I
knew from early on I would want to have a natural birthing
experience. The first time I ever thought about it was in high school
during a clinical rotation class observing three different women as
they were given their epidurals; I almost passed out each time. Why
in the mess would anyone purposely put a needle that big into her
body?! I think the thing that sealed the deal was my college pastor
who had four babies, induced, unmedicated because she believed her
body was made to work that way. I thought that sounded pretty good.
God made it to work, and I figured there’s no need to interfere
with the design. When I actually did become pregnant, I read books
about the history of childbirth and natural birthing methods, and I
searched for birth stories and research to support my decision. My
husband Steve and I attended a 12-week-long Bradley method class to
learn techniques to get me through labor. I did all the exercises to
get the baby positioned properly and to get my muscles strong so I
could do the work of birthing. It was commonplace for my husband to
find me on all fours or in a modified yoga child’s pose. Most
people who knew my plan thought I was crazy, and two of them, who
happened to be men, even went so far as to say that it couldn’t be
done. Well, game on, sirs.
My pregnancy was pretty uneventful
other than feeling just disgusting for the first half of it. My due
date was a Wednesday, May 12th, and I was convinced I would not have a child until well after that. Both my mother and mother-in-law had babies two weeks late, so I was bound to have the same fate. I think I let my doctor check me one time at 36 weeks. Of course, I was, like, a centimeter. After that I didn’t want to know. I wanted as little intervention as possible, and I didn’t want to be thinking about how much or how little I was dilated. I didn’t want her offering opinions on when she thought I would go into labor. I pretty much tried to pretend the whole thing wasn’t going to happen to keep my body relaxed and allow it to do what it needed to do to get the child out as quickly and efficiently as possible.
date was a Wednesday, May 12th, and I was convinced I would not have a child until well after that. Both my mother and mother-in-law had babies two weeks late, so I was bound to have the same fate. I think I let my doctor check me one time at 36 weeks. Of course, I was, like, a centimeter. After that I didn’t want to know. I wanted as little intervention as possible, and I didn’t want to be thinking about how much or how little I was dilated. I didn’t want her offering opinions on when she thought I would go into labor. I pretty much tried to pretend the whole thing wasn’t going to happen to keep my body relaxed and allow it to do what it needed to do to get the child out as quickly and efficiently as possible.
May 6th, a Thursday, was my last day at
work. I was looking forward to spending the next week or so doing
some things around our new house, sleeping in, and just generally
relaxing before the baby came. First thing the next morning, I had a
doctor’s appointment; I did not get to sleep in. “You want me to
check you?” she asked. “Not if you don’t have to. I’m fairly
certain nothing is going to happen for a while. See you next week!”
I had had contractions periodically throughout the pregnancy but
nothing consistent or that made me think I might be in labor. I
happened to be going in to work to complete some paperwork and attend
a lunch party of some sort before meeting my sister in the afternoon.
Sitting at the computer my back was hurting, but that happens when
you sit for a couple of hours doing computer work, right? I met up
with my sister. We had a cookie and a soda. I’m sure we talked
about my appointment and my plans for the next several days and
planned on meeting again the next week some time. I remember telling
her I was tired and thought I’d just go home and take a nap. Why
not? I’m not working, hubby’s at guys night out, and I’ve got
plenty of time the next few days to do the things on my list: clean,
pack a bag, make sure the laundry is done, watch a movie, etc. I
chatted on the phone with a friend and discussed my day, my back
pain, fatigue and the nap I was about to take. Little did I know, she
was formulating the theory that I was probably in labor but, thank
goodness, said nothing to me about it because that would have ruined
my nap!
I slept from 5pm till 7pm and woke up
with the vague sensation that I had cramps. “How strange,” I
thought to myself. “Why on earth do I have cramps? And why is my
underwear damp? I haven’t had any issues with bladder leakage.
Surely, I’m not in labor. That’s crazy. But just in case, maybe I
better pack that hospital bag. Oh crap. Some of the things I need are
in the laundry. Better run a load. Why are those cramps coming back?
I thought I got rid of them.” I continued this internal dialogue
for a bit continuing to assure myself that this couldn’t be labor
because it wasn’t even my due date yet but working on the premise
that it could be labor so I should probably be at least a
little prepared. You’d think with all the planning I put into the
preparation for labor, I’d be more…um…prepared.
