The Birth Story

Hi everyone,

This is Lua Claire's birth story, in full.  It's not terribly graphic, but it is descriptive.  The birth experience was wonderful and overwhelmingly positive (believe it or not!), but I understand that birth stories aren't for everyone.  If you're curious, read on.  If not, skip back to the blog!

Let's meet the little one.

Introduction

When I was 38 weeks pregnant, Lua was only measuring in the 6th percentile for fetal growth. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with her placenta or umbilical cord, but the doctors were concerned about her small size. They recommended an early induction at 39 weeks due to “Poor Fetal Development.” Basically, they felt that she would be better cared for “on the outside.”

At first, I was sorry to miss out on the aspects of a spontaneous labor-- contractions in the middle of the night, laboring at home, timing contractions, driving frantically to the hospital, etc-- and I was disappointed that I couldn't go “naturally.” On the other hand, I was also determined to make sure that my baby was healthy. I knew that if I chose not to act and something went wrong, then I would never forgive myself.

In a unanimous decision, Dan and I scheduled an induction for Thursday, July 24 at 39 weeks +1 day.

Early Labor

I settled into the hospital room at about 7:30PM on Thursday night. Dan set down our bags and tested the fold-down couch while I struggled into my hospital gown and debated taking off my underwear.

At that point, I was highly anxious and totally unprepared. I'd never spent the night in the hospital before, and I was nervous about the entire birthing process. I wasn't totally confident in my body's ability to birth this little pumpkin, and I kept imagining all of the horrors that I'd read in other people's stories.

Once I had put on my hospital gown (my first, ever), the nurse came in to give me an overview of the induction process. To start, we had to go through all of the preliminaries-- urine test, blood work, blood pressure, etc. As a part of her routine pre-birth set-up, the nurse tried to place an IV line. I resisted.

“I really don't need an IV,” I protested. "Really, I don't."

The nurse also wanted to do constant fetal monitoring and to squeeze me into a pair of electronic compression socks. All of this was overwhelming to me, since I'd always pictured myself giving birth without any real interventions. Honestly, I had originally hoped to go without medication entirely.   It's just what I had envisioned.

As I started to calm down and get used to my surroundings, however, I became a little more reasonable. Clearly, this birth was not going to be intervention-free-- I was getting induced, after all.

The nurses had a good reason for everything they wanted to do. They talked me through their processes, and made me feel better. After a while, their logic won out against my fear and stubbornness. I submitted, and allowed them to take control. I reminded myself that this was no longer about my fancy “birth experience.” All I wanted was a safe labor and a safe and healthy baby girl.

The nurses hooked me up to a constant fetal monitor to check the baby's heart rate and monitor my contractions. At about 9PM, the doctor on duty came in to do a cervical check. I was not surprised to hear that I wasn't dilated in the least-- an even 0cm. I was surprised, however, when the fetal monitor showed that I was having irregular (and painless) contractions.

Because I was already contracting, the doctor decided that it would be best to start my induction with a dose of Cervadil. The Cervadil, he reasoned, could be removed if things got out of whack. Oral medications weren't as easy to control.

At about 10PM, the Cervadil was placed. It looked like a small tampon with an extra-long string, and was inserted vaginally.

“This is a suppository to thin out your cervix and promote dilation,” said the doctor. “Although it works differently for different women.”

He made sure that I was connected firmly to the monitors. “Now,” he said, “we wait.”

Cervadil, apparently, has several different potential effects. For some women, it does almost nothing. For others, it prompts a slow and even cervical dilation (to be prompted further by pitocin). And for others, it launches the body directly into labor. I was definitely in the latter category.

By 10:45PM, I was having irregular contractions that increased in pain and severity. They felt like bad period cramps. Dan and I tried to watch Pretty Little Liars, but it became hard for me to sit still. I kept wiggling in bed-- sitting up, lying back, sitting up, lying back-- which made the fetal monitor slide and lose the heartbeat. The nurse had to keep coming in to check and readjust my hookups. Bless her-- she never asked me to try and sit still.

