LOOOOoooong Entry.
My prodromial labor started Thursday June 29 with super light contractions and then they went away the next morning. This continued for 3 days, with them starting almost like clockwork every day around 6pm and continuing until noon. However, they got progressively stronger with each day. Sleep was challenging.
Friday night, I really thought they would stick around but they completely vanished on Saturday-enough so that we could take Mira to the beach and relax. In retrospect, I could have/should have napped, but I wanted to be a part of the fun, too. Again, they started in the evening, this time at the dinner table and Mira held my hand because I thought I was going to puke. These lasted until noonish on Sunday.
Auntie Mickey came up Sunday afternoon and she, Tom and I sat in the backyard and drank a glass of wine (this is good for starting rushes) while Mira napped. It was wonderful to have some time with her, especially considering that my rushes came on with a vengeance at 6pm that night, Sunday July 2. It was nice for Mick to be here because after they started, I was sequestered in the bedroom for the night. She made dinner and Tom hung out with me, putting cold washcloths on my forehead and such. We talked about how it felt like I had to get “under” the rush to control it, which I still can’t explain any better than saying it’s like surrendering to it, but actively.
When we went to sleep, I couldn’t sleep through the rushes anymore. This was a good sign, but I had a hard time dealing with them in the middle of the night-mostly alone, because Tom is such a heavy sleeper he wouldn’t wake up even if I squeezed his hand sometimes. I felt really isolated and alone and scared. Tom wasn’t really helpful when he was awake, either. He got really impatient with me because I couldn’t get comfortable anymore and I saw shades of a horrible labor experience ahead of me. Our doula, Leslie, later told me I could have called her and I wish that I would have because with Tom sleeping I felt so panicked and full of anxiety-and with him awake, I felt like I had to reassure HIM---- that I considered waking him and just going to the hospital to have the baby. I mean, I considered it seriously.
Leslie came over at 10am an Monday June 3, when my contractions were 10 minutes apart. Miranda left for AnnaMaria’s about the same time, and frankly, I was glad to have the quiet time to start dealing with this labor directly. AnnaMaria promised to keep her cell phone on that day because we anticipated calling her to get Miranda so that Mira could cut the cord and be here for the birth moment. I felt floods of relief with Leslie here. I was relieved for Tom, too, knowing that he could do some of his own thing for a little while that day, before everything got too intense. But he was cute, busting out props for me to sit/sleep on in the tub from his campgear… trying to help the best he could, getting in the tub with me on occasion, but I found that to be extremely distracting.
It was really irritating to have people moving around me, especially touching me and moving their hands on my skin, during a contraction. It really made me lose my concentration and made the pain more intense, and it seemed like everyone forgot and did it anyway. I got more and more direct and demanding the more intense my labor got. At one point, much much later, I yelled, “Tommy!” because Tom was moving his hands-I’ve never called him that in my entire life! (and never will again).
I labored all day, in the tub and out of the tub, trying to sleep as much as possible, although most of the rushes required me to breathe through them, so they interrupted sleep for sure. I managed to nap for 1.5 hours in the tub when Leslie set up the pillows for me in a way that helped that. And then I slept on the futon, on my stomach, with the help of many pillows. Leslie tells me now that I slept like that for 2 hours. I had no concept of time. Tom also slept during that time, right next to me. While we were there, Leslie called our midwife Christine and she came over to check my progress with dilation/effacement. While she was here, which I’m told was about 3:00 pm, we all decided that checking me could wait because there was another woman ready to start pushing at the birth center, so I told Christine she could go. She said, “You look so comfortable and I’m going to leave my things here and just have Leslie call me when you need me again.”
We had a pregnancy massage table that we borrowed from friends and once I laid on there, I passed out for a few hours on my belly about 6pm. Things started getting more intense while I was on there, so Christine came over about 8pm again and checked my cervix. I had been having rushes 3-5 minutes apart for 2.5 hours. I was worried that Christine was going to tell me I was only like 2-3cm dilated, but NO. 6cm, only 4 more to go. I was so stinkin’ relieved to know that, it gave me the strength to deal with the increasing intensity of rushes for what would be the next 9 hours.
