The act of giving birth is something I put off thinking about until the last few weeks of my pregnancy. I knew it was coming, I just decided to ignore it as long as possible for my own peace of mind.
By Thanksgiving I was 38 weeks and decided it was time to pack my hospital bag and write out my birth plan. My plan was simple and went a little something like this: no induction, no IV drugs, and no c-section unless medically necessary.
I was beginning to feel like I was going to be pregnant forever when my due date came and I was still showing no signs of labor. Aside from being incredibly anxious and completely over being pregnant, I felt confused. I'd had a perfect pregnancy and had spent the last 3 weeks trying every trick in the book to induce labor...why was I still pregnant?!?
Since I was past my due date and had refused induction, I had to go see my doctor for non stress tests every two days. I only had 8 days before my doctor would induce me out of necessity, but I had a peace that I'd go into labor on my own. I walked and bounced on my birthing ball all day, every day, so I was optimistic going to my last appointment on Monday morning, December 10.
My optimism soon faded when Dr. Ostoya checked me and said there was STILL NO PROGRESSION! He explained his concerns for me going home and waiting, and stressed the need for induction. I wasn't about to put my baby in danger just so I could stick to my birth plan, so I agreed and within minutes Dr. Ostoya was on the phone with Clovis Community setting up the induction. My palms were sweaty, my eyes got glossy, and I felt hotter than I ever had before. This was it...we'd soon be meeting the little person responsible for all the sweet kicks and turns inside my belly. Holy crap.
We arrived to the hospital at eleven, signed in, and were led to our private labor and delivery room. After changing into the not-so-stylish hospital gown I was provided, we were greeted by our first nurse, Mary. Before doing anything, she went over a list of unpleasant questions; would I accept a blood transfusion if needed? who would speak for me if I became unconscious?, etc.. After- literally- signing my life away, Mary decided it was time to insert my IV. After her fifth attempt and a bent needle, she called for another nurse to try. Finally, my IV was in place and at 1:00pm she inserted a quarter of a pill called Cytotec in our first attempt to soften my cervix. I immediately began contracting, and was hopeful that this would do the trick.
By 2 o'clock my mom had arrived, and, although in a bit of pain from the contractions- I felt pretty good and was relieved to have her there.
Mary came in to check me around 2:30, and said that based off of how hard and close my contractions were coming, she suspected I'd be dilated to at least a 3 by the time the cytotec wore off at 4:00. She also said not to mark her words, but she believed we'd be meeting our little man by 3am. Thank God I didn't mark her words...
Four o'clock came quick, and I was excited when Mary came in to check me. For those of you who've been through it, you know that getting checked is one of the greatest parts of labor- NOT! It is the most uncomfortable, toe-curling pain placed on top of the pain from the contractions. This pain is part of the reason I wanted to punch Mary in the face when she looked at me and said 'I'm so confused, I really thought the Cytotec was working. There was no progression made. We're gonna have to try Cervadil, which is more aggressive and will stay in for 12 hours.' Wait a minute, Mary! Let's back up. You just told me an hour and a half ago I'd be dilated to a 3. What.The.Eff.
At 7pm, Mary said goodbye and introduced us to our night nurse, Irene. By 7:30 Irene had inserted the Cervadil, and informed me that she had one other woman in labor who was progressing quickly, so she wouldn't be back to check on me for a while. By 8pm my body began responding to the Cervadil and I was contracting pretty badly every 3-5 minutes. I was starting to get a feel for what labor really was, and I didn't like it. Not one bit.
Irene came in at 8:30- she said that since my contractions were so intense and so close together she wanted to check me. Of course, I assumed that this would only lead me to false hope and a pissed off self, but instead she pursed her lips to the side and in a bubbly voice said 'hmm...you're at a two and are 100% effaced, but I really thought you'd be further.' If I ever wanted to kiss a complete stranger (and woman, at that), now was the time. I didn't care that she'd hoped I'd be further...I had progressed and that was all I cared about. Praise Jesus...things were looking up.
