I never wrote down Henry's birth story. I told myself I would always remember it, and
I have not failed in that regard.
However, somehow having a girl made me feel like I needed to preserve
this a little more. My daughter, God willing,
will one day walk this road, and I hope that knowing a little about what it was
like for me will help her prepare. So,
my dearest little D, here is your birth story...
I had been expecting to go "overdue" as I had with
Henry, who was born at 41 weeks and 1 day.
I had hoped in my heart it would not come to that, but I had known in my
brain that indeed it would. Throughout
this pregnancy I had very low platelet counts and was told there was a good
chance I would not be able to receive an epidural due to the risk of me
bleeding profusely when punctured. I had
wanted a natural childbirth with Henry.
I had worked so hard to have my dream of a natural childbirth. I read books, I talked to every woman I knew
about pain techniques, and I had prepared my husband for the adventure.
Seventeen hours into labor with Henry, I had been stuck at
8-9 centimeters dilated for about 3 hours and the doctors were becoming very
concerned. The more I could feel the
concern, the more I knew I wasn't going anywhere. The big "C" word of birth was
thrown around, and I opted for the epidural in case of an emergency c-section
(like my sister had to have done). The
epidural was unsuccessful in stopping the pain, and I was now unable to move
off of my back to deal with the pain.
So, more drugs were piled on...the one thing I really didn't want...more
drugs. At this point, there was not much
I could do, though. Labor was now out of
my hands. I felt like a bystander in
some strange world.
Ever since that experience, I had been disappointed in
myself. I had made it so far and endured
so much pain. I felt like the epidural
was my tossing in of the towel. I had failed,
or at least I thought I had. I was
thankful for my healthy son, but terribly disappointed in myself. Labor sometimes does that to you. You question yourself, you think, "Women
have done this forever...what is wrong with me?," and you wonder if you
should have done it differently. I
wondered. Being pregnant again, and with
a disorder that was almost forcing me into a natural labor, made me wonder even
more. Would I be able to do this? So I read books, I talked to women about
labor, and I prepared my husband...again.
40 weeks and 6 days into this pregnancy, D decided it was
time to make her way into the world. All
of the grandparents had arrived the day before, very eager for a new
granddaughter. It was a Sunday, and I
had gone to church in the morning.
Everyone laughed at me, and said, "We really wish you weren't here
today! We thought you would be in the
hospital by now." Me too, church
members, me too! My husband had a
regular Sunday, and travelled to his other congregation to preach. He made his way back to the house somewhat
earlier that day than usual (as he, too, was eager for labor to start). I had been having some intense contractions
for a few days before this, and I had intense shooting pain through my right
hip. We had been doing everything we
could think of to get this party started - taking long walks, eating spicy
foods, and banking on the full moon for some help. Nothing helped though. D was set on coming on her own terms, and her
terms seemed set on a Sunday afternoon after her grandparents had arrived.
At about 2 pm, we were all getting ready to eat lunch - my
dad's barbeque chicken from the grill. I
started feeling contractions, but I didn't dare say anything quite yet. I had been down this road for days. I didn't believe it was really
happening. So, I let my husband know
what was happening and I rested on the couch for a little while. By about 3 pm, I was certain labor was in
full swing. The contractions were
continuing and progressing. Christopher
sent the boys with their grandparents to go out to the splash pad so that we
could have some privacy.
As soon as they went out the door, I said, "Let's get
this party started. I am NOT letting
these contractions stop. We are going
out for a walk." And we did. We walked a couple circles around are large
yard. I was having contractions every 5
minutes or so, but I was able to talk through them. After 30 minutes or so, I decided a shower
sounded nice. So, we went inside, I
showered, worked through some INTENSE contractions and went in the bedroom. At some point, I called my sister and chatted
with her about labor. She encouraged me
and said I was doing great again. I
needed some female encouragement at that moment. I spent a considerable amount of time on my
hands and knees by this point.
Contractions were 3 minutes apart and STRONG. They were more intense than I had remembered,
but I just figured I was not remembering correctly. Labor pains kind of disappear in your
mind. You know it hurt, but you can't
describe it anymore.
Through this whole time, I had been using a technique of
describing the pain as it was happening to me.
I had read in a book about the power of being curious about the
pain. So, I spent the contractions
telling my husband and myself exactly what and where I was feeling the
pain. It was quite relieving,
actually. I was shocked. Focusing on the pain seemed like the exact
opposite thing you should do, but it really helped. I think it had something to do with the fact
that I felt in control, which I had lost in my last labor. By describing the pain and focusing on it, I
was totally in control of it.
