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Birth Story for Miss Amelia

April 9, 2007

Birth Story for Amelia Rae

I had a doctor's appointment on Wednesday, March 21 ^st.  I was 36-37 weeks and had to get the lovely Group B strep swab.  Since I was already disrobed I somewhat reluctantly had the doctor check to see if I was dilated at all....  The doctor cheerfully reported that I was 2 cm dilated and I swear a great wave of relief went through me.  He was careful to caution that just because I was 2 cm didn't mean I would have the baby early and I told him my relief/happiness was all about the fact that I was in labor for 10 hours, with the help of pitocin before I hit the 2 cm mark with Ava!!

That Saturday I woke up about 4 am having contractions.  I knew they were different from Braxton-Hicks contractions, which I had been having for months.  For me, BH contractions were all forward, in my belly.  My belly would get very hard, like a basketball and then release, but I didn't feel them anywhere else.  These contractions started much, much lower, engaged my back, moved through my body and then 'broke.'  These contractions were pretty gentle, but noticeable.  They didn't stop when I moved around, showered etc... but they never intensified.  My mother in law (who's a nurse) was visiting and kept saying that I 'wasn't in labor' these are just 'fake contractions or Braxton Hicks.'  I have to say, that really irritated me.  While I am not a medical professional, I do know my body and I knew something was different.  Although I did agree that I was not in labor, I felt like I was getting ready.

Through out the remainder of that week those types of contractions would come and go.  They never intensified and frankly never became terribly regular except that they remained noticeable.  Tuesday I drove out to Costco to pick up 'Happy Feet' for Ava and I remember walking through the store to get to the video section and thinking how nice it would be to just sit down...  This is not a long walk!!  I also felt kind of spacey and found it difficult to focus.  I felt a little bit like I had taken cold medicine or something – kind of light headed and a bit disconnected from my surroundings.  I think in a way I could say I knew labor was imminent, but I still felt like I had another week – ten days.  I certainly didn't think I would make it to my due date, which was April 13 ^th.

Wednesday night around dinner time I started to get noticeably more uncomfortable.  John was trying to talk to me about something and I couldn't focus very well on what he was saying.  By 8:00pm I was sitting cross legged on the couch moving through noticeable contractions.  Again, they were present, but manageable.  They were coming closer together (maybe 8-10 minutes) but weren't regular or intensifying.  John gave Ava a bath and joked that he was going to bed early because he wanted to rest up for the baby and suggested I do the same. But at this point I didn't really think I was in labor, just uncomfortable.

I felt pretty anxious and disoriented about what was going on in my body.  I didn't really have a frame of reference since my water broke with Ava before I'd had any labor signs to speak of, although hindsight would tell me that even with Ava I'd been having mild contractions for a week or so leading up to my water breaking.  I tried to go to bed around 9-9:30pm and laid there watching the clock until 11:00pm.  (BTW – John was sound asleep, snoring, oblivious)  I finally got up and went downstairs to the couch where I watched Tivo'ed episodes of 'What Not to Wear' and 'Oprah.'  Couldn't tell you a thing about what I saw!!  I became some what compulsive about watching the clock as the contractions grew closer together, but didn't necessarily fit a regular pattern and didn't intensify much.  Sometimes the contractions would be 2-3 minutes apart, lasting 60-90 seconds, then I'd get a 5-6 minute break.  Other times it felt like they were coming right on top of each other.  I sat in our large leather easy chair reading 'In Style' magazine (luckily I get to re-read that, because, again, nothing was sinking in) telling myself to quiet my mind.  I still felt very anxious and uncertain.  Am I in labor? Finally around 2:00am I went to bed and was actually able to sleep until about 4:30am.

Stronger contractions woke me up at 4:30am and it was impossible to sleep.  I watched the clock for half an hour or so, where I had 5 or 6 strong contractions that I had to focus and breathe through.  I got up, woke John up and called the doctor. 