All of the factual knowledge that I have, like the concept of time, has come to be in conversation after the fact. I really had no idea what was going on around me aside from needing to pee, waiting for the next rush, and not wanting to be left alone. Something I remember doing is when I was laboring sitting up, Tom and Leslie were supporting me from both sides-one in front and one behind. I would say, “Belly!” and someone would appear out of nowhere… or, at least it seemed to me because I didn’t wear my glasses this whole time. I’d say Belly, and someone would “poof” out of my peripheral vision for me to put my head on their belly. It was nice having my needs attended to so thoroughly, without question, and so promptly. I don’t think I can name another time in my life that I’ve felt so vulnerable and supported at the same time.
Eventually, I was getting really tired and kept saying things like, “Ok, I don’t want to do this anymore.” And, “Can we check yet?” and just generally over the whole scene. I remember Tom asking me if it would be better for Leslie and him to just tell me what they were going to do to help, instead of asking me if I wanted to do it. I said yes, because I felt more like I didn’t know what I wanted or needed. I think I was even panicking a little, afraid of more intense labor, afraid of pushing through my contractions because they hurt so much already I didn’t want to exacerbate them. I was scared. Christine checked me and I was still about 6cm at 2am. She decided that she wanted to break my water, to get things moving a bit more since my rushes were maintaining without increase. So I had to take a while to decide on what to do, but finally agreed.
I crawled on the futon and the ladies piled hospital pads on the mattress and there were pillows behind me and I leaned on Tom. It’s hard to relax enough for someone to stick stuff up your dilly when you’re anticipating another contraction and are afraid that having something up there is going to make it worse. And the instrument for water-breaking is like a large crochet hook… So when she broke my water, it was loaded with thick meconium. This meant we had to go to the hospital, in case Sweetpea needed respiratory support after delivery. It wasn’t an emergency, but Tom started panicking at this point. I think he was revisiting a bit of Miranda’s birth, which was very traumatic. Later he told me that the whole sensory experience was so familiar, especially the olfactory. I’m sure that sent his body into fight or flight mode, because the sense of smell is so powerful.
Tom was running around trying to find the sweatsuit from Denise that I wanted to bring with me, but could only find the top… so I knew where it was but couldn’t explain it to him with my attention on slowing my contractions, and he was collecting other things by then so I just went in the bedroom by myself and grabbed the pants and then by the time Tom got back to the nurfice (nursery/office), I was sitting on the bed with the pants. He was confused, which is funny in retrospect but he wasn’t in the mood for funny, and nor was I. It was just a really intense change of mindset to be going to the hospital. This was 3am, Tuesday July 4.
I was nervous to be transported to the hospital, so I started breathing really shallow when I had rushes. When I got up to leave, I was dripping meconium, which kinda made me panic because that meant that Sweetpea wasn’t inside hir little cocoon anymore, that much closer to the world AND my labia. I discovered that I couldn’t talk, so the trip to the hospital was quiet and Tom kept checking in with me (as did Leslie before we left the house), but this irritated me because I was trying to just be quiet. I don’t know why Tom irritated me so much. Looking back, it wasn’t that often. I think I just remember those moments because they were so intense; and mostly, my irritation factor was highest when there was something I was being expected to do, like respond. Anyway, in the car, my breathing successfully kept rushes really light, which I was glad about since I really didn’t want to deal with intense contractions on the go. Labor is scary. But you just do it.
I felt badly that I hadn’t packed hospital bags before, and I also was irritated that I had to fill out paperwork when we got to the hospital; two things that I wish I had taken care of ‘just-in-case’, but didn’t because I had faith in our homebirth scenario. Granted, I didn’t dwell on these things because there were more important things going on, but they crossed my mind and I wished they had gone more smoothly. I’m signing my name on the hospital paperwork thinking it was the beginning of a long and hard struggle against the Western medical establishment and I would have cried if I hadn’t been so afraid that it would hurt-and longing to lie down again as fast as possible.
