What in the world? Did I just wet the bed? I blearily question as a warm liquid rush flows from between my legs. Glancing at the clock that announces that it is 6:17 and entirely too early to be awake on a Saturday morning, I tentatively reach a hand down to try to stop the wetness from spreading. With fluid still flowing slowly, I awkwardly push myself upright in bed, ever-conscious of the unwieldy bulk of my pregnant abdomen. Suddenly, it dawns on me that it is likely that my water just broke. Hefting my weight out of the bed where my husband David still sleeps deeply, curled on his side, I waddle my way to the unfinished bathroom that adjoins our room; a toilet alone makes it a ‘bathroom’, as pieces of laminate flooring materials are piled in the shower and raw beams open into a dark cavern of incomplete construction. As I pull off my soaked panties, I notice splotches of reddish-pink, blurred together like an abstract water painting. With this discovery, I am almost convinced that maybe, finally, this might be the day that our 9 month wait ends and we welcome our son Aiden into the world.
I walk back to the bedroom. David looks so peaceful… and exhausted. The work-week has been long for him, and he has only had about 5 hours’ sleep. I want to share my growing excitement – to check to see if he, too, thinks this might be the beginning of labor – but I know that there will be hours to go before our son is born. And so I decide to let Daddy sleep a while longer.
I wander into the kitchen, wash the dishes in the sink, and then decide to call my mom to see if she thinks this might be the beginning of labor. It is an early hour to call, but she answers the phone with excitement in her voice; she has been hoping for weeks that on the other end of the line she will hear my voice announce that it is time. Yet now that I am calling for that purpose, I am unsure. I am not having contractions in any pattern. They certainly don’t feel strong enough to help push a baby into the birth canal. In fact, they feel just like the Braxton-Hicks contractions I have been experiencing for the past month. But I am pretty sure that was my water breaking, and that the discharge is what is called the “bloody show”. I ask Mom if she thinks I am starting labor. She suggests I do what I know I probably should have already done: call our midwife, Lucinda, who will oversee the birth of our son, Aiden, at home. Really, that probably should have been the first thing I did, if it was not to wake David; after all, she has said before that if I am wondering if I should call her… I probably should be. So I get off the phone with Mom, promising to call her back once I know anything more – after all, it’d be silly for Mom and Dad to rush down to Hughson from Tuolumne if it turns out I am not truly in labor.
But when I hang up the phone, I don’t call Lucinda. Instead, I head to the “Kitty Bathroom”, where we keep our four kittens when we are asleep or away from home. The Kitty Bathroom is actually our full-service bathroom where we shower, brush our teeth, put on make-up, etc., but one has to be prepared for the kitten ambush of mrows and sandpaper tongues that is sure to occur. And that is partially what I am seeking at this moment. I want to spend just a few final moments enjoying what life is like now – the simplicity of sitting on the floor Indian-style while four fluffballs swarm me, nuzzling my face and hands. To them, I am MamaCat; I fed them from a bottle when they were tiny and made them poop so they would not die; I take naps with them daily, kittens curled atop my enormous belly, behind my knees, in the crook of my arm and neck; we snuggle and cuddle and every day they make me smile. And I know that this will change once Aiden arrives: that there will be a little one in my arms, and no room for kittens on my belly; that though I will be enthralled with my son and will love him in a way entirely different, a part of me will still miss these quiet moments; that though there will be time for purring kittens to play with and snuggle the little guy down the road, it will not be soon. And so I allow the kittens to rush into David’s office, which is connected to the bathroom, and there we cuddle – Genghis, Napoleon, Xander, StrongSad and I – for what I know will be the last time before Aiden arrives. As StrongSad nuzzles my nose and Genghis tries to push her way closer than the others, I admit to myself that a part of me is afraid of what the next few hours – and the future – will hold. Will the birth go smoothly? Though we have studied and prepared and strengthened my body, will I be able to cope with the pain of labor without medication at home? Will Aiden be okay? Will I be a good mommy? How will I handle going back to work soon after his birth? And the biggest question: how will all this change our lives forever? I cry a little, knowing that everything will soon be different, incomparable really to how we have lived up till now, while at the same time embracing those changes and welcoming the new life that has been growing in me for so long. In a sense, this time with the kittens allows me to say goodbye to one stage of my life and to begin the transition into the next. With an extra little scratch under their chins and behind their ears, I set the little kits on the floor and head to the bathroom for a quick shower.After briefly enjoying the feel of the warm water on my skin, I dry off and get dressed in a black sundress. Still standing in the bathroom, I pick up my cell phone and call Lucinda at slightly after 7:00 AM. Her voice on the other end is groggy, and I can tell I have awakened her from sleep. She quickly throws off her sleepiness, though, and asks many questions: why do you think you are in labor? What are your signs? are these contractions different than the ones you’ve been having? Should I come over now? I describe to her the flow of water that woke me up, the blood on my underwear, the still weak, irregular contractions. And then I pause. Should she come over? I tell her that I don’t think there is any rush at all. She says she will be over in a little bit for an initial check to establish baseline data – heart rates for both me and Aiden, my blood pressure, my temperature – since my water has broken, contracting an infection before delivery is a concern, and we will keep track of my temperature as a gauge of whether that has happened. I hang up the phone with her as I walk to our bedroom.