By 11:30PM, I was grimacing and getting sweaty. The contractions were still fairly mild (by labor standards), but at least a 4 out of 10 on the pain scale. The nurse promised to let me off the monitors at 12:00AM, after I had finished my mandatory 2-hour monitoring period. At that point, I became obsessed with the clock. My lower back was wrenching, and it was so hard to be inactive. Dan promised me a grape popsicle if I could make it to 12 o'clock.

True to her word, the nurse let me off the monitor at midnight. I draped the monitor cords over my shoulders, unclicked my compression socks, and wheeled my IV into the bathroom. I noticed that I was starting to shiver violently. I peed with trembling legs and, with great difficulty, wheeled my IV back out into the delivery room.

Since I had always planned on walking during labor, I decided to take my IV line with me on a walk up and down the hallway. I thought that walking would make me feel better, but honestly, it didn't. I liked it when I wasn't contracting (“Oh-- this is great!! This is easy!!”) and then HATED it when I was (“Oh, no. Oh, nooooo.”). I kept that up for about 20 minutes, and then asked for my grape popsicle.

At this point, my contractions were actually starting to calm down. It turns out that I had been experiencing uterine tachysystole, which is the medical term for “runaway contractions.” As my body first reacted to the Cervidil, I experienced mild, heaping, and near-constant contracting. Two and a half hours later, my body was getting used to the medication and settling into a more manageable pattern.

I happily munched my popsicle, enjoying life and riding out contractions that were, by then, a reasonable 5-7 minutes apart.

It was at this point, around 1AM, that Dan decided to get some sleep. Both of us expected a long and drawn out labor, and figured that we should sleep up front as much as possible. Dan curled up on the fold-down recliner on the right-hand side of my bed and promptly drifted off. I tried, but woke up with every subsequent contraction. By scrunching my eyes closed and counting through the pain (literally just counting-- “One...two...three...four...”), I managed to sleep for an hour or two before the real party started.

At about 3AM, my body decided to launch right into labor. Suddenly, I was feeling the same runaway contractions as before, but now with greater intensity. There was nothing I could do. My body was interacting with the Cervidil, and I was feeling one back-wrenching spike after another. After ten minutes of trying to lie still, I couldn't fake sleep any longer. I sat upright in bed and started moaning through contractions. The pain rose from 4 to 5 to 6 or 7. The nurse came rushing in.

“You're contracting too much,” she said. “You're experiencing tachysystole. We need to get that Cervidil out.”

She called for the doctor, who promptly removed the suppository and did a cervical check.

“2 centimeters,” I heard him say. Then he addressed me. “You're body is going to keep reacting for a little while while the Cervidil leaves your system.”

I crawled onto my hands and knees and nodded, my hair falling into my face.  ow.  ow.  ow.

Dan woke up and stood by my side, rubbing my lower back while I rocked back and forth. My eyes were open, but I was barely seeing anything. Wave upon wave of contractions were hitting.

The nurse offered to give me Stadol as a pain medication, but I was leery about taking it. She described the feeling as “similar to being drunk” and warned me that it might make me nauseous. I didn't want to take anything that might possibly make me feel worse, so I told her that I would wait. My pain level was at least a 7 out of 10, but it was hard to gauge.

I will make a note here and say that this was the worst, and most painful part, of my entire labor experience. The contractions were piggy-backing, one on top of the other, and I had no relief whatsoever. I stayed on my hands and knees for nearly an hour, moaning and shaking my head, while my patient husband rubbed my back. Even though the Cervidil had been removed, my body was still reacting.

Finally, at about 4AM, I told the nurse that I was ready for the Stadol. And this is where things got markedly better.

I was only half-conscious at the time, so I don't remember how the nurse actually got the Stadol in my body. I think that she did it through the IV line. I just remember that, from my hands-and-knees position, I started feeling woozy. I had one wave of wooze, and then another, and another. All of the sudden, I was swimming. My contractions were starting to fade away, and I was diving deeper and deeper under water.

