Several days ago, my sister-in-law asked me this question: “What is one thing you know now that you didn’t know before?” At first, I wasn’t sure what to say, but after thinking it over for a few days, I think my answer would be this: I now know that giving birth is one of the most empowering and ennobling things that I will ever do in my entire life.
After a smooth and relatively uneventful pregnancy, the last few weeks before Charlotte was born kept my emotions on a constant roller-coaster ride. As my “due date” approached, I was almost giddy with anticipation, hoping that she would come sometime during that week since Mitch had time off before starting his new job. I had the hospital bags all packed, the freezer stocked, and the bassinet ready and awaiting baby’s arrival. But as the day came and passed, and the week finished up with no sign of baby, I attempted to resign myself to patience and keep busy finishing projects and going on walks with Mitch. I simply figured that when she was ready to come, she would come (though it wasn’t always easy to keep this mindset in the midst of daily calls from friends and family wondering if I was in labor and the looks of pity from the nurse attendants at the clinic).
Two more weeks passed. The clinic had me come in every other day to measure the amniotic fluid amounts and do non-stress tests. Everything always looked great—I think the baby knew when she was on the NST, because she would always pass with flying colors, usually after the first five minutes of the 20 minute testing period! The check-ups were a bit overkill, I thought, but luckily I was blessed to have a midwife who was pretty laid back and supportive of my plans to go into labor naturally and have an intervention-free birth. So at these visits she didn’t pressure me to be induced. But when it looked like I was coming up on 42 weeks, she did go ahead schedule me to be induced the following Tuesday. I didn’t feel good about being induced so soon—I kept on thinking, “I just need more time.” So at my appointment on Monday, I expressed my concerns to my midwife: that I felt like my ultrasound due-date was early based on my calculations and I would feel much better if I could have at least until Friday. I was told, basically, that although they couldn’t force me to be induced the next day, they highly discourage patients from going over 42 weeks and if I did so, I would be considered a high-risk patient and would not be able to be attended by a midwife, but rather the on-call doctor. In addition, I would have to come in every single day for monitoring. The doctor who would be on call Friday came in and talked to us as well—I felt so backed into a corner. Words like “intra-uterine death” were being thrown around and I felt like my hands were tied. Do I wait to get induced and hope baby comes before then? But what if she doesn’t? Then I would much rather have my midwife with me as she would likely be much more willing to work with me and let me negotiate the terms of the induction and help me to try to still deliver without an epidural and so forth. Is it worth dealing with all the stress and grief from the clinic to have a few more days during which there is no guarantee labor will begin? I didn’t know what to do.
I told my midwife I would decide that night. She asked me if I wanted my membranes swept and I decided to go ahead and do it since I was 3cm and 100% effaced and my options were quickly running dry. I had declined in previous visits because I heard it was quite painful and not a very reliable method. Gratefully, it didn’t hurt at all—but I wasn’t very optimistic that it would make any difference.
While we were already out, we decided to run over to Costco to pick up some groceries, JoAnne’s to get some rings for the sling that I had been working on that morning, and Target to buy a baby book. I was having some contractions, but paid them no attention because in the past anytime I had been checked by my midwife I had had sporadic contractions throughout the day.
That evening I was really emotional. I still felt worried and nervous about how everything was going to pan out. Amidst my tears, I eventually decided I would head in to be induced the next morning. After scriptures and prayers, I laid in the dark thinking about the next day. I had spent so much of my pregnancy planning, mentally preparing for, and visualizing a scenario that was quite different than what I would be experiencing the next morning and because of that, I felt almost completely unprepared. How will I deal with the Pitocin-induced contractions? Will I be able to cope effectively while being continuously hooked up to the monitor and IV? What if this leads to a C-section? But I had made the decision, feeling that it was the best of my options, and so I instead focused on accepting, having a positive attitude, and mentally tying up loose ends. I decided the next morning I would finish off the rest of the peanut butter cookie dough and take the cookies to the hospital for the nurses and Mitch to enjoy, finish sewing the sling, and tidy up the house before it was time to head over to the hospital.
