Baby Jack's Birth Story
EDIT: This post was originally written way back in 2013. I recently went through all of my old posts and deleted more than half. I kept this and edited it a bit, just to clean up some typos and rearrange a few words to improve flow. I didn't realize doing so would make it now appear as though I published it in 2018. So, yeah. That happened.
(The usual disclaimers for males apply: there is some female/birth-specific yuckiness in this post. Do not continue if that grosses you out.)
Yes, yes, I know, here I am jumping on the Birth Story bandwagon. Honestly, though, I want to encourage (and disabuse) other first time mothers who, like me, knew exactly what they are going to do when the time came to give birth and how they were going to handle a newborn baby. Let me just say that reality has a funny way of bursting your idealistic bubble.
To begin, I knew that, this being my first birth, I was going to be in labor for at least 22 hours (why 22 and not 23 or 21, I don't know). Everything I'd read and everyone I'd talked to had convinced me of the fact. Since, due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to have a home birth (and how long it took to reconcile myself to that fact), I was going to wait until the last possible moment to head to the hospital, so I could just walk in and start pushing.
Secondly, I was going unmedicated. No drugs were going to interrupt my baby bonding experience! Not one drop of pain killer. And epidurals were clearly the devil. I told my birth coach, who is also my MIL, to talk me out of one if I "caved" and asked for it. They had (have) terrifying side effects and the forced immobility requires you to push baby out on your back, which is the worst position of them all. And no one, NO ONE, I say! was going to force me to stay in my bed, strapped to monitors. I was going to walk and bend and move!
Lastly, obstetricians are evil! They're mean and arrogant and make you do things you don't want to do and hurt your feelings and then won't even let you have a vaginal birth because it doesn't fit their schedule so you're left with a painful, unnecessary C-section scar which prevents you from adequately bonding with your baby. I'd read all the books. I knew what things were really like in hospitals.
There were other things which I also knew without a doubt, but to list them all would take up half the internet. The ideas above were simply the most important in my mind.
EJ deployed on the 27th of March, which was also Jack's official due date. Up until then, we'd been hoping and praying the baby would be born before he left, so he could at least hold his son in his arms before going on the boat. No such luck, however, and we were stuck with the worst-case scenario. Another week went by with no sign of little Jackie boy making an appearance. Every morning I would hope that this would be the day and every night I would go to sleep disappointed. I didn't even have any Braxton-Hicks. There was just nothing. I began to honestly feel like I had been and would be pregnant forever.
The morning of April 1st changed all that.
I woke up around 7am to go to the bathroom (probably for the fifth time) and freaked out when I saw blood and an insane amount of mucus on the tissue. I'd taken a childbirth class, you see, but had missed the first week, which was when they went over the signs of labor, and right now I was really wishing I'd read up more on that, instead of gorging myself on all those anti-hospital, giving birth-is-like-an-LSD-trip books. So, I knew about the bloody show, but I didn't understand how much blood and mucus to expect. And was that another fluid mixed in with the mucus? Had my waters broken? I was confused and worried and promptly woke up my mom to ask her advice (I forgot to reiterate that I'm living with my parents while EJ's deployed). She told me to call the hospital and ask if I should go in. This I did and the OB said, since I thought there was fluid mixed with everything else, to come in for a check. Note how my determination to not go to the hospital until the last minute was forgotten in an instant.
Once at the hospital, they showed me into a tiny, windowless room, wherein they determined my waters had not broken, but, since I was now about 41 weeks, they wanted to monitor the baby's heart rate, so I sat there for four hours strapped to the bed, watching the printout of Jack's heart beat and, amazingly, my contractions, which I wouldn't have believed were occurring had they not shown up on the paper. The nurse said there were actually a few rather good ones, but all I felt was a faint queasiness every now and then, nothing I would have identified as a contraction. They finally let me go and I swore up and down I wouldn't come back until I absolutely, 100% knew I was in labor. There was no way I was going to stare at a blank wall for four hours again.
