I’m supposed to be doing homework right now, but I have been thinking about writing this for a while. Like 5 months. Who knew that pursuing a Bachelors, having four kids, getting out of the military, getting the kids to summer school, transitioning to a stay-at-home mom, handling all the paperwork, doctor’s appointments, and finances would be so time-consuming? Oh! Not to mention a PKU diagnosis for the tiny little lad. I kid. I knew it would be busy but I secretly love it even when it’s stressful.
As you can guess by the title, this is going to be my birth story. So buckle in, and if you get weak hands when you hear about birth: scroll, scroll. (It has come to my attention that using the term “weak hands” may be something only I use. I use the term “weak hands” to describe that feeling you get when you hear or see something gross or when you’re sick or something and you have no grip. Like you can’t grab anything at all.) Here. We. Go.
Going into labor when I did could have been at a better time. That’s for sure. I was 4 days past my due date. I had gone to the OBGYN and to do a non-stress test that morning. We scheduled our induction for 3 days later. I got home from my appointments to Rose being really sick. She threw up several times on the floor every time I cleaned it up. Then she pooped her pants. Now, Rose has been potty trained ever since she discovered she did not like the feeling of having a wet butt so this was very bizarre. I took her temperature and she was feeling hot. We got some Tylenol in her and I immediately rushed to urgent care to get her checked out.
5:30PM. As we are walking into the urgent care I get a pain in my stomach and feel it. My stomach is tense but I chalk it up to being a Braxton Hicks and keep going. As we are sitting in the waiting room, I am getting HOT. Here I am thinking, “I hope I’m not sick too.” Then about 10 minutes go by and I have another contraction. Not super painful. Probably just another Braxton Hicks. We are called back into the room a bit later and at this time I get another contraction. I decide its time to time them. Sure enough I having contractions that last almost a minute every 10-12 minutes. They have us sitting in the room waiting for a strep, COVID, and flu test while Rose eats a popsicle because she has not eaten or drank pretty much all day.
The contractions are getting closer together. More like 8-10 minutes now. 6PM.
They tell us it’s a stomach bug and just to let her rest and relax. So we start heading out and there’s another contraction. Kind of stops me in my tracks. But we’re in a parking lot so I keep moving. When we get in the car I sit there for a few seconds before going home.
Back at home, I lay down in bed. 7:20PM. I tell Joe I am not feeling well. I am having contractions. I’m going to try and get some sleep and see if they stop. Spoiler alert: They don’t.
I start texting my mom that I think I am in labor if she could come to the house. We go back and forth for a while and she can’t come if I am not sure I am in labor so I wait it out a little longer to see.
My contractions keep getting closer together and more intense, but still manageable.
After several hours of trying to make sure I am in labor and trying to get someone there to watch the kids, I finally call it. I tell Joe that I have to go to the hospital. This is unmistakably labor. I have, after all, done this three times before.
So I drive myself to the hospital, about 30 minutes. 9PM. All the while just breathing through contractions and keeping my eyes on the road. I have come to terms with the fact that I will be giving birth without my husband here. He has to watch the kids.
When I get to the hospital I pull into the parking garage. Great. No spots on the first or second floor. Keep going. Breathe. Breathe. I finally find a spot. I don’t have anything with me but myself. I head over to the ER where I am ushered into a wheelchair. They are asking me questions while I breathe through contractions. Someone else is on the phone with labor and delivery.
Sitting outside the triage room waiting for a room number, I breathe. 9:38PM. Breathe. Breathe. This doesn’t hurt as bad as I remember. The nurse asks me why I have a thumbtack tattooed behind my ear as she wheels me to labor and delivery. “It was mostly to piss someone off,” I say.
Here we are. The labor and delivery triage room.
A nurse comes in and I get into the hospital gown and lay down. They hook me up to the monitors and do a COVID test. They get an IV placed and we are off to the races. Another nurse comes in a checks me a little while later.
