Helena’s Birth Story

Sept 21, 2010

Around noon, I was putting away the dishes in the dishwasher, debating whether to have fish sticks or a Kaho-smuggled box of Annie’s Mac and Cheese or (more likely) both of them, for lunch. I felt er… uhm… some leakage. I went into the bathroom thinking it was probably just the end days of my bladder control, but instead there was some very watery blood in my undies.

I proceeded to place a calm and intelligible call to my midwife — something along the lines of “BLOOD! THERE’S BLOOD!” She told me that it was probably just an artifact of my check-up the day before, but she was on duty at the hospital anyway, so if I wanted, I could come by and she would just check. A bit calmer, I  called HG and told him about the situation but told him to stay at work. I felt fine and I would call him when I knew more. Then I caught the subway to the clinic.* (*We don’t have a car, and when I was talking to my parents that weekend, I had complained to them that everyone kept asking how we were going to get to the hospital. “What, like I’d take the subway to the hospital?” I quipped. But apparently yes, I would end up taking the subway to my birthing day.)

At the hospital, my midwife managed to calm me down, took one look at my undies and said it was just something from having my cervix examined the day before and managed to be very professional in her ability to suppress any desire to give a “neurotic first-time mom” eye-roll. However since we did have a reflexology appointment later in the day, we decided to go ahead with that. In the meantime, she gave me a slip of paper to put in my undies, to check and make sure I wasn’t leaking amniotic fluid. Thirty minutes later, after a relaxing foot rub and a discussion of Indian food, I was all set to head home when she asked me to show her the slip of paper she had given me. I fished it out, finished putting on my shoes and began daydreaming about where I could find fresh okra for dinner. She puttered off with the slip, and the next thing I heard was, “We’re going to need to induce you NOW!”

Apparently I had a rupture of the membranes, nothing as exciting as the swoosh of water they show in the movies, more of a slow drip, but since we had no idea when it started and I was already one day after my due date, we needed to move fast. I placed a calm and intelligible call to HG – something along the lines of “BABY COMING NOW!!! AAAAAAAAAH!!!!” He raced off to collect the bags at home and bring them to the hospital. Around 2 p.m., my midwife had me drink a natural “cocktail” to induce labor (which really did have a fair amount of champagne, as I later found out that a mildly drunken feeling is NOT in fact an official part of labor.) I got a room in the hospital and was told I should go for some walks to get things going and come back upstairs around 5.30 at the latest. 

I met HG in the hospital room and had about an hour of eating sandwiches and being pleasantly buzzed. Also, I met my hospital roommate, who had been induced that morning as well, and she was one of these terribly annoying women who are actually pleasant during labor, remember their breathing techniques during contractions, and seem generally to be keeping everything together. She and her husband had been walking around the neighborhood and they told me about a nice meandering path next to the hospital.

Determined to live up to my  new-found role model’s example, HG and I set out to go on the path. (The weather was perfect — sunny, blue skies, around 70 degrees.) I got to the bench at the end of the parking lot and a contraction hit.

Yikes! HG patiently reminds me that the midwife said we should walk, or at the very least not trample the nice garden. But I’m already half-way across a flowerbed and I promptly plop myself down on the bench. The contraction clears and I think, “Ah ha! That wasn’t sooo bad!” I get up, make it two benches down, and the next one hits. I have to sit down. HG reminds me how everyone says we need to move. I glower at him and tell him he is welcome to go for a walk ALONE. Then I feel some intestinal issues coming on and have to sprint between contractions back to the hospital room. I make it but just barely. At that point I’m happy to sit in the dark hospital room, rolled into a ball. But HG once again persuades me that I should be moving. I make it about 10 feet out into the hospital garden, plop down on the first bench, and refuse to move. At this point poor HG becomes the most annoying person on earth. He could have asked if I’d like to have a 3 hour back rub, followed by a romantic evening at the Opera in Paris, and I would have snarled at him to stop being such a idiotic asshole.

After about 10 minutes, HG set off to find an easy route around the hospital garden and my induction cocktail decided to come back up and decorate my shoes. At this point it’s about 5 p.m. and I decide it’s time to go back and visit the midwife. She looks over our bedraggled appearances and hooks me up to a  monitor to see the contractions and baby’s heart rate. At this point HG helpfully points out to me things like “Oh, that was a big one! That must have hurt!” while I yell at him just to sit there and look pretty.

Around 6.30 they move us into L&D and the midwife takes my first cervix measurement and rather astonishedly declares “ You’re already 8 cm!!! We have to get ready for the baby! Aren’t you excited!!!” I reply that it hurts. Actually that’s my reply for most things at this point. It seems to be absolutely imperative that I explain to everyone that I’m in pain. Since they would clearly NOT assume that as a matter of course. The midwife is puttering around getting things ready for the birth, HG tries to distract me by asking if I’m excited the baby is coming soon, I reply that it hurts and could he PLEASE NEVER EVER talk to me again? Between the contractions I hear HG and the midwife making the favorite German complaint about air conditioning in the U.S. A few contractions later they’re debating the merits of San Antonio… it goes on. I’m in the room for a minute or two between contractions, usually just long enough to convince myself that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Then I’m back in a contraction and wondering when the guy with the epidurals is coming by. 

