Tuesday
Jun222010
The Labor Story: Out the Window, Part IV
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 at 6:09AM
The Labor Story: Part I
The Labor Story: Part II
The Labor Story: Part III
After three-ish hours of epidural bliss...
There was a slight feeling of a contraction. I told my doula that I could kind of feel my contractions and when the nurse overheard and asked if we should get the anesthesiologist back, I responded with, “I mean, it’s not bad. I can just barely feel them, but I can tell when they’re happening.” My doula suggested I press my little button that allows more drugs to flow to my epidural. I pressed it once. A few minutes later, I pressed it again. There’s a finite amount of “refill” you can have before it runs out.
My parents were just standing there, on the other side of the room, staring at me, in awe that their granddaughter would join us soon. Which was sweet, but when a contraction hit that was a little stronger than previously, I looked at both of them and asked them to leave.
No more than two minutes later my contractions were back full force. I was being slammed against the rocks again. Moaning. My husband was next to me and my doula told me to focus on the word on his shirt. It said, “Daddy.” They were scrubs that my mom had bought him. At some point, my doula switched spots with him and was there holding my hand. She was wearing a nametag with her credentials on it and I just kept reading the letters, “R” and “N” over and over while squeezing her hand, moaning, asking where more drugs were and thinking, “I thought I wouldn’t ever have to do this again.”
It took forever for the anesthesiologist to return. When he did, he looked at my catheter and said there was blood in it again. Then he disappeared. He came back forever later with some type of syringe that he, I think, plugged into my IV line. It did nothing. He left again. Shortly after that, I was informed that there was an emergency c-section in the ER and he had to go take care of that. He wasn’t coming back.
My OB came in, presumably lead to my room by the brilliant animalistic noises I was making, and checked me. For a minute, I had heard things wrong and thought that SHE was being called to the emergency, too. But, thankfully, that wasn’t true.
She confirmed I was at 10cm. I had gone from 8cm to 10cm with a worn-off epidural. Transition. My OB said I was ready to push.
Based on the force that was hitting me repeatedly, I didn’t think I’d be able to push a feather off my bed, let alone a baby out my vagina.
And then everything transformed. Seriously. It was like “Transformers.” The bottom of the bed came up, these crazy high tech stirrups for your calves popped out and up, the nurses swept in with lights and a tray full of utensils and suddenly my OB plopped herself down in front of me, in full scrubs and cap.
But the craziest transformation was with me. I had reprieve. It was like my body heard my OB say I was ready to push and went into a new mode.
A mode ready to bring a new life into the world.
My doula grabbed my left calf and thigh and Tom grabbed my right, ready to push my legs back into me each time I pushed.
Instructions were being given to me by a nurse, “When you have a contraction, you’ll breathe in, tuck your chin in your chest, hold your breath and push down as hard as you can.”
Well, I wasn’t so on board for the “hold your breath” part. I’d heard that’s what’s painful and makes you break all the blood vessels in your face and eyes. I’d have to be sneaky with breathing out.
And then it was time. I didn’t have to wait for them to tell me when I was having a contraction. I’d announce when one was about to start and, annoyingly, they’d all look at the monitor to confirm that I was correct. Duh, people. Drugs had worn off, remember?
And I’d breathe in, tuck my chin and PUSH. While I pushed, my OB coated her fingers with something and would hold open Sailor’s exit with two fingers. This felt great. It felt like I had help.
I had heard that pushing felt better than all the rest. It’s true. While it was absolutely some of the hardest physical work I’ve ever had to do on my own, it felt so much better than those contractions. I could hardly feel the ones I was having now.
They wanted me to do three pushes (or breaths) per contraction.
During the pushing phase, there were a few things I just kept repeating in my brain.
One mantra I got from watching “A Baby Story,” which everyone told me NOT to watch while I was pregnant. Well, poo on all you nay-sayers, because I’m glad I did! Whenever there was a vaginal delivery on that show the woman would inevitable say, “I can’t do it.” And, eventually, she would. The baby would come out.
“Eventually, the baby comes out. Eventually the baby comes out. Eventually….” Kept running through my head.
My OB was AMAZING during this phase. Every time I’d push her voice would get all high and excited like some pro football cheerleader and she’d start rooting me on with, “C’mon, Liza! That’s it! That’s the push! Oh! I can see her head! She has so much hair! C’mon, Liza!”
I can’t imagine NOT having her yell. It was awesome. I felt like I could push a little harder each time because of her.
