Birth Story - Warning, this is not pretty

Thursday morning we got up late, as usual, still having the contractions that started two days previous, and I called the hospital to make sure they had a place for me, as instructed. They did. I honestly wasn’t sure whether I was excited or not. Throughout my entire shower I kept repeating to myself that this would be the last shower I took as a pregnant woman. Again, not sure how I felt about that. Eric made me some oatmeal, which I was incapable of eating because my stomach had suddenly decided it was a 12 year old anorexic Russian gymnast in the Olympics and it was flipping for the gold.

We got to the hospital and spent what felt like hours with the really talkative, half asleep admissions lady. Off to the room we were swept. It was a beautiful room but it didn’t make me feel the least bit better about what was going to happen. I changed, I answered a million nurse questions, I spoke to my midwife, I got IV’d (and it didn’t really hurt, even though she had to do it 3 different times because my veins collapse when frightened), I got Pitocined, I got hooked up to the monitors, I got checked - 4cm. Still. I was in for a long day.

The first 10 or so hours weren’t so bad. They upped the Pitocin every 30 minutes and my contractions got harder but not unbearable. They figured out within the first hour or so that Ben’s heart rate would radically decellerate everytime I had a contraction unless I was laying on my right side. Needless to say, the rest of my labor was spent laying on my right side. The doula popped up around hour 3 and, well, I wish she hadn’t. She was very sweet, don’t get me wrong, but I felt like I was entertaining. She kept remarking how easy I made it look. Lovely. It was not easy. She did make me feel better, however, when she said that only one other woman she’d doula’d (is that word? it is now) for who’d had Pitocin had made it as long as I had without medication. This was around hour 8.

As of hour 9, I was 5.5cm. ONE AND A HALF CM IN 10 HOURS! The midwife broke my water. The contractions were getting much rougher to deal with but, thanks to the power of the jacuzzi, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been. Unfortunately, because Ben’s heart rate kept going nuts during the contractions, I lost the use of the jacuzzi around hour 10 and was essentially stuck to the damn, evil bed. This, of course, was the time the contractions decided to become fiercely horrifying. The kind of contractions that make you shake and puke…and I did both. Many, many times. The doula and midwife were both convinced this meant transition. I was no longer able to hold myself together and asked for the epidural the minute the doula left the room to get water. To hell with natural, I felt like my insides were being ripped in two.

She came back into the room and before she even got a word out, I grunted something along the lines of, “I’m getting the epidural…ugh…aaaoooow!”
“I leave for 5 minutes and you want the epidural?”
I wanted to take her head off. She started naming off things I could do to help the pain. “Get out of the bed and onto the birth ball,” she said.
WTF, lady, are you insane?!? I can hardly move and you want me to GET UP?!? No way in hell. Give me the drugs. I think I said something along the lines of, “That won’t work and I can’t get up.” I was snippy.

I did it anyway. I got up and got my ass on the birth ball just to prove to her that it wouldn’t do a thing. I’d just be in more pain and then she’d be sorry. And oddly enough, it helped. It helped a lot. The pain was still there, still bad enough that my dad walked in for about 5 minutes and had to leave. I guess the puking, shaking, and moaning were a bit too much for him. I would’ve gone with him if I could have.

I decided that if I truly was in transition, or at least at 7-8cm as my midwife and doula predicted, I’d skip the epi, live with the birth ball and go gung ho into a Pitocin induced, drug-free birth. This was about when the midwife came in and informed me that she’d need to put a monitoring tube of some sort to check the strength of my contractions since I was 10 hours in and only 5.5cm. She also needed to attach the head monitor to Ben because he was not tolerating the Pitocin contractions (read: evil, demonic, painful, useless muscle spasms that feel as if they’re trying to tear you in two) at all. This would mean being confined to the bed if I wasn’t already in transition. I was at about hour 13.5.

Screw that.

I didn’t even want to get back into the bed to have her check me. The bed was like this evil entity that only existed to severely hurt me and I wanted nothing to do with it. But, I had to know. If I wasn’t in transition. I was getting the epi. Period. If I was, well, I’d deal with the bed and have that child.