Boy, was I content.

“How are you feeling?” I heard the nurse say.

In my woozy mind, I debated whether or not it would be worth it to answer. Should I say something? Nah. It was obvious I was fine. Yup. Fine. Too much work to talk. Plus, it would be too late to answer now... That would be weird. Were people still talking?

I felt hands on my back as Dan and the nurse lowered me into a reclining position. For the first time in hours, I didn't hurt at all.

Then, all of a sudden, the nurse lost the baby's heartbeat. I initially thought that it was due to the Stadol, but I learned afterwards that it was from the stress of my ongoing tachysystole. Just because I wasn't feeling it didn't mean that my uterus wasn't still contracting wildly.

Within seconds, the nurse was pounding the emergency button. Dan was shuffled to the back of the room while nurses flooded around my bedside. One pulled an oxygen mask over my face and urged me to breathe deeply. Another gave me a shot to slow down my contractions. Another paged the doctor, who rushed in with a fetal monitor.

I could see all of this happening, but I was limp and happy-- unconcerned. I saw that Dan looked worried. “It's fine,” I wanted to say, but I was too deep underwater. I knew that everything was fine-- my baby would be just fine. I had complete trust in all of those bustling nurses.

The doctor broke my waters and inserted the fetal monitor. Instantly, we heard the heartbeat echo on the machine. It was slow and somewhat distressed, but not an emergency situation. One of the nurses put my hand on the oxygen mask.

“Keep breathing deeply,” she said.

Amniotic fluid kept gushing out, and I found myself enjoying that. It was surprisingly hot. How strange that I could feel it.

The doctor packed up and prepared to leave again. “You're body is trying to have this baby in under an hour,” he said. “And we can't have that.”

Once the excitement was over, my memory of the next two hours is dim. Dan, wide awake and scared to death, stood stock-still by my bedside, holding my hand and watching me. I drifted off to sleep, smiling to myself and waiting for my baby. I could feel that my body was contracting, but I felt like I was floating out of reach.

Dan said that I would fall asleep and start to snore, and then frown and shake myself awake. Sometimes he talked to me, but I didn't bother to respond. I was way too deep at the bottom of my well.

As we rounded 5:30AM, the Stadol started to wear off. I felt myself get less and less woozy. Every contraction was now closer to the surface-- I was no longer floating out of reach. I started squeezing Dan's hand.

“How long does that Stadol last?” I managed to ask out loud. Dan checked with the nurse. Two to three hours.

I was well aware of one thing, and that thing became increasingly clear-- I did NOT want to be left undefended when the Stadol finally wore off. Even with the medication, I could feel the contractions. Pain, 6 out of ten. Pain, 7 out of ten. Pain, 8 out of ten. I tried to breathe through them, but they completely surrounded me.

“It's time for the epidural,” I said.

Thankfully, the hospital was quiet that morning. The anesthesiologist was in my room in less than 15 minutes, and ready to explain the procedure.

“Have you checked her?” He asked the nurse. She did a quick cervical check.

“8 centimeters,” she announced.

What!? Less than two hours before, I had only been at 2.

I was now in active labor.

Active Labor

The epidural was amazing. I loved everything about it. The doctor, a large, Asian man named Dr. Ang, was very polite and patient and kind. He paused in his explanations while I rode out my contractions, and explained every step of his procedure. I didn't feel the needle and, at that point, wouldn't have cared one bit if I did. All of my energy was focused on two things-- riding out my contractions and sitting very still.

As soon as it was placed, I could feel the numbness creep along my lower back. The nurse helped me into a reclining position and, once again, I was able to smile and relax. I could already feel that nothing had gone wrong. My numbness was perfectly even.

I was hit with a wave of incredible exhaustion.

“What do I do now?” I asked the nurse.

“Be in labor,” she said. “And tell me when you get the urge to push.”

Okay. I didn't answer. Instead, I went to sleep.

The Final Phase

I woke about two hours later, at 8:45AM on Friday, July 25. Dan was lying next to me, and I watched him start to wake up, too. I did a trial shuffle of my lower legs. Huh. Completely numb.