David is still, his face slack in sleep. Several days’ growth of beard darkens his jaw, a sign of how stressed his job is making him and how exhausted he in fact is. I hate to disturb him, but know I need to wake him before Lucinda arrives. I sit on the edge of the bed next to him and gently caress his arm, enjoying the feel of his skin under my hand. Softly, I murmur his name several times, trying to wake him without jarring him from his dreams. His eyes flutter a bit, and I tell him, “Honey, I think it is time.”
“Time for what?” he mumbles, a little grumpy to be stirred from sleep on a Saturday morning.
“Time for Aiden to come, I think,” I reply, smiling a little at his lack of immediate comprehension. He rubs a hand over his face, clearly trying to assimilate this information, and I wonder if a part of him is wondering if he is still asleep. “Lucinda will be coming over in a little while, so I thought I should wake you before she gets here.”
Instantly he is up and in gear. “What do we need to do?” he questions as he pulls on a pair of black sweat pants.
Briefly my mind draws a blank. I glance at our hamper of homebirth supplies. “We could make the bed…” And so together we strip the regular bedding, and then put on a good set of sheets. On top of that we layer a mattress protector. Finally, we add another set of sheets, this time old ones we don’t care about. This is all so that, afterwards, it will be easy to clean up by simply discarding the old sheets, and a fresh bed will be waiting underneath.
Lucinda arrives with her supplies. David sets up two TV trays near the couches for her to use. She then takes our vital stats: my temperature is 98.6, my pulse is in the 70s, and my blood pressure is typically low, 94/62; Aiden’s heart rate is 132. Everything looks good, according to her, and clearly I am not going to be birthing Aiden soon. That established, she explains that she is going to go to her sons’ soccer games – today her youngest son Reese, who will be 3 tomorrow, will be playing in a game for the first time – unless we feel we need her there. We agree that we are fine for now. She says she will be back in a couple of hours unless we call her earlier.
I call my mom and dad, who decide to head down, and then we call Donna, David’s stepmom and our next door neighbor, to let them know we are in labor and that my folks are on their way; after all, Bill and Donna have kindly offered their place as a waiting room for the family when David and I get down to serious business. I snack a little, and then lie down for a nap. Meanwhile, David busies himself by installing curtain rods in Aiden’s room.
When I wake up, David and I decide to take a stroll down the canal. On our way back, we get a call from Lucinda, who is waiting in our yard. She asks about contractions, but there is nothing really new to report. When we get back to the house a few minutes later, she again takes all our stats, which remain unchanged. However, during this check, my mom arrives, hugs are exchanged, and it is painfully clear that my mom is as nervous as a virgin bride on her wedding day. Following quick introductions, my mom excuses herself and goes back outside. Lucinda then asks if my mom is always that nervous. I smile and say that she can be a bit antsy. Lucinda again heads out, repeating that she’ll be back in a few hours, but will return at any time if we feel that her presence is necessary.David and I visit briefly with our folks, and then send my mom and Donna off to do some shopping and to get us lunch – something intended to keep them busy and distracted for a while. They soon return and we all ate our meals, with me taking breaks to dance through contractions to the birth mix David had created for the occasion. It quickly became clear that I liked the rhythms of Jack Johnson and got up to dance whenever a new contraction began, as Lucinda had told us that movement encourages the contractions to increase in rate and intensity…and that was necessary, as the contractions were pretty darned mild. After lunch, the folks all turned to time-killing activities, leaving us to our own devices until things were further along. Around 2:30, Lucinda called to touch bases. When I reported that things were essentially unchanged, she asked if I might be open to some alternative medicine to try to prod things along. She explained that normally there wouldn’t be any rush, but because my water had broken at six in the morning and I still wasn’t in active labor we needed to be more cautious, due to an increased risk of infection, She further noted that twelve hours after the water breaks, she would usually suggest the use of acupuncture, herbs and nipple stimulation to help things progress; however, since twelve hours after the breaking of my water would be six in the evening on a Saturday, acupuncture would be out of the question at that point – after all, no one would be open. And so she suggested that, were we open to that as an option at any point, that we go ahead and pursue it then. I said that we would do anything she recommended, and we hung up so she could call and make us an appointment. She called back a few moments later to say we had a 3:30 slot. Honestly, I thought she said acupressure, which is what I told David when I rushed to his office to tell him we needed to get our rumps in gear to be on time for an appointment in Modesto in half of an hour. He was a little stunned that we were heading out of Turlock to have acupressure, but was a good sport for all that.