Then, in my left ear was my doula coaching me through breathing and telling me I’d meet my baby soon. In my right ear was my husband telling me I was doing such a great job and that he could see our daughter’s head.
Those three voices combined was the most encouraging thing.
The feeling of pushing a baby out – it kind of feels like it’s coming out your butt! Like it’s the biggest, most rock solid poop you’ve ever had. And, you know how when you have a monster poo and you know that you just have to get past that breaking point and then it all comes out? Well, that’s pretty much the same for pushing out a baby!
I had heard of people who had pushed for up to THREE HOURS. That was NOT going to be me. I kept telling myself that.
After 35 minutes of pushing, but what felt like less time, out came her little head. And then her shoulders. As the rest of her body slid out, I could feel her feet flutter inside me for the last time, and out she came in one big plop!
Apparently, she pooped right before she came out so they had to rush her over to the little nursery station (which was right there in our room) and just sweep her mouth before handing her back to me.
My husband was crying and kept saying to me how beautiful our daughter was. “Liza, she’s here. She’s so beautiful. She’s so perfect and beautiful.”
He snapped a couple of shots of her so he could go to the waiting room and show my folks.
As they moved my daughter across the room, I heard her cry for the first time. Typically, this moment is portrayed as something highly emotional. And I thought it would be for me. But it wasn’t. From the second that her body came out of me and I was officially done pushing, done with the contractions, done with the pregnancy, all of it and I felt lighter and freer inside, all I could feel was RELIEF. It was over. Thank the Lord. I could breathe. I could lie back and relax. Oh, and it was nice.
I had two tears. And I’ll tell you, I thought that if I tore that it would be the most painful thing. I had NO IDEA that I tore until my OB told me. Never felt anything tearing.
They wrapped up my daughter and handed her back to me. Shortly after, we removed her wrappings so we could do skin-to-skin contact and start breastfeeding.
I lay there, legs still up in stirrups while my OB massaged my tummy until she asked me to give one quick push and out came my placenta. Then she gave me a local anesthetic and stitched me up. But I barely noticed any of it. I had this new life lying on me, looking at me, checking me out. And I was doing the same with her.
It was a pretty surreal moment, looking at my first child and thinking that she just came out of me. That I PUSHED her out. Wow. Really? This is mine? I did this?
Eventually, they took her for a bath. Tom and my folks went to watch and take photos.
They came back with this stupid bow in her hair that they attach with KY Jelly, of all things. ( I kept taking the bow off and they kept putting it back on whenever they had to take her for something.) We took our first family photo.
And so begins the sleep deprivation and the not knowing what the hell you’re doing and those lovely moments of feeling completely inadequate.
That hit big time during our second night in the hospital.
(Oh, and for the record, I did NOT poop during delivery! I think my early labor pooing took care of that. But, I was NOT afraid to poo on the table! You really don't give a crap - pun intended - at that point.)
The Labor Story: Part II
The Labor Story: Part III
After three-ish hours of epidural bliss...
There was a slight feeling of a contraction. I told my doula that I could kind of feel my contractions and when the nurse overheard and asked if we should get the anesthesiologist back, I responded with, “I mean, it’s not bad. I can just barely feel them, but I can tell when they’re happening.” My doula suggested I press my little button that allows more drugs to flow to my epidural. I pressed it once. A few minutes later, I pressed it again. There’s a finite amount of “refill” you can have before it runs out.
My parents were just standing there, on the other side of the room, staring at me, in awe that their granddaughter would join us soon. Which was sweet, but when a contraction hit that was a little stronger than previously, I looked at both of them and asked them to leave.
No more than two minutes later my contractions were back full force. I was being slammed against the rocks again. Moaning. My husband was next to me and my doula told me to focus on the word on his shirt. It said, “Daddy.” They were scrubs that my mom had bought him. At some point, my doula switched spots with him and was there holding my hand. She was wearing a nametag with her credentials on it and I just kept reading the letters, “R” and “N” over and over while squeezing her hand, moaning, asking where more drugs were and thinking, “I thought I wouldn’t ever have to do this again.”
It took forever for the anesthesiologist to return. When he did, he looked at my catheter and said there was blood in it again. Then he disappeared. He came back forever later with some type of syringe that he, I think, plugged into my IV line. It did nothing. He left again. Shortly after that, I was informed that there was an emergency c-section in the ER and he had to go take care of that. He wasn’t coming back.