I asked for another popsicle, and ate it with wiggling, trembling hands. My body, apparently, was out of my control.

“Do you feel anything?” Asked Dan, standing up to be near me. “Any urge to push?”

“Nope,” I said. I couldn't feel anything.  As far as my lower body was concerned, I was blissfully numb and detached.

For a few minutes, Dan and I talked. He let me know that he'd updated the family when I got my epidural, and that everybody was eagerly awaiting news.

“I think she'll be here soon,” he said. “You did such a good job.”

The nurse came in to check on me. She seemed concerned that I wasn't feeling any urge to push.

“Let's get the doctor in here,” she said. “And we'll do another check.”

Two minutes later, I was grinning at the doctor. “Nope,” I was saying. “Nothing. No urges.”

The doctor put on a pair of sterile gloves and checked me with two fingers.

“Well,” he said. “You're ready to go. Little girl is there.” I heard him talking to his fleet of interns, who had trailed in behind him. “+3 station,” he said. “Cervix fully effaced and dilated to ten centimeters.”

Dan leaned over to check.

“I can see her head!” He said. “I can see her hair!”

“Okay,” said the nurse. “Let's do some practice pushes.”

Suddenly, everything was happening. I could barely process the speed with which everything was moving. The bed was raised and slightly dismantled. The doctor took his position. I was instructed to curl up my knees and hold onto the back of my thighs.

“Hold your breath and push as I count to ten,” said the nurse. “Ready? 1...2...3...4...”

It was as if I'd been born to push. Numb as I was, I knew exactly what I was doing. The nurse was giving me instructions and trying to guide my pushes, but that wasn't even necessary.

I kept wondering when I was going to feel it-- that animal urge to bear down and push. I could tell that I was pushing (and that I was making progress), but I never actually felt my body take over and guide the baby out. Everything that I was doing was deliberate, not instinctual or automatic. My brain had reasoned out the pushing process.

Dan and the nurse both cheered me on-- “She's coming! She's coming! You're doing great!”

Then-- “One more push! One more! And... stop!”

The doctor caught the baby's head and guided her shoulders out, one by one.

“Stimulate the baby!” I heard him say. And then my baby girl was crying.

At that moment, I no longer cared about anything else in the world. I didn't care about the doctor or the interns or the nurse at my side. I didn't care about tearing (first-degree) or stitches (multiple) or the disregarded scrap of paper that had once been my all-important "BIRTH PLAN."

I was in awe. I have never, in my life, been more proud of myself. Or more enraptured with another human being.

I laughed when I saw my little baby and when they put her on my chest.

“Hey little conehead,” I said. “Hi, Lua Claire.”

And, just like that, it was over. I had gone from induction to birth in less than 12 hours. I'd pushed for less than five minutes. And now I had my baby girl.

The Aftermath

Despite measuring small throughout my pregnancy, Lua weighed a healthy 6 lbs, 2 oz at birth. She received a 9 and 10 on her 1 and 5 minute APGAR tests, and breastfed immediately. She was (and is) beautiful and wonderful.

As for me, I had a great recovery.  The epidural wore off slowly over the next two hours, at which point I stood up (with shaking baby-deer legs) and hobbled to the shower.  I felt... fine, actually.  Better than I'd ever expected. 

The next 24 hours were a blur.  We moved to a recovery room, where we were visited every two hours by every doctor, nurse, and intern in the darn hospital.  I took two Tylenol and cuddled my new baby, who slept and blinked and mewed and fed.  It was a blurry and confusing time-- full of worry and new questions-- but probably the happiest day of my entire life.

We were discharged on Saturday, just one day after the birth.  Lua Claire looked so tiny in her carrier-- an impossibly tiny and functional human.  

"I can't believe how easy that was," I said to Dan. "Let's have another one."

I was in awe of the human body. I was in awe of my new little girl. Dan was in awe of me.

And, just like that, we were a family of three.

Lisa, Dan, and Lua