Jonas's Birth Story

So, birth.  It’s an amazing, wonderful, miraculous thing.  When I was pregnant with Silas, I had no idea what to expect.  I didn't plan or think about it much, to be honest, and though things didn't go as I had thought they probably should, he was born healthy and safe.  With Oliver, however, I educated myself and prepped and planned to the last minute tiny detail.  I WAS GOING TO HAVE A VBAC, and Lord help anyone who got in my way.  And praise God, Oliver also was born safe and healthy, and I literally got everything I prayed for (you can read Oliver’s birth story here; please know Jamie says the long and horrendous labor is my fault because I prayed for an “experience.”  It’s true.) 

As I approached the end of pregnancy with our third son, to be honest, I really wasn't thinking about birth.  I was still visiting my chiropractor, I had contacted my doula, and I had written my birth plan (aka changed the date on Oliver’s plan) but I really just wasn't thinking about it.  I had a lot going on; lots of MOPS meetings, homeschooling my kindergartner, starting up a homeschool co-op with a friend, and potty-training a 2 ½ year old.  Basically anything I could do to stay busy and keep my mind off of pushing a human through my lady bits.  So when I woke up on Saturday, October 25^th, about two and a half weeks before my alleged due date (by the doctor’s dates, my due date was November 11^th; by my dates, anywhere from November 3^rd- 5^th), the last thing on my mind was labor.

I remember telling Jamie around 7:30, as he left to go work for his dad, that I was feeling a little crampy.  I was still planning on running (I had the day before!), as well as doing several loads of laundry and lesson plans for the next few school units.  At about 9:00 I texted Bethany, my doula, to let her know that the remainder of her fee was in the mail.  As an afterthought I added that I was feeling crampy, but it was really not painful at all so I was sure it was nothing.  She asked me a couple of questions, and as I wrote her back I realized that hey, these cramps are coming in regular intervals.  Hmmm.  But seriously, the pain was so minimal I dismissed it.  At her urging I called Jamie and told him I might need him to come home today.  It was now about 10am, and the cramps/contractions were probably 5-6 minutes apart.  I did throw some laundry in, and made sure my boys had pants on (more often than not, they don’t), and after a couple more contractions I called my parents.  I told my dad I wasn't absolutely sure that today was the day, but just in case—could they please come get Silas and Oliver? My mom was there in 20 minutes.  Apparently SHE was ready.  Me, not so much.

Jamie got home around 11, and I was still communicating with Bethany.  By this time everyone was sure I was in labor except me.  It just really seriously didn't hurt.  I mean, there was pressure and it was kind of intense… but NOTHING like last time, when I wanted to lay down and die for roughly 18 hours.  And in-between the contractions I felt FINE.  Like, great.  I chatted with my friend Trisha on the phone for a while; I had to breathe a bit through some contractions but it was nothing.  A little while later I made Jamie take a walk with me (just a couple of miles).  As the contractions hit when I was walking, I started to slow down and breathe.  I remembered Bethany telling me things were getting serious if a contraction hit and I couldn't move, even if I were about to get hit by a truck.  I kept this in mind and *never actually stopped moving* through each contraction—I would walk super, super slowly instead :)  In my mind, this meant things weren't that serious because hey, I was moving! By this time and when we got home it was about 1.  I realized the 2-mile walk had taken well over an hour- guess I was moving a lot more slowly than I thought! Still, I wasn't convinced I was in labor.  

I made myself some lunch and argued with Jamie about mowing the lawn.  I wanted him to get it done.  We had plenty of time! Seriously, I said, I’m not even sure this is real.  Right about then I had my first contraction where I had to vocalize a bit.  Jamie rolled his eyes and said he was NOT mowing the lawn, we were going to the hospital! No, seriously, the lawn looks terrible.  You should go do it, it’ll only take an hour or so… Jamie stomped upstairs to get the hospital bag.  I moaned through another contraction.  I then decided I would humor Jamie and go to the hospital… they’ll just send us home, and then he’ll feel so stupid, I thought.  It was now 2:00.

I texted Bethany and told her we’d head for the hospital around 3.  Or later, if I could drag my feet some more… and of course, at 2:30 Jamie was ushering me into the car.  Each town we drove through was an opportunity for me to try to convince him to stop.  In Mt. Vernon I tried to get him to stop at Casey’s for some water and gum (apparently we already had that).  In Solon I tried to get him to stop at Dairy Queen (just a snack—for him, not me, because at that point I was feeling like vomiting every now and then.  SO obviously NOT in labor.)  In the outskirts of Iowa City I desperately tried to get him to go to Jimmy John’s: “But Jamie, you LOVE Jimmy John’s UUUHHHHH! Go get a Turkey Tom, I’ll wait here UUUHHHHH and be fine UHHHHHH!”

Those UUUHHHs were the sound of me moaning every 30 seconds or so.  Nope, everything’s fine here.

