The long story: We couldn't have asked for a better first birth. It went as much as clockwork as a birth can. Most of this was simply a gift from God and for this we are very grateful. We did do some preparation, which I think was very helpful and contributed to our positive birth experience: I took prenatal yoga and my husband, Kevin, and I took the 12-week Bradley course. I would strongly recommend both.
Adeline was due on December 18, but decided that she didn't agree with that due date. Since we couldn't travel to see family, we spent the Christmas holidays watching movies at the dollar theater, decorating our Christmas tree, and in general just waiting for our baby to come. (We did spend Christmas day with friends.) Six days after our due date I was not dilated at all and our midwife, Katie Isaac (who I also strongly recommend), was very cool about it, which was why we wanted a midwife. I had/have a healthy fear of Pitocin. But I was getting impatient. I had a very smooth pregnancy: no morning sickness, slept fine, felt good, etc. But there is no denying the extra weight and tired, sluggish feeling. I was ready for my body to be back (hello breastfeeding) and to hold my baby. I took two or three long walks a day, drank various herbal teas, and did nipple stimulation. I couldn't say what finally did it--probably just Addie finally ready to see the world.
On Dec. 26 (8 days after the due date), I had an appointment again and was 1 centimeter dilated. I think the internal exam helped get things started because I started having light contractions on the way home. At the time I wasn't sure if they really were contractions and didn't say anything to Kevin. As we got ready for bed at around 10:00 p.m., I told Kevin that I thought I was having contractions, but they weren't strong and I hoped I could sleep through them. We didn't get our hopes up. We learned in our Bradley classes that the worst thing you can do if you start pre-labor in the evening or late at night is stay up all night timing contractions and then have to go through active labor dead tired. We took this to heart and I slept well until around 2:00 a.m. Then the contractions started to wake me up, but I could sleep in between them.
At 6:00 I was too excited and the contractions too strong to stay in bed anymore. I got up, leaving Kevin to sleep because I would need him later and who knew how late this coming night would be. I had some cereal, but just didn't have a big appetite, and then I washed our cloth diapers that had recently arrived in the mail. They each needed washing 3-5 times and I had 4 dozen. I did this small chore slowly and precisely—almost like I was walking around in a dream—pausing to breathe through a contraction, but also continuing to test whether I could talk and walk through the contractions. I could. As my pile of new, clean, soft diapers grew I became more and more excited. The contractions were not lessening in intensity or stopping. My biggest concern through this whole time was that we would go to the hospital too soon (all the way to Frankfort, we live in Lexington) and be rejected because I wasn't dilated enough. At 7:30 a.m. I took a walk to encourage the contractions to continue. It was a gorgeous winter morning. The sun was just coming up and the sky was clear. It was cold, but it was a bright, brisk cold, not bitter. As I walked I kept saying to my baby, "This is the day you are going to born." I must have said that a hundred times. I don't know why.
When I got back I woke up Kevin because I was ready for him to be part of this. It was 8:00 a.m. I got in the bathtub, but I couldn't get comfortable, so I took a shower and it did feel good to get clean and have the warm water on me. We took another walk around 9:30 a.m. and my contractions were such that I had to stop during them. They were 60 seconds long, but were anywhere from 4-8 minutes apart. The Bradley way says to go to the hospital at 3-2-1: contractions that are 1 minute long, 3 minutes apart, and going on for 2 hours. Our teacher said that was cutting it close, but as I mentioned before, I didn't want to be turned away. We checked all our bags, got phone numbers together, and made sure the house was ready for the baby on our return. At noon we had pancakes, and soon after Kevin said he thought we should go to the hospital. I wanted to wait, but just then a particularly strong contraction hit and suddenly car birth scenarios started flashing in my head and I quickly agreed to go. We had tried to reach Katie to ask her advice, but she didn't call us back. We also tried to reach our Bradley teacher, but her line was busy.