On the way there, we talked with some friends and updated others via text message. One thought we were absolutely nuts for leaving home while in labor, but several thought that we were making the birth an amazing adventure. We tended to agree with the latter opinion! We arrived at Dr. Shen’s just behind Lucinda, and we checked me in for treatment. Lucinda asked if we had a breast pump yet, which could help with nipple stimulation later on at home; however, we had not yet picked ours up. At that point, David volunteered to make a run to Babies-R-Us to get us the pump we’d planned to purchase anyhow while Lucinda and I waited for my treatment.
A few minutes later, Dr. Shen called me back and we began treatment. He seemed concerned that I might give birth there on the table, but Lucinda explained that was why we were there – my contractions were not cooperating. He started by showing me the long, slender needles that he would be using, pointing out that they were disposable. He started on my right ear and proceeded from there. In the end, I had three needles in each ear, two in each hand, two in each leg, and one per foot… and the contractions picked up in speed and intensity. By the end of the hour-long treatment, we were convinced we were now on the right track. Lucinda followed us home, took our stats which were just about identical to all the other times, and then suggested we take another walk along the canal while stimulating my nipples, then head home for some dinner and rest. With the folks now camped out in the front yard, we announced we were going for our walk and departed.This time we brought the video camera, and we talked about how we were feeling – our sense of anticipation and eagerness – as well as recapping what had occurred so far. Of course, we turned off the camera while I was pinching my nipples. I was still very much able to walk through the contractions, but they were much more frequent and intense. Both David and I were thrilled that things finally seemed to be progressing.
We also called David’s mom at this point to let her know that I was in labor. We had waited to do so for a while, knowing she was anxious about our decision to have a home birth and wanting to minimize her anxiety as much as possible. The folks decided to get pizza, which sounded nauseating to me, and I opted instead to eat the rest of my turkey sandwich from lunch. David and I also decided it was now time for quiet, and so we politely posted notice on the door that, though we truly appreciated everyone’s presence, we wanted to ensure a peaceful atmosphere for the birth and that we would call them over when the little one had arrived and Lucinda gave the go-ahead. Shortly thereafter, the folks moved the gathering to Bill and Donna’s, David played Mobsters on Myspace and updated friends, and I once again danced my way through contractions in our now candlelit living room.
Lucinda arrived at 9:30 to do another check, and I was mid-contraction. After the contraction ended, she asked how I thought things were going, and I responded that I thought things were going well. I begged off the stats momentarily to use the restroom, during which time I also changed my underwear for the fourth time that day – I had not realized that I would continue to leak so much water and small amounts of blood.
I waddled my way back to where Lucinda was waiting in the living room and we commenced what we thought would be another routine check of stats. However, it became frighteningly clear that this was not a routine check when Lucinda took Aiden’s heart-rate, looked concerned, and took it again. She announced that his heartrate had dropped from the 130s to around 110 - about 10 beats per minute less than the lowest end of the safe range. Blunt and down-to-business, she said that we needed to do a cervical check – the first one since I started labor – and we hoped that I was near to delivering. I don’t know what I expected a cervical check to be like, but I certainly had not anticipated it to feel as searingly painful as it was. I had to remind myself not to lurch back away from Lucinda, as she needed to ascertain how dilated I was and she would not be able to do so if I was squirming around. Shockingly, although I had been in labor for about 16 hours at this point, I was only dilated to two centimeters. Even more stunning was the discovery of a bulging bag of waters. Apparently, I had a high leak, which meant that most of the water was still inside. Lucinda took Aiden’s heartrate one more time, and announced that we needed to go to the hospital without delay.