When we got to the hospital I, of course, refused the wheelchair (stupid volunteer, I’m not in labor BUT DON’T TOUCH ME EVERYTHING HURTS I CAN WALK I’M FINE) and waddled up to labor and delivery.  When we got there the nurse ushered me into that room where they check and make sure you’re in labor before they admit you—as we stepped over the threshold I had a contraction and moaned, and Amanda my sweet nurse said, “I think we can skip this… let’s get you in a gown…”  Now THIS I was fine with, because the fewer people who see my cervix the better, in my book (once again, refer to my last birth experience where roughly 37 people viewed it.  TEACHABLE MOMENT PEOPLE.) I got changed and hooked up to antibiotics because I was group b strep positive.  As I was stuck in the bed, I consented to ONE check.  Seriously, I was convinced the nurse was going to say I was a 2.  Maybe  a 3.  When she said 6-7 I was stunned.  Whaaaaat?  Are you telling me I’m having a baby today? Although, if things went like last time (as I was sure they would), “today” probably really meant “tomorrow,” because it was now 4:15 and my last labor was about a gazillion hours long.  So, plenty of time.  Jamie, go home and mow, you can make it back in time no problem.  He did not obey.

My doula arrived at the hospital right about then.  We chatted—she is in her third trimester of pregnancy as we speak, so we had lots to talk about.  As I labored (unhooked from the antibiotics, and also monitored intermittently which was FANTASTIC) I spent most of my time on the birth ball.  I got in the tub for a while, but the water was a little cold and who wants to take a lukewarm bath The staff at the hospital was great—everyone took the time to read my birth plan.  No one offered drugs, they were all fine with all my crunchiness and even offered to save the placenta (there it is! Placenta! Which we declined, BTW). Time passed quickly; though I was having some pretty intense contractions pretty close together, and though they were telling me I was definitely in labor, I still somehow was having a hard time believing that I was giving birth very soon.  As each contraction hit, I prayed and moaned and leaned on Jamie.  I just kept flashing back to Oliver’s labor; his was SO painful and SO long, I had just assumed it would be the same this time around.  When Dr. Smollen checked me at about 6:30 and declared me fully dilated and 100% effaced, I thought she was joking.  I really just figured out I was in labor a couple of hours ago! Where were the other 14 hours of pain and suffering? At about that moment my water broke (probably another reason I was in denial; in both of my other labors, my water broke at the very start) and I laid on my right side to get baby boy in the best position for pushing (still in my head thinking “but I won’t be pushing for at least 10 more hours!”)

Laying on my side I had one SUPER AWFUL HORRIBLE CONTRACTION—the ONLY contraction I actually yelled through (with Oliver, I yelled for a solid 12 hours).  I turned over and yelled something like “I NEED TO PUSH!” and Dr. Smollen came running back in.  It was now about 6:38.  With the next wave of contraction I pushed…. And pushed…. And pushed… and then, at 6:42pm, my wonderfully sticky and gooey boy made his way into the world.  A head FULL of gorgeous long black hair and a face full of vernix that made it hard for him to open his left eye (maybe they were right about his due date), Jonas Charles Johnson was 6 pounds, 13 ounces and 19.5 inches of beautiful baby boy—my largest baby to date. 

I couldn't believe the contrast in labors—while in total I was probably “in labor” for 9 hours or so, I only actually felt like I was in labor for 3 (I only actually acknowledged I was in labor for maybe 20 minutes).  With Oliver, I pushed for FOUR HOURS.  Literally.  With Jonas, I pushed for FOUR MINUTES.  It was glorious.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucked.  It hurt.  But it was SO much less painful than Oliver’s birth I was astounded (if you didn’t read his birth story, basically he was posterior which meant 18ish hours of back labor and stuck on pubic bone and lot of pain and yelling and weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Unmedicated, of course, because I forgot to ask for pain meds.  Basically.)

I got to hold and kiss my baby boy and snuggle him right away, which I've never gotten to do before.  Jamie got to cut the cord when it was done pulsing.  The placenta (there it is again! Placenta!) came out three minutes after Jonas, which was a miracle all by itself.  Literally, absolutely everything we specifically prayed for concerning Jonas’s birth happened.  It was so graceful, so comparatively easy, so beautiful.  I am so thankful for my husband, who supports me on my natural birth journeys, no matter what issues arise.  He loves me and our boys and is truly the best partner, in birth but especially in life, I could ever hope for.  I am also thankful for my birth team—this time, only Bethany the Best Doula in the Land, as well as Dr. Smollen—who I really only saw for a cervix check and pushing, but really that’s fine with me—it made Jonas’s birth such an intimate experience, much more private and peaceful than I have experienced before. 

Life with three boys has been pretty crazy the last three weeks.  I’m sure I’ll share at a later time about the trials and struggles we've already been dealing with (can anyone say “2 year old regression”??), but for now, I am just so thankful to Got for every blessing we've been given—especially, right now, these three boys with three very different entries into the world.  Jonas, we are so grateful for you—get ready for a wild and crazy experience in this wild and crazy world!

Warning! Birth story! Placenta involved!

This past Sunday, May 5th, was my son Oliver's first birthday.  I seriously can't believe how fast the year went-- I really feel like it was just last week that I was bringing him home from the hospital.  Because I'm in a sappy, hormonal mood, I'm going to share a watered-down, PG version of his birth story (trust me, you don't want to hear the rated-R version.  Am I right, doula Bethany Gates?? :)

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!