Once home, mom and I set to cleaning out the flower gardens around the house. I couldn't do a whole lot of bending and lifting, but I set to raking and sweeping the beds and paths with gusto. Maybe this would finally induce labor. I only felt two or three small contractions throughout the day, however, and finally had to quit around 6pm because my back was hurting (from the work, not labor).
My waters broke an hour and a half later.
I was walking around in our kitchen when it suddenly felt like I'd wet myself. I stopped dead in my tracks and rushed to the bathroom. I began leaking fluid ever few minutes. When my mom found out, she told me to call the hospital again, but I balked. What if they made me lay in that bed in that tiny room for hours again? I dragged my feet. But, finally, after 15 minutes of intermittent leaking, I called and they told me to definitely come in. I still wasn't having hardcore contractions, though, so mom decided to fix a quick supper for my brother, while I put the finishing touches on my hospital bag. It was while we performed our various tasks, that they began; quietly at first, an uncomfortable feeling in the front of my stomach (no back pain at all), but soon picking up in intensity. By the time we left, they were four minutes apart, shortening to three on the drive there. I could still breathe through them, but each one, especially in the car, became worse and worse until I felt like I'd been hit by truck. It was then I began seriously contemplating medication to ease the pain. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.
We arrived at the hospital at 9:30pm. Thankfully, this time they didn't make me wait long before admitting me. We walked down to the LDR room slowly, because I could no longer move during contractions, which were now coming two minutes apart. The breathing techniques were having less and less effect and I began "vocalizing" through the contractions. Not screaming, just a low moan which felt better than bottling it up inside.
I was looking forward to getting in the jacuzzi in my room. I was now certain I wanted medication, but I still clung by a thread to my natural birth ideal and wanted to give the warm water a try. Once we reached the room, they started filling up the tub while I held my mother's shoulder through the contractions. Other than that, I didn't want anyone touching me. There was no massage, no hand-holding, nothing. I just wanted everyone to keep their distance. I didn't even want them talking to me. I couldn't walk. I laid in bed with my eyes closed and suffered. My whole world was pain, with hardly any relief now between contractions.
I slipped into the tub and just lay there, gripping the sides, while another contraction rolled over me. The water didn't help at all. Just as I wanted no one to touch me, I didn't want the water jets. After only two contractions in the tub, I got out and asked for Nubaine. The pain of labor had officially become too much for me to bear. Part of me felt like a failure. Another, much larger part, was so very grateful for modern medicine.
My mother-in-law arrived around midnight, just after they administered the Nubaine (she'd had to wait for someone to come relieve her at work). I gave her a look apologizing for so quickly abandoning my plans for an unmedicated birth. After all, this was the woman who'd had three children without any medication whatsoever and I felt like I'd let her down. There was no judgement in her demeanor, however. If she was disappointed, she didn't let it show. The Nubaine, in the end, turned out to be a wash. It helped for maybe two contractions, then it was back to Pain City. They were coming so hard and fast now that I heard my mother say it was like I was on Pitocin.
I labored another hour before finally hearing the word: epidural. I was at seven centimeters and if I wanted an epidural it had to be now or it'd be too late. They'd asked me between contractions and initially I rejected it, but then another one hit and, as the pain reached its crescendo, I cried out, "I change my mind! Give me the epidural!" And thus, though my MIL tried briefly to talk me out of it (as I'd so foolishly requested), I was determined: I needed that epidural.
Though the possible consequences of a botched epidural were and still are frightening, I simply didn't care at that point. My absolute need to end the pain gave me the strength to sit relatively still through at least three contractions while the anesthetist inserted the needle and catheter. It took another few contractions for the medication to take effect, but, once it did, it was like night and day. Night and day. My nurse, a wonderful woman, mentioned I was having a contraction and I said, "Really?" The fact that I could even talk normally was amazing.
