Matthew's Birth Story

I was pregnant forever. Not the kind of forever that saw me waddling around past 42 weeks, but it was still forever. Especially because it was July.

By the time I was walking home from church with Kevin the Sunday after my due date, we were starting to get worried. After all, the clock was ticking down before our baby would be too young to go on an airplane, which we needed to do on August 8th, so our baby had to be born on or before July 31. I did have an induction scheduled for the 29th, which mostly alleviated that concern, but not that deep down I didn't want an induction because I wanted a natural labor.

Why? Great question. I think the main reason was that I had heard from labor and delivery nurse friends and birth story blog posts that there was a special, even euphoric feel that came a lot more with natural than medicated deliveries. I figured I could stand a few hours of pain (if that's all it was) for a bit of euphoria. (Wait. Is that why people do drugs.)

Also, I had heard that the recovery was better. Again, I figured I could stand a few hours of being extra aware of pain if it maybe meant I wouldn't need stitches.

So I prepared for natural. Not very much, but I did prepare. Basic things, mostly -- making sure I had enough protein and iron and green stuff in my diet, doing squats and Kegels and other stretches, walking and riding my bike, and doing pregnancy yoga for 15 minutes at a time, which was all I could handle before getting bored or being encouraged by Joseph to instead do "boy exercise" (demonstrated by him punching the air).

But what good was all this prep if I wasn't going into labor naturally? So I started going through website after website on how to go into labor. And, just like Thomas Edison, I found 1,000 things that didn't work. (But the pineapple was delicious anyway.) The closest I got was one morning when I couldn't sleep so I went through newborn pictures on Facebook to boost oxytocin levels or something and got one contraction out of it. But I had been having "real" (as opposed to Braxton Hicks) contractions for a few weeks, so it might have been a coincidence.

The next morning was a little more productive. It turned out to be 2 1/2 hours of false labor, and I eventually fell back asleep, but it still moved things along enough that by the afternoon I was in real labor. I finished packing the hospital bag with a few obscure items (you never know . . . maybe you will want to blow bubbles during labor to focus your breathing), dropped Joseph off with some angelic neighbors, and headed to the hospital.

Oh, I forgot to mention something -- during dinner I let Kevin know for sure that I wanted to do it without the epidural. "Something you can do to help is breathe deeply so I can follow along." I felt the beginnings of a contraction, so I said, "Here, let's practice now." I focused on matching his breathing, and before I knew it, it was done.

On the way to the hospital, we hit mostly green lights, but right before the hospital we just barely missed a long light. The wait got progressively more uncomfortable, and when I was about done with a contraction, I said, "You know, most husbands don't follow traffic laws quite so carefully when their wives are in labor." He responded that it didn't seem like I was about to have the baby. Which was true, I guess.

And the people at the hospital didn't seem to think I was close to having a baby either. We sat on some chairs outside triage for a good ten minutes, wondering if we'd been forgotten. I stood up and leaned against the wall during a contraction, and right after that they let us in. Changed into hospital clothes, more waiting, talked to a nurse, more waiting, etc. I pulled out Harry Potter 3 and started to read when they came in to check. Lo and behold, I was at 7 cm! This was great news because I had gotten the epidural at 7 cm last time, so to already be at 7 cm felt like I had avoided a psychological pitfall. Still did more waiting, but eventually we got to go to a real room.

And then . . . more waiting! Waiting to get into the tub, that is. Med students and anesthesiologists and other nurses and the on-call doctor and everyone else had to come in and get my complete medical history (pausing occasionally for me to get on my hands and knees and listen to Kevin's breathing) and convince me to get an IV. (I ultimately decided to get the port put in, but they didn't hook me up to liquids so I could move around more easily. The nurse didn't find it very funny when I said it was like a contraction in my arm. Probably because it wasn't funny.) Finally, everyone left except my awesome nurse Amanda. And then I got to go in the tub!

It was relaxing. Too relaxing. After about 15 minutes in there I realized I wasn't having contractions anymore. And then when I did have one, it hurt just as much as the others. If it was just going to slow me down and not dull the pain, I felt like it was sort of pointless. So I got out and watched Big Hero 6 with Kevin. I tried sitting on a birthing ball, but it didn't help with contractions at all so I got back up on the bed. Eventually, the contractions became more regular, and the movie became less and less funny. I would look over at Kevin and see him smiling and think, how could he think that's funny? (Then again, he hasn't watched this clip with Joseph over and over again, nor has he been in labor for it.)

Incidentally, at this point I would have rated my pain at a 4, because I never go above that on principle.

