being a mother, your experience may vary: part II, birth
becoming a mother is painful.
here it is, 38 weeks, your baby is now full term and should need no help when he arrives. the worry changes to anxiousness. every part of your body hurts, from your lungs from being cramped to your feet which are swollen. you are running to the bathroom every few minutes and you do everything, every old wives tale, to bring on labor. you walk the mall for hours, cringing every few minutes at the non-productive contractions. you eat fresh pineapple hoping that it will speed things along even though the acids make your heartburn feel like it will burn through your chest. your back aches, your legs hurt, every squirm of the baby feels like an earthquake (a wonderful earthquake, granted, but it hurts)
you go to the doctor and they poke their fingers against your cervix. it aches. you bleed a little and later that day you lose your mucous plug. you finally have proof that your little one will arrive soon and the aches will be over. you celebrate.
you wait. you have false labor after false labor... your contractions coming reliably 5-7 minutes apart but not getting any closer together. your husband worries so much that he takes his leave from work early. he is now glued to your side 24/7 and the hormones running rampant through your body means that this drives you nearly insane. you walk the mall with him, you watch tv with him, you are thankful that he is there to carry the laundry to and from the bedroom since you can't.
two weeks pass, you are now 40 weeks. your due date comes and goes. you continue to do everything possible to speed things along. you would pace back and forth but that is too much effort. you do make double sure that your bags are packed and you have a list of other things you will have to grab last minute, like your glasses. you worry who will watch your dog.
your parents arrive. they want to see you. go places. do things. all you want is to be alone and sleeping. sleep doesn't come anyway since you are too busy peeing. your sister grins hopefully at you every time you have a painful, unproductive contraction. you threaten to kill her next time she smiles in your direction. your mother rushes to get her back to the hotel.
it is 40 weeks, 2 days into your pregnancy. your husband's grandfather's birthday. you have to go be social. you would rather sleep. you feel horrible that day. you are dizzy and nauseous. you go anyway, not too many 80th birthday parties you are going to in your life. you nibble at dinner. you waddle upstairs and puke. you get your husband to take you to the pharmacy to get your blood pressure checked. it is high. you call your doctor and they send you to the hospital.
at the hospital they run tests. they put you on iv. they hook you up so they can see your contractions on screen. your blood pressure comes down. your contractions are every 6 minutes, not enough to keep you there. you are 1cm dilated. they send you home. your parents drive you crazy with questions, like why aren't they keeping you.
your contractions continue to haunt you, but you are feeling a bit more human at least. during the night, your contractions get closer together. not close enough. they last all day too. around 10pm you time them to find out they are 2 minutes apart, you call the doctor. they don't call you back til 1am. you go to the hospital. back on monitors. yep, 2 minutes apart. then 3. then 5. wait, you are going backwards? fuck this shit. get this baby out! they check your cervix. you are now 3cm. you bleed heavily after the exam.
they tell you you are probably in the early stages of labor. you can walk the hospital grounds for 2 hours or go home. it is now 5am. you go home. your friend stays with you, on the couch at home. you can't get up and walk, it hurts. you can't pee. you don't want to eat. you don't drink. not drinking turns out to be one of the biggest mistakes of your life. you stay on the couch, contractions every 5 minutes. you don't sleep, how can you when you are awakened every 5 minutes by your body doing its damnedest to tear itself apart?
you give up around 7pm. your friend has been gone for maybe an hour. you get out the timer and discover you are back to 2 minutes apart. the doctor sends you back to the hospital. they put you back on the monitors. you are every 2-3 minutes apart. they tell you that you are going to have a baby. no shit. they start your IV. well, they try to. three times, three different techs before they call an IV specialist. see, you weren't drinking, so congratulations! you are dehydrated.
your husband calls your support people. your father pitches a royal fit because he is not going to be in the delivery room with you. you were hoping to have little to no stress, forget it. you get up to the room, kill time as best as you can. it is 11pm. you have been in labor for over 2 days already.
you get up to go pee. they have dumped 3 bags of IV fluid in you already. nothing comes out, nothing at all. you sob. all you want to do is pee, is that so much to ask? while you are in the bathroom your father calls and screams at your mother for a while. you hear every word. you sob harder. frustration lives in the space between the contractions.