It soon became apparent the epidural hadn't numbed me completely. Though I couldn't move them, I could feel when people touched my legs and there was pressure in my bottom with each contraction - sometimes uncomfortable enough that I needed to breathe through it. Regardless, compared to what I'd been experiencing before, it was still wonderful. I could rest and talk with the people around me; I wasn't screaming (my vocalizations had progressed to screams towards the end) and it was wonderful to simply be aware of more than the pain wracking my body.
After that, it was simply a matter of waiting. So far I'd progressed incredibly quickly. It was 1 a.m. when I got the epidural. At 2 they checked me again and found I was fully dilated and ready to push. I couldn't believe it. I'd been in labor for 6 hours. It took them about 15 minutes to set everything up. Jack would have to be suctioned as soon as they cut the cord because they'd seen meconium in my amniotic fluid, which is relatively common in post-due babies. Then, they told me to push. I hadn't wanted to push on my back, but, with the epidural, there was no other option. Still, it wasn't so bad. I pushed when I felt the pressure in my bottom and stopped when it stopped. Push after push, little by little he descended. The doctors laughed at how squirmy he was even in the birth canal. After months of nearly non-stop activity in my womb, it didn't surprise me that he didn't quit now.
And, suddenly, there he was! They laid him on my chest, covered in goop, eyes wide open, and I looked at this baby wondering who he was. He was so solid! Then they cut the cord and took him across the room to be suctioned, leaving me breathless, bewildered, and strangely energized. I felt no connection to the baby. Nine months of pregnancy didn't equal an actual, real, 7 lbs 8 oz boy in my mind. Someone else might have just given birth and they'd laid him on me by accident. Even after they gave him back and I stroked his cheek and smiled at him and looked into his eyes there was no rush of love, no sense of wonder. I was confused. This was my child. Shouldn't I feel something? Still, I knew intellectually that he was my own flesh and blood and I was going to take care of him. The bond would form in its own time.
I stayed in the hospital for two days before bring him home. And then the real fun began.
Breastfeeding turned out to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Harder even than labor before the epidural. Whatever people tell you, it is not an easy thing. Babies are born with a need to suck, but they don't know how to suck. Some people get lucky with their baby's latch, others, like me, endure weeks of painful, bruised, and bleeding nipples and nights of weeping, feeling like failures for giving their baby a bottle because they just can't endure another horrific feeding session. Let me encourage you, never ever feel like a failure for doing what you have to do in order to keep breastfeeding. If that means supplementing with formula, do it. The break it gives you will better enable you to endure the next round. I'm still supplementing with formula because Jack, although his latch is much better, occasionally still likes to make a meal out of the nipple itself, not just the milk flowing from it. I've heard lactation consultants can be great, though I didn't have much luck with them. And realize that, honestly, your best friend in this trial may simply be Time. It was nothing I did specifically that made breastfeeding easier, it was simply time. And I'm so glad I didn't give up, though I was on the verge more than once. You're doing the best thing for your child. Even if you never exclusively breastfeed, as I know I never will, every little bit helps.
And sleep. Holy jeez. Sleep. Don't expect to get any for the first week. Being a new, paranoid mama, I put him on his back as all the experts say, only to have him wake up a few minutes later. Eventually, I figured out he'd stay asleep if I left him on my chest, so I got into the habit of sleeping that way. Then I found he began refusing to sleep anywhere else, even during the day. My mom kept suggesting we try putting him on his stomach, but I wouldn't hear of it (although he was sleeping on his stomach on my chest with no problems ... sleep deprivation logic, gotta love it). Finally, I was so fed up that I gave in and put him on his stomach - and he slept and slept and slept. It was glorious! He hasn't slept on his back since, though we've tried it a few more times.
All in all, it's been an adventure. My life has changed completely. I can't say it's been a 180 or a 90 or a square/circle/whatever, it's just different, and I have a feeling that things will only get more different as time goes on. There's no telling what the future may bring, but, for right now, I've got my beautiful, active little boy, a husband out at sea, and our whole lives ahead of us.