About an hour had passed since we’d laid down for bed, and I couldn’t fall asleep. I noticed that I was having contractions, but I figured my restlessness was due to anxiety rather than the contractions. So I got up and dished myself up a bowl of “Death by Chocolate” ice cream (figuring I could use the comfort) and sat down to play Solitaire on the laptop. Surprisingly, the contractions didn’t die down, but started coming on stronger. When a contraction would begin, I would hop off the couch (it was much more uncomfortable to be sitting down) and move through it. Then I would sit back down, eat a bite of ice cream, and attempt to actually win a game (no luck there). I began looking down at the computer clock with the start of each contraction to keep a loose mental record of their timing. After an hour, they seemed to be coming about 4 minutes apart and lasting for around 60 seconds or more. I also had to crawl on the floor during the contractions for relief. I decided to wake Mitch up.
Of course, though, the one item that every single book places at the top of the “things to bring to the hospital” list, we didn’t have: a watch with a seconds hand. So I pulled out a stop watch from my past running days and Mitch, bleary-eyed, tried to wake up and figure out how the stop watch worked, while I crawled around on the floor during contractions and brushed my teeth, braided my hair, thought about how I didn’t have makeup on, and tried to find some comfortable clothes to wear during the breaks. We timed the contractions for about a half hour and when they were coming every 3-4 minutes we decided we should probably head into the hospital. The contractions kept picking up though, and at one point were 2-3 minutes apart. I remember getting a bit nervous at this point as Mitch was still scrounging through the cupboards to grab some snacks to get us through the night. I anxiously called out to him, “Honey, I think we’d really better go!”
I wasn’t looking forward to the car ride, since I knew that I’d have to be sitting down through several contractions. I remember thinking how dark and late it felt (even though it was only 10:30 or so) and looking over at Mitch holding the stop watch in one hand and driving with the other as I squirmed through the contractions. Gravity and movement must have been speeding my contractions along, because once we got in the car, they slowed down to 4 minutes apart. I started to feel a little foolish (especially since I had always said I would like to do a majority of the laboring at home) and hoped that I wasn’t being an over-reactive first-timer.
Since it was after-hours we had to go through the emergency room entrance. I remember the lady saying to Mitch, “You need a pass sir, but she doesn’t…she’s having a baby!” and thinking, “Wow, I guess I am!” We then headed over to the maternity triage desk where the receptionists kind of stared at us and asked, “What can we help you with?” (I’m thinking…isn’t it obvious?) and Mitch replied with a laugh, “Well, we’re here to have a baby!” So of course, they began asking a bunch of questions: “Date of birth? Midwife/Doctor’s name?...” After a few minutes another contraction began, and I thought to myself, “Bag it!” so I just walked over to the waiting area and left Mitch to finish answering the questions.
We then were taken to one of the triage rooms. At this point, Mitch pulled out my birth plan. I had almost forgotten about it, so I am very grateful he remembered to do so. That way the nurses were able to read it over and know what was important to me (especially since I wasn’t thinking that clearly and would have had a hard time remembering what points I particularly wanted them to be aware of). The nurse then checked me (but also put me on the monitor which meant I was lying down…ugh!) and told me I was at a 5 ½ said “You are going to have a baby tonight!” in a surprised voice. Mitch told me later (I had forgotten) that I turned to him at this point and said, “Do you believe me now?” Poor Mitch! Apparently, I must have been feeling a little insecure!
I then had to finish up the allotted monitoring and when it was done gratefully got up and headed over to the labor/delivery room. My contractions were getting more intense, but not unbearable. I still liked being on the floor during them, usually kneeling and rocking back and forth, sometimes with my head resting on the couch, other times on all fours, while Mitch rubbed my lower back. I think this made the nurses uncomfortable because both the head nurse and the nurse who would be staying with me through the whole delivery (Vickie) said things like, “Do you want to get up on the bed? Or we can get some pillows? That floor is going to be hard on your knees!” I just thought to myself, “I have young knees…they’ll be fine!” and basically ignored their well-intended advice. I was coping well my way and figured I’d keep it up until it didn’t work anymore. They did pull out a birth ball and I tried it out—unfortunately no go! So I went back to kneeling.
