All through out my pregnancy, I ate up every birth story I could find online like a ravenous, starved wild beast. I became enthralled with black and white photos of women in hospital gowns and their accompanying words, like "ring of fire" and "birthing ball." One of the most important scenes that stuck with me was the beauty of immediately having your child latch after birth and feed him/her. It sounded so heavenly, so peaceful, so whole; creating an instinctive and timeless love between mother and child.
As with all insane first-time mothers, I created a birth plan that emphasized such an event, in addition to things like "Please don't offer me pain medication. I'll request it if I need it;" "I'd like 24-hour rooming-in with my baby;" and "Do not offer my baby formula, sugar water, a pacifier."
Ha.
Needless to say, I had a dreamy romance with what I thought labor and delivery was like. The birth stories I read sang to my granola-eating/Chaco-wearing/alternative-medicine loving soul. I put aside the stark reality that I can barely stand to use eye drops or have a splinter removed from my foot, let alone depend on breathing and acupressure techniques to get me though a pitocin induced birth.
Let it be known that I did end up adding that if I MUST have any medicinal intervention, I would do an epidural, but I wanted to get to a 5 first.
So at my 41-week appointment, we set up the induction for a few days later (Wednesday or Thursday? I pick Wednesday because I met with the doctor who was on call once... and had not met the doctor who was on for Thursday. Like that really makes a difference? Ah, the joys of using a giant OB-GYN practice). Still not really dilated but at least effaced, the NST and ultrasound went well, predicting a somewhat larger baby at 8-9 lbs. Eek.
I go in Tuesday morning to get the gel. Spending the morning in the triage area hearing women actually in the throes of labor was not exactly pumping me up for the next day, to say the least.
I barely slept that evening - undoubtedly the nerves got to me; and considering I had to get up to call at 4 AM to see if there was room, it wasn't exactly a combination lending itself toward rest.
4:00: No room. Call in an hour.
5:00: Still no room, we'll call you by 8.
8:15: I call again, no room. Maybe try back in a couple of hours?
11:00: I call to announce my plans for going on a walk. Forget this, I have the day off and the sun is shining.
1:00: I get a call mid-walk (about 2 miles from my house). They are ready! (Of course... I'm at the farthest point in my walk, and desperately need a shower at this point).
2:30: Stop by Chick-Fil-A for my "last meal." Excitedly send texts to family/friends with the update.
3:00: Arrive for the big show. I realize the entire day was spent mostly in a "hurry up and wait" nature.
I settled in the bed with the monitor happily beeping the heartbeat in the background, pitocin slowly dripping into my body, and Modern Family playing on the laptop. We gave the nurse her goody bag and bonded over her love for Pandora. The bed quickly became uncomfortable (someone will make a killing if they can mass produce affordable birthing beds to hospitals), and I found excuses to constantly get up and use the rest room. I could barely feel the contractions, mesmerized by the rhythmic rolling hills coming off the print out. I began to get giddy at the thought that I could actually handle this entire ordeal of giving birth (while I set unbelievably high expectations for myself, I never really have faith that I can fulfill them). She upped my pitocin a bit and left at the 7 PM shift change.
Oh boy, did those contractions start to get intense. I think this is why I do half marathons instead of the full deal- I lose steam pretty quickly. The new nurse sweetly got me a huge yoga ball and Scott started to get a concerned look with each contraction that I did NOT breathe through. My parents stopped by (terrible timing - sorry, Mom and Dad), and I'm pretty sure the look on my face made them just as uncomfortable as I was, so they left after hanging around and trying to make small talk.
My new nurse had another patient start to go into active labor, so I lost her only to get the best nurse on the planet: Jennifer. I confidently believe she saved me and Corinne from an even more horrific birth.
Just before the new nurse left, she said she would check me again around 10 PM. Unable to bear the thought of going through more contractions like this, I tell Jennifer I'm ready for that epidural and pray that I'm at least at a 4.
It is all a bit hazy now, but I'm pretty sure I was around a 4 and the anesthesiologist had an opening - no waiting! They quickly raised the bed, we signed some forms, and I leaned over as far as I could with my legs dangling.
I'm all numbed up, the doctors leave, and I'm back to a reclined position when suddenly a jack hammer exploded at the nape of my neck and a helmet of excruciating pain closed over my head. I could barely speak and managed to cry out "my head!" while writhing in the pain that consumed my entire body. The baby's heart rate plummetted and Jennifer paged back the doctors and additional nurses. They covered my mouth and nose with oxygen while I dipped in and out of consciousness.
"Turn her on her left side!" Nothing. "Turn her on her right side!" Still nothing. Keep in mind, I could not feel a thing and my legs were giant blobs of jell-o. Finally they managed to get me on all fours. I'm on my knees and leaning on my elbows with a strong epidural and deathly headache. I just remember asking if the baby was okay and coming to the resolution that I would soon be whisked away to an emergency c-section... which at that point, I didn't care - as long as the baby was okay.
Okay. The word of that hour. I continued to mumble "Is she okay?" "Will she be okay?" "Is everything okay?"
And Jennifer patiently and efficiently handled my questions in addition to not only fighting my decline, but that of Corinne's as well.