Now, originally, in discussing the possibility of the need for a transfer of care to a hospital, it was decided that we would prefer Doctors Medical Center in Modesto if the situation were not dire, and that we would go to Emanuel, the nearest hospital, in the event of a true emergency. When Lucinda told us to head immediately to Emanuel, we knew that the situation was not looking good. I grabbed the green folder with all our information and David and I hurried to his car. Lucinda said she would call L&D, they’d be waiting for us there and that she’d be following behind in her car.
We soon realized that the green folder with all of our information did not, in fact, contain all the information needed: the directions to the hospital were missing. Frantically, I called Donna with my cell phone. In a near panic and struggling not to cry, I demanded directions to the hospital. She asked why I needed them, and I responded with a very curt and succinct response that really did little to provide her with information or reassurance. Her computer was slow, and I was becoming less patient by the moment. David was driving as quickly as he felt he could without freaking me out more or getting us pulled over by the police when we saw a sign indicating the hospital was on the left. We made the turn and continued on that road. Finally we arrived at the hospital, and we pulled into a drop-off area in front of the Emergency Room. I waddled in with David close behind. I tried to tell the lady at the front desk that our midwife had already called, but she did not seem to know anything about us. We went through what felt like an interminable list of questions – name, date of birth, address, what concern was bringing me to the hospital - as well as the typical requests for ID and my insurance card. And once that was complete, a nurse, Valerie, came with a wheelchair to take me back to Labor and Delivery. She was very professional and she promptly got me situated in a delivery room bed… and then we went over the same questions again. At the end of the questions, she said she needed to do a check to see how dilated I was, and this time I knew what that would entail. Needless to say, perhaps, I was not to keen on this happening again. She performed the check and I did my best to not resist, and she confirmed that I was dilated to 2 centimeters.
Around this time, they also had established that Aiden's baseline heart-rate was in fact lower than expected - ranging for the 90s to the 110s, but sometimes dropping even lower. At that point, both Valerie and Lucinda agreed that some oxygen could possibly benefit the little guy, so they placed an oxygen mask over my face. However, at the time I thought for some reason that it was because my blood pressure was really low. The cold air blowing in my face made me light-headed and woozy. I felt smothered, as though I were trying to breathe with my head buried under a fluffy pillow, a flannel sheet and a couple heavy-weight down comforters. I yanked it up to my forehead and asked if I could please remove it - that it was making me feel nauseous. Valerie informed me that it would help my vitals. I pulled it back down, but immediately felt nauseous and dizzy again. I struggled to breathe evenly and peacefully with it on, but could not. After what felt like ages, I removed it again. I don;t know if Valerie noticed or cared at that moment, as it was right around then that the doctor assigned to us entered the room.
Dr. Lee was a towering African American with gold-rimmed glasses and a booming, self-righteous voice. He seemed very irritated that we were there to ruin his quiet evening. I suspected that he was perhaps a little smug that some ignorant "home-birthers" had been forced to run to his aid. He ran through a long list of questions, and seemed to barely take in my responses. He quickly decided to do another "check". If the previous two had been bad, they were merely warming me up for his rough handling. He declared that I still had a bulging bag of water and, with an implement that reminded me of a knitting needle, punctured it.
At that moment, I learned the difference between a "igh leak" and actuahlly having your water break. What I had experienced that morning was a light wash of fluid; this left me sitting in a large puddle with a horrified look on my face. Instantly, it seemed like my belly had deflated and become harder, more contoured to the shape of the baby within. I also had a tremendous contraction that let me know we were now in business.
Dr. Lee then stated that he wanted to start me on pitocin to get things moving. Pitocin is a drug that produces unnaturally strong and rapid contractions. Having watched "The Business of Being Born", attended our Bradley Method classes with the intent of having an unmedicated birth, and done further research on our own, my husband and I were very leery of introducing any drugs into the mix, especially at that point. I asked why we needed to have pitocin at that point. Dr. Lee replied that my labor had not been progressing appropriately. Lucinda pointed out to him that, as the water had now been officially broken, my labor might progress more rapidly on its own. He agreed to do another check before starting pitocin.
