Part I
I started another contraction almost immediately,
and never did I think that I could feel so much joy during one. Seven! This
baby will be out in no time! We moved to the delivery room, and I had to endure
a couple more contractions in the hallway.
We met our labor nurse, Amy. I wasn’t going to
write a birth plan because I had heard that most nurses think they are silly,
but my midwife told me that the nurses at my hospital actually appreciated them
so they knew more ways to help. I lay down on the bed again and closed my eyes
as I entered another contraction. When I opened them, I saw Amy walking around,
my birth plan in hand, turning off any extra lights. My heart swelled, and from
then on I considered her an angel throughout the whole process.
I could only dwell on that pleasant thought for a
moment because I felt so nauseous all of a sudden. I knew I was going to throw
up and rushed to the bathroom. Well, you can bet that I didn’t eat Hotbox pizza
for a while after the birth.
They had to put an IV in my arm since I needed the
antibiotics for Group B Strep, and they told me that it would take at least
thirty minutes for the drugs to enter my body and I couldn’t get in the water
until then. I was crushed. My mom had told me how amazing being covered in
water felt during her contractions with my little sister, and getting in the
water had been what I had been looking forward to if contractions were only
going to get worse. Amy saw how disappointed I was and decided that I could get
in the tub as long as I kept my right arm with the IV on the ledge above the
water. I took my gown off and stepped into the tub. This was around midnight,
and Amy said that I would receive another course of antibiotics in four hours
if the baby didn’t arrive by then. That became my goal; I was going to have the
baby before four in the morning.
I kept trying to get comfortable in the tub, but I
couldn’t fully assume the runner’s position that helped me so much because I
had to keep my arm on the ledge. It was a mental block for me. I just couldn’t
get around the fact that my relaxation position was imperfect so I couldn’t
concentrate on relaxing and praying. I would start to curl up when the pain
would reach its peak, which was the opposite of what I needed to do. Chris
would remind me softly to stay still and relax, but I just couldn’t. My midwife
came to check me so I got out of the tub and back on the bed. Right before she
checked me, my water broke as I lay on the bed. There was so much fluid and
tissue. Amy had to wipe up so much! I knew that labor was really going to pick
up, and that was very scary when my planned water labor proved to be so unhelpful.
The midwife checked me. Seven centimeters. Curse. That just showed how little I was
able to relax in the tub.
The contractions were still mainly in my back and
were taking all the energy out of me. Amy suggested that I try sitting on the
birthing ball while she applied counter pressure on my lower back. The counter
pressure was great, but the birthing ball was the most uncomfortable thing I
had felt (yet) because the baby was so low. I didn’t stay on it for long. I was
so thirsty all of the time. Chris gave me water after water. I think I started
asking for water after every contraction.
I started pacing the room between contractions.
What a sight I was! 40 weeks pregnant to the day belly and wearing nothing but
my sports bra. Bye-bye modesty, hello not caring. After a while, I got back on
the bed to try and relax. In a bit, I told them that I needed to go to the
bathroom. Chris and Amy looked at each other, and I could tell that they were both
thinking that I was feeling the urge to push. I assured them that I just needed
to pee. About an hour of increasing contractions, my midwife checked my
progress again. I had to be ten. I was seven when I came in!
Still not ten centimeters. She told me that my
amniotic sac had twisted a bit so there was still a bulge of fluid. I asked if
it would break again on its own or if she should break it. She reminded me that
I didn’t want any interventions and that labor was really going to pick up. I
remember thinking, “This is not much of an intervention! Break it now!” and silently
cursed since I thought labor had already picked up. I gave her the go ahead
while lying down on the bed looking at the wall in front of me. There was a
clock on the upper left portion of the wall, but I refused to focus my eyes on
it to see what time it was. As exhausted as I was, I had the mental awareness to
know how horribly discouraging to know how long it had been with very little
progress.
She broke the rest of the bag. More gushing. I got back into the tub hoping that I would
be able to push that mental block aside and relax. I immediately felt a change
with the next contraction. The pressure of the baby was so intense that I felt
like I had to push. (Looking back, I just didn’t know what it felt like to
really have to push). I told them that I was going to push, and the midwife got
ready to get in the water. The water was not a lovely sight. Bloody tissue and
amniotic fluid were floating around it it, but I didn’t care. I was so tired,
and I just wanted the baby to come out.