I had been nervous about not getting to the hospital in
time. I have no idea why. My first labor was 22 hours and I had no
reason to believe this one would be fast, but I had heard so many of my friends
talking about women barely making it to the hospital. There was NO WAY I was going to have this
baby on the road. So, I told my husband
I wanted to go ahead and go. I had
wanted to labor mostly at home, but in the heat of the moment I got
nervous. What if this was it? It was SO MUCH more intense than my last
labor! What if I had this baby on this
floor right here? My husband really
didn't want to go to the hospital yet, because he knew what I really wanted. He knew the transition to the hospital would
be hard. He knew what I needed more than
I did. However, as the great husband he
is, he later told me that he felt like he had one card to pull during the labor
process, and he didn't want to use it "too early." I have a funny husband. So, we packed up and headed out sometime
around 6 pm.
The drive was uneventful, full of contractions, but nothing
too exciting. No babies being born on
the road, anyway.
The check-in process went pretty smoothly until I sat down
in the triage room. The contractions
were still coming every 3 minutes, lasting a minute or longer, and
progressively intense. I was still
coping with the pain by talking through them and explaining the pain. My husband was a champ...followed all the
tips from our reading, asked me what I was feeling when I looked too scared,
and overall was again the BEST labor partner in the world. My triage nurse, however, acted as though she
had never seen a woman in labor who did anything other than scream or
breathe. Every contraction I had, I
would begin talking, calmly explaining every pain. She would say, "Just breathe. Just do your breathing." Then she would say things like, "Is she
talking to me?" to my husband.
What?!?! Don't talk about me to
my husband like I am not there! And
don't act like I am crazy! I might have
been losing it at this point.
The hospital doctor came in to check my progress. As she entered the room, the nurse turned to
her as I began another contraction and said, "Oh, she talks to
herself" in a "don't mind her" sort of way.
OK. That was the last
straw. I am not crazy, *%&^#! I am dealing with the pain in a calm,
collected way, and I am not hurting anyone.
But I was about to...
At that moment, I pretty much lost all chances of having
this labor progress naturally. She had
taken over my labor space, gotten me off my game, and totally gotten into my
head. Was I crazy? Maybe I was.
I didn't know anything at this point.
The doctor checked me and said, "OK, fully effaced and 3-maybe 4
cm." I. ABOUT. DIED. You have got to be kidding me. I was positive that these pains were much more
like late labor with Henry. I let out a
huge sigh. The doctor (not my doctor,
just the hospital rounding doctor) asked what was wrong and I said, "I
just really thought I was further than that." "Well, how far did you want to
be?" "5 or more." "Well, you aren't there yet. You want me to get the epidural labs lined
up?" "No, I want to do this
naturally," and she walked out the door.
That was that. OK, then, this is
not going well.
I was walked down to my room. On the way, my awesome husband turned sternly
to the crazy triage nurse and said, "We would like to be assigned to a
nurse with experience in natural labor."
Her crazy response, "We all have that." My Superhusband's response, "NO! I mean I want a nurse who will actually help
her with natural labor." I don't
think I have ever loved him more. The
nurse responded that it was shift change so she would make sure the charge
nurse knew our request before assigning a nurse.
I got settled in, and in walked my saving grace - the
greatest nurse I could have asked for.
Compassionate, calm, older with experience, and completely on my side -
I would later find out that she was assigned to me due to her own four labors,
two with pain medication and two natural.
SCORE!
Then a whole bunch of
stuff happened that is all very foggy in my mind, as the pain was completely ridiculous
at this time. I could not believe I was
only 3-4 cm. This was terrible. How would I survive the rest? I got my IV for my Group B Strep drugs, and I
went to the bathroom like 25 times.
About an hour and 15 minutes had passed since we had gotten to the
hospital and I was sure I was not going to make it. More than once, I looked my husband right in
the eyes and said, "I can't do this.
I don't know how I am going to do this.
This is not right. Something is
not right. This is so much more painful
than the last time." I called my
sister for some support, and talked about the possibility of an epidural. She was just supportive and told me again
that there is nothing wrong with making the best decision you can for you and
your husband.
I asked the nurse if I could have labs done to be checked if
I was able to have an epidural. She
ordered the labs, and when they returned I learned that I had narrowly made the
cute-off with a platelet count of 119, when you must be over 100. By this point, the only think I could think
was, "THANK GOD!" But I was
still very scared. My last epidural had
been unsuccessful, and the anesthesiologist told me that if it didn't work last
time, it had a higher chance of not working this time. Did I still want it? Something deep inside me was saying I had to
have it. I had worked so hard to prepare
for a natural labor, but I knew I needed this epidural. I needed it because of me, but I also needed
it for my husband. I could see how much
he was hurting. This man would go to the
moon and back for me if I asked him to, so I knew he would walk this journey
with me, but I could see it in his eyes.
