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brainsinmyheadfeetinmyshoes · 7 years

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Celia’s Birth Story.

Welcome, Celia Fe! Born 08.05.17, surprising everyone 23 days before her due date.

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At my 36wk mark on Monday, I had a funny inkling that the baby would be here soon. I called to make a hair appointment and thought, "Wouldn't it be ironic if she's born before then?" The inkling kept tickling my mind and emotions and I wrote it off as a sense of preparedness. I was prepared for labor and delivery, and it was just me, ready to get to the other side.

By Wednesday, the inkling grew frenetic. I just KNEW she would be here soon. I was filled with strange new energy to get ready, quick. Pack the hospital bag. Take maternity photos with the boys NOW because the weekend might be too late. Get out the carseat and wash the cover. Just totally overwhelmed by this sense that she was coming SOON. And after I ate a hearty yogurt-apple salad at 3pm, I wasn't hungry again. Strange, I'm always hungry...

At 7pm, I tweaked an abdominal muscle somehow. It felt like the baby kicked or elbowed me and it triggered a sharp round ligament pain... except the pain spread to the other side, and lasted for hours. I couldn't roll over in bed or walk to the bathroom without assistance. After five hours, I phoned Labor and Delivery and they suggested I come in for monitoring. The jostling car ride over was terrrrrrible, but it was kind of nice to have a practice run since we hadn't delivered at this hospital before.

They kept us in triage for about six hours, then sent us home. Contractions started while there, and were regular, but I only dilated 1cm. The doctor credits the abdominal pain to carrying very low with very weak muscles. She said she could tell that the musculature was stretched thin because she could see baby's movements clearly without even palpating. She recommended a support belt, even if I only used it a few days, and sent me to labor at home.

We got home soon after 8am Thursday, and I proceeded to sleep most of the day while Erik took on the boys. I had the genius idea to try using our jersey-knit-fabric baby carrier to help support my belly once I dared to stand up and it made a huge difference. I had found a pelvic tuck-and-lift exercise that I intended to try anyway with my low belly, so this made it very easy to do. It entails manually lifting the belly during a contraction while tucking the pelvis in and bending the knees, for ten consecutive contractions. This presumably gets baby over the pubic bone and into the pelvic cavity, also coercing her to rotate into an optimal position if necessary. Contractions had continued most of the day at regular intervals and were around 5min apart at this point, so it was a straightforward activity. I think ultimately, it worked magic, because my pain went from a 7-8 at the hospital, to a 5 late Thursday, and ultimately, was nonexistent when active labor began. My belly felt and appeared higher than it had been as well, reducing that abdominal strain, with much less overhang over my pubic bone and a much more heartburny, cut-off-air-supply feeling at my breastbone.

Thursday night, contractions all but disappeared, so everyone got pretty solid sleep. Friday, I craved oatmeal for breakfast, despite it being an unfriendly gestational diabetic breakfast, but I needn't have worried about that--my appetite remained nearly nonexistent. It was extremely hard to choke down food these two days, made worse by the guilt that I should keep my energy up for active labor. I learned that I was likely experiencing "prodromal labor," which is essentially when early labor comes in fits and starts. It features very real contractions, at regular intervals, with real pain, that are productive at effacing and dilating the cervix, but never seem to amount to much. It can last up to a month before active labor begins. After a quiet morning, mine started up again in the afternoon at 15min apart, then progressed to 10min apart, and disappeared at bedtime. I resigned myself to this pattern for days on end. On the one hand, prodromal labor often shortens active labor which is nice, and gives you a chance to practice relaxation and breathing techniques, but on the other, it's total crap for morale and is physically taxing. Plus, who wants to be in limbo?! Either baby is coming or she's not...!

Around 1am Saturday, an extra hard, long contraction woke me up, and it was followed by three more before I finally got out the timer. They were between 60-90 seconds long, every 5-6 minutes. (Everything prior had been a minute or less long, with less intensity.) I got up to shower and move around, figuring they would stop if it was more prodromal labor. But they didn't. So then I thought, maybe they'll stop when I lay back down. But they didn't. After a few that required serious concentration, I was ready to hit the hospital. I could only take so much solo. Our sweet neighbor came over at 3:30am to stay with the boys, and off we went, with contractions every 3-4min.

I was admitted at 4:15am, at about 4cm dilated. I had been waffling about an epidural--I had one with Lucian, with a bad experience, and had no choice but to skip it with Lionel. So having a choice now was tough. The thought of getting hooked up to an IV, waiting for labs to come back, talk with the anesthesiologist, sit very still while they hooked it up to my back, the chance that I would be a passive agent at delivery... the hassle hardly seemed worth the (sheer bliss of) numbness. On the other hand, being a hero for hours upon hours as I slooooowly dilated was not something I had the morale to do. So a rock and a hard place. I got the IV drip just in case (extra fluids never hurt), but the conversation pretty much ended after that, because things moved quickly, thank heavens.

Within an hour I was at 6cm, which is rapid progress. It was the same every contraction: Erik would put his hands on my shoulders and apply pressure, and I begged him to give me a pep talk (even though I hate pep talks and he hates giving pep talks and also, he sucks at giving pep talks), while I inhaled, then moaned deeply, 5-8 times. Breathing was the thing I did poorly with Lionel and I didn't want to make the same mistake this time. The very sweet nurse, who stayed with us the whole time, constantly said, "Good job, you're doing great" about my breathing. At some point, I told her, "Tell me I'm one of the best you've ever seen," (Again, seeking that pep talky validation, haha) and she said, "You're really doing everything so well! Your Blah-Blah Breathing Technique is perfect. Do you do yoga?" And I almost laughed, because me, do yoga? Maybe four times in my life. I suck at breathing, that's why I DON'T do yoga. Ha! But maybe this will initiate me to a yoga practice since I apparently am capable of being a pro breather.