So we got into a hospital birthing room and I labored for 4 more hours naturally, and finally I said, “How many times have I said that I don’t want to do this anymore?” Fully prepared to keep doing it, being sarcastic. Christine is the one that said, “You know Carolyn, if you really feel that way it’s okay. If you are done and have gotten everything you can from this experience, that’s okay.” I was so relieved to hear someone say that. Who says that? Beautiful people say things like that to you in times of crisis. They are magical, beautiful people that give you the gift of hearing you. Shortly thereafter, while I mulled this over and was checked at 7cm, Dr. Werner and Christine started talking pitocin because I was really not progressing very quickly. I must say, we really got the lucky end of the stick as far as hospital staff goes. The doctor consulted with my midwives on everything, which made me relax and trust him much more. I labored a few more hours and was still at 7cm, at which point I said okay to the pitocin after consulting with Tom, Christine and Leslie for a long time.
I said, “Fine, but call the anesthesiologist because I’m either having a fully natural labor or I’m not. Give me the epidural. And give it to me first because if I feel one pitocin contraction I’m going to panic and throw up.” So they called the anesthesiologist and Sharon, the one person I did NOT have a good experience with, panicked because she realized she didn’t have a fetal reading from the monitor for the past 20 minutes, so as the epidural is going in, she’s kneeling in front of me, pushing around on my large round contracting belly, while I’m supposed to be holding still. I said a few times, “Ok, everyone needs to stop touching me.” And Tom did, but stayed right by me. But Sharon didn’t. I said,“Ok, leave me alone.” And she didn’t, so I finally said, “Goddammit Sharon!” and she backed off and left and I didn’t see her again.
The epidural was great. I slept soundly for 4 hours. I woke up once to an attending nurse flipping me onto my other side. When she came in, Tom woke up sitting on a doctor’s wheelie stool, his head resting on the foot of my bed behind my knees, and his cheek in some blood. Haha. It was after that he made a fort underneath the table with the couch cushions. Christine and Leslie were both asleep on the extra sidebed, crosswise. I have a vague image of them covered in their coats and sweaters and I remember thinking, “Oh, they didn’t vanish.” Because really, from the time I got an epidural, I was asleep. I remember nothing of other people around or anything. It’s strange to realize that you need these people so much and then when a reprieve came along, I was oblivious to them or their whereabouts. I didn’t even have a clue where Tom had been.
At 9am, still on Tuesday July 4, the doctor came in to check me and I was at 10cm. 10 glorious centimeters in my sleep. He said, “Ok, you can start pushing at any time.” And I was kinda stunned. I said, “Like, now? Well, let me collect myself and wake up, I guess.” And everyone thought that was cute or something because they all laughed, but I was serious! My mom showed up somewhere in between the epidural and the pushing, but I don’t know when it was. Tom had called her when we left for the hospital, just to let her know what was going on, and finally she couldn’t wait to hear anymore and just wanted to be close. I was fine with her being there, but I didn’t want her in the room, and she was fine with that. So everyone was fine. Fine.
So I pushed. For 6 hours. We tried the bar, we tried sidelying, we counted three breaths each time and each time I would lie down and belch. Then all of us would laugh. At one point, another nurse, Katherine, asked me if I wanted any “hospital fluids” and we all laughed because, well, ew. But I said, “No but I’ll take a scotch.” And we all laughed again. Really, we had a great time. Katherine asked me about my thesis, so we talked about feminism and such. At one point the doctor said, “I’ve never had so much fun during a birth!” Tom invited everyone over for a bbq the next day (which, of course, did not happen), but it was fun.
My epidural was turned down halfway to help me push, but I had a hard time pushing through contractions. It just felt wrong, after spending so much time relaxing through them and figuring out how to get underneath them, to be pushing on them. So I fought my self-preservation instinct through most of my pushing. Strange, huh? And I wish I hadn’t switched positions the first time someone suggested it. I don’t know if there was reason to suggest a different position or what, but I was open to the potential of being more productive. So I got up to the bar, but didn’t like it. And then it seemed like I never got the power back that I had in the beginning.
I got to +1 station and Sweetpea kept retreating backward and getting blocked by my pubic bone. Dr. Werner and Christine suggested the suction cup extraction method, which of course on a normal day I would have said, “No way. Not me. Not my labor.” Tom asked all the pertinent questions, because I was once again, exhausted. We tried it. Dr. Werner did everything he could to facilitate a vaginal birth, and after 3 nights of prodromial labor and 45 hours of active labor, so did I.
