Sometimes you see a photo and it hits you right in the heart, sticking with you forever. I think this is one of them.
Photographer Genevieve Georget, from Ottawa, Ontario, is graciously sharing the story behind her incredible photo of a surrogate birth.
Birth is personal and different for every single family and when it comes to who will be present when your baby (or babies!) arrive, every mom should be able to choose who gets in the invite.
Some moms feel comfortable with a crowd, some want only their spouse, and some would rather have their mom present.
Whatever makes you feel most comfortable should be the choice you make.
We first posted this photos on the Baby Rabies Facebook page in September 2017 and it struck a chord with our audience in a big way.
Today, in honor of nurses everywhere, and the fact that last week was National Nurses Week, I wanted to highlight some of the comments our readers shared on this post.
I'll never forget the faces of the nurses who followed me into the bathroom after delivering each baby. That moment when…
Posted by Jill Krause on Wednesday, September 13, 2017
My very first OBGYN’s office was lined with framed magazine pages and plaques. The Best Of The Best! Top 10 Best OBGYNs! Another Important Award! I can’t remember exactly how I chose this office, but I do remember feeling really proud of (smug about) that choice when I saw all these accolades at my first visit.
When I was 20 weeks pregnant, I sat in the award-winning OBGYNs office, and I said to the “accomplished” male doctor who appeared to be in his 60s, “I’ve been thinking about trying for a med-free birth. Do you know where I should start as far as books to read or classes to take?”
He shrugged his shoulders, swatted his hand in the air like I was a fly, and said, “You know who gives birth without meds? Cows. We’ve come a long way from having to give birth like a cow. You don’t want to give birth like a cow.”
And that was the exact moment in my head that I told myself, “WELP. No way this asshole is getting anywhere near my vagina again.”
Shortly after, I found a local Bradley Method class, and the instructors told me about a lovely midwife practice in the neighboring suburb. They delivered in a hospital! I had no idea midwives did such a thing.
And so, halfway through my first pregnancy, I left a practice that I knew wouldn’t support me in labor the way I wanted them to. I’m really glad that doctor was so blatant about his disinterest in helping me through a med-free birthing experience. That would have been an awful thing to discover at 5 cm dilated.
I went on to have the best birth experience for me– a med-free birth in a hospital with a midwife.
That wasn’t the only time I’d have to leave a practice mid-pregnancy. Not even close.
We moved to Texas shortly after our first was born, and when I got pregnant again, I specifically sought out a practice that offered midwives who delivered in a hospital. I found one that came highly recommended. The midwife on staff had amazing reviews. At my first appointment, I learned she had left for a practice in Fort Worth, but the OBGYN who saw me instead assured me that they would be hiring a new midwife soon, and I’d be seeing her regularly by 20 weeks, for sure.
By the time 20 weeks rolled around, there was still no new midwife hired, and they could no longer say for sure they would have one. That, coupled with the many suggestions that I go ahead and plan to induce before Christmas (my due date was 12/24), made me uneasy enough to change practices again.
The good news is this lead me to a really lovely midwife who delivered at a hospital downtown. I saw her for the last half of my 2nd pregnancy, and I wound up with another wonderful med-free birth experience when she delivered my daughter.
I saw her through nearly all of my 3rd pregnancy, too… until she was let go from the OBGYN practice she worked for because of a situation that, to me, was a clear case of a midwife doing what midwives do- striving to help mothers birth with as few interventions as possible in a safe way- in conflict with an OBGYNs office and hospital system that doesn’t always align with that approach.
I was nearly 35 weeks pregnant and faced with either staying in that practice that clearly did not support midwifery care and possibly wouldn’t support me, or find a new midwife at another practice. As stressful as it was so late in the game, the obvious choice was to leave.
For the 3rd time, the practice I began my pregnancy with did not end up being the one I ended with, but just like the last 2 times, the move was worth it. I had a 3rd med-free hospital birth with my midwife when I delivered Lowell. And then I got to keep that same midwife all the way through my 4th pregnancy, and she delivered Wallace, too! It was pretty nice to make it through an entire pregnancy without having to look for another provider for once.
Posing with my midwife Jeanean Carter of Adriatica Women’s Health in McKinney, TX
As I wrote Wallace’s birth story, I thought about how lucky I’ve been to have all the great birth experiences I’ve had. And then I thought, well, was it all luck? No. So much of that was because I advocated for myself, up to the point of leaving 3 practices when I felt they wouldn’t support me the way I needed them to.
Here’s the thing- it’s not ok for your OBGYN to brush off your wish to birth med-free. It’s not cool for a practice to pressure you to schedule an induction for no reason other than “You’ll be home in time for Christmas!” There are a ton of things that birth professionals do that may make you feel uneasy, no matter how many awards they’ve won, and no matter what kind of birth experience you want.