Around 8.30 the doctor who does epidurals does come by. They need to put some needle in my arm for something or other just in case of something I don’t quite understand. But at this point, a needle in my arm is almost nothing pain-wise. My midwife makes a comment that “See, some women do it naturally!” I reply “it hurts so much!” and then the contraction ends and I say, “wait, what?” The midwife explains that if I’m already at, or more probably, near 10 cm there’s not much point in having an epidural shot, since I will have to start pushing soon and I’ll want to feel that. I’m not entirely convinced I actually DO want to feel the pushing part and would have made my case but another contraction came. Shortly there after she examines me again and says that it’s just basically a lip left, so if I want to go to the bathroom until I feel a really strong urge to push, that would be good. I find it amazing that she knows I am feeling like I’m about to have another bout of diarrhea, and she once again suppresses her eye-roll and explains that it’s THE BABY pushing down.

I head to the toilet, where I sit alone, explaining to myself that it really, really hurts. And between contractions I am thinking I should have paid more attention to breathing techniques. But in a way it’s nice to be alone. When I’m in pain I pretty much just want to crawl under a porch and die, so being in pain AND being the star of the show is feeling a bit much at some points.

Then I feel like I’m really going to take an enormous poo. It’s a little before 9 p.m. and the midwife has set up some elaborate padding around HG’s chair. She explains that she finds squatting works best. Even at my most yoga-toned times squatting has never been my thing or even vaguely something I can do. I think longingly of my friends’ stories of delivering in bed…laying down…someone massaging them… and all those comfy positions we learned in the birth prep class. 

None of that. I try a few variations and of course the most awkward and uncomfortable one seems to have the most effect. But the contractions aren’t strong enough anymore, so I have to stand between them. At some point HG more or less has to lift me to my feet, I stay there for a few seconds, feel a giant urge to push, and tumble ungracefully into my squat (supported by his knees) grunt and push at what feels like a good year’s worth of constipation, feel the contraction clear, get lifted back up… In my memory this part lasts about 10-12 hours, but I guess it actually was about 30 minutes. All sorts of bloody clots and liquid blood are dripping down. In between contractions I think how a B-horror film company could save a lot on set costs by teaming up with a L&D ward… Suddenly, the water really does break and splashes everywhere, especially on the poor midwife. It’s green, which means the baby has swallowed the water and passed it through as a bowel movement, and there might be some risk for the baby if she stays in too long at this point, so the midwife gets a bit more forceful about no breaks and pushing harder.

Then the baby finally started to come out. The midwife suddenly said, “Oh! I saw the head already! Isn’t that great?” I explained that it hurt. The next push she saw the head again and I could start to feel weirdly the shape of the body as it moved down. Then there was a weak round of push and the midwife told me I’d have to take it up a notch. So the next time it was a huge contraction, and I felt the “ring of fire” which I was sure meant the baby’s head was coming through, and I vaguely heard the midwife yelling “STOP! STOP!” My brain placed a request to stop the action, but that never quite registered lower down, and a grunt later Helena shot out into the world complete. 

I had my eyes closed, and to suddenly open them to a full baby laying in front of me was the most bizarre feeling in the world. I’d imagined that moment so many times, but somehow in real life it didn’t quite register. The doctor had apparently left the room to get a coffee, since he thought it would still be awhile, so the midwife had to run out and get him, and HG and I were in this incredibly awkward squat, which neither of us could really move out of… so we just stared down at her. I wanted some huge emotional release but it felt more like “What just happened?” Then the midwife and the doctor came running back in. The midwife handed me the baby, although I was still in my squat, so I was kind of precariously teetering and in shock. I thought that this would be a warm bonding moment, but instead the midwife started getting me to push the placenta out and the doctor set up a lot of scary instruments to sew my tear together. Placenta out, I got to lay down and HG got to hold the baby, which was finally my “Awwwww…” moment, seeing them together. Then the doctor started sewing me up, which was painful in a completely new and different way, but they plopped the baby on me so I had a good and quite adorable distraction.

Overall, I have to say I went into this not very sure about the natural childbirth experience. I felt pretty sure I’d end up going for an epidural or at least some pain killer. And I think I still might in the future, but I had a few things going for me. One was that it happened so quickly that I wasn’t worn out by the pain. I think from the first contractions until the baby came was only about 5.5 hours. Also there were breaks in the pain and I got to a point of almost feeling normal in the breaks. Plus, during the contractions I knew they wouldn’t last forever, which helped a lot. Finally my menstrual cramps have always been TERRIBLE. So when people told me it was like menstrual cramps x 10 I imagined something unbearable. But until the very end they were pretty similar to the cramps I know… I was actually surprised that it went so smoothly and somehow was painful but not as terrible as I’d imagined. Plus I knew the midwife fairly well through our reflexology sessions at the clinic and I generally felt like things were handled well and not spiraling out of my control. Though next time I should probably practice those damn breathing techniques.

Added to that, the hospital was mostly great. My roommate had given birth about an hour before me so we chatted about our birth experiences. They’d both gone well but completely differently. She’d also been induced and spent the entire day from 8am until around 4 getting to 5cm (which explained why she was still so collected when I saw her). Then she’d gotten an epidural and gave birth about an hour before me. She also had a lot of tearing, so we both got to  complain about that. The next day a Family Room opened up, and HG was able to stay the next 3 nights with us, which was fantastic. It was a bit like a hotel with nurses and mediocre room service. HG got extremely good at diaper changing. Helena had a bit of jaundice and I had some issues getting the breastfeeding going, but both resolved themselves while we were at the hospital. What I found amazing was that the doctors and nurses were asking US when WE wanted to leave. And they were reassuring us that while we could leave, we were also welcome to stay longer.

And of course Helena is 300% more wonderful than I could have imagined. She’s quite mellow, loves a good snuggle, mostly just fusses, and only cries if she thinks I’m not getting around to feeding or changing her fast enough. And when I kiss her cheeks she makes the most horridly disgusted face as if I had just asked her to eat a live-anchovy sandwich. What more could a mom ask for?