And this was a check that was worthwhile. Within the half hour that had passed in bursting water sacks and butting heads with the doctor, I had dilated from 2cm to 6c! He agreed to let things go naturally until 2AM and then to revisit the idea of pitocin at that point... so long as I agreed to have an IV put in my hand. I asked why he felt that was necessary - in "The Business of Being Born" and in the Bradley class, it discussed how some doctors like to have an IV already in place because it makes it much easier later for them to convince the women to take drugs that makes the woman more malleable. I knew that later, in the middle of a contraction, if offered pain relief, I might be tempted... and that having the IV already in place would make that all the more readily available. He said he wanted me to be on fluids to help keep me hydrated. Lucinda seemed to think this was okay and, though I was still a bit suspicious of Dr. Lee's motives, I agreed. After all, David would be there, as would Lucinda; I knew that they would be my voice of reason down the road.
As Dr. Lee left the room, we felt a little relieved - the contractions were coming on fairly strongly again and we were sure that we'd be having the little one snuggled in our arms before long. After all, I had gone from a 2 to a 6 in only half of an hour.
Valerie suggested that I might like to try out the birthing ball, which is essentially a regular big exercise ball like the ones used in gyms for yoga, pilates, and other forms of exercise. This was a little amusing, as I had by now been changed into a hospital gown and had various wires protruding from my hand and from between my legs. The idea of sitting on this ball with these medical intrusions impeding my range of movement seemed ridiculously awkward to me. Yet up I got and headed for the ball. I leaned my head against the bed and half-squatted, half-sat, rocking rhythmically on the plastic ball. David gamely rubbed my lower back through each contraction, which seemed to be getting stronger all the time. Between David's relaxing touch and the mental relaxation exercises I had picked up from the Bradley classes, I felt very prepared to deal with the pain of the contractions. I rocked, soothing myself, and imaged the good work we were doing to bring this wonderful little boy into our family.
And then I woke up to Valerie rousing me from the light slumber into which I had fallen. She had been watching the monitors for some time and had noticed that my contractions had slackened. She explained that while she knew that we wanted to birth our baby as naturally as we could, that she was starting to see Dr. Lee's side about the pitocin. She told us that Dr. Lee had already placed the order for the pitocin to be administered, but that she had been waiting until we gave the go-ahead; however, she also said that she was more inclined to put some pressure on us as we neared the 24-hour mark since labor had started. We asked for some more time. She looked somewhat less than thrilled, but she acquiesced and left the room.
I remembered Lucinda's earlier suggestions to walk, to dance, to move - that movement encourages the contractions. For the next hour, I marched my way up and down the my little square of floor, a trail of monitor cords attached to me and the machines alternately swaying with my steps and stretching tautly between us. I stomped my feet as I went, intent on pushing the lines depicting my contractions to the top of the monitor. With each contraction, I moved even more frantically, taking reassurance in the spiking of the lines to the top of the monitor. However, as much as I was heartened by the height of the line, there was no duration. Each contraction was lasting all too briefly, and this could be seen on the monitor, even as I strove to kick the contractions into gear.
An hour passed, and Valerie returned to do a check. I inwardly prayed that significant progress had been made. Yet, when she announced that there had been no change, despite my efforts, I was not particularly surprised. Disappointed and frustrated, surely, but not surprised. Valerie asked if we were willing to now consider the pitocin, and rather than answering, I asked for time to talk it over with David and Lucinda.
Sitting in the room, we discussed our options. Lucinda sadi she could not make the decision for us, but that she thought pitocin would not necessarily be back under the circumstances. After all, as we approached the 24th hour of labor, the hospital would be putting increasing pressure on us to take action, and we were rapidly approaching that mark - by taking the pitocin at our current point, I might be able to progress far enough by the 24-hour mark that they would not feel compelled to press further action. She did point out, though, that pitocin "changes the game" - that the sensations experiences up 'til then would be very different from the contractions with pitocin. David seemed to agree with her logic, and added that taking pitocin was not guaranteeing I would end up needing pain medication.
