My First Birth Experience

**Warning: the following blog post is very long and it took me several weeks of a few different sessions to write so if you are interested in reading all of it, expect it to take a few sittings.**

Funny how you can plan all you want but sometimes all the planning in the world doesn't get you the expected results! I am one of those annoying people who like to have plans for everything. Fortunately, even though I like to have goals for the short-, mid-, and long-term, I do have a little balance in that area and also like to be flexible and spontaneous whenever possible. But sometimes God decides to stick his finger in and rearrange my beautifully organized goal sheet! Those kinds of interruptions are when I get frustrated and my inner control freak rears her ugly head.

All that to say, Shoshana was not planned. In fact, we were actively trying NOT to have any kids for at least a year. In my mind, if I could take a year of Greek, get my wound care nurse certificate from the UW, and climb to the top of Mt. Rainier then I would have accomplished all I wanted to accomplish before having kids.

*sigh*

I was struggling with thoughts of not wanting the baby in the first place, anger with God at giving me a baby while a few of my friends desperately wanted one without success, and fears of inadequacy as I have always held motherhood in high regard which is one of the reasons why I wasn't looking forward to it. So much responsibility! This isn't talking about taking care of someone after surgery who has a complicated health history. You are responsible for raising a person. We're talking about morals, ethics, beliefs, philosophy, education, emotional stability, etc. in addition to physical health! It is a 24/7 job. You can't just sign out of the clock and go to a party with your friends. Sure, my husband was cut out for this sort of thing. Me? No sir-ree!

There you have it. As close as most of you are going to get to full disclosure.

With that noise in the background, in comes a baby. A little life. Someone who will depend on us for everything in life until they are, little by little, able to depend on God. And it is our responsibility as parents to facilitate that transfer. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

Who does God think we are? Superman? Apparently so.

But this is where God reminds me that He himself empowers us to do these sorts of incredible feats by indwelling us. So it is not us really doing it anyway. He allows us to do things that are challenging because, like any good parent, he can take pleasure in simply seeing us grow and learn. It is Him and that is to whom we should give all praise to. He saved my husband and I from eternal damnation, matured us, brought us together, and gave us a little one to care for even when we said we didn't want one right now thankyouverymuch! And He is the one who can ultimately do those same things for our children despite our inadequacies. *deepbreath*

So, on to the birth story.

5:00 am, Monday morning, 2 1/2 weeks before my due date, my water broke. My husband remarked later that he had no idea a fully pregnant woman could move so fast. We immediately called our long time friend and midwife, Amanda, to let her know what had happened. She asked me a few questions, suggested going back to sleep if possible, and calling her if things started progressing. Otherwise, she would see me later in the morning. I managed to get back to sleep despite the occasional contraction and Amanda arrived around noon. Until that point I would have steady contractions over 30 minutes then nothing for another 30 minutes to an hour.

When she arrived we talked about gentle things we could do to kickstart labor like walking briskly, herbal tinctures, and the like. She and I agreed that the risk of infection at this point was minimal and I assured Amanda that I would be comfortable staying at home, trying to get labor started, until 48 hours post Rupture of Membranes (ROM). After that I would consider transferring to a hospital to be induced. (I knew I would be the WORST patient ever and I didn't want to inflict that on anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.)

Contractions continued to start and stop again. Once, we had contractions going for a good two hours straight then they just stopped altogether. We had a conference with Amanda, the midwife, and her assistant, and the doula and her trainee that evening to discuss our options. Since I had been a bit tired out of all the activity and the inconsistent labor we decided to, again, try to sleep while we waited for my body to do what it knows how to do. At this point all of my support personnel counseled me to do my best to focus on being excited to meet my new daughter and to not think about all the potential negatives like loss of freedom, interrupted goals, essentially that an entirely new stage of my life was beginning long before I wanted it to. They agreed on the theory that my mental and emotional state was actually responsible for not allowing labor to start. Let me tell you, I was in such a state that after hearing that it was still easier to feel guilty about potentially putting my daughter at risk for infection than to be excited about meeting her. See the problem? So did I but that didn't make things any easier.

This was all very frustrating. I did want labor to start, I didn't want labor to start, I did want to meet my daughter, I didn't want the responsibility of raising her, I wanted her out of me, I wanted her safe from infection or complication, I was fearful of the black looming uncertainty that is one's first labor experience. I was so confused. But mostly scared.

