(Part 1 of my labor story here.)
Finally we were at the hospital where they quickly whisked me into triage. Ah, triage, how I despise you. You are like Labor Purgatory, a place where no woman enduring contractions wants to be for too long. It is the unknown- will I stay here and have this baby or have to go back home? – where the only thing running through my head was, Dear God, I hope they take me to a birthing suite soon… God must have heard my desperate, silent plea because in less than 45 minutes they told me I was 3-4 cm dilated, 100% effaced, and I was in the birthing suite hooked up to an IV going about my pacing-and-rocking-and-whooo-whooo-whoooing business.
Shortly thereafter our families arrived at the hospital and came straight into my room, again looking horrified. Can I just state for the record, Mom, that seeing that alarmed look on your face and then witnessing YOU CRY WHEN YOU SAW ME, well, it didn’t exactly help my overall situation. I know you didn’t mean it, but what I took away from your reaction was THAT YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT DIE, WHICH MADE ME THINK, HMM, I MIGHT DIE! THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP! Maybe next time when, God-willing, Baby #2 rolls around you can stroll into my room WITHOUT crying and instead prance into the room with a big smile on your face, perhaps with a little jazz hand action for some added flair, and why not even a throw a party hat on your head? It is a birthday, after all. Hell, bring me cake while you’re at it. Then if someone dares to cry or grimace or shudder in fear after looking at me I CAN DO SOMETHING WITH THAT CAKE.
So amidst this family reunion in my birthing suite, I was – oh yeah! – still in labor. At this point I found that I was getting into a constant rhythm, a pattern of rocking side to side in between contractions then when I felt another contraction coming on I would turn around, head straight for the side of the bed, bend over, and grip the shit out of that handle, all the while whooo-whooo-whoooing until it was over.
I think I went through this cycle approximately a billion or eleventy times. Meanwhile, I also started feeling some back labor which almost felt worse than the contractions themselves. Rob, still feeling helpless, attempted to make himself useful by massaging my lower back while I crouched over the bed (which didn’t help) and sometimes would put a cold washcloth on my bare neck (which also didn’t help. But thanks for the effort, honey). Oh, and I forgot to mention, the reason that my neck was bare? That was because I quickly realized how moronic I was in thinking that I needed to have my hair all beautifully blown out for labor, and shortly into the whole labor process I got to the point where if it took any longer than two seconds to pull my hair up into a pony tail I was going to threaten whoever was in closest proximity to me to pull a Britney Spears and assist me in shaving it all off. Luckily it didn’t come to that.
So there I was in the throes of labor, when my nurse, Susi (who was awesome, just for the record. Hi Susi!), suggested that I “relax” (quotation marks totally necessary) through my contractions. Do you know how impossible it is to “relax” during a contraction? It’s like asking someone to sleep through their REM cycle with their eyes open or asking Oliver to walk to the kitchen on his hind legs to fetch Mama a peanut butter milkshake, and while he’s at it to recite the Declaration of Independence in pig latin. In other words, SORT OF ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE, KIND OF. But I tried to “relax” anyway as much as I could, knowing that if I worked with my body I would progress much quicker than if I fought against it.
Seems that the ol’ “relaxing” thing helped, because when Susi checked me the next time I had already progressed to 6 cm dilated. It was at that point that she asked me if I wanted an epidural. All I remember saying was how tempting that offer sounded, to know that in only a few short minutes I could have total relief from all the pain. It didn’t take me too long to accept the offer and get that infamous needle stuck into my back. Since I knew I wanted to keep my options open to pain management, having not committed myself to a natural birth, I didn’t feel guilty to be getting the drugs. Instead I felt pretty proud of myself for making it that far, to 6 cm, and looked forward to enjoying the rest of the process instead of spending it hunched over the bed handle. The only caveat to the whole thing was that I had to endure about three contractions while actually receiving the epidural, and not being able to move or flinch or bat an eyelash when a gigantic needle is deep within one’s spine is horribly difficult and made the contractions feel even worse.
Only a couple of minutes later when the epidural took effect I was able to chill. Ahhhh. I was a new woman. What was especially awesome at that point was when Rob would stand next to my bed, look up at the computer screen and see those gigantic peaks moving across the monitor, and ask me in total disbelief, “You don’t feel those?!” And no, I didn’t. I DIDN’T! AND IT WAS SO AWESOME! I spent the next two hours just hanging out, waiting for all of my antibiotics to get into my system (I was Strep B positive) before the doctor could come in and break my water. And with all that relaxing and hanging out I progressed to 8 cm dilated.
