Anna's birth story

At the beginning of pregnancy, I told my midwife Kat that I wanted to go “as natural as possible…” because I’m a nurse and I know the increased occurrence of medical intervention after an epidural, because I really don’t want a c-section, because it’s better for the baby, because Ben encouraged me to, and because I freakin wanted to see if I could be a real bonafide daughter of Eve. Well, I didn’t get an epidural… but the process certainly wasn’t anything like I had dreamed up.

Up to my 38 wk appointment, I kept jokingly asking if it was time to get this baby out yet. Smiling, the MA Kristi takes my blood pressure like usual. Then, no longer smiling, she says, “let me try the other arm…” Okay, whatev. Then, “Wow, it really is that high,” she says. “135/85. That’s not that big of a deal, right? Well, apparently in the OB world it is. It is when your normal is 110/65. Sooo, what does this mean? Kat comes in and starts using words like pre-ecclampsia, induction, and dangerous. And of course, I had told Ben that he didn’t need to take off work for this appointment, great. Now I’m being asked if I want to schedule an induction? I’m 3cm dilated, so there is a chance I could start labor naturally soon. Nonetheless, Kat suggests waiting no longer than a week. So we tentatively schedule the induction for that coming Thursday. I’ll talk it over with Ben that night. I have to say, I felt very adult making that decision by myself… was that the right thing to do?

First things first, the next day I get some blood drawn to make sure my vital organs are still being oxygenated in spite of the elevated BP. Then, I go for a non-stress test at the Maternal Fetal Medicine Clinic. I lay down on the plastic bed with crinkly paper for an hour while I watch the monitor record baby’s movements and my arm is squeezed way too tight every ten minutes. 148/90, 145/89, 151/91… crap. Kat was right, this baby is pushing my BP higher and higher, and I’m not even laboring yet. So, Thursday it is.

Knowing what day your baby is going to be born feels so unnatural. Part of going “natural” to me means letting your body just do its thing, just waiting to see what that will look like. I can’t help feeling like Pitocin is going to rob me of experiencing this intimate and unpredictable journey my daughter and I are supposed to take together. But what can I do? I don’t want seizures and brain damage to be a part of our story, so I suppose I’ll go with Pitocin.

We pack our hospital bags that night and try to sleep. Yeah right. 6am, the alarm rings and we call the hospital. They’ll be ready for us at 7:10. Wow, so precise- weird. En route I’m thinking: I’m having a baby today, I’m having a baby today. Will the labor be long or short? Will I be begging for an epidural after 5 minutes? Oh the horror stories I’ve heard with this drug… Will I love the experience, or despise it? I’m as jittery during this 5 minute drive as I was walking down the aisle 4 1/2 years ago on my wedding day.

We park, carry our bags to check-in. They show me in to room 9, with a tub! I change into a gown and awkwardly wait for someone to come back in and tell us what to do. How weird to be in a hospital- not working, not sick, not laboring, just waiting. Finally, nurse Andrea comes and starts my IV… OUCH! As she’s digging around, I’m getting sweaty and woozy, I need to lay back. Great, I’m such a wuss. I’m supposed to push out a baby in a few minutes?? This is going to be a shit show.

And so it begins… Pitocin is connected at 8am running at a low dose. I sign anesthesia consent just in case the Pitocin warrants an epidural. They want to wait to break my water until 2 doses of IV Penicillin have infused, which will take 4 hrs. (Penicillin was needed to treat Group B Strep, which was present in the birth canal. Normal bacteria, but can harm the baby). Well, I feel nothing at first. Unfortunately I’m attached to continuous fetal heart monitoring, an IV pole, and a blood pressure cuff; all due to the induction… so I don’t exactly have a lot of mobility. I decide to sit on the birthing ball (like a workout ball) to change things up. Andrea keeps coming in, increasing my Pitocin and asking, “You don’t feel it yet??” Nope. Should I? We watch a movie, play Words with Friends, chat. Eventually I get back in bed because my BP is climbing to 170/90. Andrea is impressed that I’m such a responsible patient, but scolds me for silencing the BP alarm. Sorry, habit! So basically, I’m laying in bed bored for 4 hrs.

Finally, Kat my midwife arrives to break my water at noon. What a strange sensation! They told me I would feel a warm rush of fluid, but they didn’t tell me how warm or how much! It felt like a waterfall of bath water between my legs… really soothing actually. Kat warns me that I will start feeling contractions soon, because the cushion of fluid between baby and cervix is gone. She’s recommending an epidural simply because she is scared to see what my BP will do once I’m in pain. I’m still hesitant because I feel nothing, but I don’t want to be goofy stubborn about it if it’s truly going to stop me from having a seizure or something. I’m finally beginning to feel some discomfort at this point, but nothing intolerable. Kat says, “Well, let me just check you to see if you’ve progressed.” Then, “Holy cow, Suzanne, you’re about 7 or 8!” As she’s saying this, the contractions suddenly are really painful and pretty close together… I hear, “Let’s get a delivery table in here now please.” I’m not talking anymore, just concentrating on breathing through them. Yoga breathing, deep and slow. Ben is on my left, soothing me and coaching my breathing when I get off pattern.

