So here it is, in all its nitty gritty detail. Typed with one hand while holding and feeding the baby with the other. Because this is apparently the only way to get anything done. Enjoy!
In the early morning hours of May 6, I was woken up a few times by contractions. It had happened before, it was uncomfortable but went away if I got up and walked around. Braxton-Hicks, no worries. They continued throughout the day, more than I had experienced in the past, but sporadic. No pattern, not intensifying, that's not true labor! My pregnancy book and the internet all agreed that practice contractions can increase in the weeks leading up to delivery. So ok, it could still be weeks away. Let's not waste all my worrying energy in one day.
Later that morning, I went to the bathroom and found a sizable glob of discharge. Mucous plug? A quick Google Images search told me yes, probably. And also, ewww. But again, the book and internet agreed this can occur anywhere from hours to weeks before labor. So basically, it's anybody's guess. Science, you guys.
So I did what any reasonable person would do -- I went to my prenatal pilates class.
What? I was already registered, and if you cancel less than 24 hours in advance you lose the session. If I wasn't going into labor, I was going to want that session. And if I was, well, it'd be my last opportunity to exercise for a long while. The contractions were still sporadic and rare, so I wasn't even all that uncomfortable. So off I went for my hour workout. I had a contraction while in class and freaked everyone out, but still thought it was nothing. I mean, I just straightened up and took a deep breath. And done. That can't be labor, right?
So I headed home at 5pm and hubby was already there. "So I've had some contractions today and passed my mucous plug, but it could still be weeks. I'm gonna go shower." La di da.
Hubby cooked dinner while I hung out on my exercise ball. Around 7pm, I realized the contractions were more frequent and seemed to have developed a pattern, so I turned toward the clock. Well, look at that! Lasting about 45 seconds and coming every 5 minutes.
I still wasn't convinced it was definitely labor. We ate dinner and watched tv. By the end of the 90 minute show, I was pretty uncomfortable and changing positions with every contraction. Ok, this is probably it.
But the contractions had not become any longer or any closer together even after three hours, so it was probably going to be long and slow, right? I called the doula to let her know, and decided I'd try to get some rest. I washed up for bed, did my usual stretches to prevent the middle of the night achiness I'd been fighting the last few months, and climbed into bed. Approximately 30 seconds later, I had a contraction accompanied by what felt like a balloon popping. I was saying the words "my water just broke" before I even felt the gush of fluid. Hubby helped me to the bathroom with one hand while dialing the doula with the other.
From there it went fast. Once on the toilet, I couldn't get back up. The contractions came fast and hard. Hubby later told me they were lasting about 90 seconds and 2 minutes apart, timed from the beginning of one to the beginning of the next, so basically 30 seconds of down time. Sitting was about the last position I wanted to be in, so hubby finally succeeded in dragging me to a standing position. I clung to the bathroom counter, dripping blood on the floor and beginning to sound like a banshee with each contraction, while hubby ran around the house grabbing the last few items for the hospital bag.
At some point I felt like I needed to have a bowel movement. I managed to get myself back onto the toilet and back off again when I realized that wasn't happening. That pressure was the baby! I then realized that with each contraction my muscles were pushing down, hard. Ohmagawd I'm pushing! I can't stop it! This baby is coming get me to the hospital right now! I did not want to give birth on my bathroom floor.
Hubby attempted to pull a shirt over my head, as I was only wearing a skimpy nightgown, but I was not having any of it. Stop touching me! Can't you see I'm hot here? I started walking to the car, which involved clinging to a wall outside our door through another contraction, and again hanging from the car door. Hubby was yelling to get in the car and I was yelling back that I couldn't move. Finally, between contractions, I got my butt in the seat and the door shut. I was holding myself up off the seat with my hands as we drove to ease the pressure. Luckily, at just after midnight on a Wednesday morning, there was relatively little traffic and we were at the hospital in about ten minutes. Our doula, coming from the other side of town, met us there.
We pulled into the parking garage and stopped as close to the hospital entrance as possible. I climbed out and started waddling towards the door. The courtyard was deserted except for a lone security guard. I was pretty grateful for that as a contraction caused me to grab a hold of a sign displaying a map of the facility, hanging from the top in just my nightie.
Hubs ran up behind me with a wheelchair and whisked me the rest of the way to the maternity ward. Into triage we went, where they pulled my nightgown off over my head and shoved my arms into a hospital gown before helping me onto the table. Now I've been told that having the dilation of your cervix checked is uncomfortable at best. Personally, I did not even notice anyone doing anything. But the nurse apparently did check, as she looked at the other nurse and exclaimed "She's fully open!" Then to me: "Don't push! DON'T push!" To which I silently responded with "yeah right" and kept on going.
Off to the delivery room we went, with the doctor in gown and mask between my knees before I even realized what was happening. You know how on tv women are always yelling or groaning as they push? Yeah, no. I was told to hold my breath, not let a sound escape my lips, and focus all of my energy out my bottom. The expression "blow it out your ass" takes on new meaning. Hubby by my head, cheering me on; the doula holding one leg, the nurse on the other side. The doctor telling me to grab my thighs and curl up to push.
The thing about crunching for all your worth is that you can suddenly see past the giant belly to the poorly maintained nether regions you haven't seen in months. The key is to ignore that, and focus on what's happening in the middle of it. That head poking out. Ohmagawd the head. Even having watched it all happen, I can't for the life of me figure out how that big ol' head gets through that itty bitty hole. I was pushing for about an hour, and for most of that time her head was poking out. Just a tiny, not even fist sized, hair covered bulge. That caused unbelievable pain.
I thought going in that I didn't want to be coached on when and how long to push. I thought I'd push however my body told me to. Well, when that head had been poking out for a while and was making no more progress and it became impossible to relax between contractions and there was so much burning and hurting I was like just get this baby out already! I will do whatever you want, just make the baby come out. So there were a few final intense pushes for as long as I could hold it, and on the last one I could literally feel myself tear. You would think that would hurt, but frankly there was already so much pain it wasn't so much awareness of the pain of tearing as just awareness of tearing, period.
But then. THEN. The head suddenly popped out. "Popped" is the only way I can describe it. One second it was just a bulge, and the next it was an entire head. "Oh my God!" were the first words to escape my lips. I stared in awe as the doctor removed the umbilical cord from around her neck and cleared her nose and mouth. Then it was time to push again.
I thought the body would be the easy part and just sort of slide out. Not so much. But it did only take one push, and the pain was mediated by the fact that I was staring at my daughter's face. And then she was on my chest. My daughter. The nurse was wiping her off and covering us with blankets. I was completely naked at this point, having stripped off my gown while pushing because it felt like it was a million degrees in that room. It was hanging off my right arm, blocked from falling to the floor by the blood pressure cuff they had slapped on me at some point. The doctor was talking about the placenta and making sure everything was out and giving me a shot of Pitocin so I didn't bleed out and stitching me up and blah blah blah.
I did not care what was happening. There was a baby covered in blood and vernix and screaming bloody murder on my chest and it was my child. I had done that. I had made that baby and felt her growing inside of me and brought her into this world with my very own body. I had never felt so strong and amazed and instantly in love. Any fear I had about bonding with the baby while she was still inside me was immediately laid to rest. She may have no longer been connected to my body through the umbilical cord, but it had already been replaced by the connection to my heart.
I arrived at the hospital at 12:43. My daughter was born at 1:42. I had only begun having regular contractions less than 7 hours before. This is where I say "results not typical." But should I have a second child, I sure hope it's typical for me!
