Sam's Birth Story

One week ago, I had a completely different life. I’d been having contractions for a few days and although they were not really painful, they seemed to be coming more frequently and regularly. In fact, they were consistently 5 minutes apart last Monday morning when I decided to make the 1 hour trip to our hospital. I felt pretty sure it was too early, because of how painless the contractions were, but decided not to take any risks, given my positive result from a Group B Strep test that meant I would require antibiotics for at least 4 hours during labor. It’s pretty uncommon for newborns to be sensitive to the bacteria, for which about 30% of women are carriers, but somehow, both my husband and I were in that group when we were newborns, and we’re fortunate to have turned out normal (Rob says the jury is still out on him, actually). Group B Strep is the main cause of meningitis in young babies, and the outcome can easily be fatal. Anyway, upon arrival at The Midwifery Center, where I was to give birth, I learned that I had indeed come too early; my cervix was only 90% effaced and 3 centimeters dilated. This was about 15% and 2 cm more than what it had been 6 days before, so I was making progress with these contractions, but it was extremely slow. I’d heard that preliminary labor could last days, but really, this was taking almost a WEEK! I thought that women who exercised a lot in pregnancy were supposed to have fast labors, ha!

Well, the trip wasn’t completely useless, as we did get my first dose of antibiotics, but I was still a little bit disappointed. For the past 3 days, I could barely stand to step outside of my house for fear of having to answer the questions that neighbors, friends, and others in our community persistently posed: “Where’s the baby?” and “How are you doing?” I was doing despondently. If Mister Tardipants, as we were now calling him, decided to make us wait for only 2 more days, I would be induced and the natural childbirth I’d been preparing for for the past 9 months would be jeopardized.

While we continued to wait for labor to intensify, we got lunch, checked into a hotel room closer to the hospital, and I took a nap. When I awoke, the contractions were 20 minutes apart. I was devastated. It felt like someone had just pulled a cruel joke on me. I reported the news to my midwife and doula and then had a long, sad pity party. It’s funny how I can look back at times when I’ve grieved in my life and notice that I always take good naps after really big cries. Crying is exhausting! So of course, it would happen that as soon as I’ve cried my heart out and lost nearly all hope, that is when active labor would begin. I had no energy for this major event and to top it off, my last meal was mediocre chinese take-out that I could barely eat. However, the fortune cookie told me that “a new friend will help me end an old routine.”

In the earlier part of active labor, I managed the pain with relaxation techniques and soaking in the hotel’s tub. After all of the cry wolf scenarios I’d already been through, though, I still doubted that my body would actually do what it was designed to. Where earlier I had been grateful for each contraction, thinking they were bringing birth closer, now I had a bitter attitude. Around 2:30am, I was propped with half a dozen pillows on a small couch, with a heating pad lying on my lower belly, breathing really deeply, even moaning, and I could no longer bear it alone. I hated disturbing my husband, who also had taken an emotional toll from my evasive labor and would need energy in the days to come, so I woke my mom. “This is it,” she told me. And she was right. My legs and occasionally entire body were trembling, so she got me some juice to boost my energy. For the next hour, she brought cold washcloths for my forehead, helped me get in touch with the midwife and doula again, got the men awake and ready to go, and encouraged me by letting me know when I was almost through with a contraction.

I was 7 cm dilated when we got to the hospital. Yeah! Laboring at the Midwifery Center was wonderfully calm. I used a birthing ball, a jacuzzi, walking around, and the supportive arms of my husband and doula to move the baby into an optimal birth position. Occasionally I would attract the attention of a nurse, who would administer antibiotics, hold a doppler against my belly to listen to the fetal heart rate, or get more juice for me if I requested it, but for the most part, the experience was very much like something I could have had at home. Around 9:30am, I had a contraction in which I lost total control of my breathing. I was pretty much screaming. Interestingly, my cry wasn’t because of pain, I felt, but just the fact that deep breathing would no longer function to get me through a contraction. It just sort of came out, like a primal roar, I guess. Anyway, I was ready to push!

Although I’d heard that for most women, transition (the time from 7 cm to 10 cm) is the most difficult part of labor, pushing was the biggest challenge for me. Unfortunately, I’d developed a notion that pushing would be a breeze for me; I had abdominal muscles made of steele, a champion cardiorespiratory system, and excessive practice squatting. Boy, was I fooled! Even though I’d had good instruction and practice during childbirth education class, I don’t think anything could have really prepared me for the work of pushing. Undoubtedly, my fitness did keep pushing from being worse, but it still took a good 50 minutes, 3 different positions, lots of coaching from my doula, and on-the-job training to finally figure out what I was doing and get that baby out! I have never in my life focused so intently on anything as I did on what my body was doing while pushing. I was completely oblivious to everything else around me, and kept my eyes closed almost the entire time. At one point, after the baby’s head had crowned for the 2nd time, someone asked if I wanted to touch his head, if it would encourage me, and I feel kind of unmotherly for having said it, but I blurted out “No!” I just could not be distracted from what I was doing. That’s a good thing, too, because apparently the midwife whipped out a big tray full of episiotomy tools that would have soon been put to use and freaked me out, had I noticed them. Thankfully she did not need any of it, except for the suturing tools to repair a couple of minor 1st degree tears, which I was very disappointed to have, even though that’s apparently very normal or even better than normal, for whatever that’s worth. I've got a good excuse for all of this, though -- 8 whopping pounds and 2 ounces, stretching out to a whole 22 inches, baby!

Yes, Baby Frack was born. When his screaming body was laid on my chest, I was instantly shocked. I don’t know why, as I obviously knew that I would be having a baby sometime soon, but I just could not get over the fact. I embraced his not-so-tiny, screaming body, and reassured him by telling him how I was once a newborn baby too, and although I couldn’t remember what it felt like, I understood. It’s so weird and awesome being a mom, and I can look back at all of the feelings I had while I was pregnant and in labor and see now that everything was all ok. For some reason, all of this makes me think of some random quote I saw one time that says “yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery; today is a gift; that’s why it’s called the present.” April 27th was surely a gift, and I hope that I will never see any other day from here on out as anything but that. It was the most phenomenal day of my life, but I know everyday now will always be phenomenal for the fact that my son, Sam, is now living in it.

Congratulations, you made it to the end of the longest blog post ever. Sorry if it wasn’t really good, but I’ve been a little more occupied with important things than with editing my writing. Now I’m going to bed.