By 11 o'clock the contractions were becoming unbearable and all I wanted was some sort of relief. I paged Irene, but she said all she could give me was an IV drug, so I refused (I'd read a lot of bad things about them beforehand). I tried every breathing and positioning technique I had learned, but nothing helped. With each passing minute the contractions grew more intense and closer together. Irene informed me that I was contracting as if I were dilated to a 10, but she didn't know why. I didn't care why; all I cared about was getting a freaking epidural.
By 11:45 I had reached my pain limit- all I could do to get through each contraction was hang onto the bed rail as tight as i I could and rock back and forth while moaning- I'm thinking it wasn't one of my better looks. I felt like I was going to throw up. Oh- and die. Yes, I was 95% sure I was dying.
I had finally arrived- this, THIS was what I had feared my whole life about having babies; this was the excruciating pain my mom said she magically forgot; this was true labor. Yes, I had most definitely arrived, and I wanted nothing more than to turn it all off like a bad movie and get the hell out of there.
By this point my contractions were hitting one on top of the other. If I got a 10 second break it felt like paradise and I would use those few seconds to catch my breath or make a quick request for something like 'puke bucket' or 'epidural now' or my favorite 'eff this.'
I had never experienced a spiritual battle until this point. I was so confused and frustrated that God was letting me go through this much pain. I remember saying over and over again 'please just give me a break,' and sure enough another contraction would hit. All I wanted was a solid minute- heck I would have killed for 30 seconds- to catch my breath, but that never happened. I tried to ponder what I had done so wrong to deserve this. In order to get through it I had to constantly remind myself what Christ had done for me, however I still felt entitled to a break of some sort.
At 12:30, I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and since they wouldn't give me the epidural, I begged for the IV drugs that I swore I wouldn't get. Within fifteen minutes, the nurse filled my IV with fentanyl. It felt cool going in, and immediately I could feel the pain letting up a bit. I shut my eyes (it made the room spin if I kept them open) and enjoyed the slight relief it provided. Within 30 minutes, I could feel the medicine wearing off... Needless to say I wanted more.
After the meds wore off completely, the contractions were back and more intense than ever. I paged Irene and begged her to give me another dose of fentanyl, but that wasn't going to happen. Irene explained that the severity and closeness of my contractions was not normal (insane contractions are a bad side effect of the Cervadil, which can often lead to a ruptured uterus for some, and, of course, I was the small percentage experiencing this side effect) and was causing the babies heart rate to drop, so (after only 5 of the 12 hours) she decided that she was going to pull out the Cervadil in hopes the contractions would space out and calm down a bit. The upside to this was that if they didn't let up, she would give me the epidural in an hour.
She pulled the Cervadil and just when I thought the pain would subside, it began intensifying (I didn't think that was even possible). I look back on that hour (2:30-3:30) as the worst hour of my life. I forgot the precious purpose behind the pain and wanted to die. Though I remember thinking that dying seemed like my best option at the time, I also remember feeling more alive than I ever had before. The pain was raw and relentless. The contractions were lasting for a minute and a half and were 5-15 seconds apart- no exaggeration. With each one I felt as if someone was dropping a 15 pound brick on my back from the roof of a house, and my stomach felt as if it were being ripped apart and on fire. I don't know how, but I survived through the hour and I was pleasantly surprised when Irene came in at 3:35 with the anesthesiologist.
The anesthesiologist checked my report and was concerned that I wouldn't be able to sit still since my contractions were so bad. It took everything in me, but I smiled at him as he explained the risks and told him I was confident that I could do it. Within minutes I was sitting up on the side of the bed, holding on to Irene with all the strength I had left. Before I knew it COMPLETE RELIEF came over my body. All I could do was tell the anesthesiologist how much I loved him. This was amazing, and I felt more ready and able to get our boy out than I had ever imagined.