After two attempts, the nurses were able to put in my hep-lock (basically they put in the IV needle without actually hooking it up to the line, so that in case of an emergency there would be a vein already open for medication, blood transfusion, etc. ) and Mitch asked me if I wanted to get in the shower. Again, I was so focused on focusing that I wasn’t really able to think about much else and I am grateful that he made the suggestion. Never having been in labor before, I wasn’t sure what would work best for me, I just knew that I wanted to have all my options open and be able to move and labor freely around the room (hence not wanting to be hooked up to the IV). I am so glad I did because the shower was amazing!
I’m not certain whether it was the constant feel of the water on my back, the heat, the sound or a combination of all of them that made the shower so helpful to me; I just know that it worked! I felt so relaxed in the shower and was able to really tune in and work through the contractions. I would sit on the chair during the resting periods and then stand up and either sway back and forth or squat slowly up and down (or a combo of both) while holding onto the shower bars. I vocalized a fair amount during this time, but not very loudly. Mitch told me later that because of the room acoustics, he would hear “Hmmmmmmm”-type noises echoing through the room. Every so often, I would call out to Mitch and he would come in the room and hand me the water bottle. Drinking water was also very helpful throughout the entire labor. I found that I didn’t have to force myself at all to stay hydrated, but I really wanted the liquid. It felt so nice to take periodic drinks and cool off my throat and re-energize.
During the time in the shower, I felt so at peace despite the pain. I think at this point it finally hit me that I was really truly in labor and that it had happened without having to be induced. The thought kept coming to my mind which I repeated to myself over and over, “God is faithful…God is so faithful.” I felt so strengthened knowing that this birth was in His hands and that I was being so watched over. I thought about the Savior and how He had endured every pain, which meant He had experienced the pain that I was feeling, and knew that I was not alone. All these thoughts swirling around in my head brought me a lot of comfort and strength—I knew that I could do this. And when I would get to the point where I thought I couldn’t do it, I would call out to Mitch and he would remind me that I could do it. And then I would remember everything I had been thinking and know that he was right and that I would get all the help I needed.
At some point, the shower stopped being as effective (I was getting a little overheated and the air was too thick), so I got out and sat on some towels on the floor. Mitch rubbed my lower back and I knelt and swayed forward and back during contractions. I did this until Vickie let me know it was time to go on the monitor again. Oh boy! She also checked me—I had progressed to 8 cm.
Of course, being on the monitor was very uncomfortable, but Vickie let me know that I could get up and try and move as much as the length of the cords would allow me. This helped a lot, since I didn’t have to lie on my back. I spent a lot of this time kneeling on the bed with my face resting on the pillows. At one point, we could hear a lady screaming really loudly and being quite dramatic. Vickie quickly rushed out to see if they needed any help, and I just thought to myself, “Man, that’s annoying!” I also remember making an attempt to crack a joke, I’m not certain exactly when, perhaps after Vickie checked my progress. “I guess this means it’s too late to get an epidural, huh?” Vickie quickly replied, “Oh it’s not. If you want one, we can get it for you!” I let out a little laugh and Mitch explained that I was just kidding!
Everything starts to blur together in my memory at this point. I began to vocalize a lot more during contractions making loud “Ahhhhhh!” noises, almost to the point where it sounded like I was singing a long note. The contractions were coming so close together I hardly had a chance to rest. And even during the resting times, I still was in quite a bit of discomfort, which I hadn’t expected. I thought that the pain would dissipate more, but instead, it just lessened a small amount in intensity. So I was getting pretty tired and sometimes would start to get panicky: “I can’t do it!” But Mitch was always there to cheer me on, “Yes you can! You’re doing so good—so good honey!” and “Breathe, take a deep breath! You’ve got it!”
The on-call doctor (the irony of the situation was that my midwife wouldn’t be in until morning, so I ended up having a doctor anyways!) had periodically been coming in to see how I was doing, but didn’t say much and usually didn’t stay for very long. I remember being taken off guard because for the longest time he was still wearing a suit! This time though, he came in and checked me and found that I was 9cm. My water still hadn’t broken and he wanted to break it for me. I wasn’t very cognizant at this point, so my first reaction was, “No, just let it break on its own.” Mitch reassured me that since I was already 9cm, it would probably be a good idea to help the baby finish dropping. I consented and the doctor broke my water. I felt a gush of fluid and heard a big cheer from Vickie, “Hooray! The water’s clear!” I guess they had been concerned that there would be meconium in the fluid since I was almost 2 weeks “overdue.”