When the suction cup popped off, Christine told me that we had done everything we could, but that I would have to go into surgery. Frankly, I didn’t care. I didn’t feel like a failure, I didn’t feel like I’d been victimized by the hospital, and I didn’t feel like there was any other choice. We were all exhausted. I said, “Fine. Turn off the pitocin and up the epidural because I don’t want to feel these contractions anymore then.” They had to call the anesthesiologist again, so we waited and I tried to breathe down the contractions again as I had on the way to the hospital, but it wasn’t working. I was still having intense rushes. I was really quiet, and didn’t want to talk to anyone. Tom kept checking on me, and I would just nod, and there were a few times I gave hand signals to people… and then, Sharon said, “Oops! I forgot to turn off the pitocin.” And I was LIVID! But I didn’t move, I didn’t open my eyes, I just lay there.
So when the anesthesiologist arrived, Tom broke it down for him real quick-like, and I was glad he was talking for me. I recall him saying at the end of his explanation, “So basically you need to make them go away now.” But there was more waiting because he could do a more thorough one for surgery in the O.R., and blahblah. I don’t remember anything except I had to wait out more rushes.
I got wheeled down the hall with Tome holding my hand, and Leslie trailing behind him. They waited outside the operating room, with Tom putting on scrubs and whatever else he needed to do… and in the meantime, I’m receiving my second spinal block. But this one didn’t work. Every time they checked me for sensation, I could tell them precisely where they were poking me. There was a nurse, Ina, who I just loved and made it into surgery with me. She was sitting up at my head while everyone else bustled around below my waist. I didn’t like the curtain they put up, or the idea that they were going to strap my wrists down (they weren’t), and I was generally panicking at this point. I was scared that the surgeon would start without waiting for the drugs to kick in, like saying you’re going to count to 3 to pull out a sliver but really doing it on 2 for the sake of the slivered person. And my mother felt her c-section… So here I was, really feeling what was going on… well, you get the picture.
So the decision was made to give me a general anesthetic, which panicked me even more, but I was so resigned to whatever needed to happen that I didn’t think much about it. I remember Ina sitting by me, and I asked for the surgeon. Dr. Holzman came around the drape and since I didn’t have my glasses on, she was all blurry and blue in her scrubs. I asked about Dr. Werner and she said, “No it’s me, the funny one.” And I responded, “Well, looks aren’t everything.” Because she looked like a muppet with her mask and stuff. So there was more laughing (the resigned part of me) and then I told her that she had to take care of me and she promised. Then I started sobbing (the panicked part of me) because I wouldn’t see Tom. They don’t let in family members when someone is under a general. I didn’t ask why.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, they went and gave Tom the news and he broke down on Leslie’s shoulder. 15 minutes later, they heard crying and Ina came out with a baby and immediately gave it to Tom without telling him if it was a boy or girl. So he went to the nursery and undressed him. Aha! Then they sat in a rocking chair and Tom took off his shirt to bond with Leo. So, like any brand new baby would, Leo latched on to Tom’s nipple! I’m so glad Tom is an enlightened man and just let him do whatever his baby needs were.
I came out of the recovery room an hour later, and as I was turning the corner to my room, the nurse said, “Just in time. Here comes your partner with your baby.” And Tom leaned over me, crying, and put Leo’s cheek against mine and said, “Here’s your son Leo.” And I started crying with him. I think we cried for an hour or so, curled up together looking at him.
I could write more about the stay in the hospital, like how Tom proposed to me again the night Leo was born because he said he didn’t have any idea how strong I was before then, or how we contemplated going up to the roof to see the fireworks but fell asleep too early, or how we didn’t have our phones and couldn’t call anyone to tell them, or how I felt when Tom left me alone with Leo for the first time because he had to get stuff (like our phones), or how wonderful it was to come home to a clean house thanks to our midwives, or the card Miranda made for her little brother and how grown-up she looked when she first came to visit, or how beautiful all the flowers were from our families, or how my mom cried when she came in and Tom held her up, and when I told her to touch Leo she said, “Touch him?” like I was crazy or like she would spontaneously combust, or about how Miranda looked at me with immense heart-bursting joy the first time she held Leo, and how I cried and cried as we left the hospital with this tiny little boy and our little girl was so proud of him and held my hand the whole time… but that wouldn’t be a birth story anymore.
