March 31st
Prodromal labor began
with mucous and bloody show. I had never really had much of either, and Josh
was not in Anchorage yet so I was freaking out. The first night, I had
contractions off and on for a few hours that kept me terrified that he would
miss the baby being born. I also had a few small gushes, but I chose to ignore
them unless something bigger happened. Prodromal labor is kind of my thing, and I
warned everyone that I could be two weeks away still.
April 5th
I wasn’t too worried
at this point because Josh had finally arrived in Anchorage. I was free to
deliver a baby at any time! Contractions were happening ten minutes apart for
hours at a time, and they were very strong. Previous labors had me believing
that they were definitely causing cervical changes – especially since I was
having mucous and blood. I didn’t want to try to push things, so I was just resting
and letting things happen however they would. I was starting to feel a little
restless and generally aching. That’s a good indication that labor isn’t far
off usually.
April 8th
Still no baby. How
disappointing. I could tell the baby was not in a good position because I was
feeling pain in my back without contractions, and he was still facing forwards.
I was also having a lot of stomach cramps and lovely labor symptoms like that,
so I felt like it couldn’t possibly go on much longer than a few more days!
April 9th
(7a.m.) Contractions had
slowed down a bit, which left me slightly disappointed. I was waking up with
nausea in the middle of the night and my legs and feet decided it was a good
time to swell up like balloon animals.
(5p.m.) More mucous
and blood. I was positive that I was having cervical changes and that all these
contractions were really helping. I was feeling very hopeful at this point, but
I was getting very tired.
(7p.m.) I was having
really strong, sharp pains all through my back and sides, as well as sharp pains
in my cervix. The last time I had sharp pains in my cervix, I was halfway
dilated once I went in to get checked. I had lost my appetite by this point, and
kept waking up shivering. I had this terrible fear that everything would go
fast and catch us off guard, leaving me with a baby in my bathroom or
something.
(8:30p.m.)
Contractions were time-able at 7-8 minutes apart for HOURS. I was getting
extremely worn out by this point, since I had been contracting for over a week.
April 10th
(7a.m.) I had
contractions all night, but was able to sleep through a lot of them. It was the
first time I felt like I was actually laboring in a peaceful environment like women
get to do during home births. It was a wonderful feeling to be honest.
(2:15p.m.) I had my
40-week appointment and my doctor didn’t bother scheduling my induction as we
had discussed. I had been laboring all day, with contractions strong enough
that I had to stop walking when they hit.
(7p.m.) My
contractions were 10 minutes apart ALL DAY. I was just kind of fed up with it
all, and trying to remind myself that it was all working towards my delivery and
I couldn’t get weary yet.
April 11th
(12:52a.m.)
Contractions are BAD. I figured we weren’t far from going into the hospital,
and would probably end up there early in the morning. I wanted to try to sleep through
them again, but they were too strong and painful.
(6a.m.) We headed in
to Anchorage. Contractions moved from 8 minutes apart to 4-5 minutes apart.
They were as intense as when I am around 6-7 cm, so I wanted to get to the
hospital quickly. I text my doula, and she said she would meet us there.
(11:20a.m.) I was
adamant that I didn’t want to be checked, but they refused to admit me so we
walked around the hospital getting to know our doula better and hoping to help
things progress. Contractions came and went at different intervals, and I wasn’t
sure what my body was doing at this point. After a while, we came back into
triage and agreed to a cervical check. The nurse whom I didn’t care for much
let us know that I was only 2cm dilated. I don’t know if I have ever been so frustrated
and disappointed in all of my life. And I was not even completely effaced, only
70%. It started to feel like I had so far to go and I didn’t know if I could keep
going.
(12:47p.m.) I had
started getting so overwhelmed by not making progress that I was tensing up
through every contraction. Even when I wasn’t contracting, I was just feeling
pain all over my body. I started to have anxiety that something might be wrong,
and that maybe I should just go in and get an epidural or a C-section or
*something*. The intense pain was similar to what I feel in the end of most of
my labors, and nothing would make it stop. I was losing my ability to think
clearly at this point, and felt hopeless.
(3:53p.m.) My
attitude had tanked by this point. I had several contractions that hurt so much
I just sat and cried. I have never cried in labor until transition (not
counting when I was on Pitocin with Rowan and it was maxed out). I was torn
because I didn’t know how to tell when I should head back in. If I was already
in this much pain, there was no way to gauge when I was getting close. My pain
level was far too high to only be 2cm dilated. I was losing all my confidence
in my ability to labor at all, let alone follow through with an unmedicated
VBAC. I was scared and confused and just reaching a really bad place mentally.
(6p.m.) Contractions
were holding steady at 6 minutes apart and 30-45 seconds long. An at-home check
indicated that I was about 3.5cm (maybe 4). Things calmed down a lot and I
spent some time on the ball, hoping it would position baby. Josh urged me to
regroup emotionally and get my head right. I was feeling a little better and
decided I could go a little longer if I had to.
(8:32p.m.)