As I described my situation to the doctor my overwhelming feeling was foolishness.  I didn't want to sound the alarm, call my parents, go to the hospital, only to be sent home.  I didn't feel empowered, I felt tentative.  The doctor I spoke with is a woman in the practice I had only met once prior to speaking with her that Thursday morning.  She was a bit brusque, saying that it sounded like I should come in, but she was clearly reflecting my uncertainty back to me.  I told her I needed to call my parents to make arrangements for care for my daughter, that we lived half an hour away, so it would probably be an hour or so.  She suggested that, if the contractions slowed down I just monitor from home.  Hardly reassuring to me at that point.  John showered, while I pulled together some last minute things.  I cleaned up the kitchen a little bit, I set out Ava's cereal, which became very important to me.  I knew she was going to wake up to my parents and wanted her to have her routine in place.   During this time the contractions started intensifying, not subsiding.  We set off for the hospital when my father arrived around 5:45am.  I told them there was a chance we'd be home after awhile...I was debating about taking our bag.  John sighed heavily and loaded it into the car without further discussion, but with the promise he'd leave it in the car until we knew what was going on.

As I had visualized labor this time around I was obviously worried about having an experience as difficult and frankly traumatic as last time around.  But I was also kind of worried about small, silly things.  One of those small things was the idea of being in labor in the car, making the half hour drive to the hospital.  That turned out to be ok.  We kept the radio off, John kept the chatter light.... I titled the seat back just a little bit and kept my eyes closed for much of it.  I had five or six contractions during the drive, but could mostly talk through them and felt ok. 

We arrived at the hospital around 6:15-6:20am.  The doctor had called us in and the nurse moved us to the 'triage' room, which is apparently a kennel designed to be a soulless as possible.  They hooked me up to the monitor, the heart beat monitor and checked me.  I was 3, almost 4 cm when she checked.  I was 70% effaced and the baby was -2 (??).  The contractions monitor said I was having contractions about every five minutes, pretty regularly.  Ho-hum.  The nurse was leaving on shift change said the doctor would be by to check me in an hour or so and she would decide then whether to admit me.  So what do we do now?  Not being a person who does very well with uncertainty, the somewhat foolish feeling remained.  Our bags were still in the car, John was reading the paper (which for some reason REALLY annoyed me, even though I didn't feel like talking) and I was sitting in this horrible space by the elevator trying to decide if I was going to have a baby that day or not.

So John suggested that we walk around for awhile.  We started making laps in the maternity ward, wearing out the carpet in my slammin' grungy gown.  John was light and funny as we walked and talked.  I sent him downstairs to the Starbucks so he could get a cup of coffee (what they were serving in the canteen area was v v sad.  John said 'it's like the Caribbean, I can see the bottom!) while I continued to walk.  The walking felt good, even as I experienced contractions.  And it felt better to be out of that sad little room.  Around 8am the doctor and a mid-wife named Susan came and found me and took us back to the triage room.  The doctor checked me and said I was solidly 4 cm, but the baby was still not fully engaged. She introduced me to the mid-wife and said she was assisting her that day and asked my permission for her to be involved in my treatment.  We consented and talked a little bit about what was going on.

The doctor was matter of fact, but nicer than she had been on the phone.  She said I had done the right thing by coming in (a relief to a pleaser like me) but she wasn't ready to commit to me delivering that day, based on the engagement of the baby.  I told her the shortened version of my labor with Ava and said that I was leery of interventions like pitocin.  I told them I wanted to stay on my feet as long as possible.  Both she and the mid-wife listened to that carefully and affirmed my wishes.  They suggested I just keep walking and they would check in again in an hour.  So we walked some more.  The contractions didn't seem to be coming any closer together, but they were intensifying and I often had to stop as we walked (and walked) to breathe through them.  The nurse mid-wife was around and was very affirming.  She would feel my belly during contractions occasionally and talk about how I was doing exactly the right thing for the baby.  She even ok'ed the contra banned banana and cut fruit John had rounded up for me.  (The doc said nothing to eat, but ok'ed water in a nice change from labor with Ava, where they would only let me have ice chips!)    