Yeah, advocating for yourself isn’t just for moms who want to birth med-free. I honestly can’t imagine that first OBGYN I saw would have had any kind of bedside manner after a c-section, either.
If the OB or MW you’re seeing makes you feel uncomfortable, unheard, small, or stupid, I encourage you to think real hard about getting the hell out of that practice- right up to the very end if you need to. Go to the next town if there’s nobody else near you. I’ve driven as far as 45 minutes for my appointments and given birth at hospitals nearly an hour away.
And if all else fails, and you’re stuck, look into at least hiring a doula.
You deserve to feel supported and to respect and connect with, if not love, the person who helps you bring your babies into this world- no matter if they are an OBGYN or a midwife. I want you to have the best birth experience possible. You can’t control how it will happen, but you can surround yourself with great people.
And by “little” I mean, yeah, she’s not as big as my 2.5 year old, but HOLY HELL this kid is huge for a newborn.
Leyna (an Old German name meaning little angel, pronounced LAY-na) Lorelei (also German, the name of a rock on the Rhine river- yeah, that’s a Pica reference on purpose, not a shout out to the Gilmore Girls) Krause was born at 2:38 today, 2 hours after we checked into the hospital and 1 hour after my midwife broke my bag of water. She was born med-free on a wet, rainy day. It was intense, but it was fast.
She weighed in at 9 lbs, 9 oz and 20 inches long! And she is breastfeeding like a champ.
Kendall met her earlier this evening and was adorable. First, he walked into the room and said, “Where is she?” and began looking under the bed. Upon discovering her in my arms and seeing that she moves, he exclaimed, “It works!” Yes, honey. She works. We put the batteries in her and away she went. He also wanted to know where all her toys were. I had to explain I barely had enough room for her in there, so no, she did not come with her own toys.
I’ll have to post the full birth story later. Suffice it to say, it was totally different than Kendall’s birth, but just as amazing. Intense (did I mention that already?), but amazing.
Kendall is 2 years and nearly 8 months old and Leyna is 9 hours old.
As bad as labor and delivery hurt, I felt prepared for the pain. I had spent months teaching myself how to cope with it with various techniques. I was mentally prepared for what was going to happen to my body leading up to Kendall’s grand exit. And it was pain with a purpose and a wonderful reward. However, I foolishly neglected to prepare myself for the pain of postpartum recovery. It’s not anything I heard anyone really explain in detail prior to having him.
Yes, I knew there would probably be tearing. Yes, I knew I would be sore, but I didn’t KNOW to what extent. I just figured that everything would pale in comparison to the pain of L&D and that I would be up and bouncy and fine in no time. Imagine my surprise when immediately after delivering Kendall I find myself freaking out as I see the world’s largest needle headed straight toward my already battered and bruised vagina to numb me up for the stitches! It was like I went from being the “I just kicked med-free birth in the ass because I’m rock star bad ass” to a “You’re going to stick that where? No! I’m such a wuss!” In a matter of minutes.
So I type this, the *rest* of the story, NOT to scare you (which I’m afraid is what I did with my birth story for so many of you) but to INFORM you. I think it’s important to know what you’re getting into. I also think it’s important to blog this as it’s fresh in my mind so that when I start to suffer from mom-nesia, I can look back and read carefully before deciding to put myself through this again (not that it hasn’t been worth it the first time around). Please keep in mind that I by no means am saying you are going to have the same experience. I don’t know what my pain tolerance is in comparison to yours, and I DID have a big baby. I’m sure that has something to do with it.
Okay, so let’s revisit that needle thing. I had just handed Kendall off to go get weighed, measured, etc. when I look down to discover my midwife coming at me with what looks like a needle big enough to euthanize a cow. Typically, I’m not afraid of needles, but let’s just say I was a little jumpy about ANYTHING touching me down there, especially a needle of that enormity.
I have no idea to what degree I tore or how many stitches I needed. I mean, really…why do I need to know that? All I know is it took them a good thirty minutes to put things back in place, and while I couldn’t feel the needle pierce me, I could feel the sensation of the thread/string/whatever it is they use to stitch you up being pulled through….ick…I totally shudder just thinking about it.
As gross as that was, what scared me the most was hearing my midwife say to the nurse, “Yeah…we’ll have to take our time with the right labia”. O….M….G. She must have done a good job, though, because every nurse who came in as I laid there spread eagle commented on how good things looked down there. I also got several compliments from the recovery team. I’m so glad everyone got so up close and personal with me.
Then there was the second big ass needle that came at me in the middle of being stitched up. This one was for the Pitocin. I guess my uterus wasn’t contracting enough on it’s own and I was starting to loose a lot of blood. They tried the uterus “massage” a few times, which is such a misleading term. Massage would, to me, imply something gentle, soothing even. Not this one. This should be more appropriately termed the uterus “smack down”. Two nurses took turns kneading my lower abdomen like a lump of bread dough. There was nothing gentle about it. When that didn’t produce the results they were looking for, I got jabbed in the thigh with the Pitocin. I have to give my husband some more credit here because as all this was going on, he left Kendall (only feet away) to come and hold my hand. We both had him in clear sight, and in fact he was what I looked at to keep my focus off the pain, but it helped tremendously to have Scott there to inflict just a little of my misery on via hand squeeze.