Maybe around 8:00pm, I decided I should
call Steve just to tell him how I was feeling and to be prepared to
end guys' night early if needed. By this point, the cramps were
coming in waves, and nothing I did changed them, not sitting, laying,
walking, nothing. I was still calling them cramps because that is
exactly what they felt like. I did not time them; there was no
stopwatch. Didn’t even occur to me. My level-headed husband said,
“Maybe you should go ahead and call the doc, just in case.” “No,
I don’t think that’s necessary yet, but I gotta get off the
phone, I can’t talk during this cramping.” Um, hello?! You are in
labor! I was in complete denial because there were so many things I
had wanted to do that I hadn’t done yet.
I did call the doctor eventually
(8:30ish), the on-call doc, not mine, and, she told me it maybe
sounded like early labor (I may not have been as forthcoming with
information as I should have) and to keep tabs on it and let her know
of any changes. I remember as I was getting off the phone with her
another contraction hit, and I had trouble talking. I phoned Steve
(8:45ish) to come home with some food so I could have some energy to
get through this. Steve got home around 9:30, packed his own bag and
tried to help me as I finished up some laundry, pausing periodically
to have a contraction. Nearly every contraction ended with me saying,
“That is REALLY uncomfortable,” or “This is a terrible idea,”
but I could still do things in between contractions. When I called
the doc the next time (10ish), once I finally had accepted this was
probably happening, she said, “Yeah, when I got off the phone with
you last time, I could hear it in your voice. You better come on in.”
Off we went to the hospital, and let me
tell you, worst car ride ever. No traffic--thank goodness-- but the
only comfortable position I had been able to find right before we
left home was on all fours, hands and knees, so riding buckled in was
the worst. It was during this ride that I started my self-talk. I
didn’t know that I would do that. All those Bradley method things?
Out the window. During every contraction I would talk myself through
it saying things like “It’s okay, it’s okay, relax, just relax,
it’s okay.” If Steve had said anything to me, I probably would
have punched him in the face. I wanted him there, but I didn’t want
him to speak or touch me, which is very different than how I thought
I would be. I guess I had sort of pictured me being the strong silent
type with a very calm presence. I was quite the opposite, in fact.
Looking back, I think I had to talk to myself in order to relax into
the pain and let my body do the work it needed to do. If I hadn’t
been talking, I would have been clenching and slowing everything
down.
We got to the hospital about 11:00. I
had done pre-registration, but I still had to sign things, and they
weighed me. Are you freaking kidding me? Is that really important at
this point? I was very clearly in active labor and needed to be in a
room. That’s how I felt about it anyway. I got to a room, and my
nurse, who looked to be about 15 years old, told me to change into a
gown and come back to the bed so she could check me. I don’t know
how long I spent in that bathroom, pooping, losing my mucous plug,
having contraction after contraction, but she did have to come back
several times to tell me she “really needs to check me and get the
baby monitor on.” I got in the bed and got to all fours as soon as
I could, but I was not prepared for what this young nurse told me
after she checked me. 8 centimeters. 8 centimeters! Pretty sure there
was an expletive and also relief that I was close and had achieved my
goal of laboring at home as long as possible. Some might say too
long, I suppose.
After that, things happened. I got an
IV put in because I was Group B strep positive so needed the
antibiotics. Unfortunately, it didn’t really matter because there
wasn’t time for it so the baby got the extra blood draw
after the fact anyway. It seems like there were a lot of people
around. My sister came at one point but didn’t even get in the door
before I said, “It’s not really a good time, but I love you!” I
was fairly certain I didn’t want her seeing my bare rump up in the
air. I apparently didn’t care about all the other people in the
room seeing it for some reason.