the nurse comes in, you have been in the bathroom for half an hour, off the monitors. you still can't pee. you beg them to catheterize you. they do, and almost nothing comes out. you are ready to scream because you are sure your bladder will burst, but they baby's head is blocking it. it is 1am.
your contractions slow down. they are still excruciating, you promised yourself no drugs or interventions. you haven't slept in 36 or more hours. you are exhausted and there is still pushing to go. your body is giving up too, your contractions are down to every 5 minutes, you are 8cm dialated and they break your water, hoping to help things along. it is 2am.
at 3am you tearfully make the decision to take the epidural, so you can sleep. this is the hardest thing you have ever done, you feel like you are letting yourself and your husband down. they chase everyone out of the room but your husband. he is there holding you steady while they insert the epidural into your spine. relief is blessed and complete, well, other than the itching. you catnap, feeling oddly guilty. everyone but your mother sleeps too. she watches you, keeping you safe. you hope you can be as strong as she is one day. it is 5am.
it is now 7am. your contractions have stopped even though you are fully dilated. completely stopped. your mother is shaking because she needs her insulin but she won't leave your side. you send her away to get it while they administer pitocin. another thing you promised yourself you wouldn't need or take. your contractions resume. you still, blessedly, can't feel them.
it is 10:30am. you finally are told to push whether you feel the need or not. you bear down as hard as you can. you can't feel the contractions but you can oddly feel the doctors fingers trying to stretch you out as your boy comes down. you can see the whole thing in the mirror at the foot of your bed. you feel guilty for your mom and husband having to hold up your legs. the doctor excitedly announces that the boy has hair, you knew that from an ultrasound and you are tempted to tell the doctor what she can do with that announcement.
you keep pushing, you forget to tuck your chin down but it doesn't matter. you see the top of your baby's head. you see his head come out. his skin is grey and you worry. the doctor yells at you to stop pushing as she cuts the cord from around his tiny throat. your husband won't have the honor of cutting the cord. you think it is another failure on your part. the rest of your boy comes out on the next push, your boy and a rush of green fluid. the doctor yells for pediatrics with the word meconium. he pooped inside you, and may have inhaled it and swallowed it. it is 11:02am. riders on the storm plays quietly in the background.
they rush his limp body to the incubator side of the room. you send your husband over to his side and wait for him to cry out. and wait. there is a small sneeze, then a wail. it is the sweetest sound but your arms are still empty. that is the emptiest feeling in the world. the doctor is pushing down on your belly. you feel something slimy slide out and your placenta is put into a box. you get stitches from where you tore, only a few the doctor says. they are wheeling away your placenta, you are still a smartass, so you ask "what's in the box?" both your husband and the nurse immediately turn it into a Se7en reference.
nearly an hour has passed since your boy came into the world. they are still working on him. oxygen and aspirators and rubbing. they decide to rush him to the NICU. the head nurse won't let them leave until he has been in your arms. they bring him over, a tiny oxygen mask held up to his tiny, perfect face. you are suddenly terrified that she won't let them take him because he is going to die. you memorize his face for the minute they let you have him, then he is gone. your arms are emptier than before.
your husband is clearly torn between staying with his sobbing wife and going with his fragile new boy. you practically scream at him to follow his son. he runs after the nurses.
you wait for news. an hour passes. then two. you fill out his request for a social security card and birth certificate. they bring you lunch and you pick at the rubbery meal until it is cold and the salad warm. a nurse comes in and tells you that he is doing well enough, they may have to keep him in the NICU for 48 hours for antibiotics. another hour passes. they transfer you to the postpartum floor. you are alone. everyone has gone home to sleep. you cry.
the nurse comes in and says your son is doing so well he can come to your room in a little while. she gives you the basics of what you need to do. you still aren't able to get out of bed until the epidural wears off completely. she is going over some paperwork as your husband walks in followed by your baby boy. you rejoice. you pick him up and hold him, safe in your arms as the memory of the pain drains away into wonder at this tiny life you created. his yawn melts your heart. his cry makes you smile. it has all been worth it. every bit of the pain.