About an hour after birth, the room started to clear out. I was informed it was now time for me to get up and head to the bathroom. This was a terrifying challenge. My fabulous nurse Karen assisted me into the room with the magic tub that had once brought me such comfort. She sits me on the toilet and asks if I have to pee. Uhmmm…no. Nothing is coming out of me down there for a long time. She then informs me I have 6 hours to make myself urinate or I will have to get a catheter and says, “You girls who go without any meds…I don’t want to be the one to put a catheter in ya… it’s not pretty. So you gotta drink lots of fluids, okay?” Okay. Will do. And I drink probably two bottles of Gatorade in the next six hours, along with a bottle of water.
Then nurse Karen pulls out a giant bag full of all sorts of lovely medical supplies. She begins to make a super pad concoction for me. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten in 9 hours, or the $5 Subway Footlong jingle that’s stuck in my head, but I can’t help but think how much this pad and all it’s “fixins” resembles a sub sandwich. It’s a footlong pad, topped with a cold pack, lined with round witch hazel “pepperoni” pads, and “dressed” with a good coating of Dermaplast. I will forever think of them now as Heiney Hoagies, and I will think of them fondly. The combo of the cold pack mixed with the witch hazel pads is heavenly, despite the fact that you are waddling around with a footlong sub stuffed between your legs.
At this time I was also introduced to the wonderful Peri Bottle. It’s merely a squeeze bottle that you fill with warm water, but it will become your best friend. Not only does it help clean you up down there without having to subject yourself to harsh and scratchy TP, but that warm stream also provides a lot of relief, especially when you pee on your stitches (ouch!).
Now, I must interject a PSA at this point because, as I type this, I am dealing with the fallout from too much Peri Bottle and not enough TP. Here’s the thing – as much as you don’t want ANYTHING touching you down there for a long time, please suck it up and make sure you pat yourself dry every time before slipping on your lovely Heiney Hoagie. I have spent the last two weeks in pads and made the mistake of rarely using TP to pat things dry. I just washed off with the bottle and pulled up my mesh panties (another fabulous medical invention). I now sit here with what can only be called an adult diaper rash. It’s terribly itchy and the only thing I can do is air myself out, spray Dermaplast all over it, and smear Kendall’s diaper rash cream on. Yes, I know that if I would have given it just a little bit of thought it would seem common sense that sitting in a moist pad for two weeks would lead to this, but I’m telling you you aren’t thinking that far in advance when all you can focus on is how bad the stitches hurt.
So that leads me to the stitches…. ow, ow, owie, ow, OUCH! First lesson to pound into your mind – do NOT try to cross your legs! I made this mistake when we were taking our family pic together before leaving the hospital. It was second nature to me to sit that way, and as soon as I did I regretted it.
Second lesson – do NOT look down! The day after delivery I dropped my Dermaplast on the bathroom floor while making a Heiney Hoagie and happened to catch a glimpse of the carnage on the way back up. It was merely a glimpse and I was terrified of what I saw. I vowed to not look that way again until I was sure things were healed. I won’t even let myself look that direction in the mirror when I walk past to get in the shower.
Third – take a pillow everywhere with you for at least the first week and avoid hard chairs. I couldn’t even eat at the dining room table without sitting on a pillow and a large folded up comforter. Overcoming the pain from the stitches was the part of the healing that surprised me the most.
At two weeks postpartum, I would say I feel about 90% healed. This time last week, I thought I’d feel, as my husband so kindly put it, like someone beat me with a baseball bat down there forever. In addition to that, my tailbone is STILL healing from what felt like being crushed as I pushed Kendall out. I spend most of my time sitting shifting back and forth from one butt cheek to the other so I can avoid direct pressure on it. It DOES get better. I keep telling myself that.
Finally, the pain that was the worst (and I mean worse than labor and delivery itself) was the catheter I ended up getting at 6:30 am the day I delivered. After Karen made me promise to drink lots of liquids, I hydrated myself constantly, convinced that I would have no problem peeing in the 6 hour time frame. Well, by the time 6 am rolled around, I had to pee sooooooo freaking bad, and yet was so scared to do it at the same time, that I had to have Scott come with me to the bathroom to hold my hand.
We both sat there, door wide open, nurse coming in and out, as I tried and tried to pee (as you can see, modesty is completely out the window at this point…forget any mystery that is left between you and your husband…it is gone forever). The nurse tried everything from spraying me with warm water, to turning the water faucet on, to dropping an ammonia tablet in the toilet (I have no idea how that is supposed to help). Nothing worked, and yet I felt like I was going to pop.