It was time for Irene to check me again, now that the Cervadil was out. I could tell by the shaking of her head that it wasn't good news. I was still at a 2. All the Cervadil had done was make my body freak out and think that it was ready to push out a baby, when in fact it was far from it- 8 centimeters from it to be exact. I would be lying if I said I wasn't discouraged by the news, but now that I wasn't in pain, it really didn't bother me too bad- I was feeling good and was in it for the long haul now.
After all the excitement from getting the epidural, it was almost 5am. I shut my eyes and started to doze off when Irene came in holding a syringe. 'WHAT NOW!?!?!' were my exact words to her. I was not happy to see her, and she knew it. She let out a nervous, sympathetic giggle and explained that Drew's heart rate was dropping periodically, so she was going to give me a shot of Terbutaline to see if she could slow down the contractions even more, so that he could get a break. She also said that she had a strong suspicion that he had swallowed meconium based off of the drops in his heart rate, and since she had a baby DIE from it, she was going to be extra cautious with me. Immediately I looked around the room, waiting to see Ashton Kutcher pop out from underneath my bed and tell me that I'd been punk'd. No such luck.
I had no words. I despised Irene and could not wait until 7:30 for a new nurse. I held out my arm, and as she began injecting me, she told me that I would begin feeling jittery, and my heart rate was going to sky rocket, but not to be afraid, because she was going to stay in the room with me the whole time...just in case. Just in case WHAT, Irene. I couldn't even get the words out to ask, because I immediately felt like my heart was going to explode. I looked at my mom and Andrew, then to Irene, as they all sat staring at the monitor, their faces trying hard to hide the look of concern as the numbers continued to climb and climb. I shut my eyes and prayed- no, begged- for my life, for my sons life, for peace, and for divine intervention.
My body was shaking uncontrollably, and all I could do was look to my mom and Andrew for comfort. I was the most scared I'd ever been in my entire life. The intense heart racing and shaking lasted for thirty minutes, and when it was over I was relieved, exhausted, and just happy to be alive. After an hour, Irene left and said she'd keep an eye on Drews heart rate and stop by before passing me off to the day nurse.
By now the sun was coming up, and the fear of possibly losing my son was consuming my mind, making sleep impossible. All I could hear in my head was Irene saying she'd had a baby die from a similar situation to mine. (Thanks a lot, Irene- you idiot!!!)
By the time I finished discussing my fears and getting reassurance from my mom and Andrew, it was 7:30, and Irene was coming in with the day nurse, Pam.
Pam didn't seem like a morning person, but at this point I didn't care if she was a raging alcoholic... I just wanted Irene gone- nothing against her, there was just too much negativity attached to our time together and I desperately needed a new perspective. I listened as Irene shared her concerns about Drews heart rate, how she suspected he'd swallowed meconium, and that she had been in contact with Dr. Ostoya to see what 'he wanted to do.' I felt sick and hated that I was in a position where the doctor needed to 'make a call.'
When Irene left I asked Pam if she was as concerned as Irene was, and I was relieved when she shook her head, giggled, and explained that Irene was a bit dramatic. I let out a sigh of relief and let my body begin to relax. I loved Pam already.
I spent the next two hours in good spirits, talking to Andrew and my mom about the hell we'd been through and laughing at how unbelievably horrible it had gone. At 10, my full support team- my dad, Aunt Keri, Tonya, and Janae- had arrived. It was a God thing that they arrived when they did, because within minutes the phone in my room started to ring. Expecting it to be a friend, I answered giddily. My stomach turned when I heard Dr. Ostoya on the other end.
