Here, friends, is a first attempt to share my birth story. I imagine that as time passes I'll go back and add more memories, moments, thoughts. But it was important to me to spend some time in this first week recording as much of the birth as I could, to remember it as viscerally as possible. Though even now, the whole experience is still quite beyond my comprehension...
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Birthing Arden...
On Thursday, April 14, I was two days past my due date and I'd decided I'd had enough. I didn't want to make it to my Tuesday doctor's appointment because we were scheduled for an ultrasound and then a chat about induction. So I had a long talk with the baby about how she really should come soon, please. I went to teach that day and brought my class cookies, explaining that I always bring cookies on the last day, and I was doing this as a ruse to convince the baby that this was "the last day." Apparently, she listened.
Looking back at some blog entries from that afternoon and early evening, it's clear I was in early labor from about 3pm and just didn't realize it. I was having lots of what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions that were just extra uncomfortable. I blamed the crampiness and discomfort on the baby's engagement in my pelvis, and didn't think it could be real labor because I've heard so many times, "Oh, you'll KNOW!"
At 2am one contraction woke me up with a start, and I moved to the living room to give Owen some peace as I started to think that maybe, just maybe, I was in labor. As I timed them, I realized these contractions were coming every 2-4 minutes and lasting 45-90 seconds each. Finally, I woke up Owen at 3:30 with, "How would you feel about having a baby today?" We called our doula Lanell, called the doctor, and they all agreed that things were rolling well enough along that I should head to the hospital--I basically missed most of early labor because I didn't think it was real! We also called our parents--mine immediately booked a flight down from NY for that morning (hooray for frequent flier miles!) and Owen's, who live in town, went into Excitable Grandparent Alert Level Five.
I was still feeling really good as we got to the hospital, and I think the nurses were skeptical that I was actually in labor when I declined the wheelchair ride down the hall. As long as I stopped to breathe deeply through the contractions, they weren't too bad. As the nurse hooked me up to the monitors for a first reading, she was still talking about "if you're really in labor." Since my contractions were 3 min. apart, I had already decided that I was NOT driving back home!
Thankfully, everything looked great on the monitors--contractions registering just like I'd timed them, baby's heartrate perfect, my blood pressure excellent, etc. They did a first internal and said I was still 3cm, but nearly 100% effaced (I'd been 3cm for two weeks). They left us to labor, and when they checked me again in about an hour or two, I was at 5cm and rolling along steadily.
It's true what I've been told about time losing all meaning in labor--when I got that second check, I honestly thought we'd been at the hospital about twenty minutes total. We'd been there for three hours. Amazing. As labor started to get harder, the time went funny in both directions--an hour would pass in what seemed like five minutes, and then I'd swear it had been another hour, but only three minutes would have gone by.
We arrived at the hospital at 5:30 am, and Arden was born at 4:01pm. I worked through contractions using a whole variety of techniques and positions. I found that change worked really well for me--spending a while on my side on the bed (they'd put me on the monitors for about 20 minutes every hour or so), then standing up, then sitting on the birth ball, then "slow dancing" with Owen, leaning into him and hanging from his neck. I really liked squatting--I'd stand by the side of the bed, and Owen would sit behind me on a chair. When the contraction came, I'd squat down and drop my arms over his thighs, using him for support. We also put the birth ball on the bed, and I'd lean over it face down and have Owen press into my back. I was having lots of back/hip pain with each contraction, and Owen did a phenomenal job of applying counterpressure. I'd direct his hands a bit to the worst spots and he'd just push. Lanell had this fantastic smelling massage lotion, and she'd be massaging my legs, hips, feet, back, and bottom during contractions, and that too was absolutely heavenly. I labored through a few contractions on the toilet, and that felt really good, as your body naturally relaxes down there. I also got to take a nice long shower right before they finally broke my water. The shower was great--the "epidoula" as Lanell called it--the warm water just washing over the contractions, melting down the pain as it hit.
For a long time in the middle of active labor, I was in a wild, amazing, euphoric, ecstatic high. In between contractions I'd remark on the beautiful music playing (Lanell had these lovely soothing cds with her), how much I loved turkey sandwiches, how delicious that massage lotion smelled...I looked up at Owen and Lanell between one contraction and just gushed "you both look soooo pretty!" I spent a lot of time going "WOW...this is wild! WOW!" I was glowing and honestly just felt stoned out of my mind. Thank you, endorphins�
One of the most significant things I did was to actively work to be positive. I'd read and learned in my Birthing From Within class about the power of staying positive and how that helps open you up, rather than pulling back from the pain, scrunching up and tightening up. When contractions would hit, I'd start saying "wow, wow, wow" when I wanted to say "ow! ow! ow!" Instead of yelling "NO!!!" I was focused on saying "Yes! Yes! Yes!" to the pain. I talked to the baby during the contractions--"Yes, baby! Come on down, baby. That's good, baby." I focused on how much good work the pain was doing, how productive it was. I spent much time just nodding my head "yes"--the motion of it helped keep me moving forwards. And I did a lot of breathing into the pain, finding the center of the pain and pushing all my breath into it. I breathed deeply, breathed long "Shhh shhh" breaths, moaned deeply and loudly, loosened my jaw and lips and breathed out like a horse. I worked to keep everything as loose and fluid as possible.
When I was solidly 9cm, they broke my water and those last few contractions were absolutely mind-blowingly intense. They hit ferociously, and I could barely hang on to my breath. Owen and Lanell were fantastic, guiding me to put my breath into the pain, to find the center and breathe through it, and just reassuring me that I was doing great, that we were almost past the peak, that the contraction was on its way down. They held my startled, wild-eyed gaze and nodded with me. They created a calm, a peace, a sense of safety that kept me from being dragged under by the pain. I know that must have been the hardest part for Owen, watching me so very scared and hurting, and yet he never let anything negative onto his face, and just held my hand and held my gaze and remained a rock of peace and joy for me.