In the meantime, I gave Scott one of the most frightening experiences of his life. He was utterly helpless and could only step back and watch these strangers try to help his wife and unborn child.
While on all fours, I was suddenly at a 7 and they broke my water in order to get her heart rate from a tiny wire attached to her scalp.
She was just fine. More than okay.
I, on the other hand, could barely think. My head was killing me. The doctor calmly sat at the foot of my bed and convinced me that I needed some narcotics (Stadol) to take the edge of my headache and allow me to rest before I need to start pushing. I was very hesitant, asking if it would affect the baby, making her groggy/drowsy... and was reassured that I had some time and it would work through my system and not affect her at all. I agreed, mostly because I felt like dying and was completely exhausted. I also received an anti-nausea medicine that made me super loopy; I kept on barraging Jennifer with questions and she quietly gave me short answers and tried to tell me that I needed to sleep.
The Stadol did nothing for me.
Meanwhile, Scott went downstairs to the waiting room to tell my mother, only to her extreme horror. When he came back to the room, he was surprised to find me awake and offered me a priesthood blessing. I don't recall the exact words that were said... except that my pain would subside. It was a very humbling and spiritual experience for the two of us and I quickly received enough relief to doze off and on for the next few hours.
Around 2 AM on September 1st, Jennifer came back to check me - 10 cm and ready to practice pushing!
She told me what every over-achiever needs to hear and said that my pushes were perfect. Finally, something going somewhat according to plan.
When the doctor came in to see, though, he wasn't as impressed. I guess it wasn't my best work, so he left and Jennifer kept cheering me on.
I loved pushing. I loved pulling on the dead weight of my legs, counting while I held my breath, and how my headache disappeared while I bore down. It felt so satisfying, and somewhat cleansing.
It felt right.
And our sweet girl was rocking out the whole way down - Scott begrudgingly gave into the pressure from Jennifer and went to see Corinne's little head wiggling back and forth while I pushed. Jennifer was surprised and awed at how active she was, and Scott smiled and chuckled in disbelief of what he saw. To be sure, it was nothing short of amazing.
The doctor came back and it was go time. He explained that I needed a little snip to help her out and I quickly agreed - anything to see this gal of mine. For Scott, he still says the sound of those scissors is one of the worst things he's ever heard. Nothing makes him cringe more that remembering that sound.
After one more quick little snip, her head slipped out and they tell me stop pushing (which was one of the most surprising things about labor - I had no idea that you just stop cold turkey and they pull out the rest of the body. Incredible!). Scott cut the cord and they placed her on me. All she did was lift her head and look around the room (which she continues to do ALL THE TIME. She just looks around, soaking in her surroundings). I worried that she wasn't crying and frantically tried to get my gown pulled down so I could feed her and have some skin-to-skin contact.
This is where most of my guilt and regret reside. I became a maniac, trying to force-feed my very disinterested child. Jennifer tried to gently tell me that it was okay for her to not eat right away, that a latch in the first few hours is good. The doctor commented that the kid "isn't supposed to exit the womb expected to do calculus." Scott just had step back, not knowing what to do, while my frustration escalated that we weren't "bonding" right away.
Everything I read said this was supposed to happen and be so magical! What is wrong with me? My baby? Why is my story not like everyone else's?!
It was terrible. They took her to clean, weigh, and measure her (all in-room) and I'm pretty sure I was still in a state of shock of what just happened. They brought her back and I was still in this crazy mode, yelling at Scott that he needed to come over to my bedside for family time.
Isn't that just picture-perfect? A hormonal monster shoving a breast in her daughter's face while crying and yelling with demands of special family time. Talk about a recipe for disaster. It was NOTHING like what I expected, let alone wanted. I was trying to force myself into other women's experiences, instead of living in my own. I yearned for what I had read instead of living for the excitement of what my OWN story would be.
The way I acted after giving birth to Corinne is one of my biggest mistakes for which I still haven't completely forgiven myself. Every time I think about it I shudder, lower my head in shame, and usually shed a tear or two for what could have been.
I know I need to move on and not dwell on what it wasn't. I know my focus should be on gratitude for my beautiful, healthy, baby girl and very loving and supportive husband.
So this is for all of those unfulfilled birth experiences; for those who don't have that magical moment in the hospital; for crushed expectations and lingering regrets. This is to help me get it out and let it go. Let go of the bad feelings I have about that day and the following weeks filled with sleep-deprived induced anxiety and emotional breakdowns.
I hope that the next time (and no, this isn't an announcement) I will remember to just be me, let my child be who she is, and to share that with my husband and other children. To let my family be who they are as individuals and not fit them into what I think they should be based off what I read in some random blog.
I will still enjoy reading accounts of other women; especially now that I've had my own experience, I appreciate their words even more. I will continue to peruse the writings of strangers, and when those feelings of jealousy creep in, I know I should probably stop and recall what I felt when I saw Scott sit with Corinne for the first time on the love seat in the hospital room. He sat with her for hours and just watched her fall and stay sleep; the love I felt emulating from him to her still makes my heart explode and eyes water.
Needless to say, it started as a wild ride and will continue in the same way with just as many highs and lows; I'm sure of it. But what I'm also sure of is that I am Corinne's mother and Scott's wife, and there is no other person I'd rather be.
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