The morning of June 5, I woke up at almost exactly 5 a.m. to a strong contraction, followed by the idea to go to the bathroom, followed by my water breaking on the way to the bathroom, followed by me Googling "did my water just break?" and then being hit with another contraction. "I guess we're having a baby today," I thought.
I labored for about 2 hours, rolling around on the birthing ball, and then woke David up to tell him he was going to be a father shortly and could he please do something about it, which began his duty as official Lower Back Rub Giver, which he continued for the rest of the labor, resulting in very sore fists for him, which I was less than sympathetic about. At some point, we called Cindy, who was the midwife on duty that day, to report. Our idea was to meet her at the midwives' office, where I could labor without the construction soundtrack that was going on at the house, and then we would all go to the hospital when I was something like 8 cm dilated (was the idea). So we told her we'd meet her there. And then at some point while David was packing up the car, my contractions became about 1 minute apart and powerful. Which I reported to Cindy. She asked me if I'd like to meet at the hospital. I said no, in case I was just being a weanie and I was actually still in pre-labor or something and still not even dilated. And she asked if I could talk through contractions and I said no and she asked if I could sit for the car ride to Hackettstown and then another car ride to the hospital in Morristown and at this point, we were loading into the car and I discovered that no, I could not sit at all and instead had to kneel on the floor of the car and sort of hug the passenger seat, and then Cindy said she'd meet us at the hospital.
I was concerned about this because I was still, despite the intensity, feeling fairly jovial between contractions and we had read that we shouldn't go to the hospital until I was feeling deadly serious. But I shouldn't have worried, because when the 20 minute drive to Morristown Memorial turned into a 40 minute drive because David missed our exit/decided he knew more than the GPS, stuff got real very quickly and I became the opposite of jovial.
But we made it to the hospital. And did you know that when you get to the hospital, even if you are not one of those people that go there on the first contraction, even if you are having contractions every other minute and they are INTENSE, which fact should be clear to the hospital staff since you are leaning against your husband every other minute in a partial squat and rocking side to side and moaning, really quite loudly—that even then, they make you sit in a tiny waiting area with inadequate seating full of other pregnant people who do not appear to be having contractions but are instead reading magazines and chatting idly with their partners and texting? The inanity. And then they call your name and take you to your room and make you sign things. Things you already signed when you preregistered the month before in an attempt to avoid having to sign things while you were in heavy labor. A gigantic "blerg" to you, Morristown Memorial. (But also, **SPOILER** thanks for saving my life later on that day.)
So then Cindy, after getting stuck in traffic, traffic that we managed to avoid because, even though I despised him at the time, David really is very good with driving and maneuvering and things, arrived and took me through all the things they make you do, i.e., the monitoring of the fetus and the taking of blood and blood pressure and such. And she checked me and I was at four cm and mostly all the way effaced. I was not terribly impressed with the four cm. I mean, it was better than a one, certainly, but I would have felt like a boss if she'd told me I was at a 10 and I could start pushing and wow, I was the most calm and in-control and poised woman in labor she'd ever witnessed. That was the dream. But instead I was at a four. I took it.
The thing about labor, which was good preparation for the actual parenting experience, as it turns out, is that I kept thinking I had it figured out. Oh, if I get into this position and do this and David does this, I can totally handle it, I would think. I've got this. And then shortly afterward I would realize, NO, NO, I DO NOT HAVE THIS, and I would have to figure out the next thing. For a while I was doing the squat and sway, then I moved into the birthing tub, where I was on hands and knees (for a while in the tub I listened to a Hypnobabies script, but about 40 minutes in I had to rip the ear buds out of my ears because I couldn't hold still and be calm anymore—this is about the point I started throwing up uncontrollably, shaking, deciding there was no way in the world I could get through it, etc.), and then I got out of the tub and, dilated to a five now, just moved—walking around and around and around, sometimes leaning against the bathroom counter during contractions, sometimes walking through them. Although I could tell when the contractions were coming, there was never a point where I wasn't feeling intense pain—for some reason, there was a crazy amount of pressure on my back between contractions. Which was unfortunate because I had really been counting on having that break between contractions. Throughout this, Cindy was knitting a hat and David was on his phone. This ticked me off to no end—I wanted desperately for them to do something to help me. But at some point it occurred to me that there was really nothing they could do—as Cindy put it, we were paying the midwives to stay out of the way. Once I accepted the fact that I was going to have to get through it by myself somehow, I settled into labor and sort of got in the zone. I don't remember very much about that part; there was a lot of throwing up and I was incredibly tired, but the few times I tried laying down on the bed to get some rest, I couldn't stay still and ended up on my feet again, walking.
After a few hours of this (two, I think?), Cindy checked me again and discovered that I was almost dilated to 10 cm, with just a lip of cervix keeping the baby from descending. She held the lip back through the next contraction (possibly my least favorite part of the whole labor, but effective) and then I was ready to push.
Pushing, I've got to say, was my favorite part. With the baby moving down, I finally felt relief in my back between contractions and it was wonderful to be actively doing something other than trying to relax. I pushed in the tub for 45 minutes that seemed like five, mostly on my hands and knees until Cindy made me squat, which felt like actual death, but ended up working, very quickly. His head and shoulders came out together, suddenly, unexpectedly for me because I was somehow still thinking that this was all a sadistic trick of the cosmos and wouldn't actually result in a human child. So when I saw that little head I sort of panicked, having no idea what to do, having never given birth before, you know. Cindy told me to wait for the next contraction to finish pushing the rest of him out, but I, not wanting to leave him half-birthed and maybe lonely for several minutes, decided to instead push another push and get him here. So I pushed again and out he came.
I reached down and pulled him up to my chest, and he was slick and squishy and wide-eyed, and we looked at each other while everyone bustled around us, while I held his head to my chest, while his fingers brushed at my sides. And what can I say about the moment I met my boy? Except that I'd do it again, 12 hours of labor, I'd do it every day if I got to spend the remaining hours with this boy, who is perfect, who is mine.
1 comment:
I love me a good birthing story. Thanks for the over share.
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