I reluctantly agreed to the catheter. It. was. TERRIBLE. Scott was there again to hold my hand (his must have been terribly bruised by this point). I had two nurses try unsuccessfully to get it in before angel nurse Karen finally came to the rescue. Remember the “right labia” comment? Yeah…those stitches were dangerously close to my urethra. That made the whole thing 100x worse. The ordeal lasted about 30 minutes and I sobbed through the whole thing. I think Scott thought I was dying. Seeing me in pain in labor and delivery never bothered him because we both knew how to handle it…we were prepared and knew it would be over soon. However, seeing me like this was a whole other ball game, and I could tell it was killing him. When they finally got the catheter in they managed to drain a LITER of fluids from me. Looks like I did a good job re-hydrating myself!
So, are you scared out of your mind yet? I’m sorry. Let me just say this. Even after writing and re-living all of this, I would do it all over again 100,000 times the same exact way if if meant having the same outcome. Kendall is amazing. I love him more than I ever thought possible. He was/is worth all the pain. Because here’s the thing about having a baby…. no matter how you go about it, it’s never going to be pain free. Epi or not, c-section or vaginal… it’s going to hurt, but you usually come to terms with that by the end of 9 months, and you don’t care. You do it for the reward. And as whiny as this post may have come across, I didn’t write it merely to complain. I wrote it to show you how much you can go through and still come out saying, “Man…that was really hard, but it was worth it”.
15 days old
Well, here it is. My LOOOOOOOONNNNNGGG birth story. I figured I need to do it right, get as many details down as possible before I forget. So please forgive me if it seems long winded (seems…hell, it is), but I am trying to preserve whatever memories I can before the baby sucks them all out of my head.
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I seriously never thought it would be this hard to find a little free time with a newborn. The eat like all the FREAKING time, and then they poop, and then they get gassy or fussy, and then they spit up on their little cute clothes, and then you have to do laundry, and then you have to find time to pee, and then they have to EAT AGAIN!!! It’s 3 in the morning. I told myself I could not go to bed tonight until this was done. I’m exhausted. Enjoy.
May 1st, 4:40 am – Wake up for the second time in 4 hours to pee…stumble to bathroom. Replace empty toilet paper roll…AGAIN. Ugh. Wipe, check TP (because this is now second nature)…spotting….SPOTTING!! YESSSSSSS! Head to bed like a giddy school girl. This is good. This has to be a sign of labor soon! Lay down at 4:45 and feel first contraction. Try not to get excited, Jill.
5:10 am – felt at least 6 contractions by now. I decide to call Scott at work. “Hon…I think I’m in labor. I’m going to take a shower and see if they stop. I’ll call back later.” Shower….shave. Yes, I shaved. Who knows when I’ll have time to do this again? Contractions are still coming every 5-6 minutes. Not terribly painful, but not comfortable. These are definitely NOT Braxton Hicks. I’m now noticing my mucus plug. Yay! My vagina finally sneezed! All signs are pointing to meeting my baby soon.
5:45 am – Scott is home from work. We’re excited, but both trying hard not to show it. It’s like we’re afraid we’ll scare the contractions away. My mom and Hailey (our niece we have temporary custody of) are still asleep in the other room. We start getting the bags ready for the car. I’m already starting my relaxation exercises and sitting on my birthing ball. Mom eventually wakes up and helps with the last minute packing. We call friends to come get Hailey. I’m very caught up in all the details right now. Do we have everything? The car is packed by 6:30. I’m imagining we will be in it by the time lunch rolls around. I’m so wrong.
7 am- Scott heads to bed for some rest before the big show. Mom and I watch Juno. It’s a cute movie, that Juno, but I thought it would be better. Hailey is awake by 7:30. I’m laying on the couch and contractions are still very manageable. So much so that I don’t think Hailey had any idea what was going on other than that she was about to go to a very long sleepover with her friend, Bhavika. Amy shows up shortly after to pick her up. We try to explain that there will be a new “cousin brother” when she comes back home. Yeah… I don’t think she really cares. She’s pumped about the sleepover and almost forgets to tell us goodbye. Ahh…relief that she’s gone. Not that I don’t love her, but I don’t want to labor with a nearly 4 year old running around in my high heels, begging us to “go to the ball” with her.
9 am – I head to bed. Contractions are still 5-6 minutes apart and a little painful. I figure I should get some sleep. Scott is in there and we wake up together for every contraction. He starts his job as coach at this point, rubbing my back through each contraction and timing them. We both have no problem passing out in between contractions, but it does make for very disrupted sleep.
