(My birth stories make better sense when read from first to last....Alexandra, Max, Anastasia, then Natalie)
My second baby was 10 days “overdue”. Because of my husband’s work, we had recently moved a thousand miles away to Missouri, and I had no idea how difficult and stressful it was going to be to find a doctor who would accept a new maternity patient at eight months.
When I finally found a doctor to accept me as a patient, they were really laying on the pressure for me to be induced. They said I measured too big. They set a date, which was in three days. I was desperate to start labor on my own because we really wanted an all natural birth.
So in hot and humid Missouri, in July, I walked (probably looked more like waddled) around our neighborhood as long as my feet could take it. I tried nipple stimulation, sex, and spicy food. Then I tried castor oil. The maximum recommended dose - four tablespoons, mixed in a giant bowl of ice cream. Hey, don’t judge me! How else could a person manage to get down four tablespoons of castor oil?
About five hours after taking it, I spent an hour on the toilet, cursing myself. I had terrible, awful, nasty, horrible cramps. About 12 hours later, I woke up from a big cramp and realized the castor oil may have triggered something! My labor had started! I was thrilled. My contractions were coming three minutes apart, and there was no pain at all between contractions.
Although it was my second birth, it felt in many ways like my first normal birth. During my first labor, the baby was posterior and I had constant back pain. This was totally different, and I welcomed it. Also, I again decided that I wanted this birth to be all natural, so I told my husband that no matter how badly I might hurt, I didn’t want any drugs for pain, and he agreed to back me up.
After a couple of hours, the painful contractions were getting so strong we went to the hospital and checked in. Actually, we had to check in at several locations in the hospital. At each check in point, they would always ask me the same question: “What will you be doing for the pain?” It was obvious that they were really pushing us to have the drugs. I was not sure how to respond, so each time my husband just stated flatly, “Screaming.” This did not impress anyone, but it was accurate.
I was escorted to a big room with several beds, separated by curtains, where I was checked to see how far I was dilated. There I lay with eight other women in labor, separated by a thin curtain, feeling very much like cattle being herded into stalls!
The pain became really intense, and the contractions were coming one on top of another, so they rushed me to a delivery room. They wanted me to push, even though I did not feel the urge to push. I pushed on cue for 30 minutes until they gave up and decided to give me more time. The room cleared of all people except one nurse and my husband.
At this point, I was no longer happy in any way, shape or form. I begged to get up and walk around, but they would not let me. They wanted me to stay hooked up to the monitors, which meant flat on my back.
Now this is the part of my birth story that is truly a mystery to me. My dear, wonderful husband had stayed glued to my side for 17 hours of my first birth, and every word he uttered was perfect, inspiring, and the only thing that allowed me to have a natural birth. Without him, I would have begged for medication. He was my rock, and helped me through those long difficult hours.
This second labor was different. He was the same wonderful man, and I was the same woman. Our relationship had not changed. Yet every word he uttered grated on my nerves! It had only been two and a half years since he had been the greatest encouragement to me, yet he had a very different effect for the second labor. I do not understand why!
He tried to encourage me to decline the drugs that were being offered every 10 minutes. It seemed like a battle between him and the nurse. He did not want me to be drugged. She did. She offered to give me a half dose of a pain killer that would be administered through my IV, and that would wear off in 30 minutes. She said it would take the edge off the pain. Much to the disappointment of my husband then (and much to my disappointment later), I accepted the offer and was given a half dose of some pain killer whose name I cannot remember.
It was not a good decision. It did not take away any of the pain. It only slightly lessened my desire to fuss so much about it. I felt like the delivery room was full of fog, and I quit caring about anything.
They broke my water to speed things up and I started to push. The room filled with people again as I pushed harder and harder for half an hour. The doctor and nurses were calling out gentle encouragement, telling me I was doing great, to keep pushing, that I was almost there. They pulled down a mirror and talked me into looking at the baby’s head crowning. I made myself look just to shut them up. I was still feeling foggy and simply didn’t care. I just wanted to be done with all the pain and effort.