here it is, 38 weeks, your baby is now full term and should need no help when he arrives. the worry changes to anxiousness. every part of your body hurts, from your lungs from being cramped to your feet which are swollen. you are running to the bathroom every few minutes and you do everything, every old wives tale, to bring on labor. you walk the mall for hours, cringing every few minutes at the non-productive contractions. you eat fresh pineapple hoping that it will speed things along even though the acids make your heartburn feel like it will burn through your chest. your back aches, your legs hurt, every squirm of the baby feels like an earthquake (a wonderful earthquake, granted, but it hurts)
you go to the doctor and they poke their fingers against your cervix. it aches. you bleed a little and later that day you lose your mucous plug. you finally have proof that your little one will arrive soon and the aches will be over. you celebrate.
you wait. you have false labor after false labor... your contractions coming reliably 5-7 minutes apart but not getting any closer together. your husband worries so much that he takes his leave from work early. he is now glued to your side 24/7 and the hormones running rampant through your body means that this drives you nearly insane. you walk the mall with him, you watch tv with him, you are thankful that he is there to carry the laundry to and from the bedroom since you can't.
two weeks pass, you are now 40 weeks. your due date comes and goes. you continue to do everything possible to speed things along. you would pace back and forth but that is too much effort. you do make double sure that your bags are packed and you have a list of other things you will have to grab last minute, like your glasses. you worry who will watch your dog.
your parents arrive. they want to see you. go places. do things. all you want is to be alone and sleeping. sleep doesn't come anyway since you are too busy peeing. your sister grins hopefully at you every time you have a painful, unproductive contraction. you threaten to kill her next time she smiles in your direction. your mother rushes to get her back to the hotel.
it is 40 weeks, 2 days into your pregnancy. your husband's grandfather's birthday. you have to go be social. you would rather sleep. you feel horrible that day. you are dizzy and nauseous. you go anyway, not too many 80th birthday parties you are going to in your life. you nibble at dinner. you waddle upstairs and puke. you get your husband to take you to the pharmacy to get your blood pressure checked. it is high. you call your doctor and they send you to the hospital.
at the hospital they run tests. they put you on iv. they hook you up so they can see your contractions on screen. your blood pressure comes down. your contractions are every 6 minutes, not enough to keep you there. you are 1cm dilated. they send you home. your parents drive you crazy with questions, like why aren't they keeping you.
your contractions continue to haunt you, but you are feeling a bit more human at least. during the night, your contractions get closer together. not close enough. they last all day too. around 10pm you time them to find out they are 2 minutes apart, you call the doctor. they don't call you back til 1am. you go to the hospital. back on monitors. yep, 2 minutes apart. then 3. then 5. wait, you are going backwards? fuck this shit. get this baby out! they check your cervix. you are now 3cm. you bleed heavily after the exam.
they tell you you are probably in the early stages of labor. you can walk the hospital grounds for 2 hours or go home. it is now 5am. you go home. your friend stays with you, on the couch at home. you can't get up and walk, it hurts. you can't pee. you don't want to eat. you don't drink. not drinking turns out to be one of the biggest mistakes of your life. you stay on the couch, contractions every 5 minutes. you don't sleep, how can you when you are awakened every 5 minutes by your body doing its damnedest to tear itself apart?
you give up around 7pm. your friend has been gone for maybe an hour. you get out the timer and discover you are back to 2 minutes apart. the doctor sends you back to the hospital. they put you back on the monitors. you are every 2-3 minutes apart. they tell you that you are going to have a baby. no shit. they start your IV. well, they try to. three times, three different techs before they call an IV specialist. see, you weren't drinking, so congratulations! you are dehydrated.
your husband calls your support people. your father pitches a royal fit because he is not going to be in the delivery room with you. you were hoping to have little to no stress, forget it. you get up to the room, kill time as best as you can. it is 11pm. you have been in labor for over 2 days already.
you get up to go pee. they have dumped 3 bags of IV fluid in you already. nothing comes out, nothing at all. you sob. all you want to do is pee, is that so much to ask? while you are in the bathroom your father calls and screams at your mother for a while. you hear every word. you sob harder. frustration lives in the space between the contractions.