Contractions were about 4 minutes apart and lasting for a minute. We decided to
head back in to the hospital. I thought I must be getting closer now, although
I was hesitant to really say. I considered getting an epidural when we arrived
if I wasn’t getting closer. I felt like my pain was once again nearing transition-level
pain.
When we got into the hospital,
the contractions quickly started getting stronger and stronger. I was already
exhausted and losing momentum emotionally, but I was excited that things were
most likely progressing. In my hormonal, labor-crazy state, I allowed my doula
to rub my neck. Since I hate being touched by anyone, this either shows immense
trust in her support or the degree of psychosis I was under. Maybe both. Who
knows.
(10p.m. ) I agreed to
be checked, and was 4 cm and 100% effaced. I was frustrated, but my doula assured
me that now that I was fully effaced, everything would go much faster. I got
admitted and they got me into a room.
I was monitored for a
while, and needed counterpressure for back pain. Baby was still not positioned
well and I had a bulging bag now. I had been moaning and growling through
contractions the whole day, which is strange since I am usually silent until
the very end. I didn’t realize until after he was born that I was actually
having back labor the whole time. The doula helping with positions and all of
that made so much of a difference that I didn’t quite recognize that I was
having the back labor. She even asked throughout if I was feeling it in my back
but it just didn’t register. The funny part is that I had decided days ago that
if I was having back labor (like I did with Dash) I would get an epidural. So
much for that!
(12a.m.) I was
checked again, and told I was now 6-7cm. It wasn’t what I was hoping for, but I
knew it had to go fast now. It was encouraging that I had gone from 4 to 7 in
only two hours.
I labored on the
ball, and labored in the shower. It was all textbook laboring except pain was
intense. I felt like I had been in transition for days.
It was only a few
contractions and I suddenly felt like I HAD to be in transition and just about
done. I was feeling enormous pressure, and during one contraction, I literally felt
the baby slide down a significant amount. I think the is when he finally got
down and engaged – although the little booger was still not quite positioned correctly
and I could feel it. Thanks a lot Griff for making me earn every ounce of you.
I agreed to be
checked again and perhaps have my water broken if it was warranted. I had
wanted to hold out and not have it done prematurely, but my doula was seeing
how intense things were and explained it might get things over a little quicker
and get him down and positioned the right way so I wanted to know how close I
really was.
And here is where
things got interesting….
The doctor came in and started to check me.
She announced that I was maybe an 8 or a 9, and said something about breaking
my water. My doula looked at me, as I was laying there on my back in between
contractions, and asked, “Do you want her to break your water?”
Before I could answer
I felt a strong gush as my bag of waters ruptured. I didn’t even realize what
had happened. I thought for a second that maybe it was so close to breaking
that it happened just from her checking me.
The room was
completely silent and everything stopped as my husband spoke up.
“What did you just
do? That was not okay!”
The doctor tried to
argue. She insisted that she was “trying to do her best” or some such nonsense.
He wasn’t yelling,
but you could tell he was incredibly angry.
“No, you weren’t. You
did that without even asking,” Josh demanded.
She tried to tell him
that she was sorry, but “we needed to get things moving….”
“No, we didn’t. You
just did an intervention on my wife without her permission. You did NOT have
permission to do that.”
Everyone remained silent,
and my labor almost supernaturally stalled for these few minutes while the
confrontation ensued.
And then he demanded,
“Get out.”
She stood there with
wide eyes, as if he was about to change his mind.
“LEAVE. NOW.”
And that’s how Josh
fired our doctor while I was in transition.
She set down her
stuff and walked out.
We all looked at each
other and kind of regrouped, while I told Josh it was okay.
The nurses went and
found the midwife who was part of the hospitalist group and she joined us to
finish out the birth.
Things picked back up
and I felt several really strong contractions that left me just a puddle of
tears and sobbing – my best indication of being right at the very end and
almost ready to push. But the urge didn’t come, and I just waited. I had big
hopes that I would feel this urge, endure a few more contractions, and the
ejection reflex would kick in as I peacefully breathed out my baby .
Unfortunately, one
does not “eject” and “breathe out” a ten pound baby – but I was still convinced
he was just slightly larger than my previous largest child. Maybe 9 full pounds,
but certainly not much bigger than that. Ha!
The midwife and doula
suggested that I get up and try to go pee. That position and motion can often
help get the baby right down where it should be, open the cervix that last tiny
bit, and get everyone ready to start pushing. I made it to the toilet, and had one
more contraction. I don’t know if I even peed, but I do very vividly recall
that I instantly leapt (yes, I threw myself from the toilet) up and ended up on
the floor of the bathroom. Everyone pleaded that I try to get back to the bed –
they knew what I didn’t. It was go time, and there was certainly no room to
deliver the baby in the bathroom. I mustered what little energy I had left
inside me and more or less ran to the bed. It’s hard to gauge “running” at this
point, but that’s how it felt. I don’t know if anyone told me what to do or
what position to be in. I had been thinking for days before that I wanted to do
whatever I felt like, without being coached, and that is more or less how things
played out. I crawled onto the bed, turning and hanging on the back of the bed
which was raised up. I was squatting low and felt the urge to push almost
immediately. I didn’t have time to evaluate if that was truly what I was
feeling – it just happened.
