Birth story - emotional and long

[tacom]

TLDR; had a super easy labor until I didn’t. Unplanned cesarean. Dark place. Much much better now.

—————

At 38&6 I had my first cervical check and requested to have my membranes swept. I was 1cm, 50% effaced and -2 and the sweep went smoothly. “I give you a 50/50 shot of you going into labor!” my nurse practitioner said excitedly. I told her the baby was very comfortable and I’d be pregnant for two more weeks. I went home, dry pumped, bounced on my exercise ball, and made plans for the long Labor Day weekend with my husband. A few minutes after laying down for the night, I felt a small pop with a gush and ran to the bathroom to confirm that it was baby time!

My husband packed his bags and took the dogs out, while I portioned their meds and meals and searched for a dog sitter on rover who was available on a holiday weekend with no notice. By 9:30pm, we made it to triage. I was having regular contractions, 5 min apart, but not feeling much. I had not progressed since my afternoon appointment that day; however, the resident OB agreed to let me labor naturally initially, with a repeat check at 2am and possible Pitocin then to augment labor.

Around 11:30pm, the nurse came into my room to notify me that my contractions were more irregular and the doctors recommended we start a low dose of pit now. I agreed and also asked for Benadryl to try and sleep through early labor; however, once the Pitocin started, the pain intensified fairly quickly. I tried bouncing on the labor ball, walking, and changing positions without success and requested IV medications. These made me instantly feel loopy and sedated but did little to manage the pain of contractions. My nurse also brought in nitrous oxide, which did exactly nothing. My husband and I labored through the night together, trying to conserve our energy as things seemed to be moving quite slowly; I wanted to progress as much as possible before requesting an epidural and remaining bed-bound thereafter. By 6am, I was only 3cm dilated, exhausted, and ready. After an hour and a half, the anesthesia team appeared and I got my sweet, sweet relief. It was also shift change and I met my favorite L&D nurse, Jessica. As soon as the the epidural took effect, I was out like a light. Jessica set me up with a peanut ball to keep my pelvis open and religiously turned me every hour. My husband and I slept on and off throughout the morning and early afternoon, and I continued to enjoy light fluids orally and a few bites of dried mango and my husband’s lunch. I felt great! By 3pm, I was 10cm dilated, 100% effaced and 0 station. I labored down to a +1. Jessica set up the room for baby and excitedly told me she thought I’d deliver before her shift change at 7pm. I played my meditation music and we started pushing around 4pm.

The OBs soon came in to check on progress and, after a manual exam and bedside ultrasound, notified me that they thought his head was positioned in a way that would make pushing difficult (and had already resulted in swelling on his scalp), but they were optimistic I would have a vaginal delivery. I continued to labor with Jessica and my husband, and by 5:45pm, my husband could see our son’s head with each push (and I have a video of his reaction that makes me sob). My epidural continued to provide excellent pain relief and, with time, allowed for increasing mobility of my legs, so we tried using a birthing bar and I eventually was able to labor on all fours and in the squatting position. As the hours went by, I noticed a slight sense of urgency in the tone of communication between providers in the room. First, we passed the 24 hour mark for premature rupture of membranes but I was assured that baby and I were doing well and would be allowed to continue. Then, we drew closer to the four hour mark of pushing and I could feel my energy and trust in the process slowly fade. With the 7pm shift change, I was introduced to a new L&D nurse who took a much more passive approach to labor. While Jessica provided cheerful counting, positive feedback, and touch cues for pushing, my new nurse seemed somewhat of a passive participant. Luckily my husband jumped right in and did his best to imitate Jessica’s work, monitoring my contractions on the screen and coaching me when and how long to push. I considered for a moment dismissing the nurse from our room but decided against unassisted pushing while they reshuffled staff. Each time the OB team came to check on me, my energy and hope replenished. One resident, in particular, was great at providing feedback on pushing and completed several manual rotations to help move baby to a more optimal birthing position. Each time, he would descend during the push only to return to the +1 station he was in prior to our start. The talk began to shift to options - continuing to labor, considering vacuum assistance, or cesarean - and my anxiety mounted. I pushed with every ounce of my being; stripped completely naked with my eyelids swollen shut and my husband standing quietly at my side. After over four hours of pushing, I sobbed and declared that I was done. The OBs returned to talk me through my options. A vacuum could be attempted but was no guarantee for a vaginal delivery and carried its own risk, including a brain bleed for baby. I could continue to labor as I was until baby showed signs of distress, but no one could clearly visualize the end in sight, or if continued labor would ultimately result in an emergent delivery. I could opt for a cesarean, the number one intervention I had been counseled to avoid by maternal fetal medicine. Since before conception, I had my heart set on a vaginal delivery. I had an extensive abdominal and pelvic surgery with scarring throughout. This was my first baby. We want more. More scar tissue = greater risk for complications. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “What is better for the baby, vacuum or c-section?” I asked the attending. “What does your gut tell you?” she asked me. I had no idea. I was scared and exhausted and just wanted to rewind four hours in time. “I don’t have a gut feeling either way about the vacuum,” she explained. “I don’t want to put him through the stress of a vacuum assist if we are going to end up with a cesarean anyways,” I said. And my decision was made. I asked questions - would I need general anesthesia? No. Could we do skin to skin? Yes. Could I pick up and hold my baby afterwards? Yes. Could I drive him to his appointments? Not for several weeks, particularly if I remained on narcotics. Could I see the baby be born? Yes, through a clear drape. Would I be a candidate for a VBAC in the future? Maybe. Depending on what they found. I was asked if they wanted to follow my previous vertical scar or create a new horizontal scar. “Whichever is less invasive,” I replied. The attending paused and put her hand on mine. “You are so strong. You pushed so hard and did such a great job.” Hot tears streamed down my face, and off we went.