At some point, nausea kicked in. Too much apple juice, I guess. I had Kevin sneak me some crackers, which helped, but I still felt miserable. The nurses came back and asked if I would like to be checked. I didn't know if I could handle hearing that I was still at 7 cm (or worse, that they said I was somehow back at 5 or 6 cm just because the measurements are so subjective), but curiosity got the better of me. And . . . still at a 7. And something like 50% effaced still. But the head was further down.

It was discouraging, but the contractions ramped up so I didn't have energy to be disappointed about it. (Except, of course, that the clock was ticking ever closer to midnight, and I had told Joseph the baby's birthday was today and I didn't want to be wrong.) I eventually asked Kevin to turn the movie off, and I hurried and turned on the most relaxing music I could think of spur of the moment. Like Charlotte Church and Vienna Teng. Not "You've Got a Friend in Me" or "Let it Go."

None of these.

Kevin was still doing a good job of breathing for me, but it wasn't enough. I started barking orders at him and Amanda. "Push on my back!!!!!" "Push on my back!!!!" I would get about 2 seconds between contractions before they started again.

At this point, I sort of split into two. There was Labor Me, the one who was hurting a lot, and there was Rational Me, who was sort of amused by the whole thing but wasn't particularly helpful. Kevin and Amanda would ask questions, and I would only respond, "I don't know. I don't know."

"Haha," thought Rational Me, "I read on some website that I would say 'I don't know,' and here I am doing it." The whole time I wondered why on earth I was doing this, or really anything in my life ever. "Self doubt! You're experiencing self doubt! Just like they all talk about!" But even knowing emotional signposts didn't make it better. "Let's just think about this rationally. Where exactly does it hurt? Oh, just that spot in your abdomen, radiating out into your back? Focus on that spot. It's not so bad, is it?" No, it still was bad. But trying to pinpoint it still helped.

"Talk to me," I moaned to Kevin.

"What would you like me to say?" he asked. "I don't know. I don't know." "Tell me I'm beautiful and amazing. Tell me a story about myself just like we tell Joseph stories about himself." (Okay, maybe Rational Me wasn't all that rational, especially because I didn't say that out loud.) So he said . . . something. I think Amanda might have done better at talking to me and making me feel successful. 

Eventually, after laboring like this for about 20 hours (or maybe 1 hour . . . it's all the same when it hurts that much) it all became too much to handle, and I yelled, "I want to push!!!!" Amanda disappeared for a minute and came back with a midwife since the doctor was busy. I ignored her for a few minutes as I was hunched over the edge of the bed, my hair hiding my face entirely. Once I was done, I flipped my hair back behind me and looked at her, expecting some more compliments.

"That's a lot of hair," she said.

"I'm cutting it as soon as I have this baby," I said, and then she checked me. 

"All I feel is water. You're ready to push."

Suddenly, the room was full of med students and nurses again. I got back on all fours and pushed. And screamed. And screamed. Like a 3-year-old who's been told one Otter Pop is enough.

"Haha, this is just like the movies. Kevin would always say after I gave birth to Joseph that it wasn't like the movies because I didn't scream at all. But this time I don't have an epidural so it is like the movies."

"Stop screaming," they said. "Grunt instead." So I did my best to let out a wordless roar. Through it all, "Eric's Song" by Vienna Teng was playing, reminding me that "how I am sure, like never before, of my reasons for defying reason."

"Oh, that was an appropriate lyric. Say, why is this taking so long? Seriously I thought it would happen with like one push, and I've done at least three now. Oh. Maybe I should try going on my side." So I got on my side, the nurses lifted my leg up, and after two agonizing pushes there suddenly was a head coming out.

And then the rest of him.

And then . . . oh, sweet relief. I didn't feel euphoric, but I didn't hurt anymore. It was just like my friends who said they liked running because it was like hitting their head against a wall. It felt good when it stopped.

After the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, they clamped it and handed him to me. With Joseph, I think they had washed him off a little bit first, so I was surprised to be holding Matthew in his somewhat slimy state. So, with all the maternal love that was in me, I gently said, "He's so slippery."

I could pass the smile test again.

After that wonderful time holding him, I said matter of factly, "I just want to get the placenta out."

So after that came out looking like a Rodent of Unusual Size, and after about 6 years of being stitched up with dental floss (that's really what it felt like) while needing frequent numbing shots, I finally had the chance to process what had happened. I just had a baby. I really did it.

And the verdict on natural? Well, it wasn't necessarily euphoric, even when it was over, and after the first 24 hours the recovery felt pretty much the same as with the epidural (I will say the first 24 hours were better this time around). But it was still an interesting experience, and it was cool to share it with Kevin.

At any rate, having Matthew around has been pretty much euphoric. So it was worth it.