With that first
contraction, I bear down and maybe screamed a little. He didn’t feel like he
moved at all. Maybe I was pushing quite efficiently with that first one. After
all, it had been 6 years since I had pushed out a baby.
With the next contraction,
I definitely did it right. I remember my mom’s advice when I was pregnant the
very first time; push as hard as you can, with all of your muscles. Don’t be
scared. The faster you push that baby out, the sooner the pain stops. Just do
it!
I could feel that he
was right there, engaged in my cervix. It hurt. I don’t remember it hurting
just yet with any of my other babies.
I pushed with all I
had, all through the contraction without breathing or stopping.
It didn’t felt like
he even budged.
For a second, I
thought of Jericho’s birth. Trying to push, baby not moving… No, this was different.
He was right there, hurting me, and I could feel it. My body was gripping him
perfectly well and trying to move him.
I realized just then
that this baby was huge.
I am going to have to
push a lot harder.
The “ring of fire” does
not compare to the intense burning I felt constantly from this moment until almost
30 minutes after he was out. With the next push, I moved him but not very much.
I could feel the contraction in all its transition-level glory, but this awful
intense burning had me completely convinced that my vagina, my perineum, my
bowels, everything; everything was literally just being ripped apart. The pain
was severe enough that it was the only thing I could think of. It pulled me out
of the dream-like state that you should be in while pushing. I was sure I would
require hundreds of stitches, if not reconstructive surgery.
I just started
pushing and couldn’t stop. I love you, baby Griffin, but I need you out of me.
RIGHT NOW.
I am going to be
ripped apart either way… might as well just go for it.
At some point,
someone behind me told me to slow down and wait for a contraction. I couldn’t
even feel them anymore over the pain. I took a few breaths, and waited. I
started pushing more slowly, and let the push build as my body tightened with
what must have been the contraction. I felt him move now, and thought his head
was out.
Nope.
Someone stated that
they could see his head.
I was frustrated and
needed to be done now. I pushed and pushed while someone asked for a warm
compress. There would be no time for perineum stretching, and I’m pretty sure
you can’t stretch a perineum that’s got a ten pound baby coming through it
anyways.
I thought to say “don’t
bother with the compress, just schedule the reconstructive surgery.” Obviously,
I didn’t say that.
The pain intensified
as I managed, somehow, to get his head out. Someone kept suggesting that I
reach down and feel him coming out. No, I have no interest in that. I am
feeling more than enough of this experience.
In what felt like a
split second, I heard the midwife say *something*. I can’t remember what it was
exactly, but it suggested the baby was stuck. Even though I didn’t have diabetes
this time, I knew that shoulder dystocia is a real possibility for me since my
babies all have wide shoulders and Rowan had a broken collar bone when she came
out.
As soon as she said “we
need to flip you over” I knew that we were dealing with stuck shoulders.
The nurses, as if in
a coordinated dance, instantaneously came together and beautifully maneuvered
the situation. Someone tried to push Josh out of the way, but he quickly
grabbed a leg and lifted it. I grabbed my other leg and pulled it against my
chest. The midwife grabbed the baby’s head and pulled and twisted while another
woman more or less punched the baby in the shoulder – through the empty space
above my pubic bone. I screamed one last time, cause that effing hurt, and the
baby popped loose and more or less flew out of me.
I have never felt a
gush so big. It was honestly alarming.
The pain didn’t stop.
Not at all. That’s new.
They asked if I
wanted the baby or if I wanted them to clean him off. I wanted him NOW!
They handed him to
me, and an entire pregnancy and labor worth of emotions, wondering if I was
going to have a VBAC or not, hit me all at once. I started sobbing.
I told Josh already
that if I actually delivered vaginally I would probably cry. And I did. Well, I
sobbed. I was too dehydrated for any tears to come out. And oh my god did my
butt hurt. Not my actual vagina either. LITERALLY my butt. I am not sure why.
They announced that I
was bleeding a lot, which is common with larger babies, and I agreed to Pitocin
at this point. I didn’t want it unless it was necessary, but when you are hemorrhaging
and have a bleeding disorder, it’s necessary.
After a few minutes,
the midwife informed me that I didn’t tear and didn’t need any stitches. I told
her to check again. I refused to believe that I wasn’t completely ripped in
half, let alone completely intact still. She confirmed that I had no tears, which
blew me away. My butt was still on fire.
I squeezed my giant
baby and sobbed as everyone worked around me and got things settled down. I am
sure I said a lot of stupid stuff out loud in my euphoric state. I was in
almost disbelief that I actually had a VBAC. And not just a VBAC, a VBA2C. With
no drugs. And a baby that was 9 pounds, 13 ounces.
It’s been 10 days,
and my butt is fine now, for the record.
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