My husband and I were separated briefly while the anesthesiologist prepped my epi for surgery. The room was freezing and the lights were so bright - a far cry from my dimly lit L&D room with LED candles and meditation music. I shook uncontrollably on the table. My husband appeared, dressed and prepped for a surgical birth. He stood behind me. I felt intense pressure. They explained they needed to push him back out of my pelvis and I felt like my whole body could burst. I tried to visualize what was happening and to connect to my body and the birth. I waited anxiously for someone to lift the blue curtain, staring straight ahead. And finally, they did. And at 10:25pm, this small pink, wriggly person was lifted from my body. He wailed and I felt a sense of instant relief. My husband shouted out — I can’t even remember what he said — but I remember the joy and disbelief in his voice, and I was so grateful to have him there. I heard the team shout out APGARS - 8 and 9 — and felt relief. “Why did he miss points?” I asked. “Color,” replied the anesthesiologist. “It’s totally normal.” After a few minutes, my husband was invited to cut the cord and hold his son; he walked him over to me and one of the providers helped him position our son on my chest for skin to skin. I was shaking so uncontrollably and afraid to hold him alone, so I asked for her to stay there, and she did. I suddenly didn’t feel ready to be his mama.

I heard the team tell the anesthesiologist to push a drug that sounded unfamiliar to me. “Is that for hemorrhaging?” I asked. He told me it was, but everything was under control. My mind flashed to my own former patients who had sustained severe brain injuries caused by postpartum hemorrhage. I closed my eyes and waited for them to finish.

After several minutes, the surgery was over. I had done well; there were several uterine adhesions from my prior surgery, but each time they tried to clip them, I bled more. They were able to stop the bleeding with a special foam, so I had made it out without needing a transfusion. And baby was well.

I was relieved and ready for sleep. “We have to take you to recovery now,” my nurse explained. “We have to watch you for two hours, and I need to massage your uterus every 15 minutes.” My brand new baby was placed in my arms and I felt like he would slide right off if I didn’t concentrate to stay awake. I asked my husband to hold him. And then the massage began, which immediately sent waves of pain that far exceeded any contraction I had felt. I slowly detached from my body and the experience. I felt broken.

After the massage ended, the nurse disappeared for an extended period. My husband and I sat with our new baby unsure of what would come next. When she reappeared, she explained that the post partum unit could not take me with an epidural in place. And since I had a previous reaction to morphine, no one knew how to control my pain. The epidural was discontinued and I was given a dose of fentanyl, which was minimally effective. “My back is still killing me,” I told my nurse. “It’s because you’re in an uncomfortable position,” she stated, without an offer to attempt
to help with pain relief or assist in repositioning. By 3am, nearly 4.5 hours after the birth of my son, I was finally wheeled to my post partum room. They played a nursery song on the speakers to announce the arrival of a new baby, but all I wanted to do was cry from pain and sadness. I remember nothing else from the night of his birth. My husband tells me the nurses attempted to assist with breast feeding but we couldn’t latch.