(The usual disclaimers for males apply: there is some female/birth-specific yuckiness in this post. Do not continue if that grosses you out.)
Yes, yes, I know, here I am jumping on the Birth Story bandwagon. Honestly, though, I want to encourage (and disabuse) other first time mothers who, like me, knew exactly what they are going to do when the time came to give birth and how they were going to handle a newborn baby. Let me just say that reality has a funny way of bursting your idealistic bubble.
To begin, I knew that, this being my first birth, I was going to be in labor for at least 22 hours (why 22 and not 23 or 21, I don't know). Everything I'd read and everyone I'd talked to had convinced me of the fact. Since, due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to have a home birth (and how long it took to reconcile myself to that fact), I was going to wait until the last possible moment to head to the hospital, so I could just walk in and start pushing.
Secondly, I was going unmedicated. No drugs were going to interrupt my baby bonding experience! Not one drop of pain killer. And epidurals were clearly the devil. I told my birth coach, who is also my MIL, to talk me out of one if I "caved" and asked for it. They had (have) terrifying side effects and the forced immobility requires you to push baby out on your back, which is the worst position of them all. And no one, NO ONE, I say! was going to force me to stay in my bed, strapped to monitors. I was going to walk and bend and move!
Lastly, obstetricians are evil! They're mean and arrogant and make you do things you don't want to do and hurt your feelings and then won't even let you have a vaginal birth because it doesn't fit their schedule so you're left with a painful, unnecessary C-section scar which prevents you from adequately bonding with your baby. I'd read all the books. I knew what things were really like in hospitals.
There were other things which I also knew without a doubt, but to list them all would take up half the internet. The ideas above were simply the most important in my mind.
EJ deployed on the 27th of March, which was also Jack's official due date. Up until then, we'd been hoping and praying the baby would be born before he left, so he could at least hold his son in his arms before going on the boat. No such luck, however, and we were stuck with the worst-case scenario. Another week went by with no sign of little Jackie boy making an appearance. Every morning I would hope that this would be the day and every night I would go to sleep disappointed. I didn't even have any Braxton-Hicks. There was just nothing. I began to honestly feel like I had been and would be pregnant forever.
The morning of April 1st changed all that.
I woke up around 7am to go to the bathroom (probably for the fifth time) and freaked out when I saw blood and an insane amount of mucus on the tissue. I'd taken a childbirth class, you see, but had missed the first week, which was when they went over the signs of labor, and right now I was really wishing I'd read up more on that, instead of gorging myself on all those anti-hospital, giving birth-is-like-an-LSD-trip books. So, I knew about the bloody show, but I didn't understand how much blood and mucus to expect. And was that another fluid mixed in with the mucus? Had my waters broken? I was confused and worried and promptly woke up my mom to ask her advice (I forgot to reiterate that I'm living with my parents while EJ's deployed). She told me to call the hospital and ask if I should go in. This I did and the OB said, since I thought there was fluid mixed with everything else, to come in for a check. Note how my determination to not go to the hospital until the last minute was forgotten in an instant.
Once at the hospital, they showed me into a tiny, windowless room, wherein they determined my waters had not broken, but, since I was now about 41 weeks, they wanted to monitor the baby's heart rate, so I sat there for four hours strapped to the bed, watching the printout of Jack's heart beat and, amazingly, my contractions, which I wouldn't have believed were occurring had they not shown up on the paper. The nurse said there were actually a few rather good ones, but all I felt was a faint queasiness every now and then, nothing I would have identified as a contraction. They finally let me go and I swore up and down I wouldn't come back until I absolutely, 100% knew I was in labor. There was no way I was going to stare at a blank wall for four hours again.