My OB came in, presumably lead to my room by the brilliant animalistic noises I was making, and checked me. For a minute, I had heard things wrong and thought that SHE was being called to the emergency, too. But, thankfully, that wasn’t true.
She confirmed I was at 10cm. I had gone from 8cm to 10cm with a worn-off epidural. Transition. My OB said I was ready to push.
Based on the force that was hitting me repeatedly, I didn’t think I’d be able to push a feather off my bed, let alone a baby out my vagina.
And then everything transformed. Seriously. It was like “Transformers.” The bottom of the bed came up, these crazy high tech stirrups for your calves popped out and up, the nurses swept in with lights and a tray full of utensils and suddenly my OB plopped herself down in front of me, in full scrubs and cap.
But the craziest transformation was with me. I had reprieve. It was like my body heard my OB say I was ready to push and went into a new mode.
A mode ready to bring a new life into the world.
My doula grabbed my left calf and thigh and Tom grabbed my right, ready to push my legs back into me each time I pushed.
Instructions were being given to me by a nurse, “When you have a contraction, you’ll breathe in, tuck your chin in your chest, hold your breath and push down as hard as you can.”
Well, I wasn’t so on board for the “hold your breath” part. I’d heard that’s what’s painful and makes you break all the blood vessels in your face and eyes. I’d have to be sneaky with breathing out.
And then it was time. I didn’t have to wait for them to tell me when I was having a contraction. I’d announce when one was about to start and, annoyingly, they’d all look at the monitor to confirm that I was correct. Duh, people. Drugs had worn off, remember?
And I’d breathe in, tuck my chin and PUSH. While I pushed, my OB coated her fingers with something and would hold open Sailor’s exit with two fingers. This felt great. It felt like I had help.
I had heard that pushing felt better than all the rest. It’s true. While it was absolutely some of the hardest physical work I’ve ever had to do on my own, it felt so much better than those contractions. I could hardly feel the ones I was having now.
They wanted me to do three pushes (or breaths) per contraction.
During the pushing phase, there were a few things I just kept repeating in my brain.
One mantra I got from watching “A Baby Story,” which everyone told me NOT to watch while I was pregnant. Well, poo on all you nay-sayers, because I’m glad I did! Whenever there was a vaginal delivery on that show the woman would inevitable say, “I can’t do it.” And, eventually, she would. The baby would come out.
“Eventually, the baby comes out. Eventually the baby comes out. Eventually….” Kept running through my head.
My OB was AMAZING during this phase. Every time I’d push her voice would get all high and excited like some pro football cheerleader and she’d start rooting me on with, “C’mon, Liza! That’s it! That’s the push! Oh! I can see her head! She has so much hair! C’mon, Liza!”
I can’t imagine NOT having her yell. It was awesome. I felt like I could push a little harder each time because of her.
Then, in my left ear was my doula coaching me through breathing and telling me I’d meet my baby soon. In my right ear was my husband telling me I was doing such a great job and that he could see our daughter’s head.
Those three voices combined was the most encouraging thing.
The feeling of pushing a baby out – it kind of feels like it’s coming out your butt! Like it’s the biggest, most rock solid poop you’ve ever had. And, you know how when you have a monster poo and you know that you just have to get past that breaking point and then it all comes out? Well, that’s pretty much the same for pushing out a baby!
I had heard of people who had pushed for up to THREE HOURS. That was NOT going to be me. I kept telling myself that.
After 35 minutes of pushing, but what felt like less time, out came her little head. And then her shoulders. As the rest of her body slid out, I could feel her feet flutter inside me for the last time, and out she came in one big plop!
Apparently, she pooped right before she came out so they had to rush her over to the little nursery station (which was right there in our room) and just sweep her mouth before handing her back to me.
My husband was crying and kept saying to me how beautiful our daughter was. “Liza, she’s here. She’s so beautiful. She’s so perfect and beautiful.”
He snapped a couple of shots of her so he could go to the waiting room and show my folks.
As they moved my daughter across the room, I heard her cry for the first time. Typically, this moment is portrayed as something highly emotional. And I thought it would be for me. But it wasn’t. From the second that her body came out of me and I was officially done pushing, done with the contractions, done with the pregnancy, all of it and I felt lighter and freer inside, all I could feel was RELIEF. It was over. Thank the Lord. I could breathe. I could lie back and relax. Oh, and it was nice.
I had two tears. And I’ll tell you, I thought that if I tore that it would be the most painful thing. I had NO IDEA that I tore until my OB told me. Never felt anything tearing.