Friday night, I really thought they would stick around but they completely vanished on Saturday-enough so that we could take Mira to the beach and relax. In retrospect, I could have/should have napped, but I wanted to be a part of the fun, too. Again, they started in the evening, this time at the dinner table and Mira held my hand because I thought I was going to puke. These lasted until noonish on Sunday.
Auntie Mickey came up Sunday afternoon and she, Tom and I sat in the backyard and drank a glass of wine (this is good for starting rushes) while Mira napped. It was wonderful to have some time with her, especially considering that my rushes came on with a vengeance at 6pm that night, Sunday July 2. It was nice for Mick to be here because after they started, I was sequestered in the bedroom for the night. She made dinner and Tom hung out with me, putting cold washcloths on my forehead and such. We talked about how it felt like I had to get “under” the rush to control it, which I still can’t explain any better than saying it’s like surrendering to it, but actively.
When we went to sleep, I couldn’t sleep through the rushes anymore. This was a good sign, but I had a hard time dealing with them in the middle of the night-mostly alone, because Tom is such a heavy sleeper he wouldn’t wake up even if I squeezed his hand sometimes. I felt really isolated and alone and scared. Tom wasn’t really helpful when he was awake, either. He got really impatient with me because I couldn’t get comfortable anymore and I saw shades of a horrible labor experience ahead of me. Our doula, Leslie, later told me I could have called her and I wish that I would have because with Tom sleeping I felt so panicked and full of anxiety-and with him awake, I felt like I had to reassure HIM---- that I considered waking him and just going to the hospital to have the baby. I mean, I considered it seriously.
Leslie came over at 10am an Monday June 3, when my contractions were 10 minutes apart. Miranda left for AnnaMaria’s about the same time, and frankly, I was glad to have the quiet time to start dealing with this labor directly. AnnaMaria promised to keep her cell phone on that day because we anticipated calling her to get Miranda so that Mira could cut the cord and be here for the birth moment. I felt floods of relief with Leslie here. I was relieved for Tom, too, knowing that he could do some of his own thing for a little while that day, before everything got too intense. But he was cute, busting out props for me to sit/sleep on in the tub from his campgear… trying to help the best he could, getting in the tub with me on occasion, but I found that to be extremely distracting.
It was really irritating to have people moving around me, especially touching me and moving their hands on my skin, during a contraction. It really made me lose my concentration and made the pain more intense, and it seemed like everyone forgot and did it anyway. I got more and more direct and demanding the more intense my labor got. At one point, much much later, I yelled, “Tommy!” because Tom was moving his hands-I’ve never called him that in my entire life! (and never will again).
I labored all day, in the tub and out of the tub, trying to sleep as much as possible, although most of the rushes required me to breathe through them, so they interrupted sleep for sure. I managed to nap for 1.5 hours in the tub when Leslie set up the pillows for me in a way that helped that. And then I slept on the futon, on my stomach, with the help of many pillows. Leslie tells me now that I slept like that for 2 hours. I had no concept of time. Tom also slept during that time, right next to me. While we were there, Leslie called our midwife Christine and she came over to check my progress with dilation/effacement. While she was here, which I’m told was about 3:00 pm, we all decided that checking me could wait because there was another woman ready to start pushing at the birth center, so I told Christine she could go. She said, “You look so comfortable and I’m going to leave my things here and just have Leslie call me when you need me again.”
We had a pregnancy massage table that we borrowed from friends and once I laid on there, I passed out for a few hours on my belly about 6pm. Things started getting more intense while I was on there, so Christine came over about 8pm again and checked my cervix. I had been having rushes 3-5 minutes apart for 2.5 hours. I was worried that Christine was going to tell me I was only like 2-3cm dilated, but NO. 6cm, only 4 more to go. I was so stinkin’ relieved to know that, it gave me the strength to deal with the increasing intensity of rushes for what would be the next 9 hours.