Once home, mom and I set to cleaning out the flower gardens around the house. I couldn't do a whole lot of bending and lifting, but I set to raking and sweeping the beds and paths with gusto. Maybe this would finally induce labor. I only felt two or three small contractions throughout the day, however, and finally had to quit around 6pm because my back was hurting (from the work, not labor).
My waters broke an hour and a half later.
I was walking around in our kitchen when it suddenly felt like I'd wet myself. I stopped dead in my tracks and rushed to the bathroom. I began leaking fluid ever few minutes. When my mom found out, she told me to call the hospital again, but I balked. What if they made me lay in that bed in that tiny room for hours again? I dragged my feet. But, finally, after 15 minutes of intermittent leaking, I called and they told me to definitely come in. I still wasn't having hardcore contractions, though, so mom decided to fix a quick supper for my brother, while I put the finishing touches on my hospital bag. It was while we performed our various tasks, that they began; quietly at first, an uncomfortable feeling in the front of my stomach (no back pain at all), but soon picking up in intensity. By the time we left, they were four minutes apart, shortening to three on the drive there. I could still breathe through them, but each one, especially in the car, became worse and worse until I felt like I'd been hit by truck. It was then I began seriously contemplating medication to ease the pain. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.
We arrived at the hospital at 9:30pm. Thankfully, this time they didn't make me wait long before admitting me. We walked down to the LDR room slowly, because I could no longer move during contractions, which were now coming two minutes apart. The breathing techniques were having less and less effect and I began "vocalizing" through the contractions. Not screaming, just a low moan which felt better than bottling it up inside.
I was looking forward to getting in the jacuzzi in my room. I was now certain I wanted medication, but I still clung by a thread to my natural birth ideal and wanted to give the warm water a try. Once we reached the room, they started filling up the tub while I held my mother's shoulder through the contractions. Other than that, I didn't want anyone touching me. There was no massage, no hand-holding, nothing. I just wanted everyone to keep their distance. I didn't even want them talking to me. I couldn't walk. I laid in bed with my eyes closed and suffered. My whole world was pain, with hardly any relief now between contractions.
I slipped into the tub and just lay there, gripping the sides, while another contraction rolled over me. The water didn't help at all. Just as I wanted no one to touch me, I didn't want the water jets. After only two contractions in the tub, I got out and asked for Nubaine. The pain of labor had officially become too much for me to bear. Part of me felt like a failure. Another, much larger part, was so very grateful for modern medicine.
My mother-in-law arrived around midnight, just after they administered the Nubaine (she'd had to wait for someone to come relieve her at work). I gave her a look apologizing for so quickly abandoning my plans for an unmedicated birth. After all, this was the woman who'd had three children without any medication whatsoever and I felt like I'd let her down. There was no judgement in her demeanor, however. If she was disappointed, she didn't let it show. The Nubaine, in the end, turned out to be a wash. It helped for maybe two contractions, then it was back to Pain City. They were coming so hard and fast now that I heard my mother say it was like I was on Pitocin.
I labored another hour before finally hearing the word: epidural. I was at seven centimeters and if I wanted an epidural it had to be now or it'd be too late. They'd asked me between contractions and initially I rejected it, but then another one hit and, as the pain reached its crescendo, I cried out, "I change my mind! Give me the epidural!" And thus, though my MIL tried briefly to talk me out of it (as I'd so foolishly requested), I was determined: I needed that epidural.
Though the possible consequences of a botched epidural were and still are frightening, I simply didn't care at that point. My absolute need to end the pain gave me the strength to sit relatively still through at least three contractions while the anesthetist inserted the needle and catheter. It took another few contractions for the medication to take effect, but, once it did, it was like night and day. Night and day. My nurse, a wonderful woman, mentioned I was having a contraction and I said, "Really?" The fact that I could even talk normally was amazing.
