When my husband Spencer and I told our midwife that we were closing on our new house on May 5, she replied, “Well, now you know when you’ll have your baby.” (we were due with our first on April 27). Proving her both wise and prescient, I went into labor two hours after our 9 am closing. Backing up a bit, early labor had begun two nights before (a Wednesday night), with contractions that woke me up but dissipated in seconds and did not become regular. As I was a week overdue, I had a non-stress test on Thursday, during which my contractions were 10 minutes apart. My midwife swept my membranes, bringing me to 3-cm dilation. That evening I had regular contractions, about 4 minutes apart for an hour. We were ready to call our midwife, but then the contractions disappeared. No contractions awoke me that night, so I was afraid that maybe we were losing momentum. My midwife intended to artificially rupture my membranes on Monday at the hospital, which didn’t worry me as much as a potential inducement with pitocin. My worries were moot – after a luxurious 2-hour nap after our Friday morning closing, I woke with regular contractions that did not disappear.
After about two hours of contractions, we called our beloved doula, Linda. Upon her arrival, she announced that we should take a walk. It was a gorgeous, late spring afternoon. I was hesitant at first, thinking why would I want to walk – I’m in pain, I want to stay in my cozy living room, not advertise my condition on our busy street. I was quickly convinced that walking would speed things along and that it did – walking made the contractions more painful, but I realized that was a good thing – painful meant stronger which was really the ultimate goal. After about ¾ mile, I had to stop for a contraction every 15 feet, swaying with my weight on Spencer, moaning with each contraction. I had never imagined myself as a vocalizer, but I rapidly discovered that the vibrations of my voice were soothing and distracting from the pain. Upon our return home, I spent several house laboring in the side-lying position in our bed – Spencer and Linda took turns massaging my back, applying hot pads and rice socks to my aching hips, and generally just keeping me company. Let me digress a moment to sing the praises of having a doula – not only are they often a competent and expert presence for comfort measures, but they also allow a birth partner to eat, nap, chill out, take notes, or graph their partner’s contractions on their computer like Spencer.
Over the next few hours, my contractions became progressively longer, stronger, & closer together, although they never were 60 seconds apart, which is the alleged benchmark for heading to the hospital. The lesson there was that every labor is different and the “textbook” is only a guideline. I labored in various positions: on the birth ball, in the bathtub, walking, side-lying and sitting on the toilet (ouch!). At some point, I asked Linda when we should go to the hospital (it had also been clear since she had arrived that Linda intended to keep us at home as long as possible – another deviation from what I had envisioned – me on a birth ball, in a hospital room, happily sucking on ice chips & honey sticks – ha!). She said there was no rush but if I felt “pushy” or if I really wanted to be in the place where my baby would be born, then it would be time. My time came 12 hours after labor began – around 11:30 pm on Friday night, I had bloody show on a trip to the toilet and announced that I was ready to go. We called our midwife who would meet us at the hospital.
While the drive to Bloomington Hospital was only about 7 minutes, it took us almost three times that to get from the car to the 2nd floor. I didn’t know it, but I was in transition, stopping every minute or so to contract in the parking lot, the ER, the elevator, the sign-in desk, etc. We were quickly shown to our spacious birthing room, where our wonderful L&D nurse, V, checked me in. As it was midnight and I was a midwifery patient, the lights of the room were dim and all was quiet – one nurse, our midwife, Linda, and the anxious couple – what would develop into a very adept, supportive, and extraordinary birthing team. As my midwife examined me, I waited anxiously to know how much work we’d accomplished at home. At first, she looked confused and my heart sank, as I thought that maybe we were only at 4 cm and I would be in this room for-ev-er. But then, as she saw the crestfallen look on my face, both she and V told me at once that I was 9.5 cm dilated. “Well done”, my midwife told Linda.
After one more hour of hard contractions in the hospital bed, I asked if I could push (I never did feel “pushy” and so the ensuing 1:45 of pushing did not come naturally). My midwife gave the go ahead and the exhausting part began. I pushed in the side-lying position, with V holding the top leg at first and then I took over during the latter half to get better control over each push. Spencer mopped my blazing forehead and upper body, while Linda took photos and my midwife and V coached. My midwife was amazing – with each push, she encouraged and applauded me – letting me know when I should really “go for broke”. At some point, my midwife broke my water to accelerate the delivery. Soon after, my baby’s hair was born and a few contractions later, my husband announced that, “It’s a Maia”. She was 7 lbs, 8 oz, and 21.5 inches long.
Who can truly describe how that feels? Time is working against me to find the words, but if you’re a mother, you know, if you are expecting, you will know. It is good.
Maia came out blue and cone-headed, trying her best to get a breath, but had some trouble. She was soon whisked from my arms to the warming bed, suctioned and cleaned up. While Maia was checked out and encouraged to breath, my midwife delivered my placenta. Unfortunately, this was followed by about a liter of blood. A shot of pitocin the thigh firmed up my uterus and stopped the bleeding, but the damage was done – I would spend the next 2 weeks sitting or in bed, popping heavy-duty iron pills. Could have been much worse though. Maia also continued to have trouble – she spent her first 12 hours in the special care nursery (with her papa) as they monitored her oxygen levels and breathing. Linda stayed with me, yet another reason I’m so thankful she was there – we were a family divided and having her by my side was crucial. Finally, after an eternity, she was in my arms, nursing contentedly and our lives metamorphosed into this wonderful, crazy, excellent adventure called parenthood.
Submitted by Tara
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