Labor Story

After 13 agonizing days past the ultrasound due date, my water finally broke at midnight on a Friday. It wasn't so much a rupture as a leak; I woke up to a strong urge to urinate which was followed by a contraction that made me wet myself before I could make it to the bathroom. When I got there, I saw mucus and a tinge of blood on the T.P. I didn't want to get too excited, but suddenly felt that things were finally starting to happen. I called Dawnell, my doula, and gave her the info. She had just ordered a second beer at a bar with her brother, hoping that in ordering the second that Murphy's Law would kick in and she would finally be called to my side. Murphy did not disappoint, and one beer was wasted.

An hour later, after a failed attempt to simply go back to sleep, the same big contraction pulled me out of bed, and this time I didn't make it to the toilet before the water came rushing out of my bladder and made a small puddle on the floor. This was still no dam breakage, as had been promised when the ultrasound the day before showed I was carrying 25 cc's of fluid. But it was enough to confirm to me that we were officially in labor. I called Dawnell and asked her to come over, and called Jess to let him know he should probably get as much sleep as possible while he could.

Dawnell arrived armed and ready, and immediately we began walking the parking lot of my condo complex. She encouraged me to squat when I felt a contraction, which was about every 7-8 minutes. They were mild and fully tolerable. We came back to the condo just so I could change pants, as we were burning through pads quickly with my water loss. She even did a load of laundry for me after I had wetted every pair of sweats I had. She gave me a rice-filled sock I named Roger, with a face painted on the toes and a ribbon tail, and she warmed him in the microwave and placed him on my lower back as it ached horribly during contractions. I used the birthing ball a lot, and noticed Rufus was watching from a concerned distance. The contractions stayed steady throughout the night and finally started coming closer together right around the time that we had what would become my last meal: cheddar cheese, crackers and apple sauce. We called Jess at 5:30 and told him it was time to come over. Unfortunately we couldn't wake him up immediately; he'd been to a few bars with friends connected to the NAMM show. I texted him: "It's time to wake up and come over Daddy!" He finally made it to my place around 6:30 and we worked through some contractions - enough to show him this was the real deal - and then quickly made our way down the stairs and into the car. I remember owning a real sense of vindication; I had done so many things that I thought would be "for the last time without a baby," only to be proven wrong over the extended duration of baby's delay: changing the cat litter for the last time, restocking milk for the last time, visiting my Mom's for dinner for the last time - without a baby. This time, I told myself with pride, I really was Walking Down The Stairs For The Last Time Without A Baby.

I had two contractions in the car and one more in the parking lot at Hoag. But once we got into our room and were oriented with the nurses, my labor slowed down. I tried not to let it worry me, as Dawnell was there to provide tips for getting things going again. I showed our primary nurse, Gail, my birth plan, and she was fully supportive of it. All day long we were free to walk the halls without being tied to the bed, as Gail hooked me up with a mobile monitor. Jess provided nipple stimulation while I squatted on their birthing ball, and togther we slow danced to Van Morrisson, Stevie Wonder, Joni Mitchell and the Sundays. I welcomed my immediate family in my room, all of whom were so excited they stayed with me all day, even though it was becoming clearer by the hour that baby still wasn't anxious to come out.


I had not dilated at all upon arrival at the hospital, although my cervix was "paper thin." Dawnell tried not to let this discourage me, but I knew it was a bad sign. We had discussed how Cryotherapy (a procedure involving freezing the cervix to remove pre-cancerous cells, performed on me years ago) might play a part in any labor problems, but we hadn't seen anything online that could confirm this. One of the nurses tried to set me at ease saying that she had had the procedure but was able to deliver naturally with a bit of help during checks. Just before noon they were finally able to get into my cervix and stretch it to 3, but not without excruciating pain. Even so I didn't care; I just needed to feel myself progressing.

We were 12 hours into labor when a very charming doctor finally broke my bag of waters, which had been held shut by a bubble just behind my cervix. The warm fluids came pouring out and soaked into towels upon the bed. Everyone marveled at the man-made lake. I had hoped this intervention would cause my contractions to become stronger and closer together, but the first one that came after that was so mild, it was almost insulting. Dawnell said we should take a walk. I don't think I had a single contraction during the walk.

