Part 2: Labor & Delivery

Today I was looking at photos online of Steven's cousin's baby girl, who was born on Christmas day, when I began crying. I was struck powerfully by how my experience was not normal--it didn't go like it supposed to. I was supposed to hold my baby in my arms right after I delivered her. I was supposed to breastfeed her right away. We were supposed to go home a few days later and enjoy each other. Steven's cousin's baby even LOOKED more normal--baby Q was born with big bruises all over her cheeks from where they tried to extract her with forceps and had a very misshapen head due to being wedged in my pelvis and then yanked back out the other way. Not to mention that she had an IV stuck into a little vein in her head and an oxygen tube wrapped around her face. In a way, it all felt normal to me because it is the only birthing experience I had, but seeing the photos of Q's new little second cousin really drove home to me what a normal birth process looked like. And how I had wanted one so badly.

Two consecutive days after I was given gel to induce labor, it began in earnest. I suspected that my water had broken--or was leaking anyway--and headed to the hospital to confirm it. Actually, my water broke on the hospital bed as I sat waiting for the results to see if my water had broken. I was admitted to the hospital and outfitted with various IVs (in the end, I had one in each hand--the first one they gave me was an insulin drip, and my blood sugar was checked every hour or two throughout the labor). The labor itself wasn't anything incredible, I think. Having a notoriously low pain tolerance, I had known from day 1 that I would be opting for the epidural, and I kindly requested the nurse to give it to me as soon as possible. I honestly don't even remember how long the labor was. The epidural really did take away all the pain; I could barely feel a thing.

The part I do remember is the three hours of pushing. I was so set on delivering the baby vaginally. The nurse had told me ahead of time that three hours is basically the limit--they find that after that amount of time, the mother is too exhausted and her pushing becomes ineffective. It was difficult to feel the contractions with the epidural, but I watched the monitor and pushed hard when the nurse told me to. I threw up about three times during the process, I think, but my mind was on other things and it wasn't too bad. It's not like I wasn't used to nausea. I wasn't able to move around or change positions because of the IVs and the epidural.

After three hours, the doctor was called in and announced that forceps and an episiotomy were in order. I wasn't happy about the episiotomy, but thankfully the doctor decided to try just the forceps first. I say thankfully because it turns out Q was not going to be delivered vaginally, and it would have sucked big time to be healing from a c-section AND an episiotomy. I pushed and he yanked, and I remember wondering how a fragile baby could keep from breaking under all that pressure and tugging. Then the doctor left the room and the nurse (she was wonderful, by the way--never left my side) gently broke the news to me that I would need a c-section. She told me it was okay to cry, and I did--I bawled. I had been so desperate to avoid a c-section; they are harder on the mom and harder on the baby.

By the time they wheeled me into the OR, my epidural was wearing off and I was in a lot of pain. I saw my mom and mother-in-law as I was wheeled down the hall, and they were crying. I was also a little panicky, and I was shaking uncontrollably. For those of you who are not aware, I have a lot of anxiety about being trapped or restrained (for example, I have not ridden in an elevator in about 10 years), so being strapped down to a metal table caused considerable anxiety for me. They topped up the epidural, but I could still feel the prick of the pin they used to test the sensation on my stomach, so they ultimately gave me a spinal tap. My back was killing me from lying on that table until the meds kicked in. The uncontrollable shaking was difficult to deal with because my brain didn't know whether it was from anxiety, medication, or low blood sugar.

I remember people telling me that the baby would be out within 5 minutes once the c-section began. That was not the case here. The doctors made my incision a little longer than normal so that they could reach their hands in to unwedge the baby from my pelvis, and I felt a great deal of tugging and pressure. I believe I had 18 stitches total, which isn't too bad, and healing actually went very well. But that baby was not out in 5 minutes. I was so out of it by this time that I remember wondering why everyone was so quiet and why the baby wasn't crying--and I remember not caring. I had some issues with bonding with the baby for at least the first half a day or more, which is one of the big downsides to a c-section and to not being able to hold your baby right away. Finally, we heard her screaming. I wanted Steven to stay with me, but he wasn't allowed to and needed to be with the baby, so he followed her to the NICU as I spent the next 20-30 minutes being stitched up. The hour following that was spent in the recovery room.

She was born at 2 p.m. on November 19, and that night was a difficult one for all of us. Q's blood sugars dipped low and she had to be put on an IV; they couldn't find a good vein in her arm, so it was attached to her head. They also found that her oxygen saturations weren't good, so she was put on oxygen, as well (she had meconium--her first poop--as I was being induced, and some of it possibly entered her lungs and contributed to the breathing complications she faced in the following weeks). In the meantime, I was experience greater than average blood loss (not from my incision) and was being checked around the clock. For hours they worked to stop it--putting various medications in my IVs, each of which had new and delightful side effects. I won't go into what those side effects were, but they added to my misery. I was honestly worried that I was going to die, though in reality I was never near that point. The doctor came in to check on me and discussed the possibility of doing a surgery to insert a balloon into my uterus. Apparently all the pushing and stress had made my uterus unable to contract properly and stop the bleeding as it should. Luckily, we never got to that point--that evening, the bleeding slowed down to normal levels.

Suffice it to say, I did not get to meet my daughter until the next day (I had seen her briefly in the OR while I was getting stitched up, but I was too out of it to make a connection at that point). A nurse wheeled me to the NICU and I got to hold her; I was very sore and tired, and she was hooked up to bunches of tubes and had a scrunched up head and bruises on her face. We were quite the sad pair, I think. I healed remarkably well from the c-section, and honestly, it was the least of my worries. I was waddling around the room on the 2nd day, and quite mobile by the time I was discharged (on the 5th or 6th day, I think).

A noteworthy aside is that I don't really think it could have gone any better. Someone was expressing their displeasure that the doctors hadn't just given me a c-section to begin with, but I really wanted a vaginal birth, and there wasn't an indication that she was going to be THAT big (her final ultrasounds showed her measuring in the 8 pound range). And anyway, 10 pound 5 ounce babies CAN be delivered vaginally--it's not always the weight that really matters (the head size and mother's pelvic size plays a big role). I think I had to try to deliver her normally, we had to try the forceps, and then we had to have a c-section. We might know different for next time, but this is the way it had to go. I at no point blamed the doctors or thought they made bad decisions. One thing I might have changed is having asked to have her induced so early (which was partially to blame for the meconium/lung problems), but on the other hand, she was already so big...

The whole story still makes me a little tearful, and I hope it doesn't come off as whiny or self-pitying. I do want to record it all for posterity, and to remind myself (and one day, Q) of where we came from and how beautiful and fragile life is. I am so incredibly blessed to have such a beautiful baby girl, and for us both to have made it through a traumatic experience relatively unscathed. She is God's second greatest gift to me (the first being His own Son). And maybe this experience has made holding that precious little girl in my arms just a little bit sweeter.