They wrapped up my daughter and handed her back to me. Shortly after, we removed her wrappings so we could do skin-to-skin contact and start breastfeeding.
I lay there, legs still up in stirrups while my OB massaged my tummy until she asked me to give one quick push and out came my placenta. Then she gave me a local anesthetic and stitched me up. But I barely noticed any of it. I had this new life lying on me, looking at me, checking me out. And I was doing the same with her.
It was a pretty surreal moment, looking at my first child and thinking that she just came out of me. That I PUSHED her out. Wow. Really? This is mine? I did this?
Eventually, they took her for a bath. Tom and my folks went to watch and take photos.
They came back with this stupid bow in her hair that they attach with KY Jelly, of all things. ( I kept taking the bow off and they kept putting it back on whenever they had to take her for something.) We took our first family photo.
And so begins the sleep deprivation and the not knowing what the hell you’re doing and those lovely moments of feeling completely inadequate.
That hit big time during our second night in the hospital.
(Oh, and for the record, I did NOT poop during delivery! I think my early labor pooing took care of that. But, I was NOT afraid to poo on the table! You really don't give a crap - pun intended - at that point.)
Copyright; 2011, Blahggy. All rights reserved.
Reader Comments (19)
Ohhh, this made me cry! Well done, you! I didn't have the whole, "Wow, I pushed him out" moment but that first seeing him moment will always be one of the - or just THE most amazing moment of my life.
Your lead-in to the next post brings me right back to those hours in the hospital... when you're so tired you don't know which way is up and everything seems impossible. But you get through... looking forward to your next installment.
Ok...but did YOU poop?!?
Sailor had poop in her mouth...and she uses that mouth to kiss you! ha!
(Leave it to me to ruin a totally sweet birth story.)
Erin, I edited my post just for you! It's at the very end.
Candice, YOU made ME practically cry by saying I made YOU cry! Look at us! All weepy new-moms!
Good for you for not holding your breath!! =)
Awesome story. Made me relive my labor and birth so vividly.
Ours was remarkably similar, only I didn't have TIME for the epidural.
Oh, and I DID poop!
Congratulations!
Ha ha, the bow story reminded me of something.
I was in this Johnsons and Johnsons baby shampoo commercial when I was three (vid on my blog) and they kept putting lip gloss on me. At three, I had never had such a thing happen to me before and I hated it with a fiery fiery passion. Between each take, my mother would help me wipe it off.
And the before each take, they would reapply the goddamn stuff.
*shudder*
I still don't wear lipstick much.
What an amazing story. It's absolutely beautiful! The bow situation is hilarious!
Haha I love you for that.
Yup! And the nurse kept noticing and telling me to hold my breath!
That's awesome. I'm off to check out the commercial on your blog!
Thank you, Carol!
I think this is the best labor story I've read in life, seriously! I love how full of details it is and it really shows us a picture, those who never had a baby, what's it like for real. Thank you for sharing it with us. And oh, she is so beautiful. :DD
Congratulations! She is adorable! What a beautiful family!
Gave me goosebumps! What a perfect way to describe delivery. & you definitely have a beauty on your hands :)
wonderful story! i'm glad everything went well, other than the epidural... i know all about that, but this is about you:)
you made such a beautiful little girl! i hope our girls give us much happiness and only a handful of trouble, just to keep it interesting.
[...] Posts The Labor Story: Out the Window, Part IV [...]
CONGRATULATIONS!!! I'm curious what all your bleeding was about? Pushing is SO intense, hey? Well, the entire experience is insanely intense. Thanks so much for taking the time to comment on my blog. I can't believe you remembered my comment and made a point of following-up. Totally understandable that you chose to read it after! I always marvel at how lucky I am to know the kind of fierce and terrifying love I feel for my daughter. Isn't it a magnificent privilege to birth your babe? Such a miracle. I can't believe how quickly you were able to write your story. I wasn't able to tackle mine until almost her 1st birthday. Enjoy every moment because every cliche about time speeding up and slippy by it too true. Congratulations again :)
What a great birth story! Yay for fast labors.
What an amazing story! I was riveted the entire time! I was so scared that you were going to say after all that pain that it ended up in a c/s, but glad you got to have a vaginal birth (which is what I wanted and didn't get). My labor sucked big time and NOTHING I planned ended up happening, expect for having a baby. That happened. And I love him.
Thanks for sharing yours and Sailor's story!