11 am- I start to notice they are getting a lot more painful, and Scott decides to run me a bath. I never take a bath in this tub. It’s vile. Our apartment is old and I think it’s the original tub. The grout, no matter how hard I scrub, is never mildew free. Scott thinks ahead. He lines the entire perimeter of where the tub meets the tile with clean towels. He disinfects the tub before I get in. Ahh…I love my germaphobe. He also lights candles and dims the lights. It feels great, but it’s so frustrating that I can’t get my boobs and my belly under the water at the same time. After 30 minutes I decide I should get out. It’s made my contractions space farther apart. I want PROGRESS people!
11:30 – back to bed. I stay there, with Scott coaching me, until 3pm.
3 pm- I’m up. Contractions are slowly getting stronger. They are about 4-5 minutes apart now, although we’ve stopped timing them. I hang out with my mom and Scott. We chat between contractions. I notice they are much more painful when I’m sitting down, even on the yoga ball. From this point on, I’m pretty much laboring on my feet. I’m scared to even sit down between contractions because it hurts like hell to stand up during one.
5 pm – We decide to eat some dinner. Baked potatoes with butter and cheese…mmmm. I hope I don’t see this coming back up later. At least it’s bland, I guess. I start to notice the contractions are coming much faster. I remember the website that times your contractions for you, www.contractionmaster.com. Scott is thrilled by it’s geekyness. I now start out every contraction by yelling, “SPACE BAR!”
6:30 pm- We are out the door to the birthing center. I’m trying not to get excited/nervous because I know adrenaline can slow or stop labor. The downside to this is experiencing three contractions in the confines of the passenger seat. Did I mention it hurts like hell to sit through a contraction?
7:00 pm – Arrive at birthing center. Then I have the LONGEST most painful contraction yet as I wait in the hall to get checked in. I’m convinced I must at least be at 5 cm and that I’ll see my baby sometime tonight. By 7:15 I’m strapped to the torture bed for monitoring. Contractions hurt like hell sitting down, but they are absolute MURDER on the bed with me flat on my back.
That’s okay, I tell myself, you’re probably really far along now and that’s why they are hurting so bad. Yeah…the nurse determines otherwise when she finally checks my cervix at 7:45. Turns out I am STILL at 2 cm!!! No progress since my appointment yesterday. Seriously…what the fuck? I cry for the first time today. My nurse, Karen, an angel sent from God, looks me in the eyes and tells me, “No. You can’t do that. You can’t let this get to you. You have to get it together.” I like this girl. She’s not going to coddle me. She’s going to tell me to put on my big girl panties and take it like a woman. Good. I need that.
8:00 pm – Talk to the midwife on the phone. She gives me two options. Go home with some Ambien, get some good sleep, and wake up when I’m in “active labor” (errr…if this isn’t ACTIVE labor, I’m royally screwed) nice and refreshed. Or I could walk the halls of the birthing center for an hour and get rechecked at 9. Even though I am leaning toward the Ambien at this point (my spirits are more than a little crushed….I begin to have visions of 48 hour labor), my mom is wise enough to get Scott to convince me to walk. It is a painful hour with contractions still every 2-3 minutes apart. All I can do is lean on him or the helpful “ballet bar” that lines the hall every time I feel one come.
9:15 pm – I’m back on the torture bed. Preparing for the bad news. The nurse checks me. I’m at 4 cm!!! The nurse and I both are beaming. I’m confident again. I’m ready to kick labor in the ass. I’m a rock star. Now, get me to a birthing suite. I want a bath – ASAP.
(At this point, times are merely an approximation. It starts to become a blur.)
9:30 – I’m in the room. It’s like the contractions know it too. They are much more painful than they were in the hall. The nurse is trying to collect info from me in between. Isn’t this what we pre-registered for? Scott decides to bust out some of the labor “tools” we brought – tennis balls, rice sock, yoga ball. I nearly die when I try to sit on the yoga ball during a contraction and Scott reads my made up sign language that was meant to say, “Let me lean on you” as “Pull me up from this ball in the middle of this contraction”. Holy shit. That. hurt. so. bad. I proceed to beat him after the contraction is over.
He immediately leaves to run me my bath. While waiting for the tub to fill up we try some of the other tools. I was so psyched about how prepared I was before we left for the hospital, but wouldn’t you know, we didn’t use a damn thing once we got there. Tennis balls annoy the shit out of me, the rice sock is too hot. The yoga ball was sent from Satan himself.
9:45 – Finally, the tub is ready. I slip in and immediately feel relief. This is no pansy ass tub. It’s huge and deep and all bumps (boobs and belly) fit under the water at the same time. The lights are out and the battery operated candles we packed are making me feel like I’m at a spa. I’ve lost most of my modesty at this point. I’m naked except for a hand towel that is draped over my chest, mainly just to keep me warm when I am sitting up in the tub.