I have an awesome husband, by the way. He is right there the whole time, supportive and loving. ☺ Even though I can’t speak to tell him, I’m hanging on each of his encouraging words. My eyes stay shut for the rest of the delivery so I can concentrate on getting through this. “Are you feeling pushy?,” Kat asks. Strangely, I knew exactly what she meant as I feel myself nodding yes. She guides my hands behind my knees and tells me to pull back as I push. Later, Ben told me my left hand wouldn’t budge from on top of my thigh. I was pushing on my thigh instead of pulling my leg back, and he couldn’t get me to switch it, despite the nurses’ orders. Apparently it helped me cope with the pain. I have no idea whether they lowered a mirror for me or not, my eyelids weren’t budging. “Push through the burn, Suzanne!” I think, how did she know it was burning? She’s a mind-reader! (That bit of common knowledge escaped me at the time). It was like a really bad Indian sunburn. I push for about 10 miserable minutes as I hear, “Now, Suzanne, she needs to come out now. Push harder, again.” Then an aside, “I’m going to have to cut, baby’s heart rate is dropping…” Great, that’s going to hurt, isn’t it? Of course, all I get out is a grunt. “Okay, you’ll feel a little pinch here…” Finally I get a word out, “OW!... Ow, Ouch, Ow.” Have you ever had someone cut your skin with scissors? It hurt more than I expected! I assume the tissue tore a bit more, but who knows. Then after another push, I feel a little relief- the head is out. Yea! Then, a HUGE relief as her body comes rushing out, followed by another warm waterfall of fluid. I finally open my eyes as my gooey white baby is placed on my stomach. I can’t believe this really just happened! So fast! Not what I expected! I surprise my self by not crying, I’m in a stunned silence I think. She’s quiet, no crying, so after a minute Ben cuts the cord and they take her over to the warmer. I stare stupidly at my cheesy sticky hands until someone comes and wipes them off. About 6 people stand around the baby quietly but urgently talking, rubbing her chest. I catch a glimpse of Ben’s terrified expression while watching them, but I relax with faith in our medical professionals.

Next, I realize Kat is telling me to push again. Huh? Oh right, the placenta. Tiredly, I push. A little piece comes out. She tells me it’s a good thing we induced when we did, the placenta is in pieces- indicating damage from high BP. The nurses (when did they all get here?) begin pushing on my stomach- “OOOWWW!!!” Holy crap! That’s almost as painful as the contractions at the end!! Please stop for the love of all that is Holy! They keep massaging and torturing me until the whole placenta is puzzle-pieced together on the table. Finally.

Then, stitches. Geez, can’t we be done yet? Lidocaine shots, and stitching the episiotomy and a separate torn labia. Weird sensation- I feel pulling of the thread, but no pain really. And did I mention the shivering? After she was out, my body was racked with shivers for about the next 20 minutes. Uncontrollable shaking, which they assured me was normal- caused by the sudden flux of hormones and extreme physical changes… still freaky though. I guess they had given me 2 doses of BP medicine Labetalol while I was pushing, because now I was hypotensive for a bit.

Then I realize gladly that our daughter is pink and making noises over there. They bring her to me so we can try breastfeeding. Yea! I’ve been so curious about this! Well, she doesn’t catch on right away. I’m a little disappointed, but too tired and happy to think too much about it right now.

They take her to the nursery, and finally it’s just me and Ben in the room. Quiet. Tired. Still shaking. Holy cow.

The next few hours are filled with an eventful bathroom trip, a wheelchair ride to my new room, and a loooong session with the lactation consultant. Bless her heart, she was so sweet, but I was stinkin tired and uncomfortable and just wanted her to go away. To make the rest of the long story short, breastfeeding went poorly, and my BP was still crazy high. Anna stopped breathing once in the nursery, but she recovered on her own. One nurse thought she heard a heart arrythmia, so they did an EKG and called the pediatrician on-call. When we were released, the follow-up review by a pediatric cardiologist showed nothing abnormal, though. Phew. The next few days in the hospital consisted of pumping, bottle feeding, failed attempts at breast feeding, BP checks and meds, pain management, and long eventful trips to the bathroom. Friends came to visit, food was blah, Ben slept on the vinyl pullout chair. It’s kind of a blur, but we were eventually allowed to leave with our baby girl in her giant carseat.

Here we come, world, we’re not the same anymore.