the nurse comes in, you have been in the bathroom for half an hour, off the monitors. you still can't pee. you beg them to catheterize you. they do, and almost nothing comes out. you are ready to scream because you are sure your bladder will burst, but they baby's head is blocking it. it is 1am.
your contractions slow down. they are still excruciating, you promised yourself no drugs or interventions. you haven't slept in 36 or more hours. you are exhausted and there is still pushing to go. your body is giving up too, your contractions are down to every 5 minutes, you are 8cm dialated and they break your water, hoping to help things along. it is 2am.
at 3am you tearfully make the decision to take the epidural, so you can sleep. this is the hardest thing you have ever done, you feel like you are letting yourself and your husband down. they chase everyone out of the room but your husband. he is there holding you steady while they insert the epidural into your spine. relief is blessed and complete, well, other than the itching. you catnap, feeling oddly guilty. everyone but your mother sleeps too. she watches you, keeping you safe. you hope you can be as strong as she is one day. it is 5am.
it is now 7am. your contractions have stopped even though you are fully dilated. completely stopped. your mother is shaking because she needs her insulin but she won't leave your side. you send her away to get it while they administer pitocin. another thing you promised yourself you wouldn't need or take. your contractions resume. you still, blessedly, can't feel them.
it is 10:30am. you finally are told to push whether you feel the need or not. you bear down as hard as you can. you can't feel the contractions but you can oddly feel the doctors fingers trying to stretch you out as your boy comes down. you can see the whole thing in the mirror at the foot of your bed. you feel guilty for your mom and husband having to hold up your legs. the doctor excitedly announces that the boy has hair, you knew that from an ultrasound and you are tempted to tell the doctor what she can do with that announcement.
you keep pushing, you forget to tuck your chin down but it doesn't matter. you see the top of your baby's head. you see his head come out. his skin is grey and you worry. the doctor yells at you to stop pushing as she cuts the cord from around his tiny throat. your husband won't have the honor of cutting the cord. you think it is another failure on your part. the rest of your boy comes out on the next push, your boy and a rush of green fluid. the doctor yells for pediatrics with the word meconium. he pooped inside you, and may have inhaled it and swallowed it. it is 11:02am. riders on the storm plays quietly in the background.
they rush his limp body to the incubator side of the room. you send your husband over to his side and wait for him to cry out. and wait. there is a small sneeze, then a wail. it is the sweetest sound but your arms are still empty. that is the emptiest feeling in the world. the doctor is pushing down on your belly. you feel something slimy slide out and your placenta is put into a box. you get stitches from where you tore, only a few the doctor says. they are wheeling away your placenta, you are still a smartass, so you ask "what's in the box?" both your husband and the nurse immediately turn it into a Se7en reference.
nearly an hour has passed since your boy came into the world. they are still working on him. oxygen and aspirators and rubbing. they decide to rush him to the NICU. the head nurse won't let them leave until he has been in your arms. they bring him over, a tiny oxygen mask held up to his tiny, perfect face. you are suddenly terrified that she won't let them take him because he is going to die. you memorize his face for the minute they let you have him, then he is gone. your arms are emptier than before.
your husband is clearly torn between staying with his sobbing wife and going with his fragile new boy. you practically scream at him to follow his son. he runs after the nurses.
you wait for news. an hour passes. then two. you fill out his request for a social security card and birth certificate. they bring you lunch and you pick at the rubbery meal until it is cold and the salad warm. a nurse comes in and tells you that he is doing well enough, they may have to keep him in the NICU for 48 hours for antibiotics. another hour passes. they transfer you to the postpartum floor. you are alone. everyone has gone home to sleep. you cry.
the nurse comes in and says your son is doing so well he can come to your room in a little while. she gives you the basics of what you need to do. you still aren't able to get out of bed until the epidural wears off completely. she is going over some paperwork as your husband walks in followed by your baby boy. you rejoice. you pick him up and hold him, safe in your arms as the memory of the pain drains away into wonder at this tiny life you created. his yawn melts your heart. his cry makes you smile. it has all been worth it. every bit of the pain.