I chat in between contractions, crack jokes even, with my midwife, nurse, mom and Scott. As each contraction hits, Scott reads me like a book. He’s such an amazing coach. I try my best to relax every muscle in my body and just let myself float. Oh, it still hurts like a bitch, make no mistake about that. I catch myself a couple times in the middle of a contraction thinking, “How can I do this again?” but I stop that train as soon as possible and promise myself to only think about each contraction as they come. That frame of mind helps immensely.
11 ish – Still feeling good between contractions, but that’s only for about one minute before the next one hits. I’m surprised at how fast things seem to be progressing. We definitely have a routine down now. I ride the contractions and make lots of noises which I’m convinced are frightening anyone who may be outside the room. My mom and nurse swear up and down I’m not nearly as loud as I think I am. I think they are lying and pray there are no hospital tours tonight and that I’m not freaking out any innocent expecting moms.
Scott has a great eye and sees every part of me that tenses up. He reminds me very sweetly to relax that part of the body and doesn’t let me hyperventilate or scream through the contractions, which is getting hard not to do. He also fans me with this $2 personal battery operated fan we picked up from the camping section in Target – the one labor “tool” we did use. It was so worth it. Even though my bath water is tepid at best at this point, I am so hot. The fan, ice chips, and a cold rag are a great relief. He also talks to me about how this was just like the marathon (we trained for and ran our first together in 2005, the day he proposed to me). He tells me I am at the 20 mile marker. That it is going to get hard but it was almost over. Perfect mental imagery. It also really makes me want an orange. At mile 20 in the marathon I would have killed for an orange.
11:45 – My midwife tries to check my cervix in the tub. Uncomfortable and awkward to say the least. I can’t blame her. It’s dark. I am contracting almost constantly. It’s a strange angle. But somehow she just can’t….ummmm…find the opening. I know I have to be getting close from all the pressure I am feeling down low and the fact that I have very little time between contractions. She convinces me to leave the safety and comfort of the tub to get on the torture bed to be checked. The only way she gets me to agree is promising I can return to the tub if I’m not far enough to push.
So here I go across the room, naked, dripping, the nurse trying to cover me in sheets. I’m overly confident at this point that I will most definitely be at 9 or 10. Nope. I’m only at 8. My exact words as I leap off the bed – “SON OF A BITCH! I’m going back to the tub NOW!” My midwife and husband catch me just before my feet touch the ground.
They sit me back down and she calmly says, “Wait..wait..just wait. I think if I break your water you will go from 8 to 10 really fast and you will be able to push very soon. Is that what you want?” Is that what I WANT?? Are you kidding me? No. I want to experience this pain as long as possible and wait for the kid to decide at 4 tomorrow morning that he’s going to break my water in a game of darts. “Yes….YES.. do it…just DO IT NOW!” I see the crochet hook headed toward me, but I never feel what I thought I would feel when my water breaks. No gush, no warmth, nothing. I worry for a second that I have a bag of steel that will require extra effort to pop, but I am quickly reassured that the deed was indeed done.
11:50 ish – HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!! Contractions…so strong…on torture bed…on my back…I may just die…right here. So THIS is transition. The rational part of my brain knows this. I know this is the quickest and most painful part of labor. I know that I am so close to pushing. I keep praying to feel that “urge to push” that I hear is just like having to take a giant shit. I mean, everyone always says how great it feels to push…how transition hurts like a bitch, but pushing is such a relief. The rational part of my brain says that I feel this awful because I will be pushing very soon and it will all feel so much better. However, the other part of my brain, the What The Fuck Have You Done part, does not believe the rational part.
Here is a brief excerpt from the conversation between the two sides in my head – “What the hell have you done? This is TERRIBLE!! You are such an IDIOT! You are going to die. You are too far gone for meds now, you moron….. Calm down, this is just transition. It’s good that you feel this way. That means you are close… What the FUCK ever. The only way this kid is coming out of you is if they kill you or cut him out. Way to go. You are NEVER doing this again. NEVER. Tell Scott that… tell him that NOW.”
And I do… many, many times. I tell him he better love this kid a lot because it’s the only one he’s getting. While telling him this I am gripping onto his shoulders like he was the only limb keeping me from falling off a cliff. He momentarily complains of back pain and reaches for the stool at the end of the bed. I come out of my pain induced haze just long enough to give him a look of disbelief and tell him, “No! That’s for the midwife! The woman who is supposed to catch our child!” Karen, the nurse, swiftly finds another seat for him.
12:10 ish – I begin to get that I have to poop feeling. Yayayayayayayay!!! I tell the midwife, just in case it really is me having to poop. She says no, that’s me having to “poop out a baby”. Oooh, goodie! It’s about to start feeling better. I’m so exhausted from transition. I am passing out for the brief seconds I have between contractions. The natural instinct to bear down and push begins to take over. The midwife tells me to give it a try on the next contraction.