I have no idea how much time passed before I finished dilating. I do know that the contractions seemed to be coming almost with no breaks and that they were lasting for a long time. I also remember getting really annoyed at being hooked to the monitor at this point, because I was sure my allotted time had passed. I asked Vickie why I was still being monitored and she told me that once my water was broken, I had to be continuously monitored. This bugged me and I thought, “Well, if they had told me that, I might not have agreed to have my water broken!” But I just did my best to deal with the annoyance—although I did have a hard time concentrating through the contractions when the heartbeat monitor would bump against me or get in my way.
Eventually, I was fully dilated and Vickie told me to let her know when I felt the urge to push. I did feel rectal pressure, but no urge to push. Vickie told me to get up on the bed to push, but I didn’t want to. I mentioned wanting to have gravity on my side. But Vickie was fairly insistent that it would work best with me in the bed. I decided to try it my way, having done enough research to know what I was talking about. So I stood squatting next to the bed, but felt somewhat frustrated—still no urge. Vickie encouraged me to grunt through the contractions, saying that sometimes that helps, so I began grunting and semi-pushing. Sometimes I would forget, and Mitch was really cute reminding me to “Grunt honey!” and would even do it along with me. After doing this for awhile, my legs were pretty tired and shaky and I didn’t feel like I was making much progress. In addition, I wasn’t getting much support from anyone besides Mitch. My doctor, Mitch later told me, when he came in and saw me pushing upright, didn’t seem too pleased. He has been delivering babies for30 years and so is pretty old-school in his approach (in fact, I think he is the same doctor who delivered my little sister 20 years ago!).
After some encouragement from Vickie, I agreed to try pushing on the bed. Once I was situated, both she and the doctor began to give me a lot more support and attention. I hadn’t wanted anyone but Mitch up until this point, because coping with labor had felt very instinctual to me. But this was different. I didn’t feel the urge to push, and because of that, I didn’t know what to do! So although I did not like being on the bed, felt somewhat coerced, and knew that it was the less-than-optimal way to push out a baby, I just thought, “I would like to do this differently, but I don’t feel like I can on my own—I need their help, and this is the way they know how to help me. My mom pushed out 6 babies on her back, my sister pushed out her baby on her back…I can push out this baby on my back too.”
The next two and a half hours consisted of the most difficult, exhausting, and nearly-overwhelming work that I have ever experienced. Vickie told me to wait till the contractions were at their peak and then to push. Both she and Mitch held my legs, Mitch held my neck to help me into the “crunches” position, and Mitch counted to 10. Although the pushing relieved the pain of the contractions, it brought on its own pain, so it wasn’t the relief for me that some women experience during the pushing stage. Rather, this was the first time that I thought about how nice it would be to have some pain relief. I was so tired. My legs were shaking uncontrollably. Every push seemed futile. So many times I thought to myself, “This will never end—I am never going to be able to push this baby out!” Even when Mitch, Vickie, and my doctor would cheer me on after a “good push,” it was hard for me to believe them. But I just kept on pushing anyways.
A few times during the pushing, Vickie and the doctor both left the room, leaving Mitch to help me on his own. That always made it harder on both of us and I never pushed as well when it was just Mitch and I. The majority of the time, however, Vickie was there and every so often the doctor would come in. Afterwards, when Mitch and I were discussing the labor, he mentioned how I always pushed better when the doctor was there. I laughed and asked him if he knew why. I told him the reason I always pushed better was because the doctor would stretch my perineum and who knows what else and it always made me hurt even more—I felt like he was being really rough and that made me mad. Luckily, though, that anger then translated into better pushing!