Laying back in the hospital bed, I felt overwhelmed and largely defeated. I cried. I felt like we had prepared so hard and so long and had done so much research to be prepared to give our son the best start possible and, now that it was time, it seemed that all our preparations were for naught. We had wanted a home water birth. We wanted Lucinda to deliver our baby. We wanted to be at home, resting together when it was over. And all of those things had been relinquished as ultimately expendable to ensure Aiden's well-being. But I felt like this next step - accepting medicine - was a place I truly did not want to compromise. I knew that most women who accept pitocin or other contraction intensifiers end up with pain meds because the contractions produced by the pitocin are stronger and more painful than what your body would do on its own. And once pain meds come into the picture, it is often the start of a nasty cycle - the pain meds make it so you can's feel, and so they give more pitocin. Then, because of the added pit, an epidural is given... and then, when it is time to push, you cannot feel what you are during, and end up with an emergency C-section. In contemplating the pitocin, I felt like I was being put on a course where I might end up with a C-section that should have been entirely preventable. Moreover, I did not want my son to be born lethargic and drugged - I wanted him to come into the world naturally and in his own time. I felt in that moment, looking across the room at two of the people I trusted most in world to give Aiden a good start, that I was about to play Russian Roulette with the birth: that I would take the pitocin and then see whether we came out safely or not, as this decision did not affect only me, but my son as well. I wipe my eyes. I decided in that instant that we would do the pitocin, and that we would be fine.
Valerie came back in around 4:30 AM, and asked if we had come to any resolution. I told her we would do the pitocin. She brought the medicine, and injected it via the IV already in my hand. I sat there, waiting. And it did kick in, though not with the ferocity I had expected. I sat up in the bed, my knees sticking out and my soles pressed together an focused on tea leaves. As inane as it sounds, I recalled a visualization from my prenatal yoga class: with each contraction, more tea leaves were being added to a cup, swirling furiously and then settling slowly to the bottom, brewing an ever-stronger cup. This was parallel to what was happening to my body: each contraction grew in intensity, working to open my body more and more, creating a situation where our baby could be born. And with each contraction, I knew we were getting closer. I spent an hour that way, quietly meditating on tea leaves, while David and Lucinda rested as best they could.
Valerie returned, and injected another dose of pitocin and I prepared to deal with its effects. I still pictured tea, but as time passed and the contraction grew in strength, I found myself gasping somewhat with the pain.
Around 6 AM, Lucinda told me she had to call her back-up, Andrea, in Jamestown. It was July 13, the one day of the summer Lucinda had to be elsewhere, as it was her son's birthday. It would take Andrea an hour or more to get there, and Lucinda had to leave by 7:30.
6:20 or thereabouts brought another dose of pitocin. I was still sitting on the bed, trying to quietly get through the intensity of the contractions.
At 7:00, Valerie came to say that the shifts were changing and that Joyce was going to be our new nurse. Sadly, the change of shifts did not include a new doctor. Minutes later, Andrea arrived. I was very intent on relaxing through contractions at this point, and barely recall greeting her or saying goodbye to Lucinda, who soon headed off to spend a day with her family.
Right on schedule, Joyce came in around 7:20 with the latest dose of pitocin. At this point, I was asking myself with every contraction: can I deal with this, reassuring myself each time that, yes,i I could still handle the pain. Truly, it seemed that the tea leaves were constantly swirling and rarely settling at this point, and the pain was making me nauseous. Joyce brought Mylanta, which I swallowed down without a second thought. Andrea and David were both by the bedside, David rubbing my back and Andrea helping the to take sips of water.
Around 8:30, Dr. Lee decided to visit again. Checking me is the middle of a contraction, he announced in the same breath that I was now dilated to 8 cm and for Joyce to prepare a pudendal block for me. It is a "local anesthesia", but it still can cross through the placenta. Some of its common effects is that a baby whose mother has a pudendal block may be less alerts after birth and as a result may struggle to nurse. This was not acceptable to me. Still in the midst of the contraction, I replied, "I do not want a pudendal block."
Dr. Lee retorted, "You will when I give you an episiotomy."
"I don't want one of those, either," I responded through teeth gritting against the pain of the contraction.
He gave us a rather unfriendly look before stating, "Look, it is not the place of the patient to question the doctor who has been delivering babies for 16 years." With that, he left.
At the foot of the bed, I heard Andrea ask Joyce if she had heard Dr. Lee correctly - that he had essentially said that he was planning to give me an episiotomy. Joyce replied that she was sure he only meant that I would want the pudendal block if I needed an episiotomy - not that it was something he planned to do. Moments later, Joyce left the room.