In the minute or so break I had between these contractions, an amazing calm would fall over the room. No one would talk, we'd all just rest. I actually fell asleep between contractions at least once.
They checked me again and I was nearly nearly complete, just a little bit of cervix left. Then they noticed that the baby's heartrate was dropping a bit, and suddenly without any warning I was told, "on the next contraction, you're going to start pushing this baby out!" It took me that first contraction to figure out just what pushing entailed, but once I caught on, there was nothing stopping me. I pushed with an animalistic ferocity. It felt great to be able to actually work with the pain, to use it and to push against it. They brought me a mirror so I could watch, and as I pushed I saw the top of the baby's head coming down. A thick head of dark, matted, wavy hair slowly making its way towards me. I watched in amazement as my body spread out, making room for this baby in ways that were quite shocking to witness.
I pushed. I groaned and grunted and squashed up my face and clenched my jaw and I pushed with every last ounce of strength I had. From first push to birth was 45 minutes, but it felt like 10. I was on fire, I was unstoppable. Owen and Lanell and Sara the nurse cheered me on, made me feel like a champion with each push. And then the baby's head was crowning, and they brought in the doctor (sadly, not Dr. Love, who apologized for having to go out of town for the weekend with his son on a turkey hunt!).
Dr. Gore (yes, we went from Dr. Love to Dr. Gore!) still wasn't happy with the baby's heartrate, and he was determined we'd get her out quickly. I was in agreement, as honestly, nothing was going to stop my pushing, including the doctor saying "Don't push!" Yeah, right. They started to get ready for delivery and the next thing I knew I had my legs up in stirrups--one thing that I really didn't want because it's supposed to be the worst, most uncomfortable, and least logical position for pushing out the baby. However, since I'd already done pretty much all the pushing and she was right there ready to come out, I didn't fight it. I did shift my weight so my tailbone wasn't on the table, and that helped me feel more in control. The next few moments are a bit of a blur--I gave a good push, the doctor said my perineum wasn't stretching and I was already tearing, he wanted more control so cut an episiotomy, and with one more little push, her head was out. She then turned to work out her shoulder and bounced off some nerve in my leg, which made my leg start cramping up, which made me yank it out of the stirrup and nearly kick the doctor in the face. He was very good natured about all of this.
Then suddenly the entire rest of her body slipped out of me. That startled me so much I yelped. I watched as my belly completely disappeared. And then someone said "look at your baby!" and I sat up and looked between my legs and there was this goopy purple wriggling thing, definitely a girl, definitely a person, and definitely no longer inside my body. I saw the cord still connecting us, and then they had me lie back and they plonked her right down on my chest. I remember seeing that she had lots of vernix on her back, and then someone came in with a towel and rubbed her off a good bit. I'm sure she was crying although I don't remember. I'm sure Owen and I were crying, although I only faintly remember that. They waited until the cord stopped pulsating, so that she could get the last burst of oxygenated blood into her system, and then Owen cut the cord.
Then came a wealth of stitches (a nurse later referred to it as "the motherload of tears") a good case of the shakes (adrenaline, mostly) and a big glass of juice. Owen took the baby off to the warmer to get weighed and measured as I got put back together. Owen returned with the baby, and as I stared at this little incredible being, Lanell said, "let's try that first breastfeeding." I rolled onto my side, and the baby was put down next to me on her side. We curled up tummy to tummy, and within moments she opened her mouth wide and instinctively latched on. It was an exquisite moment, an immediate bond. I was falling deeper in love by the second.
Much as Lanell had described, birthing without any drugs left me in an incredible euphoric state. I had a surge of endorphins that kept me going for hours and hours, long after all my support team had passed out. Although I'd gotten virtually no sleep the night before, had spent the previous day teaching and going on walks around the neighborhood, and had had virtually nothing to eat in nearly 24 hours besides some ice chips and juice, I felt fantastic. Actually, I still do--a bit of healing, a bit of aching, but nothing ibuprofin hasn't taken care of. And I've got this perfect little miracle to love on.
It's now a week later, and I still feel just great. I'm working on healing and resting and enjoying the baby, and I'm doing a fine job at it. My muscles were quite sore the day after the birth, as if I'd run a few marathons, which I guess for all intents and purposes I did. But almost all of the soreness, the aches, the tightness has gone away, and while I'm naturally still tired and not wanting to return to "the real world," I feel infinitely better than I ever expected. My body really was meant to do this, it was designed to birth this sweet child, and it was designed to heal itself fairly easily as well, so that I can devote my energies to caring for Arden. And caring for such a small thing has actually been quite lovely, and quite natural as well. She's hungry, so I feed her. She's wet or, more likely these days, covered in explosive poop, and we change her (mostly Owen changes her--he's the master poop man). She's gassy, so we burp her. She spends much of her time sleeping, and when she's awake her beautiful big bright eyes just look around intently. In the past two days we've noticed that her ability to focus has developed, and she can now lock gazes with us, stare deeply into our eyes.
She smiles. She looks excited, startled, intrigued, satisfied, grumpy. She feeds hungrily, then falls back, mouth wide open, and languishes, all "milk drunk." She gesticulates wildly with her hands as she looks around or eats. She strokes my breast while nursing, stares into my eyes, or shuts her eyes tight and focuses on her lunch. She gets the hiccups and squirms and cries, or just looks out in wonder at the strange twitching of her body. She's tiny and precious and beautiful and warm and so exquisitely soft to touch. She's our daughter. Arden Miriam. Sweet thing.