A new nurse came along and hooked me up to the contractions monitor in the horrible little room.   The contractions were still regular, still at the five minute pace.  John asked if we could have a room and for some reason I downshifted into a simpy 'oh that's ok, I don't want to trouble you,  I don't want to be a bother' even though the crappy triage room was maybe the worst environment you could imagine.  (In hindsight it was probably good because it kept me out walking and walking – anywhere but there)  The nurse was very nice and said they could discharge me from a regular room just as easily as they could from the triage space and took us down the hall.  Yes, at this point it was about 10am, I was fully 4 cm dilated, I had been at the hospital nearly four hours and I still wasn't admitted and no one had told me that it looked like I was having a baby that day.  What did I think was going to happen?  I was going to go home?  I couldn't drive, I certainly couldn't work or take care of my daughter! 

When we got to the room I laid down.  I hadn't slept for any real length of time and was exhausted, not to mention all the walking.  I laid down and actually dozed for a few minutes.  The contractions were still present, but manageable.  After the reading I had done in preparation for this labor and delivery I was convinced that laying down was the worst possible thing I could do.  But I was so tired.  The contractions were mild enough after I rested that I became convinced I had stalled labor.  So I stubbornly got up and decided to walk another lap, where the contractions snapped right back and the lap around the maternity ward was by far the most difficult if the roughly 100 laps we'd done that morning.

At this point John was trying to make some calls to his office and my office letting people know where we were.  His role in this labor was much, much different that with Ava.  He was supportive and light, but I felt much more internal than I did with Ava. 

When John would leave the room during my labor with Ava to use the bathroom or get a drink I would just panic.  This time I was fine, I just didn't want him talking to work in the room while I was trying to work though the contractions.  This process felt much more solitary, but not at all lonely or anxious at that point. I kept telling myself to work with the contractions, not against them.  The words echoing through my head were 'don't fight it, don't fight it' and 'BREATHE.' 

Around 11:30am the doctor came back in to check me.  The baby was more engaged in some way and I was dilated to 6 cm.  Without any warning, the doctor said something to the effect of 'looks like we're going to have a baby today' and pricked a hole in my bag of waters.  And I was admitted.  Almost immediately the contractions intensified.  I moved the bed all the way up, so I was sitting up, pulled my legs in to kind of open my hips went into the zone of just trying to weather the contractions that were coming harder and faster all the time.  The nurse tried (THREE TIMES!) to put in an IV site.  Once that was in, the midwife suggested I try the bathtub.  The pain was intensifying, so I asked the nurse gave me a shot of feyntal (sp?) which honestly just felt like I took a shot of vodka – it might me light headed, made my toes and fingers tingle a bit, but did not one darn thing to 'take the edge off.' 

I got in the tub and frankly I hated it.  Parts of it felt good – it did dull the contractions a bit, but it was hot, the tub was overfilled, the whirlpool jets were too high, too loud and no one could figure out how to turn them down.  My breasts were bobbing all over the place and I honestly felt like I was being boiled alive.  John couldn't really be in the room with me, there was water everywhere, so after about 20 minutes I asked to get out.

By this time the contractions were so intense I felt like I couldn't take it.  None of the things I had been doing to manage the pain were working. The midwife was telling me this was all very normal, take one contraction at a time, the pain would not get any worse than it was right then, but I just felt overwhelmed.  I was standing up as I was getting out of the bathtub and didn't want to lay or sit down.  I was a little bit overheated and miserable. I requested the epidural and the anesthesiologist came quickly, worked quickly and the epidural was on board when I was between 7-8 cm around 1:30pm.