I tried to push at the next contraction and I was
so surprised at how much better it was than doing nothing. They still hurt like
nothing else, but it relieved the pressure which at that point had become worse
than the pain.
Of course, I couldn’t really get into a comfortable
pushing position in the tub so I got out and walked around. I tried pushing
while squatting, while on all fours, standing against the bed, leaning over the
raised back of the bed. They could see the head when I pushed, but back to never-coming-out-land it went.
The triage nurse came in and said that she heard
other nurses talking about the young men who had just arrived and were in the
waiting room. Our friends from the rugby team had driven in the middle of the
night from Chicago through a snowstorm to come to meet our baby. We do have the greatest
friends. I'm sure they love knowing that all of the nurses were whispering about them.
I remember pacing that room and vowing to just
schedule the next birth to be a c-section. I
don’t think this baby will ever come out was all I could think and say.
Chris was right there to assure me that we would get to see the baby soon and his
encouragement never ceased. That man is
something else, and I would be lost without him. If I ever were to doubt that
he loved me, all I would have to remember was how intensely he selflessly cared
for me during the birth of our baby. That will always be a glorious testimony
to his love for me.
The bed became what I craved even though I hadn’t
really thought I would give birth on the hospital bed. I needed something to
hold me up or to lie against. I was leaning over the back of the bed barely
making it through a Hail Mary when Amy suggested that I stop pushing during
contractions and rest. I initially refused. I didn’t think I could stand the
intense pressure.
Amy let me know that it was time for the second
round of antibiotics. I was crushed. I was supposed to be holding my baby. How
had it been four hours? I got in the water. I’m not sure what I was thinking
since it never worked for me. My exhaustion seemed to have reached its peak. The
contractions were right on top of each other and I just lay in the water barely
moving.
“I can’t believe she is doing that. Is she really snoring?”
I heard Chris whisper incredulously to Amy.
What a video that would have been. Almost naked, huge belly, and sawing a log. My body was so tired it was sleeping through the
thirty seconds between contractions. I felt like I didn’t even have control
over it anymore...it was almost like I wasn't even in my body anymore, but yet I was completely enveloped in pain. My midwife came to check on me.
I somehow brought myself up to lean over the side
of the tub. I breathlessly wondered, “I just don’t know how I’m going to do
this.” She replied that I could always consider other options to help, and I
snapped to full attention. As well-intentioned she may have been, that was not
what I wanted to hear. I knew that she was tending to another labor that was
much longer than mine and that she was tired, but I wanted to hear
encouragement especially when I was already fully dilated and both of us were
in good condition. I didn’t respond.
I got back on the bed and stayed there. In between
contractions, I would lean over the back of the bed just praying to God to help
me, and then I would turn around and sit with knees wide and push. The head was
getting closer and closer as slow as it was taking for me to push the baby out.
Amy asked me if I wanted a mirror since it helps some woman to visualize, but
that sounded despicable to me. I did not want to see what was happening and so
she got a, “Noooooo, thank you.”
“We’re going to find out if we have a son or
daughter soon,” Chris kept reminding me.
Will we? I thought.
Amy started to give me oxygen with hope that I
would have more energy, and she started to check the baby’s heartbeat. The
heartbeat was starting to drop when I didn’t change sides so she flipped me
periodically since I was so limp when I was resting. I knew that I had to push
through these last moments…literally. My baby had to be born. They kept telling
me how close we were getting, and my midwife started to stretch me. The pain
from the contractions and pressure were incomparable to the pain of her
stretching me while the baby crowned. The ring of fire is truly an accurate
description. For the first time, I vocalized from the pain. Before the ring of
fire, I went through contractions and pushing silently. She kept apologizing
and assuring me that it was for the better.
More nurses came into the room to prepare for the
baby. I pushed with all of my might through that cursed ring of fire, and the
baby’s head came out. I kept pushing, but nothing else happened.
All of a sudden those three nurses were at the bed.