Finally, we were starting to get somewhere and I heard exclamations of, “Wow! Look at that hair! She’s got head full of hair!!!” It was encouraging to know that we were getting closer, but it was still hard for me not to think about how tired I was. Vickie was explaining to Mitch how the baby needed to get around the pelvic bone and that her head was getting kind of stuck and was bumping up against it every time I pushed. I thought, “Yeah, that’s because I’m lying down!” Mitch, as throughout the entire night, was so encouraging. And Vickie and the doctor were cheering me on too (well, cheering might not be the right word to describe the doctor…he is a small man of very few words with a heavy Asian accent…so while he didn’t cheer, he would very firmly say, “Good push! Good push! Another!”). When the doctor changed into his scrubs and wheeled in a table with supplies, I vaguely realized that the baby must be close. Vickie warned me that I would be feeling the “Ring of Fire” very soon. Time was running together and it was all I could do to make it through each set of pushes. But when I heard the doctor mention that he would need to do an episiotomy, I came back to reality pretty quickly. “No, I don’t want one!” I weakly asserted. Luckily, Mitch was there once again to back me up (and Vickie was supportive as well).Mitch told the doctor I didn’t want to be cut. The doctor said I would tear and Mitch reaffirmed that I would prefer that to an episiotomy. I breathed a sigh of relief when I could tell that the doctor wasn’t going to push the issue, but would respect my wishes.
I started pushing through another contraction and everyone started shouting encouragement to me and telling me to keep on pushing and keep on pushing. It was almost as if my mind was removed from what was happening because I remember hearing myself screaming bloody murder for the last several minutes. I could feel the doctor stretching the tissue to help the baby’s head come out and a lot of other unidentifiable pain. It was so intense that all I could do was simply scream, almost without realizing that was what I was doing. And then, all the intensity subsided and I saw a pale little body being held up and passed over to the nurses. Meconium had been coming out while I was pushing, so the doctor had called in the NICU to make sure that everything was fine. So the NICU team took care of the baby, cleaning out her mouth so she wouldn’t inhale any of the meconium, while Mitch ran to pull out the camera (which he had a hard time finding and an even harder time finding the batteries) and snap pictures, and the doctor helped me push out the placenta and then stitched me up. I also apologized to everyone for screaming.
If anyone had asked me ahead of time, I would have been upset at the thought of not being able to hold the baby immediately. But, as it turned out, I was so exhausted and then really nervous about birthing the placenta and the stitches (silly, right? I just pushed out a baby!) that it took almost my full attention to focus on getting through that. Vickie was so sweet and let me squeeze her hand so tight. I feel very lucky to have had her, especially at the end. Afterward, the doctor came over and patted me on the shoulder saying, "You're a tough girl!" I was touched by the compliment and could tell it meant a lot coming from him. Even though I wasn't able to have my midwife and I wouldn't have chosen this doctor on my own, in the end, he did a really good job delivering the baby and I think because of all his help getting the baby's head out, really helped to minimize my tearing (I only had one minor tear), for which I am really grateful.
And then, almost before I knew it, one of the nurses brought over the baby and placed her in my arms. I took one look down at her beautiful little face looking up at me and I broke into tears. I had worked so hard to get her here—and in an instant, every second became so worth it! All the commotion going on in the room seemed to fade away, and I just gazed down at her and my heart was burning with joy and the tears were streaming down my face. I couldn’t believe she was here. My daughter who I had been waiting to meet this past 9 months was here! And she was so perfect.
Mitch came and knelt down next to the bed and asked, “So, what do you think? Is she a Charlotte or a Mia?” “I think…Charlotte…do you?” “Yes. I do.” I looked down at the tiny face looking up at me, “Hello Charlotte Madelyn. I love you!”
After 10 hours of labor, two and a half of which were active pushing, Charlotte Madelyn was born on October 12, 2010 at 7:12 in the morning, about two hours before my scheduled induction. She weighed in at 7lbs 13 oz and 20 inches. It was one of the most wonderful moments of my entire life, having this sweet spirit come into the world and join our family. Labor was hard and intense, but at the same time, such an incredible experience; one which I wouldn’t trade for anything. Birth is truly a miracle—the entire process from the moment of conception to the moment of delivery bears witness of a higher power—and I feel so honored to have been able to take part in it. It couldn't be more true that God is faithful…God is so faithful.
Charlotte and I after having met for the first time.
Proud father--and most amazing birth support. I couldn't have done it without him!
Family.
Our precious Charlotte Madelyn just minutes old.