Once the epidural was in I was actually able to doze a little bit.  I wasn't really sleeping as I felt kind of light headed and a little bit nauseous.  The midwife told John that I might feel like talking, but that this was a good time for me to get a little bit of rest.  I knew what was going on, but I was resting.  For example, John was reading a book I'd given him – 'Love, Work and Children.'  I really enjoyed the book, I knew he was reading it and I wanted to know what he thought, but I wasn't awake enough to ask him.  About 45 minutes later I woke up – I was feeling a lot of pressure and some pain – enough that I couldn't rest through it.  The midwife and nurse were back in the room (did they ever leave?) and I told them I had to go to the bathroom.  I was embarrassed and self conscious because I needed to have a bm.  They told me gently that I couldn't get up due to the epidural, but they could bring me a bed pan.  (um, no) Or I could just let that pressure work for me when it was time to push.  They assured me a number of times that it wouldn't bother them a bit, nothing they hadn't seen etc...  Of course I believed them, but it didn't make me feel less self conscious or embarrassed. 

The pressure was intensifying to the point where I couldn't talk through contractions any more.  The midwife began to tell me that there were limitations to what the epidural could do, but I wasn't in intense pain, just very uncomfortable.  She suggested that she check again – that she thought the pressure might be the baby's head.  When she checked I was fully dilated and 'something two'meaning the baby's head was right there.  The midwife suggested I do 'two or three grunty pushes' while I was laying on my side.  I was able to do that and the midwife said 'stop, stop!'  The nurse called the doctor and started taking the bed apart.  The nurse said I was going to have the baby in 'just a couple of pushes.'  I was totally shocked and frankly didn't believe her.  John moved up by my head and was squeezing my hand saying very loving things.  I was just overwhelmed by how fast it seemed to be going. The midwife put on her gown and asked me to push again – I looked down and I could see the baby's head and arms, flung wide.  The doctor walked in the room and the techs were trying to get her gloves on, setting up the trays etc...  One more push and the baby was born.  I don't know who actually 'caught' her – was it the nurse or the midwife?  John and I were both crying when they laid our girl on my chest.  We got to hold her there a lot longer than we were able to hold Ava.  In hindsight I wonder if it was because they didn't really have anything ready yet?  She was so beautiful – covered in vernux, arms and legs all sprawled out like a little X.

Having the midwife's services (unexpectedly) for Amelia's birth was enormously helpful.  I really appreciated her presence.   I had hoped to use midwives with Ava and had a horrible experience, so this kind of redeemed that.  Although following Amelia's birth I was infinitely grateful for the doctor.  The placenta was slow to detach and I had a small tear along the episiotomy site from my last delivery.  The midwife seemed oddly tentative in the face of these things that can't possibly be that unusual. Amelia's APGARs were 8 & 9 – she weighed 6 lbs 1oz and was 18 inches long. I nursed her about 30-40 minutes following delivery and she is eating like a champ.  

I can't believe how empowered I felt by the experience of delivering my second girl.  I don't want to take anything away from my oldest daughter, but her labor and delivery just wrecked me.  To have the delivery that I did with Amelia, an experience I felt connected to made me feel so proud. If I could have written out how I wanted it to go, the process would have looked a lot like it ended up.  Having had such minimal intervention to assist in her delivery has also made a big difference in how I've felt afterwards.  That, and the perspective Ava has given me for parenting, I think.  Amelia was born at 2:54pm and by 5:30pm our room was full of family and friends, two pizzas and several bottles of wine.  It was an amazing birthday.  Loving my newest little one is both familiar and unique. I love having her here, a part of our lives with all the changes and pleasures that brings.

I want to write about how Ava's doing (occasionally ouchy and anxious, but adjusting reasonably well) how I'm doing (shockingly well – do people keep having kids because it is supposed to be like this?) and our life with one more member of the family (oddly content in the midst of all the chaos) who sounds like an angry cat when she cries.   But given the length I think will wrap up and save that for next time. I am attaching a picture of me with my two girls from the hospital until I get new ones uploaded on to the computer. Its hard to see much, but that moment was a very sweet one for me.

Thanks for reading—

--Kate