1stTimeMommy
05-28-2009, 08:56 AM
Immediately my contractions almost doubled on the pain scale, and one hit me hard as I climbed off the bed. I looked down and thought it weird to see the waters that had been surrounding the baby pouring onto the floor. I made my way to the bathroom to pee once again, and had to grip the railing beside the toilet and hold on for dear life through another big contraction. I had read in 'Ina May's Guide to Childbirth' that clenching the jaws during a contraction only makes the pain worse because it tightens up everything in the body and your body feels like it's 'fighting' against the pain. Rather, it is more preferable to open the mouth and allow the feeling of pressure to take it's course. I found that visualizing my uterus actually squeezing the baby downwards, and thinking of it as pressure rather than pain, helped.
At this point I started to feel those doubts that are so prevalent in birth stories – the “I can't do this anymore!” feeling of panic, knowing full well that I had no choice. I started to wonder how I was ever going to get through it, and why in the world do women do this more than once?? I remember so clearly the feeling of sheer dread and fear running through my body and mind, and the helplessness of not being in control of my body – these strong squeezes taking over my whole being every few minutes, with hardly a break in between them. I realized then that my lack of choice for the situation I was in meant that I could only press on, and my strength was not enough to do this. I felt so thankful for my relationship with God during this time, because where I lacked in strength, I cried out to Him.
Carl and I decided to head back into the shower and see if we couldn't speed things up a bit again with our rocking and swaying dance. This time, I held onto the bar in the shower and got into a squat with each contraction, and tried to move my pelvis around to open things up. This felt like the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew it was working to bring my little babe closer to the outside world.
After about an hour in the shower, we emerged from the bathroom exhausted, Carl freezing from standing in the shower but only spraying me, and myself overheated and almost nauseous. I realized I hadn't been drinking or eating much, but was frustrated with the fact that I literally had no time between contractions to do much more than recollect myself and brace for the next one. The nurse had me pee on a strip to check for dehydration, and found that I was extremely dehydrated and would need to consider connecting to an IV to increase my fluids. The other option was to attempt drinking water between contractions, which I decided I would rather do. (I am notorious for flat veins and it usually takes 3 to 4 attempts to get into a vein to draw blood, let alone connect an IV! That was the last thing I felt like enduring at that point!) The cold water felt so refreshing on my lips and tongue that I downed half the bottle, only to throw it up all over poor Carl awhile later. Char gave me a piece of gum to chew on, which really helped in keeping my saliva flowing, and was also a slight distraction technique.
Since the doctor hadn't checked me for several hours, and I had been 8 or 9 centimetres at the last check, it was suggested that I try to push, and see if the urge would come on its own. After several pushes, I gave up and cried in frustration, “I don't think I'm EVER gonna feel the urge!” The time came for my next check, and I realized that if the news from the doctor wasn't good, I would be at a loss for what to do with myself. The sense of desperation and vulnerability was so real and so raw at that point that I felt myself start to crumble even before he checked me. I had been in labour for a total of about 61 hours already – 16 of those being hard labour – and although I knew I had done well so far, I seriously began to break down.
When he checked me, he somewhat lightly remarked, “Wow, this baby really is moving around a lot!” He got the resident doctor (which I had requested not to have present at my birth) to feel it as well, and they seemed somewhat surprised at the amount of movement going on. The doctor checked my cervix and stated, somewhat apathetically, that I was “only 8 centimetres,” at which the nurse whispered, “you're not supposed to say it like that!” I felt my whole world drop. The doctor continued to palpate the sutures on the baby's head, and what he announced next brought me down yet another notch: the baby was facing the wrong way. The 'Occiput Posterior' position happens in 15-30% of labours, and most often results in longer than average labours and commonly results in synthetic drugs and even caesarean surgeries. ( http://www.birthingnaturally.net/birth/challenges/posterior.html )
When I heard this, I knew I could not allow myself to continue spiralling downward; I had to get through this – there was no other choice. I knew that anything other than pure determination would lead to a C-Section, and I did not want to spend the first months with my new baby in pain and discomfort. I made the decision to go through the intense pain and discomfort now, even though it seemed it would never end.