We prayed together then we all went to bed.

Same old, same old the next morning (Tuesday). Contractions were there, but relatively soft and definitely non-committal. By 11am we decided to use a tried and true herbal tincture in addition to other methods we had already been using and if that didn't work we all agreed it would be time to be medically induced.

Boy, did it work.

I took the first dose around 12 noon and almost immediately they started up. And they started with a vengeance. I actually had contractions hitting hard every 2-3 minutes after about 20 minutes and I even had a few on top of each other. At this point I began making noise; groaning. Not because I wanted to, but because that was the only thing to do. And I'm not talking about your typical groaning. It was weird, gutteral, neanderthal groaning. Or, as another blogger mom put it oh-so-accurately, "like a moose being shoved head first into a wood chipper." I called Amanda at 1pm and asked her if I really had to take another dose because I didn't think I could get another dose down between contractions. Needless to say, I didn't finish my thought before another contraction hit.

By the way, medical personnel experienced with childbirth become well versed in the different sounds of labor. I knew that at different stages I would make different kinds of sounds but I had never attended a natural birth. I had only attended medicated births so the sounds I was making were totally foreign to me. They were not foreign to Amanda, however. Once I got back on the phone after the contraction she asked if I had called the doula. I said no and she said I should really do that. Okay. I took a deep breath like one who was about to take a deep plunge in icy cold water and thought to myself "here we go." I was committed to a natural birth (hence, giving birth at home) because of the risks imposed by medications but the prospect was still quite intimidating, especially right as it was all happening.

About 20 minutes later the doula and her assistant showed up and started doing what they could to guide me through contractions. At this point I had to begrudgingly change positions from on my knees and leaning over the edge of the bed because my knees were being bruised and rubbed raw. I soon found out that any other position seemed to make the contractions even more intense.

Beyond this point time became completely irrelevant outside of WHEN THE HECK IS THIS CONTRACTION GOING TO END? I remember that at some point while I was still laboring on our bed and before I went into the birth tub the contractions got to an intensity where groaning wasn't enough. I had to scream. There was nothing else to do. I didn't feel like screaming would help but the pain was just so intense and overwhelming that I couldn't hold the screams in any longer. I pretty much screamed through the end of labor which everyone thinks was around 5-6 hours later. Does anyone want to guess that I was hoarse afterward? You're right! I almost couldn't speak and any sound that came out was extremely deep and raspy.

Where was I? Oh, the screaming started. Right.

Soon after that everyone decided that it was safe for me to get into the birth tub because if you get into warm water too soon after the start of labor you may slow down the progression or even stall it altogether. Let's just say I had to choose my words carefully when someone said something to the effect of "we think you can get in the tub now." I mean, WHAT GAVE YOU THE CLUE THAT LABOR WASN'T GOING TO STOP? WAS IT THE SCREAMING? *Ahem*

The tub. was. wonderful! No, it didn't decrease the intensity of the contractions but I felt like it helped me cope with them a little better. It also allowed me to return to my favorite position of on my knees leaning forward because I could essentially let my lower half float in the water while I leaned over the edge of the tub and chewed a towel apart during a contraction. It also allowed me to get better rest between contractions. I think that a few times I actually fell asleep near the end...only to wake up to I AM GOING TO DIE.

Well, I may be getting ahead of myself here. Most of the time Tim was there for me to lean on and dig my fingernails into but I vaguely remember that at some point he wasn't there and it was just me and the towel. And the edge of the tub. At some point he came back but his not being there didn't really bother me. It was just me and the tub anyway. And the pain. And the ever-competing thoughts of "I can't believe this is happening," "GET HER OUT OF ME," "I don't want to do this; I never wanted to do this," and "I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS HURTS!"

Some of you might be wondering "what about coping methods?" You mean like counter-pressure, massage, pressure points, distraction, aeromatherapy, guided imagery, warm water, changing positions, etc? Oh, those. Yeah, we tried them all. For the last four hours of labor, at least, none of them helped one iota. Maybe the warm water in the tub was still comforting until then but around that time until the end it was just me and the contractions. Anything outside the rim of the tub didn't exist.

