractions.

As soon as the test was all done, I got up and paced or rocked on the ball, standing up to lean on the bed with every contraction.  They were about a minute apart, and I was tearing my hair and cursing God, the baby Jesus, and my uterus with each one, mentally tabulating that if my dilation continued at its current rate, this would take another 4-6 hours or so.  “In 6 hours this will be a memory, in 6 hours this will be a memory” I chanted to myself between contractions.

Lynette said that Cathy, the midwife on call, would be here soon, and once she arrived I could get in the tub.  I really wanted in that tub, for pain relief.  It was almost unbearable at this point.  They made me wait for the midwife, because they said once I was in the tub, things would likely speed up, and they didn’t want me to deliver without her there.  I continued to rock and roll, getting more vocal with each contraction, wishing she would hurry, beginning to feel the need to scream a little bit at the peak of each.  Pretty soon there was almost no rest between them, and I was kind of screeching and groaning continuously.  Lynette checked me again at 6pm-ish, and I was 8cm – dilating a little faster than I had been, and getting close to the goal of 10.  She called Cathy again to hurry her along.

20 minutes later, I was back in the bed for another non-stress test, and felt the pushing urge.  I announced it loudly – “I’m feeling a little pushy here!” – and then pushed my way through a contraction, because that urge is absolutely impossible to deny.  Lynette dashed out and immediately returned with Cathy, who had just arrived, expecting me to be about 7cm or so.  Cathy checked my dilation – 8-9cm, then said “Let’s get in the tub!”  And I said ok – and then a contraction came and I said “Nope.  Too late.  Too late.  Oh holy god in heaven AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!”  And I screamed about as loud as I have ever screamed, and I pushed out his head.

So, that was unexpected.

He was still in the unbroken bag of waters, which the midwife broke with a hook thing.  And there I sat, with a human head sticking out of me, while I waited about three minutes for the next contraction to come so I could push out the rest of him.  Let me tell you about how weird THAT was.  30 seconds ago I thought I had at least an hour left of labor, and now here I was almost done with the baby halfway out and stuck there til my body decided to have another contraction.  I felt no pain in this three minutes between, although I was a little panicky and shrieky still.  I reached down and felt his slimy little face.  I was worried about him, being stuck, and not breathing, and they said that he’s not supposed to breathe til he’s all the way out, and I shouldn’t worry, and it was fine that we were waiting, we could just sit and wait all day for my next contraction.  This surreal conversation eventually came to an end as finally a contraction came on.  I gave a mighty heave and out he slipped – shoulders, torso, hips, legs, feet, I felt every bit of him go through.

And he was in my arms.  It took him a few seconds to cry – the two women massaged and roughed him up a bit to get him breathing, as I gazed in awe at his blue face.  I looked at him and he looked at me – I think each of us was as startled as the other – really, that last bit happened so amazingly fast.  I’m not even sure if I made it all the way to 10 cm, and he was out in 3 pushes – 9 minutes after the midwife walked in the door.

So, all in all it was a bit more frantic, and a bit more difficult than my labor with Jack.  The Birth Center here is in the midst of building another wing, because they do not have the resources to handle their current load of deliveries, and I think my experience reflects that.  For Jack’s labor at a large teaching hospital in North Carolina, there were usually at least one or two people in my room at all times – for this one, we were largely alone as harried workers scurried in for a few seconds, and then rushed off to serve the next woman.  Cathy has 12 women due in the next two weeks, and her partner will be away that whole time.  There just isn’t enough staff to go around.  This, the broken shrieking sensors, the dizzyingly fast transition stage at the end, and my frustration at seeing a beautiful, warm, $250 rented tub sitting in the corner of the room and not being able to get into the damn thing, all contributed to make this a slightly less transcendentally moving experience than my labor with Jack.

But, so what.  He’s here, he’s healthy, I’m recovering well, and I freaking did it.  I powered through an incredibly difficult physical experience, I had my baby, and we’re both healthy and strong and feeling fine.  My recovery has been fabulous – I’m not even taking pain meds, and it was only a 3 stitch tear this time (instead of 15 for Jack!), so I am sitting and standing and moving with ease.  As tough, frustrating, and occasionally scary as that labor was, it also yielded me a handsome little face to love.  So I’m very happy, and proud of both of us.

And that’s my story.  😉