I went to bed on Friday, May 4th, feeling terrible-- crampy and exhausted. Looking back, I can now understand that I was having erratic contractions starting at about 11pm. I was able to fall asleep for a few hours, until my water broke at 1:49 am. I know this to be the exact time because I sat straight up in bed and looked at the clock. I poked Jamie. I kicked Jamie. I pushed Jamie and yelled "WAKE UP MY WATER BROKE!" and he rolled over, moaning, "Nooo...." This actually is a better response than when my water broke with Silas. Anyway, I got up and told him I was going to take a shower, because heaven knows I wasn't going to have hairy legs and greasy hair while I labored.
At this point my contractions were about 5 minutes apart, not very painful. I took my shower (and yes, I shaved my legs in between contractions) while Jamie called his dad to come over and watch Silas. Doug arrived around 3, and at 3:30 we went up to say goodbye to Silas. We then headed down to the hospital, stopping 3 times for gum because I also wanted fresh breath.
I got to the hospital, where we met my doula and got checked in. I had a little fight with the staff because I had called my favorite midwife to come in even though she wasn't on call-- they weren't very happy about that, but if there's one thing being in labor does for me it's take my filter off. Elizabeth the amazing midwife (seriously, a superhero) made it in and I proceeded to labor for a total of about 18 hours. AWESOME.
I'll skip over the next 12 hours or so. Some highlights include triple-peaking contractions one minute apart for several hours, falling asleep on the birthing ball for 45 seconds in between said contractions, and scaring several U of I interns as I walked the halls moaning like a crazy woman. For this birth, because I really, really, REALLY wanted a natural VBAC, I had done a lot of preparation and education. Part of this included watching "The Business of Being Born." I distinctly remember watching several women make deep, guttural animal-like sounds during their labor and making fun of them. Like those ridiculous sounds are really necessary.
Well. Not only are they necessary, they're involuntary. I can only compare the noises coming from me to the sounds (I imagine) a dying wildebeest makes as it's being torn to shreds by hungry hyenas. During this time the anesthesiologist came in to meet me, per VBAC policy at the hospital. Here is where the grace of God is really evident.
I wanted as few interventions as possible-- I opted for a hep-lock instead of an IV (I would have not even had that if I could have), I expressly asked NOT to be checked until I felt like I wanted to push, and most importantly, I didn't want any form of pain medication. This isn't because I wanted to be some hero or macho woman-- it's because I really truly believe that vaginal birth is best for baby and it has been shown that epidurals can slow down labors. In the case of my VBAC, I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances of slowing down my labor and opening up the possibility of another emergency C-section.
*Disclaimer: There are some instances when C-sections are medically necessary and what is absolutely best for mother and baby!
Anyway. God's grace.
I'm perched on all fours on the bed, bellowing intermittently like one of the cows on my parent's farm, in pain that would have to be put at a 9 or 10, while the anesthesiologist talks to me about pain control options. And yet, it never, ever, EVER occurred to me to have pain medication. The thought never entered my mind. I do, however, remember peering at the anesthesiologist through my haze of pain and thinking, "That is one good-looking doctor. I look like a birthing cow. I don't care. He should be on Grey's Anatomy."
As you can see, my thought process was a little disoriented.
Fast forward another few hours. I'm pushing. I've been pushing for 3 hours. The kid is stuck on my pubic bone. He crowns, he gets sucked back up. This goes on for an hour. The "ring of fire" is aptly named. My midwife brought up the option of the vacuum- and I was at the point where I was telling anyone who would listen to JUST GET HIM OUT. I agree to the vacuum. I had this wild daydream of my midwife bringing in a Dyson and sucking him out and we'd be all done and happy. This is not what happened.
Instead, what went from a small birth team (me and Jamie, doula, nurse, and midwife) went to a large teaching opportunity spectacle. Since I was past the point of caring who saw what, I agreed to let the OB wielding the vacuum bring his interns. Apparently I also agreed to let the Peds team bring theirs, too. All of a sudden there were probably 25 people in the room, everyone talking to me, and I didn't know what was going on. Someone with a thick accent kept talking to me and I didn't know what he was saying so I just nodded my head and kept pushing (anyone who's ever had a baby vaginally knows that this is pretty much involuntary-- if you need to push, you push.)
About 2 minutes after the vacuum entered the story, my sweet little Oliver made his way, finally, finally, into the room, upping the number of people from 25 to 26. 6 pounds, 13 ounces, 19 inches. He cried, I cried, Jamie cried. My baby boy was healthy, hungry, and had an enormously pointed head (that's what about 4 hours in the birth canal will do to ya). I was so glad it was over. But wait.... it wasn't.
As I had only experienced a C-section before, I wasn't too aware of the whole issue with the super fun thing called the placenta. Apparently, it's supposed to make its appearance soon after the child is born. Well, it didn't. So we waited. I was given, reluctantly, Pitocin, that devil drug. It still didn't come out. My midwife calmly and quietly spoke to me about the very real possibility that the placenta had attached to my C-section scar and if it had, I would need to have an emergency hysterectomy.
Wait. What? I just experienced one of the best moments of my life and now you're telling me I might not ever have another child? What is happening?
I had Jamie call my friend Trisha and start praying. My midwife then told me what she was going to do to try to detach and remove the placenta.
OK-- this is where we veer into PG, maybe a little on the R side. Stop reading, unless you're okay with that.
My midwife put on a glove and reached up to her elbow and pulled the thing out. Amazingly, thankfully, it came out 100% intact. So thankful-- and OUCH. HOLY CRAP that hurt. I can't think of anything to compare it to-- that's just painful. Wish I had drugs for that.
Oliver's birth was one of the defining moments of my life. Silas's birth was so quick (emergency C-section within 3 hours of labor starting, he was breech) and NOT how I wanted things to go, I kind of felt like Oliver's labor and birth were a redemption of sorts. *Once again, disclaimer-- cannot be more thankful that Silas is healthy, perhaps his C-section was necessary and so glad that's an option, etc. I wanted to really experience labor and birth and have that moment you see on "A Baby Story" where they hand the screaming child to the mother and she puts him on her chest and cries. Despite all the craziness, I am so thankful that God allowed me to have those moments. My children are such blessings from God-- worth every second of pain. Even on this side of the womb.
Okay, this is entirely too long. I'll stop now.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEET OLIVER!
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