How I was Tricked into Natural Childbirth

First of all, I am over the moon with joy over here! We had a baby boy last Monday, and his name is Quinn. Thank you to everyone who helped me to manage the last nine months. I mean it; this blog has been a surprising source of comfort and support. Thank you to everyone whose blogs I read regularly and to all the great supportive comments. And I WILL post pictures, as soon as I figure out a few technical difficulties. Now that Quinn is here, all bets are off in terms of being shy. In the meantime, here is how Quinn happened to enter into the world.

I should start by saying I went on a bonifide hike on Sunday, and I went into labor early Monday morning. It was short hike, but it was straight up. I was determined to shake him out; even my husband said “if you don’t go into labor tonight, you are not going in for a few weeks.” That night I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to watch TV. Watching TV when I can’t sleep is odd behavior for me. Usually when I can’t sleep I just sit around miserably until I do. I had a few contractions and I remember thinking something along the lines of, “I don’t think I am going to sleep tonight.” But I still hadn’t put two and two together that the reason I might not sleep is because I would be in labor.

Eventually, around 2am, I went up to bed. I woke up husband to say that I had been having contractions, but no pattern and at the time I think I said, “They can go on like this for hours so I don’t think anything is happening tonight.” But then, 4:30am and hello! I woke up with a huge contraction. And then I had another. I woke up the husband, he timed them, and they were 5 minutes apart. I did that for an hour. I called the hospital; they were all “well, sounds early. Why don’t you hang out for a few more hours and give us a call.” So I did. The whole time the contractions were 5 minutes apart, and they were increasing in intensity. But I used my yoga breathing and was managing them just fine. During that time, I took a bath, I ate, and I even slept in my 5 minutes off. Finally, around 7:30 we called the hospital again, and this time they told us to come in. Even then, we took our time. I wanted donuts (donuts? I love donuts, but I had only had about two throughout the whole pregnancy. I guess I wanted the last of my guilt free eating), so we got some donuts and coffee and meandered toward the hospital.

Once there, they put us into triage and told us that they might be sending us home, since people can have contractions for hours before anything is happening. But they said they would “check me” and see. The midwife, who was awesome and whom I had never met before did check me and stated that I was already 5 centimeters dilated. Great! It was time to go into a real labor and delivery room.

This is where everything Guru says about hospitals starts to become untrue. Did I get pressure to do things a certain way? Sure. Was it with medical intervention? No! That’s what you get for living in a progressive city. My first suspicion should have been my nurse. She was so great and so nice. She said, “Why don’t you take a bath?! We’ve had some people labor in the tub until right before it is time to push! It can be really comfortable.” I did get into the tub, and it was a little better. My second clue should have been the other nurse. She looked to be in her mid-sixties and was clearly an authentic San Franciscan hippie. Like a real one, from the sixties. I can’t say exactly what it was about her, but when she showed me her moon pendant from the Renaissance Fair, I knew. She waved her hand towards a “birthing stool” that I could go “play around with if I wanted.” At this point, I was hanging over the side of the tub moaning. Things were starting to get intense for me. The contractions were coming quickly, and they were hurting a lot more.

Finally, the anesthesiologist entered. He arrived when the nurses and midwife had momentarily left the room and I looked at him gratefully. He told that he is “not trying to sell me anything” and then indicated the emergency situations that would involve him (e.g. emergency c-section) and then said that he does also do epidurals. At this point, I had left the tub, was ignoring the birthing stool and was clinging to the bed. By the time he finished talking I said, “Okay, I want an epidural. Now.” He said, “Great! I’ll go get the tray.” He left and the nurses and midwife came back. We told them our decision. Renaissance Fair said, “He won’t tell you this, but an epidural will really slow things down. You’re doing so great.” The other nurse said, “Hmm, why don’t we check you to see where you are before making a decision.” And the midwife said, “There are some other pain relief options before an epidural. Do you want to start with some nitrous oxide?” They checked me. They all clucked with approval, “7 centimeters! Wow! Wow that was faasst!!” They were nodding at each other and smiling. It felt like a show. I weakly looked at all of their calm, warm womanly faces and said, “Okay, I’ll try the nitrous.” I vaguely remember the poor anesthesiologist being shooed away when he tried to come back in. I started on the nitrous. I don’t think it did SHIT. Renaissance Fair admitted afterwards that she doesn’t think it does much and even said, “I think yours wasn’t on right anyway.” Great. I tried it for 10 minutes and threw the mask down.

And then I knew for sure. It had been at least an hour since I tried the “other interventions” and I knew that I was probably close to 8 cm dilated. I was past the point of no return. I gave up thinking that I was going to get relief. They tricked me. I was suddenly in the midsts of natural childbirth.

You know how people say that you forget the pain of childbirth after it happens? And that if you do it naturally it is somehow more beautiful or you are more connected to your baby? Well, um, not so much. It hurts and it is scarey and it is like nothing I have ever felt before and I don’t know that I would do it that way again. That said, I am secretly proud of myself (not so secret anymore) and I do think things were moving fast and would have slowed down had I gotten the epidural. I also think my recovery was a lot faster since I was easily able to walk around immediately after giving birth. But, let’s just say I am not feeling like I need to go that route again. It hurts!

It seems that right when I realized I was done with other options, everything got hard. I started screaming during the contractions, which appeared to be coming one after another. I found out later that I always had a little break, but that’s not how it felt to me! Poor husband was so distraught while taking care of me; during a contraction he would put his face near mine and moan with me. He rubbed me, he got me cool washcloths, he told me how great I was, how strong and beautiful. At one point I decided to try to pee, and I had such a bad contraction that I remember getting up and saying, “somebody help me!!” before collapsing into his arms and clinging for dear life.

The rest is a blur. I guess at some point the noises I was making during contractions indicated that it was time to push. It’s strange, they say you can’t help pushing, and I guess I started making pushing noises. My “team” looked at each other knowingly and the nurse decided to check me to see if I was fully dilated. She couldn’t tell because my unbroken water bag was in the way so she went to get the midwife. I remember yelling to husband, “I think he’s coming out!” We were alone. I told him to go get them. He started towards the door and I screamed, “Don’t leave me!” Luckily, the midwife came in at that moment, checked me and said, “yup, time to push.” Again, the rest is a blur, except that I still remember that scary feeling of needing to push. It’s somewhat analogous to throwing up (which I also did a few times during the process). It’s involuntary, and it is awful, but it has to happen. Husband was right in the thick of things, holding up my thigh for me. I guess one nice thing about being drug free is that you can move around. I was in so many positions it was crazy. They kept on mentioning the birthing stool and the bed birthing bar and really, for the most part, I was clutching the side rails of the bed squinting in pain. I wasn’t going to actually move anywhere. I yelled “Why isn’t he coming out?” I know I yelled that a few times. There were lots of “Okay, push!!” and then some “take a breath” and then more “push really hard!” At some point, I heard my husband say “I can see the head!!” After they got the shoulders out, the rest of him just tumbled out. They put him on my chest, and I swear he looked right at me. That was beautiful. The truth is that childbirth does stop hurting immediately—it’s the worst pain of your life, and then it is over. Crazy how primal all this stuff really is.

Afterwards, we all heard a woman making the most insane sounds from the labor room next door. Everyone chuckled knowingly. Except me. Damned if I was going to laugh at her, I knew what she was going through.

The rest is history, and I am waay to tired to write anymore for now. Again, pictures will come, but for now I am loving being home with my baby and adjusting to the new saga called “breastfeeding.” More to follow on that.