Nurses sometimes joke that doctors are gods - mostly when they want to be treated as such, but sometimes they do seem that way, at least in that they say things and people jump into action. I think obstetricians in particular are a bit godlike in that they speak words and then new life is brought into the world. I feel ok saying that without blaspheming because God created the life in the first place, but the world of medicine has reached out to grasp the power of pulling said life into this side of the uterus. Anyways. In the eight days before Claire’s birth, I met with the high-risk OB group at St. Luke’s four times and spoke with the midwives at New Birth Center frequently on the phone. We were closely monitoring my amniotic fluid and as the physician said, “just looking for a reason to pull the trigger.” Not exactly what this crunchy mom wanted to hear. Then on Friday, July 24th, a more compassionate, natural-friendly OB at St. Luke’s briefly and intensely told me that it was time and that induction was necessary. It was 11 days before Claire's due date. This doctor graciously coordinated my care with the most senior midwife at New Birth and everyone tried to arrange an experience similar to what I had planned. Looking back, I am very glad my mom’s sharp instincts told her to cancel her flight to Houston and go to that appointment with me.
If I had been alone, I hope that physician would have sat down, looked me in the eyes, maybe even held my hand when she spoke those life-giving words. Maybe she assumed it was ok to be very succinct and move on to her next patient because I had my mother with me. But all in all, I think providers could be more aware of the immense power behind their words and how one sentence can change a patient’s life. Especially for a first-time mom.
I will not ever tell my daughter that her birth day was the best day of my life. In my opinion, the best days are pain-free, relaxing, fun. Not the words I would choose for July 25th. But tears do spring to my eyes sometimes as I recall the day’s events. I had plenty of book knowledge going into labor, and a strong will to do as much as I could without medical intervention because it was best for Claire and me, but no way to know if I could really truly do it, or if anything outside my control would preclude my plans. I remember driving to the hospital and discussing that with Sean - that I had thoughts about how things would go but no real idea on what the pain would be like. We stopped at Quik Trip to get snacks for our room and the cashier asked when I was due. "Tomorrow, probably!" She was so excited that her store was our last stop before the hospital. It was sweet. We got to the hospital and the amazing nursing staff didn't flinch or laugh when I handed over my birth plan, which even had specifications for "if a C-section becomes warranted." And to their enormous credit, my wishes were followed to the letter.
By the end of the next day, the three of us (Sean, my mom and I) had been through a ride that we would never forget. After Cervadil placement the night before, my water broke on its own around 5:00 in the morning and my contractions picked up. When they became intense enough that I could no longer distract myself, my mom had arrived and encouraged me to come up with a breathing/counting strategy to get me through each one. She and Sean became a seamless team that held heat packs to my back as I balanced on the birthing ball, slow-danced with me, walked me around the small hospital room, suggested position changes and pushed snacks and drinks to my lips. I also remember them laughing at me as I fell asleep between contractions. Our amazing nurse Carol was full of good ideas like using a breast pump to increase oxytocin release and respectfully transmitted my wishes to Dr. Spiers on the phone (not the same doc who treated me at St. Luke’s. I think she would have cut me open by then). When progress slowed, they agreed to let me keep trying one more hour and hold off Pitocin. Sean suggested we keep moving the whole time with only the briefest of sitting-down breaks. That hour was the longest but it paid off. When things got really intense, I had to maintain perfect eye contact with Sean to get through. He was able to tell by the wildness of my eyes how bad a particular contraction was, and he would keep me focused. Later, I learned that Hollywood got the pushing stage right - my strategic breathing and low-pitched moans were replaced by bloodcurdling howls. In fact, what seemed like the entire L&D staff rushed into my room after hearing me from down the hall. They could tell from my first bellow that I was dilated to a 10. And I might have screamed something about feeling like I had to poop (because they told me that was a sign!) I was naked and yelling - other than being on a hospital bed, it was quite the tribal moment. I guess I got the primitive experience I was seeking! I knew that it was almost over, but it was still taking too long and I needed frequent verbal reassurance that she was really coming and that I could really do it. Pushing sucked and I think I told everyone that a few times.
By the end of the next day, the three of us (Sean, my mom and I) had been through a ride that we would never forget. After Cervadil placement the night before, my water broke on its own around 5:00 in the morning and my contractions picked up. When they became intense enough that I could no longer distract myself, my mom had arrived and encouraged me to come up with a breathing/counting strategy to get me through each one. She and Sean became a seamless team that held heat packs to my back as I balanced on the birthing ball, slow-danced with me, walked me around the small hospital room, suggested position changes and pushed snacks and drinks to my lips. I also remember them laughing at me as I fell asleep between contractions. Our amazing nurse Carol was full of good ideas like using a breast pump to increase oxytocin release and respectfully transmitted my wishes to Dr. Spiers on the phone (not the same doc who treated me at St. Luke’s. I think she would have cut me open by then). When progress slowed, they agreed to let me keep trying one more hour and hold off Pitocin. Sean suggested we keep moving the whole time with only the briefest of sitting-down breaks. That hour was the longest but it paid off. When things got really intense, I had to maintain perfect eye contact with Sean to get through. He was able to tell by the wildness of my eyes how bad a particular contraction was, and he would keep me focused. Later, I learned that Hollywood got the pushing stage right - my strategic breathing and low-pitched moans were replaced by bloodcurdling howls. In fact, what seemed like the entire L&D staff rushed into my room after hearing me from down the hall. They could tell from my first bellow that I was dilated to a 10. And I might have screamed something about feeling like I had to poop (because they told me that was a sign!) I was naked and yelling - other than being on a hospital bed, it was quite the tribal moment. I guess I got the primitive experience I was seeking! I knew that it was almost over, but it was still taking too long and I needed frequent verbal reassurance that she was really coming and that I could really do it. Pushing sucked and I think I told everyone that a few times.
And Claire Joan Marie really did come, at 5:27 pm, all 6 pounds 3 ounces of her. Dr. Spiers let Sean guide her out and then he placed this warm, squirmy, messy baby on my chest. I still remember the perfect feel of her soft, brand-new skin. Her tiny butt fit into the palm of my hand and she peed all over me during the transfer. But this messy baby was a person and she was ours.