I had the urge to pee around this point, but the act of squatting on the toilet squared up the pressure way too much, so my grand plans of walking and moving during labor went right out the window then, and I just stayed in the bed. But it was really great to feel like that was 100% my choice, which was not an autonomy I felt I had with Lucian and Lionel.

Things got pretty dire at 7.5-8cm. It was totally textbook. That's when women tend to want to give up. To think they can't do it. They really need to gather themselves between contractions so aren't chatty or cheerful. The sounds of labor follow a certain pitch and scale. But damn, it was really hard. During the car ride, I had explained to Erik that the pain during a contraction was like changing gears in a car, with identifiable levels requiring deep breathes, then faster deep breathes, then a low moan with each breathe, then a louder moan, etc. You can physically feel the uterus kind of inch upward, like drawing up a curtain, bunching at the top to dilate at the bottom. Each time it bunches, the pain amps up. And from 8-10cm, that curtain was totally being yanked into place within me. And I couldn't find the corresponding response, since I was already moaning and groaning up a storm and had nowhere else to go. Especially when the urge to push kicked in, when it felt like my uterus was squeezing so tightly, I had no choice but to join it.

The one thing that got me through that last 10 minutes before pushing was a cherry popsicle. I was drenched in sweat, and couldn't open my eyes, and the contractions came every 1min, and I was so tired and just wanted to rest, and the thought of that icy sweet relief got me through each contraction because I couldn't wait for another taste. It was a perfect gift.

The team assembled quickly as I escalated. My waters hadn't ruptured throughout ALL of this, and I felt enormous pressure. I just wanted to push, if only to force that pressure away. Two residents managed the delivery and through my last 1-3 contractions as I begged them to let me push, they said they wanted to wait for the attending physician. F*** that, man. I know there are protocols that they need to follow, but I feel like they had enough notice to get themselves organized. I recall mention of baby's heart rate slowing down and I think that was the main motivator for them to let me push. Apparently the attending physician WAS present, but I never registered her entrance. They poked that amniotic sac, and oh, the relief as the clear fluid poured out. Only not. I recall pushing being a welcomed reprieve from contractions with Lionel, something I bore cheerfully, but I wanted this baby OUT. I didn't pay any attention to riding the waves or pausing between contractions, I just inhaled and pushed, inhaled and pushed. Erik thinks it lasted for three contractions. I think it was for maybe 6-8 counts of 10, which didn't necessarily correspond with contractions. Who cares. At some point I was positive her head was out, but when I asked, they said she was only just crowning. Which made me push harder, damn it.

Within probably five minutes though, she slithered out, 1hr 45min after I set foot in the delivery room, and they put her right on me. She gurgled and cried right away so the neonatal team didn't have to sweep her off, though they did assess her right away and she passed with flying colors. Delivering the placenta, an unpleasant memory from my other two births entailing much unceremonious yanking of the umbilical cord, was no big deal this time, requiring only two small pushes. As they rinsed me off, someone (maybe it was the attending physician) said, "Does it make it better to know you had zero tearing?!" So no stitches for me. A nice reward I suppose, though things are so messed up from the waist down postpartum, it doesn't seem like such a huge perk. Maybe I'll be grateful in a few days, when the swelling has gone down and I'm not using sitz baths. I don't know. Tearing was never one of my big hangups.

They brought her right back for skin to skin contact. She was so peaceful, though alert, and had no trouble starting to nurse. In fact, she's a champ breastfeeder with a hearty appetite and thank goodness--they have to check her blood sugar at least six times, and get good readings before we're discharged because of the gestational diabetes. But go me for managing my sugar well enough for her not to tank. Also, because she's considered preterm (by only two days but still), all the usual concerns about weight gain and jaundice are especially heightened. Despite being only 5lb 15oz, all the medical staff assess her to be very healthy, appearing more advanced than her gestational age. So it was just time for baby girl to come out!

Erik says he was really impressed by me throughout. I seemed calm and in control, did a great job breathing, managed the pain well, and did everything like a champ. It feels good to hear, of course. But despite having that same sense myself--I knew what was going on and what to do this third time around--coming out of labor and delivery, all I've felt is relief, with a slight tinge of negativity. It was a hard battle won. Such a hard battle. The pregnancy wore on me. The gestational diabetes wore on me. The prodromal labor and abdominal pain wore on me. So my feelings of, "Whoa, that was really something, can I try it again and do better?" after Lucian, and "Whoa, I delivered a baby in an hour with no epidural, I'm a rockstar!" after Lionel, are in sharp contrast to a feeling of not wanting to do this again for a long, long time. If ever.

Another way I know labor impacted me differently this time, is that when they gave me Pitocin to control the bleeding immediately after delivery, each tiny little cramp I felt entered my psyche as, "Oh God no, not another contraction," and I braced myself. It took quite awhile to mentally accept that it was over. So it caused a little emotional trauma I think.

Finally, I was so excited to write out Lucian and Lionel's birth stories. It was cathartic. A processing mechanism. Something I had to do before I could get any sleep. This time, while I've still written all this out in less than 12 hours following her birth, it came from a place of, "I guess I gotta document this one too," despite the strong desire to just leave it in my memory. Perhaps that means I did a proper job of emotionally processing in the moment. Or perhaps I'm just so bone-weary from these hard years of childbirth and child-rearing, it feels like an excessive mental exercise. Regardless, I've written the thing now, and I know I won't regret it!

Erik is bringing the boys now with cupcakes to celebrate Celia's birthday. I can't wait for them to meet her. And I can't wait to eat a cupcake.

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