With the news of the baby's position, the doctor had yet another excuse to offer me the augmentation, and with my new burst of determination, I had yet another chance to refuse it. The doctor seemed quite upset with my decision, and I had to intentionally look away from the expression on his face so that it wouldn't sap any strength from me. I am a self-professed 'people pleaser,' and this was one of the first times in my life where I strongly knew I needed to ignore those urges inside of me. I then remembered writing on my birth plan that the first method of pain relief I would try, if necessary, was nitrous oxide – laughing gas. I asked about this possibility, but before I got an answer, our wonderful nurse jumped in and suggested the shower again. I applauded her inside, knowing she was working so hard to help us get the kind of birth we had planned for. Before getting into the shower, I remember the doctor making one more comment about getting the augmentation going shortly if things didn't progress right away.
The first bout in the shower earlier that day was enjoyable, and the second time was intense but bearable. This third time was gruelling. I have never before nor since experienced the meaning of the word 'perseverance' in such raw, close-to-home way. I was in a completely different world – interacting with Carl was impossible, as every grain of my being was focused on getting through each contraction. If he started counting to slow or too fast, I was quick to correct him angrily; I also remember switching from counting up to 4 with each breath to counting to 3 instead. The contractions were getting closer and closer together and my breaths were getting shorter and shorter. Carl had to remind me to keep breathing slow – if I allowed one contraction to take over me, the pain was much more intense and unmanageable. The main thing I remember was the strong need to visualize the baby turning around and moving down. I even got to the point where I was vocalizing this - “turn baby, down baby!” with each breath. I also remember the strong presence of God in the shower with us, and the full realization that my human strength was not enough for what I needed to do. I knew that this baby was a gift from Him, and that He had supplied me with the means to bring this baby into the world. I prayed harder than ever before for the baby to turn, and for the strength to bear the fierce feelings my body was going through.
Then, at one point, I felt a sudden wave of peace rush through me. I knew that our baby had turned and was ready to come out. It wasn't a physical feeling, but a deep-down 'knowing' that God had answered my prayer. I have never felt a clearer, more confident sureness that I knew something which was technically and physically impossible for me to know.
When we came out of the bathroom this time, my nurse and doula were waiting for us in the room. The first words out of my mouth were “I really don't think we need to do the augmentation...” but the nurse was already saying, “We made a deal with the doctor!” They had committed to having me monitored for another 20 minutes in exchange for a good hour without him checking in on us and allowing me to labour uninterrupted. Although I dreaded laying still on that bed for 20 minutes, I knew it was a good trade.
(to be continued...)
At this point I started to feel those doubts that are so prevalent in birth stories – the “I can't do this anymore!” feeling of panic, knowing full well that I had no choice. I started to wonder how I was ever going to get through it, and why in the world do women do this more than once?? I remember so clearly the feeling of sheer dread and fear running through my body and mind, and the helplessness of not being in control of my body – these strong squeezes taking over my whole being every few minutes, with hardly a break in between them. I realized then that my lack of choice for the situation I was in meant that I could only press on, and my strength was not enough to do this. I felt so thankful for my relationship with God during this time, because where I lacked in strength, I cried out to Him.
Carl and I decided to head back into the shower and see if we couldn't speed things up a bit again with our rocking and swaying dance. This time, I held onto the bar in the shower and got into a squat with each contraction, and tried to move my pelvis around to open things up. This felt like the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew it was working to bring my little babe closer to the outside world.
After about an hour in the shower, we emerged from the bathroom exhausted, Carl freezing from standing in the shower but only spraying me, and myself overheated and almost nauseous. I realized I hadn't been drinking or eating much, but was frustrated with the fact that I literally had no time between contractions to do much more than recollect myself and brace for the next one. The nurse had me pee on a strip to check for dehydration, and found that I was extremely dehydrated and would need to consider connecting to an IV to increase my fluids. The other option was to attempt drinking water between contractions, which I decided I would rather do. (I am notorious for flat veins and it usually takes 3 to 4 attempts to get into a vein to draw blood, let alone connect an IV! That was the last thing I felt like enduring at that point!) The cold water felt so refreshing on my lips and tongue that I downed half the bottle, only to throw it up all over poor Carl awhile later. Char gave me a piece of gum to chew on, which really helped in keeping my saliva flowing, and was also a slight distraction technique.