At some point my movements during contractions changed. I could tell that something was different in how I moved but I figured it wasn't time to push because I didn't feel any urge WHATSOEVER to push. I just did crunches while screaming my lungs dry. This went on for nearly an hour until I looked at Tim full on in the face, the first I had done that in several hours, and said "I'm done! No more! Get me to the hospital now because I can't take any more of this!" Fortunately, even though we hadn't settled on a "safe word" yet he knew me well enough to know that I was serious, I wasn't just complaining. I wanted meds and I wanted them NOW! Tim equates this moment to seeing someone break under torture. Yup. I would say that is pretty close.

Amanda assured me that we could begin the process of transferring to the hospital but she seriously thought that I wouldn't make it to the hospital. The thought of laboring and/or giving birth in a car was enough for me to agree to getting out of the tub and being checked before making a final decision.

Guess what? I was dilated to 10.

Internally I smirked and said to myself "so that was transition...it's all downhill from here!" Unfortunately, however, I still didn't have an urge to push so I had to be coached through all the elements of pushing. Let me tell you, even the thought of getting this baby out almost wasn't enough to motivate me to willfully send my pain level from a 15 to a 20 out of 10. I didn't have any idea that that kind of pain existed or was tolerable to the human body. I always had this concept that unimaginable pain like that would cause someone to pass out. Oh boy, did I want to pass out!

When Shoshana was just crowning they decided it would be easier for me to push if I were on the birth stool. About 15 minutes later, and a lot more pushes than I expected, Shoshana was quite suddenly born just after 8pm. Fortunately Amanda's assistant was ready and caught her before she tumbled onto the floor with the cord around her neck. The cord was quickly and easily unwrapped and they handed her to me. Unfortunately, at this point I was in so much oxygen debt after all that physical labor that I didn't have the capacity to contemplate the fact that I was holding my slimy, squirmy, sticky, white, crying baby. I was too busy gasping air for several minutes. Except for the fact that I was relieved she started crying almost instantly I didn't really notice her for a while. But what I did notice was all the scurrying happening around and under me. I took a quick glance between my knees and saw that Amanda had put a bowl under me and I had a steady stream of blood adding to the small pool already in the bowl. When Amanda barked to the helpers in the room "We've got a bleeder. Get me gauze, like, yesterday!" I simply noted to myself in an almost blase, uninterested fashion: "Hmm, Amanda doesn't like how much I'm bleeding. Oh well. She'll take care of it."

A minute or so later we moved to the bed where Amanda could stitch me up from a larger than usual tear which also dissected a large vein. Apparently, some women are so fed up with the whole birth process that getting stitched up is just one too many things. Me? No. After what I had just been through, I didn't care one bit about getting anesthetized and stitched up down there. That's nuthin'!

There you have it. Add 'em up. 28 hours of latent labor, 8 hours of active labor, 50 minutes of which were pushing. And for some reason the active labor part was unusual in that it was more intense than most, according to both the midwife and the doula. So now when people ask me how labor went I say something to the effect of "on the one hand labor was too long (36 hours) but on the other hand it was too short (8 hours)."

Shoshana was handed to me right away and we waited for her to clear her lungs and for the placenta to stop pulsating. She cried for only a few minutes, smelled me, felt me, and stayed warm on me for an hour while Tim cut the cord and Amanda stitched up my larger than usual tear. The standard assessment used to determine how well a baby is functioning in the first few minutes outside the womb was performed by sight, without taking her away from me. Then we got our first practical lesson on breastfeeding. Only when Shoshana was comfortable and the sticky coating on her skin to protect it from the amniotic fluid had almost all been absorbed was she taken to the end of my bed to be weighed and measured.

Though labor was much more intense than most first labors, I know my midwife and doula did everything they can to help my body do the process it knows how to do. They coached me on breathing techniques, guided imagery, massaged me, held me, and let me clutch them for dear life and scream in their ears, just to name a few. But more than that, my daughter was treated with love and respect, as a little person in a new and uncomfortable environment. Not as a disaster waiting to happen. The memory of their gentle care right after Shoshana was born still nearly brings me to tears.

Will I have any subsequent children at home? It depends. Mostly it depends on how soon I get pregnant again. If that happens sooner than expected, then definitely not. If I feel ready to have a second child then maybe. But I have to say the only thing compelling me to even consider it is how differently Shoshana was treated than what I have seen all other babies treated.

Sometime later I'll publish a post about how one might go about deciding what kind of care to have for their birth experience both from a professional and a personal standpoint.