It soon became apparent the epidural hadn't numbed me completely. Though I couldn't move them, I could feel when people touched my legs and there was pressure in my bottom with each contraction - sometimes uncomfortable enough that I needed to breathe through it. Regardless, compared to what I'd been experiencing before, it was still wonderful. I could rest and talk with the people around me; I wasn't screaming (my vocalizations had progressed to screams towards the end) and it was wonderful to simply be aware of more than the pain wracking my body.
After that, it was simply a matter of waiting. So far I'd progressed incredibly quickly. It was 1 a.m. when I got the epidural. At 2 they checked me again and found I was fully dilated and ready to push. I couldn't believe it. I'd been in labor for 6 hours. It took them about 15 minutes to set everything up. Jack would have to be suctioned as soon as they cut the cord because they'd seen meconium in my amniotic fluid, which is relatively common in post-due babies. Then, they told me to push. I hadn't wanted to push on my back, but, with the epidural, there was no other option. Still, it wasn't so bad. I pushed when I felt the pressure in my bottom and stopped when it stopped. Push after push, little by little he descended. The doctors laughed at how squirmy he was even in the birth canal. After months of nearly non-stop activity in my womb, it didn't surprise me that he didn't quit now.
And, suddenly, there he was! They laid him on my chest, covered in goop, eyes wide open, and I looked at this baby wondering who he was. He was so solid! Then they cut the cord and took him across the room to be suctioned, leaving me breathless, bewildered, and strangely energized. I felt no connection to the baby. Nine months of pregnancy didn't equal an actual, real, 7 lbs 8 oz boy in my mind. Someone else might have just given birth and they'd laid him on me by accident. Even after they gave him back and I stroked his cheek and smiled at him and looked into his eyes there was no rush of love, no sense of wonder. I was confused. This was my child. Shouldn't I feel something? Still, I knew intellectually that he was my own flesh and blood and I was going to take care of him. The bond would form in its own time.
I stayed in the hospital for two days before bring him home. And then the real fun began.
Breastfeeding turned out to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Harder even than labor before the epidural. Whatever people tell you, it is not an easy thing. Babies are born with a need to suck, but they don't know how to suck. Some people get lucky with their baby's latch, others, like me, endure weeks of painful, bruised, and bleeding nipples and nights of weeping, feeling like failures for giving their baby a bottle because they just can't endure another horrific feeding session. Let me encourage you, never ever feel like a failure for doing what you have to do in order to keep breastfeeding. If that means supplementing with formula, do it. The break it gives you will better enable you to endure the next round. I'm still supplementing with formula because Jack, although his latch is much better, occasionally still likes to make a meal out of the nipple itself, not just the milk flowing from it. I've heard lactation consultants can be great, though I didn't have much luck with them. And realize that, honestly, your best friend in this trial may simply be Time. It was nothing I did specifically that made breastfeeding easier, it was simply time. And I'm so glad I didn't give up, though I was on the verge more than once. You're doing the best thing for your child. Even if you never exclusively breastfeed, as I know I never will, every little bit helps.
And sleep. Holy jeez. Sleep. Don't expect to get any for the first week. Being a new, paranoid mama, I put him on his back as all the experts say, only to have him wake up a few minutes later. Eventually, I figured out he'd stay asleep if I left him on my chest, so I got into the habit of sleeping that way. Then I found he began refusing to sleep anywhere else, even during the day. My mom kept suggesting we try putting him on his stomach, but I wouldn't hear of it (although he was sleeping on his stomach on my chest with no problems ... sleep deprivation logic, gotta love it). Finally, I was so fed up that I gave in and put him on his stomach - and he slept and slept and slept. It was glorious! He hasn't slept on his back since, though we've tried it a few more times.
All in all, it's been an adventure. My life has changed completely. I can't say it's been a 180 or a 90 or a square/circle/whatever, it's just different, and I have a feeling that things will only get more different as time goes on. There's no telling what the future may bring, but, for right now, I've got my beautiful, active little boy, a husband out at sea, and our whole lives ahead of us.
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