The next morning, my daytime nurse introduced herself. “We have to get this pain under control. I have no idea why they have not offered you oxy.” She called anesthesiology and swiftly orchestrated a pain management plan that was far superior to the prior. I could sit or lay without excruciating pain, which meant I could hold my baby and really start to get to know him. I still couldn’t sit upright without shooting pain and standing was unbearable. I could not imagine how I would care for my son, or how my husband would return to work later in the week as planned.

In the days that followed, I began to slowly feel like myself and regain confidence in my ability to care for my baby. Standing became smoother, and then walking and bending to lift. And finally I was ready to shower. I went from feeling like an observer as my husband did it all, to jumping in and washing pump parts after middle of the night feeds. On my final morning, the OB attending came by for daily rounds. I was rolling my IV pole around the room (the hospital was able to give me my remicade infusion as an inpatient so I wouldn’t have to take my four day old to an infusion center) and packing our bags.
We chatted logistics and she reviewed my precautions. “Any questions?” She asked me. “Yes, Can I hug you?” My son was here. He was healthy, and so was I. I didn’t have the birth I originally wanted, but I had the birth he needed. And I was allowed the space and the time to make these decisions without pressure.

He’s now eight days old and eating like a champ. We’ve established breast feeding after a sluggish start with SNS and finger feeds, and the last of his scalp abrasions are fading away. His bruises are gone. And I’m a mom.

[anelms]

Thank you so much for sharing your story. Your guy is adorable and I wish you all the best in snuggling that sweet boy.

[johnlennonfan]

Your baby is so cute! Congratulations!

[cactuscookie]

Wow. You are amazing and your son is adorable. Congratulations!

[pooh8402]

Congratulations! He is adorable!

My heart broke reading your story. I'm sorry you didn't have the birth you wanted. However, I am happy that you are both healthy!

[MrsE]

Congratulations! Thank you for sharing your story. Happy to hear you are both healthy and well. Sending speedy recovery vibes your way.

[lauren170]

Congrats! He’s adorable. The pain issues sounded really rough. I’m glad they finally gave you something that worked.

[ivy]

Oh, tacom. That’s for sharing. I teared up while reading this. Difficult births and those first few days of figuring things out are so, so hard. You are so strong 💙

[sarapocalypse]

Congratulations!! Thank you for sharing! Sorry you didn’t have the experience you wanted, but glad you were able to get to a better place about it. He is so adorable!

[sarapocalypse]

Sept 8, 2018 20:23:46 GMT -5 tacom said:

I didn’t have the birth I originally wanted, but I had the birth he needed.

And thank you for this sentence right here. This will become my mantra as I continue to work through my own birth experience.

[tacom]

Sept 9, 2018 13:36:31 GMT -5 sarapocalypse said:

Sept 8, 2018 20:23:46 GMT -5 tacom said:

I didn’t have the birth I originally wanted, but I had the birth he needed.

And thank you for this sentence right here. This will become my mantra as I continue to work through my own birth experience.

❤️

[lessel]

He’s gorgeous and you’re a super-woman. Congrats!

[cherryvalance]

Congratulations! He is absolutely precious!

[tacom]

Thank you all ❤️❤️ it felt so good to get it out.

[jennistarr1]

I posted similar feelings about my c-section. I saw a something sometime (helpful right) about csection moms and it called us "brave"...that made me feel a tons better that someone recognized what an emotional thing I had gone through.

[katespade]

Congratulations!!! I'm so sorry that you had to go through all of that, but I'm also so glad that you're both okay and doing well now.

[tacom]

Sept 10, 2018 8:00:59 GMT -5 jennistarr1 said:

I posted similar feelings about my c-section. I saw a something sometime (helpful right) about csection moms and it called us "brave"...that made me feel a tons better that someone recognized what an emotional thing I had gone through.

I truly did not understand until I lived it, and it’s so so special to have those feelings validated by other women who have been there.

[thom]

What an exhausting, emotional journey. You write well and it's so brave of you to share your feelings and story. Congratulations on your amazing little son! I hope your recovery continues as smooth as possible and you have the support you need. You truly are a strong mama. ♥️

[lovesherheels]

Thank you for sharing your story! I have tears in my eyes from reading this.

You are superwoman. <3 And an amazing writer.