By the time we were in the car and driving it was 12:45 p.m. I had heard horror stories about car rides to the hospital--the bumps and movement in general--but the 45 minute drive was really no problem. I think my relaxation practice in prenatal yoga really helped out in situations like that. I just closed my eyes, quit talking, and breathed through it.
We called Katie again when we left for the hospital to let her know, but we found out later that she was out of town for the weekend. We were very disappointed, but ended up having a good experience with Dr. Dotson. He was extremely accommodating and didn't pressure us to do anything. In fact, he was present for only about 15 minutes of our entire labor and birth. But we'll get to that later.
We arrived at the hospital at 1:30 p.m. We went upstairs on the elevator and as the doors opened on the ob/gyn floor, we were met by a gaggle of giggling teenage girls, waiting to get on the elevator. Unfortunately, a contraction hit at that exact moment. I wasn't at the peak of it yet and quickly took one step out of the elevator, but that was all I could do. I just stood there, blocking the elevator entrance, breathing hard, and making I-don't-know-what kind of face. The girls stopped talking and laughing and looked at me like I was from Mars. The contraction lasted a full minute, which felt like an eternity, the elevator left, and after it was over, I just moved on.
I had another contraction at the reception desk and they took me right into a labor-birthing room. An hour after we arrived at the hospital they FINALLY checked my cervix (I had to get in a gown, take my vitals, etc. etc.) and I was 5 cm! I was elated. Only 5 more to go. They wanted to put an IV in me, but I said I'd rather not have one. Shirley explained the whole thing about if there should be some need for intervention they wanted it already started, so I said that I would let her start it, but not hook me up. I really think if I would have been more determined she wouldn't have made me even do a start and as it turned out, I never needed it. That is my one regret.
Now came two hours of labor that were hard, but manageable except for the darn fetal monitoring machine. They wanted more frequent readings because Adeline was a 2-vessel umbilical cord, and for me to be in a position where they could get a good reading was VERY uncomfortable. In our Bradley classes we practiced how to politely and respectfully express our wishes to the labor nurses. I tried to do this, but at one point I think I got rather sharp when I snapped at the nurse (not Shirley) that no, I would not be putting that monitor back on right now. Almost my whole time in labor I spent sitting on the labor ball beside the bed, with my head on two pillows stacked on the bed. For some reason this felt best. Leaning over like this made the fetal monitor pick up my heartbeat instead of the baby's, which is very slow comparatively. So the nurses would come running in and say, "Oh, the heartbeat is really dropping!" and I would freak out in the midst of a contraction, and Kevin would wearily say, yet again, "no, I really think that is Sarah's heartbeat, not the baby's. Lean back Sarah. [I would--increasing my pain substantially]. See, there it goes, back up to where it should be." The nurses would make me stay on the monitor a bit more and then leave. Mostly though, the nurses were wonderful and left us alone. We largely labored in the dark, just the two of us with Kevin just saying anything to me (he read poetry for a bit as that is all I threw in the bag before leaving) and mostly telling me over and over again how good I was doing and how proud he was of me. It sounds cheesy now, but it was what I needed to hear. He also kept ice chips and cold compresses for my forehead going the whole time. I did not want to be massaged or touched in general. I don't know what I would have done if Kevin would have been all confused and scared. Because of our Bradley classes he was calm and composed (though he said afterwards that it was the most intense emotional experience he's ever had) and was the rock that I needed.
There was a disturbing moment when a nurse, who should have known better, came in and asked me to sign some forms in the middle of my contractions. This was not necessary and even though Kevin tried to sign for me or have me do it later, she insisted that I do it. What more did I need to do to convince her I was in pain?
It was also during this time that I had double peaked contractions. These were NOT fun. They continued after my water broke as well.
