I was contemplating whether I should even write a birth story. However, after reading countless stories myself, it only seems fair to share my own. Don’t read if you care about TMI.
My due date was December 2, 2011. I had a ‘feeling’ that I was going to deliver earlier than my due date. My behavior was just different the week before. Mood swings about everything – namely, nesting actions. But, the Monday before my due date (November 28, 2011), I started receiving the expected calls and texts on “how I’m feeling.” I felt fine. So, while I really knew that I might be in labor earlier than later, I suppressed that thought and just resigned myself to thinking that I would probably be late, like most first-time moms.
Around 9:30 p.m., while Binks was on his ladder painting the living room and I’m sitting on the couch arranging pictures, I thought I was peeing myself. I quickly stood up and ran to the bathroom. I leaked everywhere except the couch (yay!). I told you TMI. The liquid that leaked on the white bathroom tile was odorless and slightly pink – aka normal waters breaking.
The contractions started immediately after. Ten minutes apart for the first 30 minutes. Then, the contractions seemed like they were coming every 5 minutes. For the next 30 minutes. Then, the contractions seemed like they were coming every 1 minute. This went for another hour. I was 90% sure that I was measuring the contractions incorrectly. During this time, I tried every breathing and positioning exercise possible. I got in the shower, I got on my knees, I got on my back. I sat on the toilet. (It felt like I had to you know constantly.) I had Binks push on my back because I thought it may be back labor. Nothing and I mean nothing helped!
Note: Poor Binks. When my water broke and through my contractions, Binks was running around, putting up the ladder, packing the car with the suitcase, car seat, helping me squeeze my back, entering the contractions into my iPhone, bringing me my pregnancy book (because I thought I would have time to read about labor – I’m not the brightest), etc. He literally was running around the whole house with 10 different things.
After I thought the contractions were about 1 minute apart of varying lengths apart – with no pattern, I was sure I was measuring wrong and I was ready to go to the hospital – whether or not I met the time. The pain by this time was excruciating. I have no words. I couldn’t even sit still anywhere. No breathing exercises helped – I was in so much pain I was jumping off my seat. After 2 hours, I was crying for an epidural. Binks made sure to tell me he had none. At this time, I’m trying my best to weigh the options of going to the hospital to get an epidural and also going to the hospital earlier than I should with more chances of being given interventions.
But, after two hours of this torturous pain, I forced Binks to go to the hospital.
At this point, Binks is also thinking that I’m not going to be admitted. So, Binks is moving kinda slow. How slow? Well, I’m in the car, and he hasn’t even called the doctor yet. Also, he’s going 65 mph. We have been late to appointments where he has charged at 90 mph.
Person No. 1 who doesn’t take me seriously. Ass face.
I cursed him mentally as my talking was reserved for screaming for an epidural and whatever breathing techniques I could pull out of my head. Including the hee hee hoo which is a bunch of hoo ha. I’m moaning like my doula class taught and again – nothing. The car’s vibration is perfect for non-contraction times, but for contractions, it is horrible.
We finally get to the hospital parking lot and Binks FINALLY decides to call the doctor. The doctor said to come into the hospital and he would be on the way.
Note: If you don’t know, what this means is that the doctor is going to wait for the nurses to check you before making a determination as to whether he should come.
Person No. 2. F*cktard.
Did I mention it was 12:30 a.m. by this time?
We pull up to the valet and I rush myself up the elevator to the Women’s Center. I didn’t have time for a wheel chair.
The wheel chair was there waiting on the second floor to wheel me into a room. A contraction hit and I got into the kneeling fetal position on a chair. The nurse with the wheelchair says, “Come on ma’am. It’s not that bad. Let’s go. We need to go.”
Person No. 3. B*tch.
On the wheelchair, I started my breathing techniques – by which I mean breathing every which way possible. The same nurse says, “Why are you breathing like that? You want to throw up? That’s what’s going to happen.”
(Insert whatever and as many expletives as possible.)
We finally got to the room. The labor and delivery nurse handed me a hospital gown.
Note: I only let a few people see me naked in any way. Binks, my OB/GYN. That’s it. Not my mom. No one. But, when you’re hurting this bad, I started taking off my clothes and told the nurse “Excuse me, I have to pee.” And I just started sitting on the toilet right in front of her. My non-labor self would have been ashamed. My labor-self couldn’t have cared less.
Binks had gone downstairs to move the car to a parking spot instead of the middle of the road.
Note: Binks and I were never together this whole labor time. All my classes said to lean on the spouse, use the spouse, breathe together, etc. Other than massaging my back, I wanted Binks to stay as far away as possible. The last thing I wanted to do was breathe with him or lean on him. And after the pressure on the back wasn’t helping, I just deemed him as useless.
As I was seated on the toilet, I noticed I was bleeding. I got scared. I pulled the emergency latch. The nurse hurried in there and asked what the matter was. I told her of the bleeding and she said, “That latch is for a real emergency. Don’t pull it again.”
I changed into my hospital gown and got into bed. I was telling the nurse how badly it hurt. She said, “Yeah, duh it’s labor.”
Person No. 4. I could have killed her if I had the strength. I planned a method to sh*t on her during labor if I could.
She asked if I wanted an epidural. Luckily I had enough sense to say, “It depends on how much I’m dilated.”
She finally gets down to checking my dilation.
Her eyes widened. She pushed the nursing call button and said, “Call the doctor to come immediately. She is 9 cm dilated – pretty much there. If he doesn’t come in 20 minutes, I’m going to have deliver the baby.” At that point, Binks and the nurse looked at me – I like to think apologetically.
Suck it sh*t eaters.
I screamed, “No epidural.” I had to make sure everyone heard.
So, I continued to breathe to the best of my ability. And after 5 minutes, turns out, I’m just waiting for the doctor and really was ready to deliver. I kept just breathing away the contractions as best as possible, but it was very apparent that it was time to push. I could absolutely feel it.
I breathed for 30 minutes just waiting for the doctor. The doctor finally arrived and I was asking random questions: “Will the pain increase or decrease?” “How many pushes do you estimate I will have to go through?” It’s times like these that answers to these questions matter. And, also times like these that you don’t remember anything that people say to you.
And they told me to push. I pushed. What a relieving feeling. And, I should have pushed slower and at my own pace (rather than the doctor’s), but 5 pushes later, he was here. I teared up. Not because I was having a mushy moment. But, I actually thought, “OMG What am I supposed to do with you now?”
And with my obsession with grades, hearing an APGAR score of 9/10, I was very happy.
My labor and delivery went much better than I could have ever asked for. From water breaking to delivering lasted 4 hours. And my OB said that my future deliveries may go the same way. I hope so!
And did I mention how great he is?
Isaiah has been a blessing in every way. He is a great sleeper, eater and son. Now, that he is here, I still have the panicked feeling of “What am I supposed to do with you?” but now, after 2 weeks, I know one day at a time is the plan we intend to follow. Trial and error is really the answer.
And, he seems to be pretty forgiving.