My Labor Story

Remember how impressed I was by my doctor's confidence in ascertaining the baby's position in utero, and declaring her to be head-down?  Well, it turns out I should have trusted the other doctor, the one who said "I can't be sure."  Ginny was breeched!  And we didn't find out until the last possible minute!  But before I get to that: here's my whole labor story.

Four weeks ago, Ginny decided it was time to make her entrance into the world.  Her 11/11/11 due date had come and gone.  I started my maternity leave from work the day before she was due, which meant I was finally able to leave that Baby Mode/Work Mode switch in my brain positioned at Baby Mode permanently, and that was blissful.  By that point Anders and I had acquired everything on our Baby Shopping List, and the nursery was done, so I spent my free time baking and making Christmas crafts ... and constantly hoping that a contraction would interrupt me.

On Tuesday I was four days overdue.  That night we decided to try spicy food as a labor-induction technique, so we went to dinner at HuHot Mongolian Grill, where I bravely ladled their spiciest sauce over my noodles and chicken.  The result was not exactly at a Man-vs.-Food level, but it was certainly spicier than what I normally eat.  No sooner had I cleaned my plate and leaned back in my chair than Jabberwocky (she was still Jabberwocky then) began to boogie.  I don't know whether her frenzy was caused by delight or disgust, but either way, Anders and I sat and watched the tumultuous movements of my tummy in bemusement for a good five or ten minutes.

On Wednesday - my fifth day overdue - we figured we'd give the spicy food thing another try.  Around 7 p.m. we were about to leave for an Indian restaurant when I felt it!  Finally!  It was a special kind of pain, dull and deep, lasting a few seconds.  I knew exactly what it was.  I informed Anders.  And then off we went to the Indian restaurant.

Ah, Jewel of India, how fondly I feel towards you now.  I had several more contractions at the restaurant.  I didn't need spicy food anymore but ordered it anyway, chicken curry with a side of garlic naan.  Our meal was quiet, quick, and happy.

Once we got home I lost the mucus plug.  See how flippantly I can talk about these things now?  Living through labor tends to strip one of one's delicacy, I think.  Anyway, contractions steadily became more painful and regular, so there was no doubt this was the real thing.  I took a shower and went to bed.  I slept better than Anders did that night.  I was able to drop off between contractions, but he doesn't go in and out of sleep as easily as I do!  He timed my contractions and kept telling me I was doing a good job, sweet man.  It feels good to hear those words when one is in labor.

We almost went to the hospital at 4:30 a.m.  Anders had the car running and everything.  Contractions had been around four minutes apart for a solid hour.  But once I got up and moved around, they slowed down, and we decided to wait.

Good thing we did.  By mid-morning on Thursday, we were hanging out in the sunroom, watching episodes of '30 Rock' on the computer.  My contractions were more severe but stubbornly irregular, sometimes three minutes apart, but more often nine or ten minutes apart.

We made the decision to go to the hospital around 1:30 in the afternoon, after 18-plus hours of labor.  Contractions were averaging something like seven minutes apart, and getting longer and pretty painful.

Now, up to this point, labor had honestly been rather fun.  We were, after all, relaxing together at home on a work day.  And there was the joyful anticipation of it all.  Once we got to the hospital, however, things took a turn.

At 2:00, we were in the delivery room.  At 5:00, we were back in the sunroom at home.  They'd discharged us from the hospital.  At 7:00, we were in the car, driving back to the hospital in a panic and praying we'd make it in time, as I'd reached the point where I was PUSHING with each contraction.

Those hours at home between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. were dark, wretched, horribly painful hours.  At the hospital they had told us that labor wasn't progressing, and even that it might be several days before the baby came.  "You'll know when it's time to come back," a nurse told us with a tender smile, "because the pain will get much worse."

I had planned to do labor with no meds. But when I heard that, two options presented themselves to me: 1.) I was going to get an epidural, or 2.) I was going to die.  Because the pain was already as much as I could bear.  I can't do this, I thought.  I can't endure these contractions for another - how many hours? Twenty-four? Thirty-six? Forty-eight?  The idea was devastating.

Now, the nurse had based her opinion on my cervix.  I don't know about you, but I've always thought cervical exams were a fairly straightforward business.  There aren't any loops or corkscrews in the diagrams I've seen of female anatomy.  It's a straight shot to the cervix.  You reach in, and there it is.

Well, my cervical exams on the afternoon of Thursday the 17th were not straightforward.  Three separate nurses told me they couldn't find my cervix, after spending much more time with their hands in my nether-region than was entirely comfortable.  Finally one of them believed she had struck upon it, and it was only open one centimeter.  Meaning I still had nine centimeters to go before I would be ready to deliver.

So either I dilated nine centimeters in two hours, or the nurse was wrong in her assessment.  Either way, I shouldn't have been sent home, shouldn't have had my pain made light of, and shouldn't have been made to feel like labor would be endless.  As it was, I was quite near the end and quite capable of doing it without medication, but I didn't know that.  One cannot blame the nurses, of course.  They didn't want me sitting in a hospital bed for two days while nothing was happening.  And for my part, never having given birth before, I couldn't tell them whether I was suffering enough to be there or not.  I had to take their word for it that I wasn't.

So after two hours of intense labor at home, Anders and I show up again at the hospital in a dither.  I'm trying to explain to the nurses that I can't stop pushing, and I'm not sure they believe me.  Contractions are coming super quick.  So they go in for another cervix check ... and that's when the nurse says, "Uh oh, I think I'm feeling a baby butt."

A hasty ultrasound confirmed this.  "The head is up here," the doctor-on-call said, pointing to the top of my belly.  "So she's breeched?" I asked, and he nodded.  "So that means a C-section?" I asked, and he nodded.  "Let's do it!" I cried.  I was desperate simply for it to happen quickly, because my body was aggressively trying to push that baby out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

What came next is a blur, as I spent most of the time in eyes-closed agony.  I know there was a man next to the bed who was describing, with an infuriating lack of urgency, the risks involved with C-sections, but I have no idea what he looked like.  And I know there were nurses on one side of me who were trying to draw blood, and nurses on the other side who were trying to insert an IV, and it was tough going on both sides.  I had multiple punctures, bruises and blood streaks up and down both arms by the time they were done.  I remember Anders making phone calls, and asking him to call people to pray for us.  Then I was getting wheeled into the surgery room where they gave me the epidural.  And I remember the voice of the anesthesiologist in my ear, talking me through what was happening, and feeling comforted by him.

All of this was awful.  It was awful because I was worried it would be too late.  That I'd already pushed too much.  (I was dilated ten centimeters at this point, according to the doctor who performed the C-section ... not that I had any lingering doubts.)  It was a dreadful time leading up to the surgery.  In the midst of it, I was aware that the medical staff was moving swiftly and expertly, and for that I was immensely glad.

And then Anders was by my head, and it was done!  We heard our baby cry!  From that moment, everything was wonderful.

They took little Ginny to a table under a heat lamp and cleaned her up while I got stitched.  We looked at her, and saw all four limbs moving, and listened to her voice.  I was so happy.

All I felt, when I was back in the recovery room with Ginny on my chest, was perfect, unhindered joy.  I still get that feeling when I have Ginny on my chest.