One second I was surrounded by gentle words of encouragement, the next second, every medical person in the room was SCREAMING at me to PUSH, PUSH, PUSH! And the doctor was pulling on the baby’s arm as hard as he could. The change in the atmosphere of the room from gentle to chaos was so swift, I didn’t have time to think, All the commotion and screaming at me really scared me and my husband. Something had obviously gone very wrong. I just reacted and pushed as hard as I could. The baby finally came out, and the room became quiet.
The pain ended the moment he was pushed out, but my mind was still in a foggy state because of the drugs. I lay with my head to the side, and forced myself to turn and look at my baby boy.
He was born weighing 11 pounds, 6 ounces, and his shoulder had become stuck on my pelvic bone. Shoulder distocia. As the doctor ripping him out by his arm, his shoulder and arm scraped my bone. He was in pain for several days, and did not move his arm for a few months, but thankfully, he fully recovered in the next couple of years.
If I had been allowed to stand, squat, or try any other position other than flat on my back, basically pushing up hill, I believe he would not have gotten stuck and injured.
I tore enough that they had to call in a special surgeon, who took 45 minutes to arrive. It was not fun to lie on the same table, spread eagle, and wait while everyone cuddled and loved on my new baby. Everyone but me!
When I was eventually patched up, the room cleared and a nurse guided me to a shower stall in the corner of the room, and I took a shower on very wobbly legs. I was extremely weak, and just beginning to come out of my drugged fog and yearned to see and hold my new baby. I showered, dressed, and sat in a wheelchair they brought in to take me to my recovery room.
My husband and I had agreed that at no time would we leave our baby alone, so when they took him away, my husband went with him, so now, here I sat in an empty delivery room, alone for half an hour. I wanted to get up and see if they had forgotten all about me, but I was too pooped! They eventually came back for me and I got to hold my precious little bundle. He spent four days in the hospital because of his injury, and he spent those days only in his diaper because the hospital did not have any T-shirts large enough for his husky little frame.
The labor only lasted six hours from beginning to end, but it would have been a much better experience had I been allowed to move about and try different laboring positions. I had two more babies after this, but they were in a birthing center with midwives. They were waterbirths, one of which was an even larger 11 pound 11 ounce baby, with no complications. I am thankful that I had hospital experiences for my first and second children because it made the midwife/waterbirth experience that much more appreciated.
When I finally found a doctor to accept me as a patient, they were really laying on the pressure for me to be induced. They said I measured too big. They set a date, which was in three days. I was desperate to start labor on my own because we really wanted an all natural birth.
So in hot and humid Missouri, in July, I walked (probably looked more like waddled) around our neighborhood as long as my feet could take it. I tried nipple stimulation, sex, and spicy food. Then I tried castor oil. The maximum recommended dose - four tablespoons, mixed in a giant bowl of ice cream. Hey, don’t judge me! How else could a person manage to get down four tablespoons of castor oil?
About five hours after taking it, I spent an hour on the toilet, cursing myself. I had terrible, awful, nasty, horrible cramps. About 12 hours later, I woke up from a big cramp and realized the castor oil may have triggered something! My labor had started! I was thrilled. My contractions were coming three minutes apart, and there was no pain at all between contractions.
Although it was my second birth, it felt in many ways like my first normal birth. During my first labor, the baby was posterior and I had constant back pain. This was totally different, and I welcomed it. Also, I again decided that I wanted this birth to be all natural, so I told my husband that no matter how badly I might hurt, I didn’t want any drugs for pain, and he agreed to back me up.
After a couple of hours, the painful contractions were getting so strong we went to the hospital and checked in. Actually, we had to check in at several locations in the hospital. At each check in point, they would always ask me the same question: “What will you be doing for the pain?” It was obvious that they were really pushing us to have the drugs. I was not sure how to respond, so each time my husband just stated flatly, “Screaming.” This did not impress anyone, but it was accurate.
I was escorted to a big room with several beds, separated by curtains, where I was checked to see how far I was dilated. There I lay with eight other women in labor, separated by a thin curtain, feeling very much like cattle being herded into stalls!
The pain became really intense, and the contractions were coming one on top of another, so they rushed me to a delivery room. They wanted me to push, even though I did not feel the urge to push. I pushed on cue for 30 minutes until they gave up and decided to give me more time. The room cleared of all people except one nurse and my husband.