All of the factual knowledge that I have, like the concept of time, has come to be in conversation after the fact. I really had no idea what was going on around me aside from needing to pee, waiting for the next rush, and not wanting to be left alone. Something I remember doing is when I was laboring sitting up, Tom and Leslie were supporting me from both sides-one in front and one behind. I would say, “Belly!” and someone would appear out of nowhere… or, at least it seemed to me because I didn’t wear my glasses this whole time. I’d say Belly, and someone would “poof” out of my peripheral vision for me to put my head on their belly. It was nice having my needs attended to so thoroughly, without question, and so promptly. I don’t think I can name another time in my life that I’ve felt so vulnerable and supported at the same time.
Eventually, I was getting really tired and kept saying things like, “Ok, I don’t want to do this anymore.” And, “Can we check yet?” and just generally over the whole scene. I remember Tom asking me if it would be better for Leslie and him to just tell me what they were going to do to help, instead of asking me if I wanted to do it. I said yes, because I felt more like I didn’t know what I wanted or needed. I think I was even panicking a little, afraid of more intense labor, afraid of pushing through my contractions because they hurt so much already I didn’t want to exacerbate them. I was scared. Christine checked me and I was still about 6cm at 2am. She decided that she wanted to break my water, to get things moving a bit more since my rushes were maintaining without increase. So I had to take a while to decide on what to do, but finally agreed.
I crawled on the futon and the ladies piled hospital pads on the mattress and there were pillows behind me and I leaned on Tom. It’s hard to relax enough for someone to stick stuff up your dilly when you’re anticipating another contraction and are afraid that having something up there is going to make it worse. And the instrument for water-breaking is like a large crochet hook… So when she broke my water, it was loaded with thick meconium. This meant we had to go to the hospital, in case Sweetpea needed respiratory support after delivery. It wasn’t an emergency, but Tom started panicking at this point. I think he was revisiting a bit of Miranda’s birth, which was very traumatic. Later he told me that the whole sensory experience was so familiar, especially the olfactory. I’m sure that sent his body into fight or flight mode, because the sense of smell is so powerful.
Tom was running around trying to find the sweatsuit from Denise that I wanted to bring with me, but could only find the top… so I knew where it was but couldn’t explain it to him with my attention on slowing my contractions, and he was collecting other things by then so I just went in the bedroom by myself and grabbed the pants and then by the time Tom got back to the nurfice (nursery/office), I was sitting on the bed with the pants. He was confused, which is funny in retrospect but he wasn’t in the mood for funny, and nor was I. It was just a really intense change of mindset to be going to the hospital. This was 3am, Tuesday July 4.
I was nervous to be transported to the hospital, so I started breathing really shallow when I had rushes. When I got up to leave, I was dripping meconium, which kinda made me panic because that meant that Sweetpea wasn’t inside hir little cocoon anymore, that much closer to the world AND my labia. I discovered that I couldn’t talk, so the trip to the hospital was quiet and Tom kept checking in with me (as did Leslie before we left the house), but this irritated me because I was trying to just be quiet. I don’t know why Tom irritated me so much. Looking back, it wasn’t that often. I think I just remember those moments because they were so intense; and mostly, my irritation factor was highest when there was something I was being expected to do, like respond. Anyway, in the car, my breathing successfully kept rushes really light, which I was glad about since I really didn’t want to deal with intense contractions on the go. Labor is scary. But you just do it.
I felt badly that I hadn’t packed hospital bags before, and I also was irritated that I had to fill out paperwork when we got to the hospital; two things that I wish I had taken care of ‘just-in-case’, but didn’t because I had faith in our homebirth scenario. Granted, I didn’t dwell on these things because there were more important things going on, but they crossed my mind and I wished they had gone more smoothly. I’m signing my name on the hospital paperwork thinking it was the beginning of a long and hard struggle against the Western medical establishment and I would have cried if I hadn’t been so afraid that it would hurt-and longing to lie down again as fast as possible.