At 4:30 p.m. Dr. Dotson came for the first time and gave me an internal exam. I was 7-8 cm dilated. Again, I was very pleased. He asked if my water had broken and I had just gone to the bathroom, where more than just urine seemed to be coming out, but nothing major. I said, "I don't think so, but I'm not sure" and was about to relay my bathroom observations, but he cut in and said, "Then you haven't. You'll know." How right he was. Then he said, "When it does break, your contractions will get a lot harder." How very right he was.
I got off the bed to get back on my favorite labor ball and immediately my water broke. Water, water everywhere. I soaked my right sock. The very next contraction was twice as hard as anything I had felt before. It felt like a hot knife just churning around in my abdomen, while someone squeezed at the exact same spot as hard as they could. I didn't think I was going to be able to do it. I really wanted a natural birth and up to this point had been managing the pain quite well, but I was sure my game was up.
At 5:30 p.m. I called Shirley and said I wanted to push. She checked me--just 8 cm. The panting and singing began. Kevin said, "Just one contraction at a time" and this is what we did, but oh, it was horrible. My entire body would shake through each contraction. That baby wanted to come out. It was like trying to stop a jackhammer. At 6:00 p.m. I told Kevin I didn't think I could do it anymore. I don't remember saying this, but Kevin was keeping notes (thus all the specific times in this birth story--believe me, I had no concept of time). This was most likely the transition time. At 6:18 p.m. I called Shirley and begged her to check me again. I was 9 1/2 cm which was good enough for me, but she said I couldn't push yet. At this point she wanted to check the fetal monitor again (obviously trying to torture me) so I just gave up and got up on the bed and laid on my side. It didn't matter at this point anyway. It all felt horrid. They monitored to their heart's content and I sweat and prayed through each contraction. At 6:30 I asked Shirley to check me again because I really didn't think I could make it. She was kind and did so. Kevin says I said very loudly "Dear God, please let me be fully dilated." God answered my prayer because Shirley, sounding relieved herself, said "You're 10. Let's push." I cried with relief.
As I got situated on the birthing bed and they took out the bottom of the bed and everything, one of the nurses noticed that my right sock was soaked and cold. She took it off. I didn't really notice.
Pushing lasted for 27 minutes. It was the best 27 minutes of my life up to that point. It just felt so good to push. It did get painful as the head crowned and everything, but the adrenaline and excitement of knowing we were going to make it and have a natural birth drowned out the pain (I didn't think about all that could still possibly go wrong. I was pushing!). Everything seemed to go really fast too. Suddenly her head was crowning (lots of hair) and I could touch it (I thought it was kind of gross and just wanted her out). Two or three more nurses were coming into the room, setting up tables, instruments, lights, etc. More people were standing around me, telling me when to push (which I ignored and pushed when I felt like it--they seemed to ignore when I was pushing and kept giving instructions). Shirley was massaging my perineum and everything was just really active. I kind of felt like a movie star getting a 5-star spa treatment! I mean, if you ignored the fact that I was practically naked, grunting and half-screaming at the same time.
In any case, Dr. Dotson suddenly came in and was busily washing up. Shirley suddenly told me to stop pushing and breathe through my contractions again. I did this for one contraction thinking she was trying to ease the baby out so I wouldn't tear. Then I noticed her looking at Dr. Dotson with a worried expression between her vocal encouragements for me to not push. Ah yes, I had heard of this--the doctor needs to catch the baby and I was that close! They were worried he wouldn't make it. I said, "Why can't I push? Am I waiting for him? [I didn't wait for her to answer--I felt all-powerful] I'm not waiting for anyone." And an urge came and I pushed as hard as I could. Unfortunately the baby did not come shooting out in a grand finale. Dr. Dotson was there for the next push.
If I was going to have a vaginal delivery, I did NOT want to be cut. This was something I felt very strongly about after having talked to several mothers who tore, several who had episiotomies, and several who had both. I definitely wanted to tear and this was prominent on our birth plan. As Dr. Dotson was sitting down I saw one of the nurses rearranging the tools on the cart beside him and I thought I saw her get a knife. So I quickly said (in the middle of my push, so it came out very forceful--Kevin does a great impression), "I'd rather tear than cut." Dr. Dotson said calmly, "No one's getting cut today. I didn't even bring my scissors in here."
