A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I went into labor with Julie on March 24th, 2006.

The next 26 hours included some of the most physically agonizing and mentally exhausting moments of my life.  Be prepared for a bloody birth story and more mentions of my intimate body parts if you keep reading.  (I’m starting to wonder if I can write a blog without mentioning some kind of “too much info”, but you’re probably used to it by now.)

James and I had planned an all-natural hippie-style birth at a birthing center with a midwife.  I had always been fascinated by waterbirth, and the birthing center was the only place in town, besides my own home, where it was an option.  At the time, I thought there was no way in hell I’d be stupid enough to give birth at home.  Little did I know that 2.5 years later I’d have to eat my own foot.

So anyway, at 8:00 p.m. on this very day three years ago, after surviving four weeks of moderate bedrest due to premature labor contractions and elevated blood pressure, my water broke suddenly.  I was only 37 weeks along, and I was certainly not prepared to go into labor so early.

My contractions didn’t start for a whopping 17 hours.  I went all night, too excited to sleep, and well into the next day before my contractions started.  My body finally decided Julie had worn out her welcome squished up against my colon and bladder while I was at the birthing center for a routine non-stress test around 1:30 p.m.  Finally, the contractions began.

James and I went home and the first several hours of labor were relatively easy.

Then the sun started to set, and like a natural timer waiting for darkness, labor hit full force and knocked me off my comfortable side-lying position.  I spent two hours rocking on all fours while prehistoric instinct took over and I moaned loudly during the deep exhales that kept me from screaming for an epidural.

I started to panic a bit.  It was excruciating.  I couldn’t move from my all-fours position.  Each contraction was lasting about two whopping minutes starting with an intense burn in my lower back that felt kind of like the worst case of cramping diarrhea imaginable.   Times… oh, about a hundred.

When I had three gut-wrenching yell-inducing contractions without any break in between that left me gasping for mercy, James helped me get my fat, swollen ass into the car for the most painful 12-minute drive of my life.

When I got to the birthing center a little after 8:00 p.m., my midwife and nurse had the birthing bath tub full of warm water for me.  I got in immediately.  The buoyancy I felt in the water helped immensely.

I was certain that the excruciating pain I was in meant I was probably at the end of transition, the last three centimeters of dilation.  Um, nope.  No such luck.  My midwife checked me… and I was at a freaking 5cm, only half-way there.

I almost cried when I heard that.  There was no way I was going to survive pain worse than I was experiencing.

Somehow, I managed.  It only got worse from there.  Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I got through it.

Shortly after she checked me,  I felt the contractions change and said I was going to need to push soon.  I was barely hanging on by a thread at this point, ready to pass out from the agony that was shaking my body with each wave of uterine tightening.  James was in the water with me, applying pressure to my lower back, giving me sips of water, keeping me strong while I begged for someone to just shoot me.

My midwife checked me again, and I was suddenly at 7 cm.  I knew the worst was supposed to be yet to come, so I asked if anyone would be willing to just kill me now.

Everyone laughed.  So did I.

Twenty minutes later, my body was pushing like a wild animal.  My cervix jumped to 10cm quickly, and there was no holding back.

I spent an exhausting hour pushing, James behind me hold my legs back while I floated pathetically in the water.  I was so fatigued that the room was fuzzy when I opened my eyes.

Pushing felt incredibly good in comparison to the back labor.  I didn’t even yell or moan that hour.

My baby was rotated posterior, or face-up, so pushing was pretty awkward until I finally felt her turn face-down.

Then suddenly, after a brief burning sensation, I looked down into the water to see a little dark head full of hair poking out from between my legs.  My midwife said there was a cord around the neck and it was stuck, so I had to get the baby out quickly.

On the next push, I yelled out a warrior cry while my baby, purple from the cord wrapped twice, practically shot out of my nether-region.  I felt a strange sensation as her shoulders popped through at the same time.  It didn’t hurt in the instant that it happened, but that was when my child officially ripped me a new one.

The next few seconds were the most bizarre moments of my life.  My midwife was unwrapping the umbilical cord from a very chubby baby with curly black hair and a startled look in her open eyes.  I was losing blood quickly from the tear, which severed right through the muscle down south, so the water was bright red.

My little Asian-looking baby was placed on my deflated abdomen, and my midwife said, “Rub your baby!”

I was in shock looking at the calm, warm creature that was on my chest and could scarcely comprehend what was happening.  After a good 10 (or was it 20?) seconds of rubbing her back, my baby took her first gulp of air and uttered a tiny little coughing cry.

And that was it.  She was then breathing peacefully on my belly, totally content.  As if she had some kind of innate knowledge that she was perfectly safe and healthy and ready to just hang out with the human race.  Fear not, I come in peace.

The half hour after that moment was a blur.  James cut the umbilical cord and got out of the water, my nurse wrapped Julie up in a blanket and handed her to James, and I birthed the placenta while the room spun away from me.

My knees buckled out from under me as my midwife and nurse helped me out of the tub and onto the bed.  I’d lost quite a bit of blood and the strain from the whole wow-a-baby-just-fell-out-of-my-vagina moment left me nearly speechless for probably the first time in my smart-mouthed life.

I spent the next little while completely out of it while my midwife stitched up the sad remains of my perineum.  James, smiling the biggest grin I’d ever seen, proudly tried to show me our little creation, which was bundled up happily in his warm daddy arms.  I was too exhausted to get a good look at her.

Finally, I had the chance to hold my baby.

I couldn’t believe how weird she looked with her swollen eyelids and puffy cheeks.  She was nothing like I expected, yet so much more precious than I imagined.  For being 3 weeks before her due date, Julie Rose was an impressive-sized baby… 8 pounds, 2 ounces and 20 inches long.

Ah, the memories of labor.  While my second birth story was quick and relatively easy, the back labor and intense birth of Julie will probably be always remembered as one of the most traumatizing events of my life.

And even though I look like a swollen tick about to pop in the above picture, I must say that my darling Julie Rose was worth that 8.5 months of uncomfortable pregnancy and the 26 hours of drug-free labor and birth.  Even though it admittedly took me quite awhile to be able to say that.  We can blame the postpartum depression that hit like hours after she was born.

But now, I know without a doubt that she was worth it and then some.  She’s an amazing little girl.

Even though she’s a little smart-mouthed stinker like her mama.

Current Mood: Happy

Tags: natural birth

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 24th, 2009 at 1:53 pm and is filed under Photos, Pregnancy and Birth. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.