Okay…so I just do what I think is pushing…well, crap…this doesn’t feel like it’s working… and HEY!… why is this not “feeling better”??? I tell everyone I have no idea what I’m doing. I begin to get a little freaked out. I remember the story of my best friend who just delivered last month. She pushed for 3 farking hours before ending up with a c-section. I don’t think I will last one hour and I will surely die by three. The next contraction comes, I start to push harder. I think I’m making a little more progress now, but THIS DOES NOT FEEL GOOD! What a load of crap! Everyone who says “Oh, pushing feels so good. It’s such a great feeling to push,” kiss my ass right now. Yes, it feels better than the alternative – keeping that 8 pound bowling ball in your vagina – but it does NOT feel good. It hurts like hell.
Oh great…I’m now peeing all over my midwife. There is definitely a projectile stream coming from me aimed straight at her face. I have no idea if I’ve crapped on the table, although I’m sure I have, but I know for a fact that I just doused her with urine. Scott says aloud, “Is that her water? It smells like pee.” Astute observation, my dear.
By the time the third pushing contraction rolls around I feel like I have the hang of it, and I’ve come to grips with the fact that this is not going to “feel good” until I get this kid the hell out of me. I start pushing like my life depends on it, and then I push even more. Everyone keeps telling me that I’m so close. I think they are lying. I tell them this aloud. I accuse them all of being big fat liars who are just telling me that so that I will keep pushing for the next three hours. I scream. I am reminded not to do this by my nurse and midwife. I’m supposed to “push through the pain”. This is so counter intuitive. I hold my breath and puff out my cheeks. My midwife tells me not to do this…to relax my face or I will end up with broken blood vessels in my eyes and on my face. Well, wouldn’t want that now, would we? I then notice that I have heartburn. Yup folks. In the middle of pushing, I get one last case of pregnancy induced heartburn. “Why do I have heartburn?!” I scream between pushing. My midwife laughs and says, “Well, he’s not out yet.”
Just when I think I can’t do it anymore I do start to feel progress down there. It’s the “ring of fire” everyone talks about. I have to say, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Maybe it’s because pushing was already so dang painful for or because this part of my labor went really fast, but it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. I can feel him crowning and I can feel myself tear a little, but at least that feeling means he is actually exiting my body and relief is in sight. I finally started to believe everyone. I say aloud, “I WILL get him out on the next push. This is IT.”
12:40 ish – My nurse asks if I wanted to see it in the mirror, to which I swiftly reply, “Hell no.” When his head is finally out, I have such an urge to keep pushing to get the rest of him out, but my midwife STRONGLY urges me to stop. I looked at her like she is crazy. “I can’t STOP! Get him out…get him out NOW!!”
Somehow I manage to breathe through it and hold back just long enough for her to get his shoulder out. As soon as she opens her mouth to tell me to push I give it one last shot and all I see is a huge gush of bloody fluid exit me. I do not see the baby at first. In fact, for a split second, I worry that he is still not out. The next thing I know, he’s thrown on my chest by Scott and my midwife. Turns out he came out with such force and so much fluid behind him that my midwife could only catch an ankle and Scott ended up catch the rest of him like a football.
12:47 – I meet my son, Kendall. He looks up at me with the chubbiest cheeks and we both just stare at each other like the sky has just fallen. There is a wonderful picture my mom took of all three of us at this moment. Kendall and I both have the most vivid look of disbelief painted on our faces, and Scott is beaming from ear to ear. Scott’s lack of sweat and goo and the fact that he is clothed is a striking contrast against me and Kendall – both naked covered in all sorts of bodily fluids.
I clearly remember taking a good look at him and thinking, “Damn! You are huge!” He was 8 lbs 11 ounces and 21 inches long. I knew he would be big, but I didn’t know what big would look like. He was perfect in every way. He even had a pretty round head for a vaginal delivery. That’s probably because he shot out of me so quickly. He was completely alert. It was amazing!
At that moment, the pain was all worth it. I was so proud of myself for accomplishing a med-free birth. Scott was such a perfect coach, too. He got tons of compliments from the nurses and our midwife for doing such an amazing job. And I’m so glad that my mom got to be there for it all. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about having anyone other than Scott there through all of that, but looking back, I’m so glad it worked out for her to be there. It was the absolute perfect birth experience. I was so glad the pain was over….. or so I thought……
To be continued – stay tuned for the gruesome stories of post partum recovery.
11 days old
No. That’s not what I whisper to my husband every time I lean in to kiss him. I practically gag at any song on Top 4o that makes reference to someone being someone’s “Boo”. That is, however, the “code line” that I must say if I am absolutely 100% positive and dying for an epidural.
So…yeah….we’re trying this whole natural birth thing. I wasn’t all that into it when I first started thinking about labor and delivery, I’ll be honest. However, after taking into consideration that fact that I had a TERRIBLE reaction to a spinal tap years ago and have no desire to ever have a needle near my spine again, and that my mom, who had me at 18, was able to deliver me and my two younger siblings naturally, I started to really consider it. By 20 weeks I was convinced it was the right choice for me, and my husband, who is a complete freak when it comes to medication and drugs anyway, was 100% supportive of it.