Finally, with only an hour to go before they would break my water, Rob and I were left alone to get some rest before I started pushing and our lives instantly changed from the moment that we heard that first precious little cry. I remember saying to him how incredible it was that this was finally IT, that by the end of this we were actually going to have a baby. A little, tiny, innocent human being who we would call our daughter. Daughter. Funny, that still seems like such a foreign term to me. By that point we were both exhausted from being up all night, so Rob reclined in the chair to sleep a little and I tried to do the same, although I think I only slept for just a couple of minutes. I found it much more calming to pray; to pray for a smooth and quick delivery, and that Avalon would be a beautiful, healthy baby. It was such a strange feeling I had during that time – my heart was pounding and I felt physically anxious about what was about to happen, yet at the same time I felt a curious sense of peace in that quiet, dim hospital room. At six o’clock the doctor was coming in to break my water, so as I prayed I watched the hands of the clock slowly make their way to the six and the twelve. And right on the dot, my doctor was at my side, telling me that I was 10 cm dilated and that it was time to push.
After breaking my water my nurse gave us quick instructions on what to do: she and Rob were going to hold my legs back, and I was going to grab underneath my thighs, pull myself forward, and push like hell. Before I knew it, there I was, PUSHING LIKE HELL. Apparently my pushes were pretty good, because my doctor encouraged me and told me that she would be out in no time if I kept pushing as hard as I was. But the thing about pushing is that it is seriously, for real, the hardest workout in this entire world. Kettlebells, SUCK IT, you don’t even compare to the effort and sweat that it takes to push a baby out of a vagina. I worked so hard and pushed with everything I had that I thought my head was going to pop right off of my neck. And I’m positive that I blacked out a couple of times in the middle of a push, only to come back to life and wonder, what the heck am I doing and why are people counting and holding my legs up over my head? It was totally bizarre, man.
I think I eventually got a little tired and quit pushing so hard, because half an hour into the pushing process my doctor piped up and asked, “Do you want to use the mirror?” Did I want to use the mirror? DID I WANT TO USE THE INFAMOUS MIRROR, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND, WHY WOULD I WANT TO SEE THAT? When I pulled myself together and calmly replied that, nah, I didn’t really think I wanted that, the doctor asked, “Are you sure? I really think it would help.” And dingdingding! Those were the key words: that it would help. And after pushing for half an hour and having my epidural turned off so that I could feel my pushing a little bit more, I was all for a little bit of help. So I obliged and the nurse wheeled over the full-length mirror, placed it right at the foot of the bed, and people, I don’t know how else to put it, but I TOTALLY USED THE MIRROR TO WATCH MY BABY COMING OUT OF MY CROTCH AND I LOVED IT. I did. I loved it. After the millisecond of wigging out over what I was seeing in the mirror’s reflection, I got over it and used that mirror to my advantage. To watch and see the progress I made with each push was incentive to keep pushing, and to push with every single ounce of effort that I had in me. As her head was making its way out, I could see that she had hair! Lots of dark brown hair! I could tell already that she was beautiful.
It was still hard, though, and a little bit discouraging when after each push I would relax and her head would sneak right back inside again. Finally, just after seven o’clock, I was in the middle of a push when I saw the scissors come out and with a little episiotomy her head was out, thank God. Beyond the blood and the snip! and the knowledge of WHAT JUST HAPPENED DOWN THERE, I didn’t care, all I cared about was that it meant she was almost here and I was just seconds away from meeting my baby. I was instructed to stop pushing right then as the nurse sucked out the gunk from Avalon’s nose and mouth, and then the doctor looked up at Rob and me and told us to reach down and pull her out ourselves. Obviously we were sort of caught off guard by his request to grab her – isn’t that what THE DOCTOR WAS THERE FOR? – but at 7:08 am we did what we were told and reached down, grabbed on to her slimy little body, and pulled her up onto my stomach. I tried to look down and catch a glance at her but had a hard time seeing what she looked like. All I knew was that she felt tiny, much smaller than I expected her to be. And then she wailed. And wailed and wailed and wailed for the entire hour of bonding time she spent lying on my bare chest. But she was beautiful; she had a gorgeous, tan complexion and lots of pretty dark hair; beautiful facial features, and the cutest button nose I had ever seen. At only six pounds, four ounces she was just a little peanut.
An hour after she was born, and after I nursed her for the first time, our families were finally able to come into the room and meet Avalon. While she was being passed around from person to person I sat there in a deep haze, feeling like I had gotten run over by a truck and punched in the face, my face swollen up like a water balloon from all of the IV fluids that were pumped into my body all night long. But the happiness and the pride I felt during those moments was something I had never experienced before.
She was my baby, our baby, and I already loved her more than I ever knew was possible.
