A Birth Story

My son is now four months old, and I finally have both the time and desire to post about his birth. While a lot of things are too private or precious to share, I couldn’t not write about one of the most important events of my life!

It was the first lesson in having kids: You cannot control anything. Whatever dreams you had of how things were going to go down, they ain’t gonna come true.

– Ali Wong, Dear Girls

I was induced on Friday, June 4 at 39 weeks. It was the final chapter of a pregnancy in which I never felt like I was in control; my age and complications really limited my options. I knew from day one that the birth would likely have to be scheduled and managed. There could be no peaceful midwifery center or home birth in a tub. Therefore, I worked at keeping an open mind and minimal expectations going into the birth. I also had no problem with benefiting from science. My mantra (co-created with my sister) was DON’T BE A HERO. This would serve me well in my 36-hour classic cascade of interventions.

C3 was born during the brief post-vaccine, pre-Delta window when things were good pandemic-wise. (I remain so thankful for this.) The week before the birth, our hospital changed their policy to allow for one additional support person, so my sister was able to be with us! She got to the hospital later in the morning after I was checked in and hooked up – Taylor and I had arrived at 5 am. It was a long day of waiting. Not much was happening. A few times, at my request, they unhooked me from the machines so I could slowly walk the halls, do squats, or bounce on a ball. By dinnertime I was still barely contracting and only at 2 cm, so my doctor decided to break my water (one of the weirdest experiences of my life). Then things started to get real.

I knew I would probably want the epidural (DON’T BE A HERO!), but planned to wait and see how things went. Two hours after the water break, we had made zero progress. I was coping well with the contractions, but they were rapidly getting worse. Nurses kept asking about my pain level and I didn’t know what to tell them. How can you make that call when you don’t know how much worse it’s going to get? I kept saying a three or four. When I finally said five, Taylor said “Okay, but you’re making the seven face,” indicating the little pain faces along the bottom of the whiteboard. I knew it would take a while to get the epidural once I requested it, and all indications were that this baby wasn’t coming any time soon. It seemed like a bad idea to suffer through hours of unproductive pain and have no strength left for whatever was coming. I wanted to have the experience of labor, but I felt like these hours had been enough for me to get the gist. So, I told them to bring me the drugs. I got the epidural around 9 pm. It was magical – the best and most relaxed I had felt in months. I do not regret it at all. Debra kept watching the contraction monitor and confirmed that I had made a good decision.

Of course, this whole time I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink. I received ice chips and one (1) Popsicle, which my nurse had to go to another ward to get because Popsicle shortage. Eventually I stopped feeling hungry, but the thirst was killing me. Once I got caught drinking melted ice chips and was told to stop or I would throw up. I understand why they do this to laboring patients, but I still find it inhumane!

Taylor, Debra, and I all settled in to try to get some sleep. Over the course of the night, at least ten babies were born in the adjoining rooms. We heard them all crying as, one by one, other women successfully gave birth. I couldn’t stop thinking of this:

In the night, a monitor went off because the baby’s heart rate had gone up. Everything was okay, but after that I was braced for bad news every time a nurse came in. Morning dawned. I was at 3 cm. THREE. (“I’m dilated three!”) The night nurse conferred with my doctor, who was about to leave, and the new doctor on shift. They all agreed that C3’s head appeared to be stuck (this was later confirmed) and the labor was not progressing. My temperature was rising and the baby’s heart rate was getting more unstable. They recommended going ahead with a C-section. Having anticipated this moment, and ready to get on with it, I agreed.

As soon as I said, “Give me the C-section,” I got, for the first time, genuinely excited to meet my baby, as if this whole natural-childbirth thing, long ago thrown out the window, had been a sort of block. The smoke had cleared and we were finally going to do the thing we’d come here to do, people.

– Meaghan O’Connell, And Now We Have Everything: On Motherhood Before I Was Ready

The one thing I really, really, really didn’t want was an emergency C-section, and thankfully this was not that. A couple of women were scheduled to go in before me, so I had time to get prepped and meet the doctor who would be delivering my baby. Everyone was fairly relaxed. I’d never had surgery before (unless you count getting my eyes fixed), but I felt like I handled it well. Of course, I also had about 50 drugs in my system at that point. They told me Taylor would be brought in before they started, but I heard the doctor say “Incision” and I was alone. I remember asking urgently, “Where is my husband?!?” (Who knows whether I actually spoke this out loud.) I think someone was bringing him in right at that moment.

A few minutes later, a bunch of voices exclaimed on the other side of the drape, and I heard my son cry. Somehow, even though I was laying there waiting to hear it, it was still an incredible surprise. Taylor went to be with C3 while they cleaned him up. Then he brought him over for me to see. I couldn’t turn my head much, and was practically bulging my weepy eyes out trying to make eye contact with the baby. They both stayed with me through the end of the procedure. Once I was stitched up, the three of us went to recovery. It was a golden hour indeed. I finally got a cold beverage and we just basked in our beautiful baby.

Aunt Deb was waiting in the mom-and-baby room, excited to meet her nephew! She helped us get acclimated and came back each day for the rest of our stay. It reassured me so much to have someone there who knew exactly what I needed (having been through it herself). I don’t know what I would have done without her.

(PS if anyone is wondering, my post-birth meal choice was a McAlister’s club sandwich and iced tea. Very on brand.)

Although the new moms floor was fine, and our day nurse was wonderful, I’ve never been so uncomfortable as I was in the hospital. It wasn’t just the recovery (which was rough – I needed help with everything), it was the constant interruptions and total lack of privacy after I had just been ripped open physically and emotionally. I was a mess and couldn’t get a handle on anything with the baby. All I wanted was to go home to be in my own bed and start learning how to be a mom. The only really helpful thing was a visit from the in-house lactation consultant, who was very supportive and informative. Highly recommend taking advantage of that after you have a baby, even if things are going well.

We finally got to leave the hospital on Monday afternoon. Unfortunately, the drive home was a disaster (crying! massive throw ups! pharmacy wouldn’t give me my pain meds!) and C3 and I were both in tears when we arrived. It was not the homecoming I hoped for. I had to recover for a while before we took the pictures I had wanted, but now they’re some of my favorites.

In conclusion, I didn’t have the enchanting, empowering, spiritual birth experience that some new moms have. It was pretty much the opposite of that! But now we have a wonderful baby who brings us so much joy, and that’s amazing enough.

You were with me even before you were born. Everything that would make you was already here, waiting to be you.

– Erika Swyler, Light from Other Stars