He calmly explained that the nurses seemed really concerned about me and the baby, and that he suspected that the cord was wrapped around Drews neck. He said he would have them monitor me for another hour, then he would be by to check the reports. Then, came the news I'd been praying not to hear for the past ten months... 'Rhea, I am going to do everything I can to allow you to have this baby naturally, but I need you to prepare yourself mentally in case a c section is needed for your sons sake.' I lost it. I'd been in this stupid hospital bed for 21 hours now (14 of which were epidural-less and the most painful of my life). I'd been hit left and right with bad news and apologies the entire time. Now THIS! I stared blankly at the clock, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I had never been so disappointed and ashamed of myself in my life. My body had failed me. I had failed me. I had failed everyone. My hopes and dreams of delivering my boy naturally were gone. My beautiful vision of immediately cradling his perfectly grimy little body to my chest was fading. I was numb.
I was surrounded by all the love and support in the world, yet I felt disgusting and hated. All of their sweet, comforting words of encouragement were viewed by me as lies. They weren't proud of me...they had no reason to be. All I had done was waste their time, worry, and gas money. Now, they would be summoned to a waiting room where they would sit and worry some more while I was sliced into like an animal, my perfect boy ripped from my insides. My husband and I would never witness our child taking his or her first breath of life. Being the only daughter, my mom would never watch in awe as her grand baby entered the world. Yes, I had failed them all. And I was so sorry. I prayed for a miracle.
Within the hour, I started to accept my nightmare of reality, and decided that my sons life was far more important than any hopes and dreams I had of labor. Thanks to my family and friends powerful words, I had accepted my fate and was fully prepared for the c section.
At 11:15, Dr. Ostoya came in and gave me his take on things. He said he would be in a meeting from 12-6, so if I wanted to do the c section he would do it now, otherwise I could keep laboring on my own. Here was the catch- if I ended up needing an emergency c section in that time period, I would be getting cut into by an on call doctor who I'd never seen in my life. I don't know if it was the drugs or my stubbornness, but I told him I wanted to keep trying on my own. Everyone in the room shook their heads in disgust and begged me to just get the c section, but I refused. Dr. Ostoya checked me one last time, wished me luck, said he'd see me after his meeting, and left the room.
Everyone was upset with my decision, but I explained to them that this was what I really wanted to do. Before I could finish explaining my reasoning, Dr. Ostoya stormed back in the room. 'I'm sorry, Rhea, but when I checked you his heart rate dropped again. He's in distress and we need to do the c section to get him out.' I know it was God, because I immediately felt at peace, and nodded my head in agreement. Within minutes I was kissing everyone goodbye and watching as Andrew changed into blue scrubs. They began wheeling me out of the room, alone, and, once again I closed my eyes and prayed for our lives.
It took less than five minutes for them to prep me and the room. The anaesthesiologist came in, introduced himself and started inserting the meds. I felt a cool sensation and numbness within seconds. I was given oxygen and a brief pep talk from Dr. Ostoya, and he said within ten minutes our boy would be in our arms. It was 'go' time.
They brought Andrew in and said they were beginning. I felt the pressure of being literally tugged and pulled apart, but there was no pain. They pushed on my stomach, and I felt like my chest was collapsing. Then, I heard the words 'the cord was really tight around his neck, but we got it. Get ready to meet your boy.'
It was 11:51am- nearly 23 hours after the start of our journey. There he was. Held high above the curtain for us to see, our perfect 6 lb 11 oz boy let out the sweetest cry, letting us know he was alive and well. I lost my breath. I looked at Andrew as tears streamed down our faces, and all he could say was 'there's our boy. Thank God.'
They took him away to clean him up, and then brought him to us and laid him on my chest. Our eyes met for the first time ever, and all the pain and worry and fear from my entire life melted away. He was perfect and I knew in that instant that I was forever changed by this tiny human.
'Hello, I love you' were my first words to him, though no words could begin to describe the overwhelming love and joy my heart was feeling. My life was complete. The world was bright and good again. I couldn't stop staring and thanking God for this perfect life he gave to Andrew and I. It was over. He was here in our arms. Safe and sound. Thank you, Jesus.
I'll never know how or why God saw and sees us as worthy of such a beautiful miracle, all I can do is give him all the glory, and love on this sweet boy for the rest of my life.