At this point, I was no longer happy in any way, shape or form. I begged to get up and walk around, but they would not let me. They wanted me to stay hooked up to the monitors, which meant flat on my back.
Now this is the part of my birth story that is truly a mystery to me. My dear, wonderful husband had stayed glued to my side for 17 hours of my first birth, and every word he uttered was perfect, inspiring, and the only thing that allowed me to have a natural birth. Without him, I would have begged for medication. He was my rock, and helped me through those long difficult hours.
This second labor was different. He was the same wonderful man, and I was the same woman. Our relationship had not changed. Yet every word he uttered grated on my nerves! It had only been two and a half years since he had been the greatest encouragement to me, yet he had a very different effect for the second labor. I do not understand why!
He tried to encourage me to decline the drugs that were being offered every 10 minutes. It seemed like a battle between him and the nurse. He did not want me to be drugged. She did. She offered to give me a half dose of a pain killer that would be administered through my IV, and that would wear off in 30 minutes. She said it would take the edge off the pain. Much to the disappointment of my husband then (and much to my disappointment later), I accepted the offer and was given a half dose of some pain killer whose name I cannot remember.
It was not a good decision. It did not take away any of the pain. It only slightly lessened my desire to fuss so much about it. I felt like the delivery room was full of fog, and I quit caring about anything.
They broke my water to speed things up and I started to push. The room filled with people again as I pushed harder and harder for half an hour. The doctor and nurses were calling out gentle encouragement, telling me I was doing great, to keep pushing, that I was almost there. They pulled down a mirror and talked me into looking at the baby’s head crowning. I made myself look just to shut them up. I was still feeling foggy and simply didn’t care. I just wanted to be done with all the pain and effort.
One second I was surrounded by gentle words of encouragement, the next second, every medical person in the room was SCREAMING at me to PUSH, PUSH, PUSH! And the doctor was pulling on the baby’s arm as hard as he could. The change in the atmosphere of the room from gentle to chaos was so swift, I didn’t have time to think, All the commotion and screaming at me really scared me and my husband. Something had obviously gone very wrong. I just reacted and pushed as hard as I could. The baby finally came out, and the room became quiet.
The pain ended the moment he was pushed out, but my mind was still in a foggy state because of the drugs. I lay with my head to the side, and forced myself to turn and look at my baby boy.
He was born weighing 11 pounds, 6 ounces, and his shoulder had become stuck on my pelvic bone. Shoulder distocia. As the doctor ripping him out by his arm, his shoulder and arm scraped my bone. He was in pain for several days, and did not move his arm for a few months, but thankfully, he fully recovered in the next couple of years.
If I had been allowed to stand, squat, or try any other position other than flat on my back, basically pushing up hill, I believe he would not have gotten stuck and injured.
I tore enough that they had to call in a special surgeon, who took 45 minutes to arrive. It was not fun to lie on the same table, spread eagle, and wait while everyone cuddled and loved on my new baby. Everyone but me!
When I was eventually patched up, the room cleared and a nurse guided me to a shower stall in the corner of the room, and I took a shower on very wobbly legs. I was extremely weak, and just beginning to come out of my drugged fog and yearned to see and hold my new baby. I showered, dressed, and sat in a wheelchair they brought in to take me to my recovery room.
My husband and I had agreed that at no time would we leave our baby alone, so when they took him away, my husband went with him, so now, here I sat in an empty delivery room, alone for half an hour. I wanted to get up and see if they had forgotten all about me, but I was too pooped! They eventually came back for me and I got to hold my precious little bundle. He spent four days in the hospital because of his injury, and he spent those days only in his diaper because the hospital did not have any T-shirts large enough for his husky little frame.
The labor only lasted six hours from beginning to end, but it would have been a much better experience had I been allowed to move about and try different laboring positions. I had two more babies after this, but they were in a birthing center with midwives. They were waterbirths, one of which was an even larger 11 pound 11 ounce baby, with no complications. I am thankful that I had hospital experiences for my first and second children because it made the midwife/waterbirth experience that much more appreciated.
1 comment:
Hannah,
that is crazy! Wow, what a terrible accident for the baby! I agree, if they had allowed you to labour in different positions then that could have been avoided! Wow, what an interesting birth story!
Love you,
Charisse
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