So we got into a hospital birthing room and I labored for 4 more hours naturally, and finally I said, “How many times have I said that I don’t want to do this anymore?” Fully prepared to keep doing it, being sarcastic. Christine is the one that said, “You know Carolyn, if you really feel that way it’s okay. If you are done and have gotten everything you can from this experience, that’s okay.” I was so relieved to hear someone say that. Who says that? Beautiful people say things like that to you in times of crisis. They are magical, beautiful people that give you the gift of hearing you. Shortly thereafter, while I mulled this over and was checked at 7cm, Dr. Werner and Christine started talking pitocin because I was really not progressing very quickly. I must say, we really got the lucky end of the stick as far as hospital staff goes. The doctor consulted with my midwives on everything, which made me relax and trust him much more. I labored a few more hours and was still at 7cm, at which point I said okay to the pitocin after consulting with Tom, Christine and Leslie for a long time.
I said, “Fine, but call the anesthesiologist because I’m either having a fully natural labor or I’m not. Give me the epidural. And give it to me first because if I feel one pitocin contraction I’m going to panic and throw up.” So they called the anesthesiologist and Sharon, the one person I did NOT have a good experience with, panicked because she realized she didn’t have a fetal reading from the monitor for the past 20 minutes, so as the epidural is going in, she’s kneeling in front of me, pushing around on my large round contracting belly, while I’m supposed to be holding still. I said a few times, “Ok, everyone needs to stop touching me.” And Tom did, but stayed right by me. But Sharon didn’t. I said,“Ok, leave me alone.” And she didn’t, so I finally said, “Goddammit Sharon!” and she backed off and left and I didn’t see her again.
The epidural was great. I slept soundly for 4 hours. I woke up once to an attending nurse flipping me onto my other side. When she came in, Tom woke up sitting on a doctor’s wheelie stool, his head resting on the foot of my bed behind my knees, and his cheek in some blood. Haha. It was after that he made a fort underneath the table with the couch cushions. Christine and Leslie were both asleep on the extra sidebed, crosswise. I have a vague image of them covered in their coats and sweaters and I remember thinking, “Oh, they didn’t vanish.” Because really, from the time I got an epidural, I was asleep. I remember nothing of other people around or anything. It’s strange to realize that you need these people so much and then when a reprieve came along, I was oblivious to them or their whereabouts. I didn’t even have a clue where Tom had been.
At 9am, still on Tuesday July 4, the doctor came in to check me and I was at 10cm. 10 glorious centimeters in my sleep. He said, “Ok, you can start pushing at any time.” And I was kinda stunned. I said, “Like, now? Well, let me collect myself and wake up, I guess.” And everyone thought that was cute or something because they all laughed, but I was serious! My mom showed up somewhere in between the epidural and the pushing, but I don’t know when it was. Tom had called her when we left for the hospital, just to let her know what was going on, and finally she couldn’t wait to hear anymore and just wanted to be close. I was fine with her being there, but I didn’t want her in the room, and she was fine with that. So everyone was fine. Fine.
So I pushed. For 6 hours. We tried the bar, we tried sidelying, we counted three breaths each time and each time I would lie down and belch. Then all of us would laugh. At one point, another nurse, Katherine, asked me if I wanted any “hospital fluids” and we all laughed because, well, ew. But I said, “No but I’ll take a scotch.” And we all laughed again. Really, we had a great time. Katherine asked me about my thesis, so we talked about feminism and such. At one point the doctor said, “I’ve never had so much fun during a birth!” Tom invited everyone over for a bbq the next day (which, of course, did not happen), but it was fun.
My epidural was turned down halfway to help me push, but I had a hard time pushing through contractions. It just felt wrong, after spending so much time relaxing through them and figuring out how to get underneath them, to be pushing on them. So I fought my self-preservation instinct through most of my pushing. Strange, huh? And I wish I hadn’t switched positions the first time someone suggested it. I don’t know if there was reason to suggest a different position or what, but I was open to the potential of being more productive. So I got up to the bar, but didn’t like it. And then it seemed like I never got the power back that I had in the beginning.
I got to +1 station and Sweetpea kept retreating backward and getting blocked by my pubic bone. Dr. Werner and Christine suggested the suction cup extraction method, which of course on a normal day I would have said, “No way. Not me. Not my labor.” Tom asked all the pertinent questions, because I was once again, exhausted. We tried it. Dr. Werner did everything he could to facilitate a vaginal birth, and after 3 nights of prodromial labor and 45 hours of active labor, so did I.