When she did, Andrea came up to the head of the bed. She told me and David that she had heard us express directly our desire not to have a pudendal block or an episiotomy and that she would not allow them to perform either unless there was a true medical reason. I was filled with a flood of relief, knowing I did not need to be distracted from what my body was doing to think about fending off the unwanted medical intrusions Dr. Lee seemed to want.
It was approaching 9AM, and they gave me yet another dose of pitocin. When that kicked in, I swear I have never felt so fully out of control of my body. At times I felt like the pain was going to levitate me right off of the bed. At another moment, I felt swallowed by pain. I had previously bitten the pillow to drown out the noises I wanted to make, but did not want others to hear. This time, kneeling to face the back of the bed, I went to bite my hand. It took me several moments to realize I did not feel the pain in my hand, and it took me even longer to realize that was because I was instead biting David’s hand, which was holding mine. I stopped, obviously, and apologized profusely, feeling like I was being one of those women who, in the midst of labor, screams, “This is all your fault!” at her husband, though such thoughts had never crossed my mind; in truth, I had never been so relieved to have David by my side.
It was around this time when I started to feel like pushing. Andrea told me that I was not ready to push yet, but I told her that it felt good to push just a little bit. She said that it was okay to push just the tiniest bit at the top of the contractions – at the moment it hurt the worst – but if pushing caused any additional pain, to stop immediately. I continued in this manner for a short while, and the slight pushes actually alleviated a good amount of the pain.
David’s phone vibrated; he had a text message from his family, who had been waiting all night in the waiting room, and they wanted an update. David asked if he could go update them, but I did not want him to leave me. I also felt like I needed to go to the bathroom. Andrea suggested that David help me to the restroom and she would update the family. This sounded like a great plan to me, so they helped me to disconnect the monitor cords so I could get to the bathroom. David and Andrea walked with me over to the bathroom and then Andrea headed off on her mission. As I was walking past the sink over to the toilet, I again felt like I should push a bit, though I did not really feel a contraction. I squatted on the ground and pushed just slightly again. When the feeling passed, I got up, sat on the toilet and went to the bathroom. As I was wiping, I told David, “Something feels… different.”“What do you mean?” he replied.
I felt around a bit and said, a bit confused, “I feel something… like a slimy, hairy slug!”
After a moment’s pause, David asked, “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go back to the room.”
When we got back there, though, I took one look at the bed and declared, “I am not getting back into that bed!” With that, I bent forward at the waist with my hands on the edge of the bed, and then immediately dropped from there into a squat at the side of the bed.
At that moment, Andrea returned. “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding surprised to find me squatting on the ground with David kneeling behind me. I stated, suddenly knowing what my body wanted at that moment, “I feel like pushing.”
“Hang on – you weren’t ready for pushing yet! Let me take a look.” She came over to where I was and laid down on the floor so she could see, as the lights were still off.
“You’re right,” she said, pulling back. “You are ready to start pushing. I’m going to let the nurses know, okay?” Standing, she pulled a pillow off of the bed and slid it beneath me, explaining as she went, “In case your legs get tired and you want to sit!”
Then we were alone, just the two of us. I breathed deeply, and felt the urge to push, and I was aware of a strong pressure between my legs. I leaned forward, picked him up gently, and as he made his first small noises, placed him on my chest. And then it was just the three of us.
And then everything was bustle and busy-ness around us as nurses appeared to clean us both up and weigh and measure. But for a little time longer, none of them mattered in the least. In fact, none of the things we’d had to compromise on – the home birth, the pitocin, having Lucinda deliver our son – none of it mattered at that moment. We were a family, and that was the only matter of importance.
This is a few moments after Aiden made his appearance. The best guess was he was born at 10:18 AM. We don't really know - obviously, we weren't looking at the clock! Note that we're still on the floor, and the
nurses are still gloving up. :-)
David cutting the cord after it had stopped pulsing.
Our two wonderful midwives: Lucinda with Aiden on his first day home - one of the fantastic benefits to having a midwife-assisted homebirth is having home visits after the birth - no need to pack up baby and mama to go to a doctor's office! and Andrea, at the hospital, giving me some valuable suggestions about breastfeeding.
nurses are still gloving up. :-)
David cutting the cord after it had stopped pulsing.
Our two wonderful midwives: Lucinda with Aiden on his first day home - one of the fantastic benefits to having a midwife-assisted homebirth is having home visits after the birth - no need to pack up baby and mama to go to a doctor's office! and Andrea, at the hospital, giving me some valuable suggestions about breastfeeding.