So at our 20 week appointment we were all fired up to talk to the doctor about it, find out what books and classes he recommended, what we should start doing to prepare. However, we left that appointment not with encouragement and resources, but with disgust and a mission to FIND A NEW DOCTOR! I believe his exact words when I told him we had decided to go med-free were, “Well, it’s going to be the worst pain of your life. I don’t think you realize how bad it’s going to hurt (to which I couldn’t help but think, and do YOU know how bad it will hurt… SIR?).” His response to my inquiry about the Bradley Method, a popular method used for natural childbirth, was something along the lines of, “NO. Take Lamaze. Bradley was created on a farm for animals.” Well…last time I checked, none of the horses or cows were begging for epidurals or ending up with unnecessary c-sections, but….okay. He also ended the conversation by saying, “You know 99% of women in this county end up with an epidural anyway.” Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.
On our way home we talked about how we couldn’t believe that he would just interject such a negative opinion. I mean, this was MY choice and MY body. If I’m going to be in pain, so be it. I’m a smart enough girl to figure out that no pain meds = pain. I don’t need him to REMIND me of that. Sadly, as we have witnessed since then, that’s just the way it is with a lot of people. Even people who have never/will never give birth!
We visited my husband’s family for Christmas shortly after that appointment and encountered so many of the same exact reactions that I had to ask Scott to stop telling people about our plans when they asked. I just couldn’t see one more jaw hit the floor or hear one more “You are absolutely crazy…you can’t do it…you will end up with an epidural anyway…just wait till you see the childbirth videos…you only THINK you can do it…it’s so different when you are actually there”. Then a few months ago a woman at work asked me what I was planning to do, and I simply said, “I hope to make it through without any medication,” learning by this point to not get into detail because it just gives people more fuel for the fire. A customer who overheard this went out of her way to come across the store and tell me, “You know…you should really, REALLY think about that because if you get too far along, they won’t be able to give you an epidural. Even if you really beg for it. It’s probably better to just go ahead and get it as soon as possible.” The look on my face must have screamed, “I think I may launch this baby bathtub at your face,” because she shut up and quickly left the store.
Now, true as some of that may be, what gives you the right to say that? Let’s switch roles for a second. If I were to ever tell a pregnant woman that she’s crazy for wanting an epidural, that she’s hurting her baby, etc. (which, let me just clarify, is NOT at all how I feel.. just using as an example) I would be a “pusher” of my beliefs on her. So what the hell makes it okay for someone who had or plans to have an epi, or has never or will never give birth the right to tell ME that I’m crazy, especially after they asked ME what my plans were?! And to feel so passionately that I will fail and then to feel the right to express that to me?! Listen, you can laugh at me all you want. You don’t have to believe I can do it, but please spare me the “Oh, just wait and see” lecture. And for the record, all your disbelief does is fire me up even more to do it. Yes, I LOVE doing things people tell me I can’t do. I think it’s that whole problem with authority thing in me.
Since that 20 week appointment, a lot has changed…mainly the medical professionals responsible for delivering my son. We switched to a Certified Nurse Midwife practice, which I have to say, I always considered way too “crunchy” before this whole experience. Ahhh…but that’s what pregnancy does to you, I guess. Just another thing I ended up doing that I thought I never would. We are VERY happy with them. We will be delivering at a Birthing Center, but also have the convenience and reassurance of a hospital which is attached, complete with all the necessary doctors and equipment needed in case of an emergency. We were lucky to end up with such a great compromise, and I don’t think my paranoid husband would be so supportive of the “crunchy” route if we hadn’t.
We completed a 12 week Bradley Method class, and are currently trying to keep up with our relaxation exercises. I’ve got the bag packed with tennis balls for massage and battery operated candles to help me relax in the tub. The Ipod is stocked with relaxing spa-like music and the birthing ball is by the door, ready to go. I feel we are about as prepared and supported as we can be for a natural birth. But a couple weeks ago my husband expressed his first signs of anxiety about the whole coaching/laboring process. See…he knows me well. He knows that I may ask for medication, that I may looking into his eyes and beg him to get me an epidural, and that if he gives in and runs to get the anesthesiologist, I may very well end up kicking him in the balls after the baby is born for giving in to me too easy. He talked to our CNM about this recently. How would he know if I was really, really, REALLY serious? She had a good suggestion.
See, I may very well end up with medication. As much as I’m not even allowing myself the option of thinking about it right now, it’s still an option if I so choose it. Just know that if I come back here after the baby is born and tell you all I had an epidural, I would have had to look my husband in the eyes and utter our “code line” (the CNM’s suggestion), which we have decided will be….”Baby, you’re my Boo,” because we both now how incredibly out of character and hard that will be for me to say.
38 weeks 4 days