*Warning!* For those blog readers who do not wish to know about my cervix or anything birth-related, you may want to stop reading now.
On Friday, July 16th, David and I went in for my 41-week appointment. They hooked me up to the fetal monitors and tracked Milo's movement and heart rate for about 30 minutes. Everything was fine. The nurse did an ultrasound to check my amniotic fluid level and determined it was 5.5 (slightly low). The midwife wanted us to induce that weekend, however, after consulting with our doula, we decided not to induce. Milo was only one week late (totally normal for first time moms), his fluid level was only slightly low, and we really believed I would go into labor on my own--perhaps even as early as the weekend.
Because we decided not to induce, the midwife wanted us to come back on Monday to have everything checked again. I drank a TON of fluids over the weekend hoping I could keep everything stable. David had to work on Monday so I went to the appointment on my own. I knew they would probably pressure me to schedule an induction and we were prepared to agree to an induction on Friday the 23rd which would have been 42 weeks.
When I went back on Monday, the fluid level had gone down to 3. After a tearful appointment with the midwife and texting with David while he was at work, we agreed it was time to induce. We met at home, packed the car, ate some lunch, and I scheduled a massage. It was both a last-ditch effort to induce labor naturally and an attempt to soothe my frazzled nerves. Even though we had been eagerly awaiting Milo's arrival for 41+ weeks (and really years longer than that!) it was hard to believe that it was really time for him to come. I will never forget what it felt like to leave our house knowing that, when we returned, life would be completely different.
We checked into St. Joseph hospital around 4 p.m. on Monday afternoon. Even though it felt as if our birth plan had been totally hijacked, we did find ways to salvage a little bit of what we wanted. For example, I wore my own clothes throughout the entire birthing process and never changed into the hospital gown. (This may seem small, but it was part of remembering that a woman in labor is not "sick" and made me feel more like a human being instead of a patient)
We were finally taken up to labor and delivery and my mom arrived soon after. (She hopped on a plane after we decided to induce and made it to Denver by dinner time!) The doctor came in to meet with us and told us he didn't feel comfortable starting pitocin since I was only dilated 1.5 cm. We decided to try the "balloon method," which was basically them inserting a balloon into my cervix, blowing it up, and forcing my cervix to dilate. Yes friends, that was as pleasant as it sounds. The doctor suggested I get an epidural before the balloon was inserted because "it would be painful." I reminded him that it was our desire that I not be offered any pain medications and that I would ask for them if I wanted them.
The balloon was inserted Monday evening and we spent most of the evening walking the halls. I was having contractions but they weren't regular or strong. Our doula came up to the hospital around 9 p.m. and stayed with us until around 3 a.m., when we sent her home to get some sleep. Even though I was tired, I was feeling pretty anxious and only slept about an hour that night.
The next morning the doctor removed the balloon and let me eat breakfast. He wanted to start the pitocin around 8 a.m. but we weren't quite ready. Again, we were hoping my body would go into labor on its own. Our doula, Ann, returned to the hospital and we spent the morning doing all kinds of exercises trying to improve fetal positioning. Finally, around lunch time, we conceded and they started a pitocin IV at 1 p.m. We had asked for it to be set at the lowest setting possible and to increase slowly.
I started having contractions and, by 4 p.m., I was finally in active labor. David was a freaking phenomenal labor coach. He was calm, loving, and supportive during each contraction. It really is true that a woman in labor enters an alternative state of mind--this is the part of the story where things get a little fuzzy. I was having contractions every 2 minutes or so and we managed them together. (Of course, Ann was totally helpful and wonderful too!)
At 8:00, despite enduring 4 hours of strong contractions, I had only dilated to 4.5 cm. I was devastated. We had been at the hospital for 28 hours, we'd hardly slept, and I still had a long way to go. I was totally crushed. I cried. No, I sobbed. I was so, so sad and felt like my body was dysfunctional. I was exhausted. I was in pain. I worried that, if I didn't get this baby out soon, they would start talking about a c-section.
I told Ann and David I was ready for an epidural. I believed that getting an epidural and pumping up the pitocin was my best shot at having the vaginal birth I desperately wanted.
The epidural man arrived at 9 and provided some much-needed relief. I should mention that the epidural did not totally alleviate the pain--I could still feel the contractions and felt tremendous pressure in my back--but it was certainly better than before.
Unfortunately, Milo didn't respond very well to the epidural and his heart rate dropped. They put me on oxygen and transitioned from external fetal monitoring to internal fetal monitoring. (They actually put a monitor up the birth canal and attached it to the baby's head) Seeing me on oxygen and watching our son's heart rate drop totally freaked out my usually calm husband. Even though those moments are fuzzy for me, I remember him saying to the doctor, "My whole world is in that bed."
They were able to stabilize Milo and me and I forced David and Ann to lay down and rest. My mom stayed by my bed and, even though I am 29 years old, knowing my mom was by my side and having her rub my arm gave me the peace of mind I needed to get some rest too.
Around 1:30 a.m. they checked and I was dilated to 8.5 cm. Less than an hour later I was irritated and restless because I felt such a strong urge to push. It's pretty routine now to give moms an hour after they reach 10 cm for the baby to naturally descend, therefore making pushing a little easier. However, I was totally and completely miserable and told them I was ready to push NOW!
At 2:30 I started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. I don't know if it was because I was utterly exhausted or because the room was so dimly lit or because I was pushing so hard that my eyes were swollen and wouldn't stay open, but the whole pushing experience felt dream-like. Not that it was a dream come true to push for that long, but I was so "out of it" that it felt about as real as a dream. I remember David holding one hand and Ann holding the other and I remember my mom shoveling ice chips into my mouth between contractions.
Finally, finally, finally I pushed Milo out at 5:37 a.m.
I will never, ever forget the flood of relief and joy I felt at that moment. I let out some sort of odd wail that sort of felt like my body saying--dear God, it is finally finished!
Looking back, it was not the birth I expected. I have birthed a baby, but have yet to know what it is like to go into real labor. I had wanted an unmedicated birth. It turned out I had almost every medical intervention in the book, minus a c-section. It was longer than I expected. It was harder than I expected. However, when it was all said and done, we had a healthy and perfectly awesome son. And, in the end, that is all that really matters.