When the suction cup popped off, Christine told me that we had done everything we could, but that I would have to go into surgery. Frankly, I didn’t care. I didn’t feel like a failure, I didn’t feel like I’d been victimized by the hospital, and I didn’t feel like there was any other choice. We were all exhausted. I said, “Fine. Turn off the pitocin and up the epidural because I don’t want to feel these contractions anymore then.” They had to call the anesthesiologist again, so we waited and I tried to breathe down the contractions again as I had on the way to the hospital, but it wasn’t working. I was still having intense rushes. I was really quiet, and didn’t want to talk to anyone. Tom kept checking on me, and I would just nod, and there were a few times I gave hand signals to people… and then, Sharon said, “Oops! I forgot to turn off the pitocin.” And I was LIVID! But I didn’t move, I didn’t open my eyes, I just lay there.
So when the anesthesiologist arrived, Tom broke it down for him real quick-like, and I was glad he was talking for me. I recall him saying at the end of his explanation, “So basically you need to make them go away now.” But there was more waiting because he could do a more thorough one for surgery in the O.R., and blahblah. I don’t remember anything except I had to wait out more rushes.
I got wheeled down the hall with Tome holding my hand, and Leslie trailing behind him. They waited outside the operating room, with Tom putting on scrubs and whatever else he needed to do… and in the meantime, I’m receiving my second spinal block. But this one didn’t work. Every time they checked me for sensation, I could tell them precisely where they were poking me. There was a nurse, Ina, who I just loved and made it into surgery with me. She was sitting up at my head while everyone else bustled around below my waist. I didn’t like the curtain they put up, or the idea that they were going to strap my wrists down (they weren’t), and I was generally panicking at this point. I was scared that the surgeon would start without waiting for the drugs to kick in, like saying you’re going to count to 3 to pull out a sliver but really doing it on 2 for the sake of the slivered person. And my mother felt her c-section… So here I was, really feeling what was going on… well, you get the picture.
So the decision was made to give me a general anesthetic, which panicked me even more, but I was so resigned to whatever needed to happen that I didn’t think much about it. I remember Ina sitting by me, and I asked for the surgeon. Dr. Holzman came around the drape and since I didn’t have my glasses on, she was all blurry and blue in her scrubs. I asked about Dr. Werner and she said, “No it’s me, the funny one.” And I responded, “Well, looks aren’t everything.” Because she looked like a muppet with her mask and stuff. So there was more laughing (the resigned part of me) and then I told her that she had to take care of me and she promised. Then I started sobbing (the panicked part of me) because I wouldn’t see Tom. They don’t let in family members when someone is under a general. I didn’t ask why.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, they went and gave Tom the news and he broke down on Leslie’s shoulder. 15 minutes later, they heard crying and Ina came out with a baby and immediately gave it to Tom without telling him if it was a boy or girl. So he went to the nursery and undressed him. Aha! Then they sat in a rocking chair and Tom took off his shirt to bond with Leo. So, like any brand new baby would, Leo latched on to Tom’s nipple! I’m so glad Tom is an enlightened man and just let him do whatever his baby needs were.
I came out of the recovery room an hour later, and as I was turning the corner to my room, the nurse said, “Just in time. Here comes your partner with your baby.” And Tom leaned over me, crying, and put Leo’s cheek against mine and said, “Here’s your son Leo.” And I started crying with him. I think we cried for an hour or so, curled up together looking at him.
I could write more about the stay in the hospital, like how Tom proposed to me again the night Leo was born because he said he didn’t have any idea how strong I was before then, or how we contemplated going up to the roof to see the fireworks but fell asleep too early, or how we didn’t have our phones and couldn’t call anyone to tell them, or how I felt when Tom left me alone with Leo for the first time because he had to get stuff (like our phones), or how wonderful it was to come home to a clean house thanks to our midwives, or the card Miranda made for her little brother and how grown-up she looked when she first came to visit, or how beautiful all the flowers were from our families, or how my mom cried when she came in and Tom held her up, and when I told her to touch Leo she said, “Touch him?” like I was crazy or like she would spontaneously combust, or about how Miranda looked at me with immense heart-bursting joy the first time she held Leo, and how I cried and cried as we left the hospital with this tiny little boy and our little girl was so proud of him and held my hand the whole time… but that wouldn’t be a birth story anymore.