the birth of the Duke, part 3

Eventually, they did call our doctor and she came in sometime shortly after 3:00. I remember being so happy to see her and joking with her that we had waited for her. She said she was sorry that that meant me having a really long labor. She came over to the bed and I grabbed her hand and patted her eight months pregnant belly. She checked me for dilation and said I was just about complete, but that there was a small lip of my cervix still partially blocking the way. She had me try giving a little push and then determined that she would like to give it another half hour or so to see if I could open completely. This was perhaps the longest half hour of the whole labor. The pressure was pretty intense at this point, and I couldn’t wait to get the show on the road. I remember looking at the clock way more frequently than I had at any other point during the labor.

At some point just before or after this half hour, the doctor asked how I felt about having the moms in the room. I had previously been undecided and thought I might feel too modest to have them, particularly Troy’s mom, witness the birth. However, by this point I had lost all sense of modesty and said I was fine with having them in the room. It would be a party: me, Troy, doctor, nurse, doula, Amber, Marsha, and my mom! (Later, I was really glad I made that decision. Neither my mom nor Marsha had ever witnessed a birth, and it was really meaningful for both of them to be there for the birth of their grandson.)

When a half hour was up, the doctor returned and checked me again. That stubborn little lip had moved aside and the path was clear for baby! The doctor and nurse coached me in some pushing techniques, while our doula and Troy held my legs up toward my chest in sort of a reclining squat. (I could feel each contraction just enough to have an idea of when to push. I wouldn’t say I ever had a real uncontrollable urge to push like some women who do it naturally describe, but the pressure was so strong that I was definitely motivated to push. Toward the end, though, I did find myself a few times having some almost involuntary pushes.) So I pushed lying down for a little while and quickly realized what hard work this would be. I was so tired and worried that I wouldn’t have the energy to do this for as long as it might take. I remember asking the doctor whether I was making any progress. She gave me a little talk explaining that I was making progress, but that first time moms often have to push for quite a while. She held her thumb and pointer finger very close together to demonstrate the small amount of progress she was talking about me making with each push or contraction. Once again, I felt somewhat discouraged. I had a very clear dialogue with myself running in my head, in which I would tell myself that I couldn’t do this – it was too difficult and I was too tired – and then ask myself, “What are you going to do, ask them to get out the forceps or vacuum extractor and pull this baby out?” No, I could do it! Just one push at a time.

Like with the rest of my labor, progress seemed slow, but thankfully at one point our doula mentioned to the doctor that I was really comfortable in a squatting position and that it had been my position of choice through most of my contractions, and she asked whether they might be able to get me into a squatting position somehow. The doctor and nurse suggested we bring in a squatting bar, which attaches directly to the beds at Sutter. I was excited to hear that this would be a possibility, even with an epidural. I had always envisioned myself squatting to push my baby out, but thought my legs would be too numb from the epidural to bear any weight at all. The bar turned out to work out great. I was actually able to hoist myself up and grab onto it or fling my arms over it with each contraction, even without any help. In between contractions, I would lie back down and Troy and others would place cold washcloths on my forehead, feed me ice chips, and massage me. I think I managed to fall asleep in between contractions at times. I also thought I was communicating to people when I wanted to get back up on the bar and push, but apparently I wasn’t, so now Troy keeps telling people about how he would be putting a cold washcloth on my head and suddenly I would spring to life, fling it off, and hoist myself up and over the bar and push with all my might. I can’t believe what an athletic endeavor this was, too, and I definitely sweated more than I think I ever have in my life. It was incredibly hard work, but exhilarating at the same time. I also felt it much more than I expected to with an epidural, and it kind of scares me to think about what it might feel like without one. However, my doctor said sometimes epidurals do a lot to help with the pain of contractions but not necessarily the sensation of the baby moving through the birth canal. This was also a nine pound, six ounce baby moving through what she had previously noted to be a small pelvis. I suppose that could have something to do with it.