My baby’s shoulders were stuck. They pushed on my stomach and held my legs back
even further. Chris had to look away because the midwife was tirelessly trying
to get rest of the baby out.
Push. You have
to push. All of these voices were urgently telling me. I have never been more
scared in my life.
At 4:58am, I finally learned how to push with all
of my might and gave birth to our firstborn.
It’s a boy. We
have a son! I have never looked at my husband with so much awe and wonder as when
he so proudly announced our son. I don’t think I will ever be able to
accurately describe how wonderfully perfect of a moment it was to have the man
who, with God, helped me to create this child look at me with that news after
all of that work.
That moment carried me through our son being
carried away across the room so the nurses could check him since he was stuck
and there was some meconium. The midwife administered some Pitocin to stop the
bleeding and to help me deliver the placenta. She also, at my request, gave me
some local anesthetic before she stitched up the few interior tears. The upside
to pushing for three hours was that I barely tore.
Finally, the nurse walked over and placed Ryan
Donald Harrington on my chest.
I had longed for Ryan Donald for so long. One night, I dreamed that we were married and a little blond-haired
blue-eyed boy was running around our little house as we playfully chased after
him calling his name. His name was Ryan Donald. When I woke up, I yearned for
him. I missed him, and we hadn’t even met. I wanted nothing more than to be his
mother and the wife to his father. It all seemed so far away.
Then, on January 2, 2012, God finally gave Chris
and me his soul to take care of. I’ll never forget the peace that I felt when
his little life was placed in my arms and I looked up to see Chris staring at
him in awe. “We have a son, we have a son,” was all that we could say over and
over. A son. Our son.
I cry happy tears all the time. If I catch the vows
of a sappy wedding show on TV, I cry. If I watch anything about birth, I cry.
Yet, I did not cry when I married Chris, and I did not cry when I gave birth to
our son. I think I am just so present in those moments, those sweet, indescribable
moments, that all of my emotions politely excuse themselves so I can fully capture and embrace the first look of my husband at the end of the aisle and the first touch of welcoming my child into my arms.
I had envisioned a mini Chris all through
pregnancy. He would have blond hair and blue eyes, just like my dream. However,
when I stared at his dark hair and dark blue eyes which just screamed that they
were going to turn brown, I couldn’t imagine him looking any other way. My
dominant genes had won, and I remembered a night when I
taunted Chris that he may be competitive and a winner, but he was no match to
my genes. He didn’t seem to care about that potential and looming loss.
In addition to our little one’s hair color and eye
color, I had many a time claimed that I just would not be able to handle it if
our potential baby had Chris’ pout, but lo and behold, Ryan was born with a big
bottom lip that will always threaten any chance of discipline. God wanted me to
have a challenge.
After Chris got to hold Ryan and relay the news to our
nearest and dearest, that exhausted husband of mine entered a deep, deep
slumber in the chair next to my bed. He didn’t have the adrenaline surge that I
was enjoying. Ryan and I got to have our own time together. Mother and son.
I watched him nurse with his skin against mine, huddled
under the token hospital blanket. He turned his head ever so slightly in my
direction and his cheek moved just enough for me to catch a glimpse of a single
dimple jumping on his cheek. Just like me. That dimple filled my heart.
I was and am so thankful to that little baby boy nestled in my arms. His first task in this world was a wondrous one for his birth, his entrance to life, will always stand as our birth as parents. Thank you, my firstborn.
I was and am so thankful to that little baby boy nestled in my arms. His first task in this world was a wondrous one for his birth, his entrance to life, will always stand as our birth as parents. Thank you, my firstborn.
What three hours of pushing will do to you: an extremely swollen face, a conehead and a whole lot of happiness |
With my two sleeping boys |
Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteOh my gosh, 3 hours of pushing?? You poor thing - the next babies will be so much faster! What a cute conehead :) And I didn't cry on my wedding day or the births of my 5 babies but I cry at everything else. I think it does have to do with living in the moment rather than watching someone else's moment. Anyway, beautiful story and family!
ReplyDeleteWow, this is amazing. I loved reading part 1 & part 2!
ReplyDeleteLove, Kierra Makayla