Kevin and I had decided beforehand that he would not catch the baby or anything like that. I wanted him up with me. We'd see the baby soon enough. He was more comfortable with this as well. So the head was out (and maybe the shoulders? I don't know) and suddenly Dr. Dotson asked if I wanted to pull the baby out. I was scared and unsure but instinctively leaned forward and with my next push I was suddenly holding my baby in my hands. She came out screaming bloody murder. I immediately brought her to my chest and tried to get her to breastfeed. She latched on right away (a skill she would mysteriously forget in a few days) and it was Kevin who said, "It's a girl." Our Adeline Rose.
For the next hours I was on an incredible adrenaline high. I was making cell phone calls to our family and friends while Dr. Dotson stitched me up. Kevin was with Adeline while they cleaned her up. The nurses could not believe that I didn't have an epidural or an IV going. And they thought it extremely funny that I had given birth with one sock on and one sock off.
The whole experience left me awed by the way my body and Adeline knew what to do. Addie knew that she needed those nine extra days to, as my yoga teacher said, get "locked and loaded." Education and preparation was very important for Kevin and I, but ultimately, Addie had a mission and she was the star of the show. We're very proud of her.
Postscript: A couple told our Bradley class, while holding their 3-month-old boy, that giving birth was nothing compared with caring for the baby. I remember this giving me great hope because I thought, "Well, taking care of a baby is fun, so giving birth must not be bad at all." I also thought they had to be exaggerating.
Taking care of a baby has many rich rewards but it is VERY hard. Mostly because it is so new and foreign. Consider going through labor (which has been compared with running a marathon), your hormones being completely out of whack, and just wanting to chill out and sleep for a few days. But oh wait, there is a very small creature that needs you every second and cries a lot, often for seemingly no reason. It is hard. I really struggled with insomnia, mild anxiety attacks, and general depression. At times I was regretful that I had even had a child, and that really turned on the guilt. Add breastfeeding to this, and the fact that it was not going well, and things were not what I would call fun.
In hindsight, I am convinced that my insomnia and baby blues affected my milk supply, and as Addie continued to loose weight, breastfeeding affected my depression and anxiety, so it became a vicious cycle. The best thing I did was take my pediatrician's advice (who was, by the way, very supportive of breastfeeding, she just saw that things weren't fixing themselves) and supplement with formula. This made me feel more guilty because I had read the La Leche League literature and knew that the biggest no-no for successful breastfeeding is to start the supplemental thing. But to break the cycle I had to know that my baby was getting enough to eat. And for us that meant some formula.
The other thing about breastfeeding that I was not prepared for was the time it takes. It is full-time, 8-10 hours a day of sitting in a chair and feeding your baby. And it is around the clock. This was very frustrating for me and I hated it and really fought it emotionally. I'm used to being productive, scheduled, and in control. With breastfeeding, Adeline was in control and I was just her food source. My life was not my own. I found myself resenting her for that in those first weeks. Simultaneously, I felt a lot of guilt for begrudging my daughter my time. In talking with other moms, I think this resentment or frustration is very natural and though it shouldn't last forever, it certainly doesn't mean you shouldn't breastfeed or you are a bad mother.
Something another wise mom told me (my own mother, incidentally) that I found very helpful and I believe is so very true, is that mothering is more than breastfeeding. Breastfeeding is best, but it is not the ultimate. And it was when I let go of my ideals about breastfeeding that I started to chill out and get some sleep and things started to turn around.
Adeline is now 7 1/2 months. She hasn't had a drop of formula for 5 months, is plump and healthy, and loves breastfeeding. More importantly, I love breastfeeding. It was so very worth the trauma and heartache. By far the hardest thing I've ever done, and by far the most worthwhile.
Read about the birth of Adeline's little sister, Martha!