Since the doctor hadn't checked me for several hours, and I had been 8 or 9 centimetres at the last check, it was suggested that I try to push, and see if the urge would come on its own. After several pushes, I gave up and cried in frustration, “I don't think I'm EVER gonna feel the urge!” The time came for my next check, and I realized that if the news from the doctor wasn't good, I would be at a loss for what to do with myself. The sense of desperation and vulnerability was so real and so raw at that point that I felt myself start to crumble even before he checked me. I had been in labour for a total of about 61 hours already – 16 of those being hard labour – and although I knew I had done well so far, I seriously began to break down.
When he checked me, he somewhat lightly remarked, “Wow, this baby really is moving around a lot!” He got the resident doctor (which I had requested not to have present at my birth) to feel it as well, and they seemed somewhat surprised at the amount of movement going on. The doctor checked my cervix and stated, somewhat apathetically, that I was “only 8 centimetres,” at which the nurse whispered, “you're not supposed to say it like that!” I felt my whole world drop. The doctor continued to palpate the sutures on the baby's head, and what he announced next brought me down yet another notch: the baby was facing the wrong way. The 'Occiput Posterior' position happens in 15-30% of labours, and most often results in longer than average labours and commonly results in synthetic drugs and even caesarean surgeries. ( http://www.birthingnaturally.net/birth/challenges/posterior.html )
When I heard this, I knew I could not allow myself to continue spiralling downward; I had to get through this – there was no other choice. I knew that anything other than pure determination would lead to a C-Section, and I did not want to spend the first months with my new baby in pain and discomfort. I made the decision to go through the intense pain and discomfort now, even though it seemed it would never end.
With the news of the baby's position, the doctor had yet another excuse to offer me the augmentation, and with my new burst of determination, I had yet another chance to refuse it. The doctor seemed quite upset with my decision, and I had to intentionally look away from the expression on his face so that it wouldn't sap any strength from me. I am a self-professed 'people pleaser,' and this was one of the first times in my life where I strongly knew I needed to ignore those urges inside of me. I then remembered writing on my birth plan that the first method of pain relief I would try, if necessary, was nitrous oxide – laughing gas. I asked about this possibility, but before I got an answer, our wonderful nurse jumped in and suggested the shower again. I applauded her inside, knowing she was working so hard to help us get the kind of birth we had planned for. Before getting into the shower, I remember the doctor making one more comment about getting the augmentation going shortly if things didn't progress right away.
The first bout in the shower earlier that day was enjoyable, and the second time was intense but bearable. This third time was gruelling. I have never before nor since experienced the meaning of the word 'perseverance' in such raw, close-to-home way. I was in a completely different world – interacting with Carl was impossible, as every grain of my being was focused on getting through each contraction. If he started counting to slow or too fast, I was quick to correct him angrily; I also remember switching from counting up to 4 with each breath to counting to 3 instead. The contractions were getting closer and closer together and my breaths were getting shorter and shorter. Carl had to remind me to keep breathing slow – if I allowed one contraction to take over me, the pain was much more intense and unmanageable. The main thing I remember was the strong need to visualize the baby turning around and moving down. I even got to the point where I was vocalizing this - “turn baby, down baby!” with each breath. I also remember the strong presence of God in the shower with us, and the full realization that my human strength was not enough for what I needed to do. I knew that this baby was a gift from Him, and that He had supplied me with the means to bring this baby into the world. I prayed harder than ever before for the baby to turn, and for the strength to bear the fierce feelings my body was going through.
Then, at one point, I felt a sudden wave of peace rush through me. I knew that our baby had turned and was ready to come out. It wasn't a physical feeling, but a deep-down 'knowing' that God had answered my prayer. I have never felt a clearer, more confident sureness that I knew something which was technically and physically impossible for me to know.
When we came out of the bathroom this time, my nurse and doula were waiting for us in the room. The first words out of my mouth were “I really don't think we need to do the augmentation...” but the nurse was already saying, “We made a deal with the doctor!” They had committed to having me monitored for another 20 minutes in exchange for a good hour without him checking in on us and allowing me to labour uninterrupted. Although I dreaded laying still on that bed for 20 minutes, I knew it was a good trade.
(to be continued...)