There were some things that stood out
distinctly but there was also a kind of fog in my mind with only one
focus, and time was sort of non-existent. I know we got to the
hospital about 11pm, Jane was born at 2:28am, and I pushed for an
hour and a half so I must have labored on all fours for between 1-2
hours. Steve was awesome. Every time I had a contraction, he did this
hip squeeze thing we learned in our class that really helped (I think
it was the only thing we used). If he wasn’t doing it right or
didn’t do it when I told him to, he heard about it. Through the
whole time, I was talking to myself, to Jesus asking for help, which
seems odd to me because I’m not generally inclined to call upon the
name of the Lord, out loud, in front of people. Every time a
contraction would start up, I started to freak out and cry because it
hurt so badly, but just as quickly I would talk myself down and let
the pain do its work. I just kept reminding myself that if I didn’t
relax, it would hurt more and take longer. I think one of the reasons
I was able to get through it was the brief reprieve between
contractions. Each contraction brought the fear that I wouldn’t get
through it, but as the contraction subsided, and I had a few brief
moments of relief, I was able to tell myself that I could do it…when
I wasn’t saying what a terrible idea it was to do this to myself!
Ha!
It took some convincing to get me
turned over so the doctor could help deliver the baby. The thought of
being on my back terrified me, but Steve was very gentle and said,
“Honey, let’s try it and see if it helps.” Poor guy was stuck
between what the doctor was saying needed to be done and what his
wife was willing to do, but he handled it wonderfully without getting
punched in the gut by his adoring wife. As I got positioned to push,
it took a couple of attempts to get the position right so I felt like
I could push. The doc said, “It’s not too late to have an
epidural if you want one.” I can’t even begin to write the number
of things that came to my head to say to her. Ultimately, it boiled
down to I had come this far, there’s not that much left to do, why
would I get one now after I’ve done the hardest part? All of the
things I thought came out as an exasperated “No!” I’m just glad
I didn’t kick her in the face. Evidently, I am a violent laborer.
So I commenced with pushing. And it was
such a relief! It didn’t feel good, but it certainly felt better to
be bearing down into the pain than to just be lying there helplessly.
The other happy side effect of transition is the slowing of the
contractions a bit. It’s like it was built in to help women have
the strength to get through the final leg of childbirth. I had more
time between contractions so I was able to fully relax, close my
eyes, and rest. I’ll be honest, there were times where I even
skipped pushing during a contraction because I was just too tired and
needed the rest. Finally, it was really time for delivery, the doc
returned because she had left at some point during pushing, and
things got serious. You could see a head. Someone asked me if I
wanted a mirror so I could see. Um, no! Are you crazy? Do you even
know what’s going on down there? Steve made a comment he likes to
think was funny after he got his first sight of the head. “I think
there’s something down there.” He kind of whispered it and
pointed a little bit. I’m pretty sure I said, “Not now, honey.”
He is certainly a joker, and I appreciate his desire to lighten the
mood, but come on, full-on childbirth is not the time.
I remember the doctor saying my name
and to listen to her and do exactly what she says. I was so tired I
couldn’t even keep my eyes open most of the time. She was trying to
keep me from tearing, but I knew from the look on her face that I did
as the head came out. After the head was out, it felt like an
eternity waiting for that next contraction to get the body out. I’m
fairly certain I let loose a “Get it out!” once or twice. I
pushed one last time and out came the baby. Steve said “Honey, it’s
a little girl!” We hadn’t known the sex of the baby prior to
delivery. They put her on my chest, and all I could think was “I’m
so glad that’s over.” They took her and weighed her, and I got
the second shock of the night. 8 lbs 10 oz! No wonder my belly was so
giant!
I’d be lying if I said I was
instantly in love and connected to the baby. In fact, after my sister
visited and left, Steve laid down to sleep a bit, and I was holding
Jane, I remember thinking, “Who is going to take care of this baby
so I can get some sleep?” It dawned on me that I was that person,
and I was so mad. I didn’t get to sleep in, fix up the house, go to
the movies, or do anything I had planned because she came early. I
was just at work yesterday! I was grateful to no longer have
heartburn, though. She was really cute, and I did want to take care
of her, I just wanted to do it after a full night’s sleep.
Ultimately, all was well, and I did and do love my sweet Jane. I
wouldn’t change anything about giving birth naturally, but to be
fair, I was fortunate to have a fairly short first-time labor of
about seven hours and can’t imagine if it had taken longer than
that. I would do natural childbirth again, and in fact, already have.
And if we have a third, that one will be unmedicated too.
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