This was killing him. I was in
such intense pain, and all his support was not doing the trick like it had last
time. Something was drastically
different with me and this labor. And he
knew it.
So, I took the epidural.
But it was much different than last time. When I signed the papers this time, I was
signing them because I wanted to sign them.
I was controlling that pen. Last
time, I think I just made a line where my name was supposed to go. I had been pushed into something I didn't
want at 9 CM DILATED. Who can control a
pen at 9 cm dilated? This time, I had
made the decision. This was me
controlling my labor space. Not
them. That meant something to me.
As soon as the epidural was complete, I asked to be checked
to see where I had progressed to. In 90
minutes, I had gone from 3 cm to 6 cm and was progressing well. Thank goodness! I really didn't want pitocin on top of the
epidural and making it to 6 cm naturally gave me a great chance of progressing
by myself from here on out. And I
did. And my epidural worked! I could still move my legs, and I could still
feel pressure on contractions, which left me feeling in control. Control seems to be a focus for me here, eh?
I might have to work on my control issues.
The next few hours were blissful. I was progressing, I called my sister and my
friend Andrea. My parents came in and
talked with me for awhile. I felt like I
had made the best possible decision. The
nurses all were having considerable challenges trying to track Dorothea's heart
rate. They couldn't find a location
where they could get a good reading, and it had boggled all of them. At about 11:15, they called my doctor in to
check me and break my water. By about
midnight, I told them I was feeling the need to push. The nurse checked me and said, "Oh,
um...well, that is a nose and an eye. We
have a face presentation here...and OP."
Then, the room became flooded with people from NICU and other breathing
specialists. I became very nervous.
"Honey, your baby is coming face first," my nurse gently said. "What does that mean? Is she ok? Will I be ok?" "I have been in OB for 29 years, and I have never seen a face presentation
and OP baby. That means she is face up
and face out." "Is she going
to be okay?" "We just have
some people coming in to check her out, ok?"
My doctor came in, looked at the situation, and took a breath
and said, "Ok, let's do this, Kelly."
I began to say, "Is everything ok?
What is going to happ..." and then her head delivered! I didn't even push. The doctor laughed, and said, "Aren't
women's bodies amazing? The things they
can do. You are doing great...just don't
push." At that moment my husband
looked down and saw Dorothea's cord wrapped around her neck. He decided at that point to not look
again...and not to tell me that. Good
decision, again, Husband! Then, the doctor
asked me to give a little push, and one second later, Dorothea was born. She began screaming on her own, and no sound
had ever been sweeter to my ears. The
NICU specialists had to take her immediately to clear her airway, as it had
been blocked due to the position of her head in the birth canal (with her head
cocked backwards and the back of her head resting on her back). My husband stood by her the whole time and
gave me updates. Within about 5 minutes,
she was laying on my chest breathing well.
Thanks be to GOD! Due to her face
position, the doctor put a pretty large scratch above her right eye when
breaking my water and she was pretty bruised up on her face. All that healed quickly, though.
In the hours that followed, the nursing staff kept
expressing how amazed they were with my delivery. No face presentation babies are ever
delivered vaginally in the hospital due to so many risks. Due to my successful epidural, the nurses
allowed me to "labor down" so much without checking me that Dorothea
descended and exited on her own before they recognized what was happening, and
therefore, I was able to have a face presentation baby without a
c-section. Had I been having the urge to
push sooner due to laboring naturally, things may have turned out very
differently - for her safety and mine.
Did I mention how glad I am that I listened to my body and
got that epidural when I did? Did I
mention how thankful I am that God sustained my platelet count to 19 points
above the cutoff level?
I know that in this hospitalized birth world we live in
there are many medical choices that are taken away from women in birth. I hate that.
I wish it wasn't that way. I wish
that crazy triage nurse wouldn't have made me feel like I was the crazy one. I wish.
I wish. I wish. But, as I shared with my husband, I know that
my transition to the hospital and the way that woman reacted in the triage room
played a significant role in how I was not able to deal with the pain after
that. Part of me wants to be really
angry with her for that, but the larger part of me knows that had she not acted
that way, I may not have needed that epidural when I did. And if I hadn't gotten that epidural, the
doctors may have taken the choice of a vaginal delivery away from me. So, in the end, I am probably the most
thankful for the crazy triage nurse. She
may have saved me from an emergency c-section.
I guess I should go thank her...Well, maybe not.
Dorothea Marie, born August 26, 2013, at 12:45 am, weighing
7lbs. 4 oz., 21.5 in.
Hey, labor went from 22 hours to 11! I am thinking if another child ever
comes along, I should bank on five and a half, right? Bring it on.
:)