I am 3 centimeters dilated with regular contractions every 4-5 minutes. It is now 10:10PM and it really sinks in that I am going to bring a human into this world without a support person there at all. It is just me. I am angry. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. We made a plan. My mom would watch the kids. That was the plan. She would be available when I went into labor and she would watch the kids. Yet here we are. I am alone and they keep asking me if anyone else is coming. Nope. Just a baby. “My husband had to watch the kids.” I hear myself saying. This feels not real at all. My mom gets on the road shortly after because she felt bad. Now I am doing the math in my head. “If she gets there around midnight, 12:15 maybe, he can get here by 12:45 and still make it hopefully. This is going to take a while I am sure. 12:45 is plenty of time.”
They decide to admit me. 10:45PM. We are having this baby. I sit in my hospital bed breathing through contractions for about an hour, hour and a half. They got my negative COVID result back and I am good to get my epidural. The nurses keep saying I’m doing a great job and just to keep breathing through the contractions. Am I? Am I doing a good job? Hell yeah, I am! I am a warrior. Strongest person I know. The mind can trick you into doing and dealing with incredible things. They check me again right before the anesthesiologist comes in. 6 centimeters. It is about 11:15PM now.
The anesthesiologist walks in and he says, “You want an epidural?” Yes sir. Sure do. The anesthesiologist is about the nicest man ever. He turns around to try and give me privacy while I sit up. Those gowns sure do fly open.
Ok. Now it’s starting to hurt. Sitting up makes it awfully hard to breathe through the contractions.
He sets up the whole table and sterilizes it or whatever he does back there with his giant wheely cart of giant needles. I sign the consent forms. We do the whole “What are we here to do?” “Get an epidural.” thing. Good lord I do not remember an epidural hurting that much. I don’t think it ever has before. But I guess fourth times the charm.
The epidural is placed. He does the test dose and tapes me up. I get to lay back down and he hooks me up to the pump.
The midwife comes in after I get the epidural. We are around midnight now. 9 centimeters. She asks me the dreaded question of if anyone else is coming. I tell her that my mom just got to my house and my husband should be here in 30-40 minutes. She says that my waters are still intact and we will wait to break it until after my husband gets there.
I am feeling a lot of pressure. That familiar feeling of having to poop. But I know I don’t have to poop. The nurses know I don’t have to poop. So much pressure. I can still kind of feel right side but I kind of like it.
There’s some show on about making candy and the most popular candy in the world. Here I am having a candy history lesson and checking the time.
Joe had to stop for gas. I am panicking. He isn’t going to make it. There’s too much pressure. This baby is coming soon. I remember seeing the time hit 12:45AM and panicking. Then my epidural pump starts yelling at me. There’s air in the line. It is yelling at me.
Fuck. Now the heart rate monitor is going off too.
I anxiously wait for a nurse to come help me but no one comes. I press the call button and they come in. She calls the anesthesiologist and he offers a new pump, but the midwife tells me I am at 10 centimeters and I say I will just do without it. 1AM.
The midwife leaves and comes back in. They are going to break my water. 1:10AM. I’m panicking. Joe isn’t going to make it. They tell me that he is walking to the room now and they break my water. Immediate relief hits as he walks in and they rush around setting up the room around us.
Joe is holding my left foot. The nurse is holding my right. I get two good pushes in before amniotic fluid gushes into the midwife’s face. To be honest I am trying so hard not to laugh. Which seems crazy considering I’m crowning. Two more good pushes and the head is out. One more push. There he is. Our beautiful little boy. 1:19AM.
I half notice the midwife massaging my stomach and waiting for the placenta. I try to push it out. I have the baby now and can’t focus on anything else. He’s beautiful. Perfect.
I feel the relief of the placenta exiting my body.
The nurse says there is a laceration that won’t stop bleeding. The midwife says she isn’t concerned and I don’t need stitches. It’s just a very minor tear. I decide not to get it stitched. The nurse is still a little concerned trying to get it to stop. But it stops shortly after.
You would never believe me if I told you that the birth story was the least dramatic and stressful part of this, but it was.
To be continued.