By 5 PM I had agreed to the smallest dose of Pitocin, hoping it would help things progress. Despite our best efforts, I had not dilated further and was starting to get stressed and worried. They hooked up the IV in my hand, which was also excruciating, and started the Pitocin drip, which did nothing substantial until they had increased the dose dramatically. A few hours and much moaning and groaning and silencing the room later, they checked me again and much to my heartbreak, there was no change. My cervix was not cooperating. The only light in the dark was the fact that the baby was still doing fine and that my blood pressure remained normal. But I felt control of the situation slipping through my hands, and I had absolutely nobody to blame. It was the sort of situation I had expected least of anything else. My body was letting me down.

By 9 PM the contractions were getting more intense and my family was asked to leave so that I could rest and focus. I had been offered a narcotic to take the edge off and help me rest, but I refused it, as they upped the Pitocin further. The contractions became very intense and my moaning became louder, and with Dawnell and Jess holding my hands in the dark, I started to break down, losing hope that a normal delivery could ever be mine. I knew that one cesarean meant future cesareans and that my dream of natural childbirth was becoming a fantasy. I told Jess, "He's going to cut me open, I know it," and Jess just comforted me as best he could. The pain got worse and I finally agreed to the narcotic they offered, followed by the epidural (as soon as the anesthesiologist would be available). The narcotic had an immediate fuzzy effect and helped me let go of a lot of anxiety. The epidural took away all of the pain that the Pitocin was causing. I tried to rest but really didn't sleep for long. When they checked me again at 1 AM, there was still, against all odds, no change in my cervix. The baby wasn't engaging and my cervix wasn't opening. They called the doctor and got authorization to prep me for C-section. By then, I was so exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, I no longer cared how my baby came out. I surrendured to the medical professionals around me and became glad they were there to solve the problem my body could not work out on its own.

My doctor arrived by 2 AM on Sunday the 17th of January, and he did not greet me. The nurses suggested he ask if I had any questions. "Do you have any questions?" was all he said in my direction. "No," I responded. He tossed his smug reaction to the nurses, bidding them to get stared.

Being wheeled into the operating room was a surreal experience, and it wasn't just the drugs talking. I had been walking the halls for hours with Dawnell, and every time we passed the secured area that lead to the operating room, I felt the bad omen looming over my head. It was a constant reminder of natural labor gone wrong. The months and months of reading about and planning for natural labor had me prepared to do nothing but labor naturally, and I looked upon those quarters as an area reserved for Someone Else. But then, suddenly, I was that Other Person, who despite her best efforts to be educated, prepared, and confident in her body's abilities, would end up having to rely on medical professionals to bring her baby out.

I had been trembling uncontrollably ever since the Pitocin had ramped my contractions up to unbearable levels, and although I could feel no pain, the shakes told me that my body was going through something abnormally intense. As they wheeled me into the O.R. and transferred my body from the gurney to the operating bed, they removed a blanket from me and I felt the cold sterility of the room. My shaking became uncontrollable, as now it was compounded by a drop in temperature. I immediately announced that I was freezing, and was told someone would bring me a blanket, but it did not come for what felt like eternity. A doctor on my left put something on my finger - maybe a pulse monitor - and told me to keep my hand rested down to the side, but I had no control over it and could not abide. Throughout the room people were cleaning tools and making small talk while I shivered and shook and waited for the whole thing to be over. Someone finally arrived to cover my torso with a warm blanket which brought immediate but not complete relief to my trembling and cold. Soon, Jess was next to me, armed with a camera, and before I could feel anything they let me know that the incision was cut and the baby would be out in five minutes or less.

The tugging on my belly was so strange. There was no pain at all, but I could definitely feel that my insides were being pulled and shoved and maneuvered in order to lift the baby out from within me. Jess was snapping pics and then he said, "Here he comes!" When they lowered the drape that shielded my view of the surgery and showed me my boy, I was amazed at how perfect he was. His skin was pink and smooth, he was ripe and full but not plump, he had already been cleaned of blood and vernix. Jess was so excited, but my drugged/exhausted state didn't allow me to display much enthusiasm. Inside, though, my heart was about to burst open.

"I love him so much. He is perfect."


After that I remember only small moments: locking eyes with Jess and smiling at him with gratitude. Feeling the name "Matthew" in my heart and asking Jess if it was OK to use Carter as a middle name instead of Paul (his family name). Hearing the nurses announce his birth time (2:42 a.m.) and weight (8 pounds, 9 ounces). Waiting to be wheeled out so I could finally hold him and see him. Having him laid skin-to-skin on my chest, and touching the heavenly softness of his tiny body against my chest, and feeling more love and a need to protect and cherish him than I had ever imagined.

Suddenly, nothing else mattered.