She checked me. I was at a 6. AT SIX CM IN 13.5 HOURS?!? Ri-freaking-diculous. That wasn’t even counting the two days of regular contractions that it took me to even get that far. I was not in transition. I was to be tubed. Ben was to be monitored. I was not to leave the bed. I opted for the epi and felt like a complete failure. My mom couldn’t dilate past 6 with me, grandma couldn’t with her first. We are not meant to birth babies.

About 30 minutes later, the anesthesiologist arrived. A gruff older woman who asked a bunch of questions when she should’ve been shoving a needle in my back. The contractions were the worst I’d felt and I couldn’t stop shaking or puking. This was the time she decided to put the needle in. She had to try three different times. The nurse had to hold me in a hunched over position because I couldn’t get over far enough. Do you have any idea how painful it is to be held hunched completely over during the worst contractions you’ve had thus far while someone fiddles around with your spinal column?!? It sucks. Halfway through the placing of the epidural, I began to think the bed and natural birth wasn’t such a bad idea after all. This was the only time during the whole thing where I actually cried out. It hurt like hell. This was the exact reason I was afraid of the epidural to begin with. Once they got it in, I looked over at Eric, who was the color of his shirt. I’ve never seen him more pale. The nurse, doula and midwife made him go sit down. The poor man nearly passed out. It would’ve been funny if I wasn’t getting so woozy.

Suddenly, there were about 15 people in the room. Something about blood pressure drop, get an anesthesiologist in here now, everyone freaking out. I don’t remember much more than needing to lay down and rest right then. Someone shot me in the leg with something but I couldn’t feel it. I remember thinking, “Heh, that was pretty cool” before my heart started trying to beat itself out of my chest. Ephedrine. My blood pressure had dropped so low with the epi that they had to hit me with ephedrine. It was no fun.

So, they shoved in a contraction tube, a head monitor for Ben and a cathetar for me. They turned up the Pitocin to a disgusting level the minute the epi kicked in. Thanks to his head monitor, I could feel Ben trying to corkscrew his way out. Poor kid. My contractions were strong and hard, they should’ve been doing something to help this birth. Unfortunately, they were only causing Ben to majorly freak out. His heart rate was going nuts. Then they tell me, “Get some rest.” Because God knows, sleeping is entirely possible when you’ve just been shot up with ephedrine and you can hear your baby’s heart rate nearly stopping then shooting through the roof every 15 seconds.

I never got farther than 6.5. They’d hoped the epi would relax me enough to make me open up. It did not. Cervix of steel, I tell you. The surgeons came in and tried to reassure me that “failure to progress” is okay. I was surprised that I really didn’t need the reassurance. I’d tried my best. I knew I had. I just wanted this baby out safe.

Everyone tried to convince the docs to get us in before midnight (it was about 11:30 at this point) so he wouldn’t be born on Friday the 13th. Both Eric and I liked the idea of a Friday the 13th baby, so we didn’t oppose when they couldn’t get us in until 11:50. They shut off the Pitocin and got Eric in scrubs.

Everything from there on was exceptionally surreal. The whole experience was surreal, but the c-section? It was like a David Lynch film. The only thing I could see were operating room lights and the occasional bloody gloved hand coming up to move them. The smell of being cauterized is something I won’t soon forget.

So, I no longer feel anything more than pressure. A few tugs later and I hear a little squeel. He never cried, just squeeked a little. Suddenly, Eric was holding a baby and everyone said it was mine. It was really a bit of a shock. No transition phase there. Just, “You’re pregnant, and now there’s a child.” I still can’t believe he’s actually mine.

And there it was. I don’t know if I’d change anything. I don’t know if I’d have gotten the epi earlier or not. I’m pretty proud that I got as far as I did without it but knowing that I would’ve never progressed enough to actually have this baby, it probably would’ve made life a helluva lot easier if I’d have just done it earlier.

Either way, I’ve got my darling baby boy. He’s safe and sound and he’ll never, ever have to go through anything like that again. Thank goodness.

I want to add that throughout this whole thing, Eric was amazing. He was right on top of everything, trying to make sure I was as comfortable as I could be. He did what the doula told him, he never once asked questions and always made sure to keep me laughing through the whole thing. You know you have a good man when he can make you laugh in the middle of a gut wrenching contraction.

Filed under hospital, labor |