This was around the time when the birth turned comedic. I had disappeared onto another planet of some sort, but was immediately snapped back down to Earth when a nurse entered the room and told us Daniel was there. Daniel is our 17-year-old neighbor’s 20-year-old boyfriend. Needless to say, I did not want him present while I was pushing my baby out. Troy went out to deal with the situation. It turns out Daniel and his friend happened to be riding their motorcycles by the hospital and had assumed we’d already delivered, so they thought they’d stop in for a visit. Troy later described to me how Daniel’s friend was kicked back on the waiting room sofa, eating and drinking some of the free refreshments available to expectant families. Daniel asked how things were going and Troy told him we were about to have the baby. His friend, while taking down a free scone or whatever, asked whether everything was cool. “No cord around the neck or anything?” (A few nights later when we got home from the hospital, Daniel and Sara stopped by and I jokingly reprimanded him for having shown up while I was pushing. His response? “Yeah, I heard you pushing!” Great. Then, he looked me up and down and asked me whether I was pregnant again. He was serious. (Sara and Daniel, I’m sorry if you’re reading this. Hopefully you can laugh about it, too. Plus, I think Daniel owes me one.))

Back to the birth, comedic moment number two took place when we got the first glimpse of the baby’s head. Marsha took a peek and cried out, “Oh my gosh, that baby’s beautiful!” The room erupted into laughter (except for oblivious me) and the doctor exclaimed that that was something only a grandmother could say. This was when things got really exciting, though. The doctor had me reach down and feel the baby’s head, which was super motivating. I guess I said, “Hi, sweet pea! Good job!” or something along those lines that gave everyone a good chuckle, too. The doctor also noted that the baby had brown hair, which got me really excited. I knew we were getting close, and this was our baby that we were about to meet!

Soon I could feel the head coming through, and it burned and stung, but I knew I just had to push through the pain. I remember asking the doctor whether the biggest part was through yet because it felt like I was pushing it through forever. (It turns out I was, as evidenced by the conehead photo. My mom later said she could see this sweet little head coming through, and then it kept coming and coming, and getting wider and wider. When he was born with this incredibly long blue conehead, she half-jokingly whispered to Marsha, “I think I could love this baby.” Troy later joked that I gave birth to Marge Simpson.) Eventually the head was out, and I gave another big push or two for the shoulders, and out slid the rest. After two hours and fifteen minutes of pushing, at 6:10 p.m. on July 18, 2009, I had my slippery wailing baby on my bare belly. Everyone was in tears, especially Troy, who had been sobbing since he had the first glimpse of the baby’s head. I didn’t know the sex of the baby for a minute or two, and didn’t care. It was in our birth plan that Troy would announce it, though, and everyone was silent until he exclaimed through tears that it was a boy.

Baby boy and I had a couple minutes of skin to skin time, but it turned out he had a really

short umbilical cord, so we couldn’t really get him all the way up on my chest, so they decided to cut it pretty quickly. Troy cut it, but then the nurse decided that baby was a little blue and could use a hit of oxygen, so they took him to the warming table and gave him some, and he pinked right up. People also noted almost immediately how big a baby he was and put in their guesses. All guessed he was between eight and nine pounds, but I guessed nine pounds, four ounces. They put him on the scale, and he was nine, six. Mama knows best! I knew we would have a big baby.

Troy got to hold the boy for a few minutes while the doctor and nurse poked and prodded me and I delivered the placenta, but before too long, our baby was back in my arms. I’m not sure at what point I started drinking, but once I did I didn’t stop. I took down a whole bottle of Gatorade, another sports drink, an Odwalla smoothie, maybe a quart of water, and when I got cold and got the chills, a cup of chamomile tea that the nurse brought me. I think I just grabbed whatever I could get my hands on and blindly gulped it down while I stared at my new baby. Our doula also encouraged me to order some food before the kitchen closed, so she called for me and we ordered up a big dinner. In the meantime, she helped me get started breastfeeding. I was so exhausted that I honestly don’t remember how much success we had with that initial attempt, but I know it wasn’t too bad.

As the room cleared out for the night, Troy and I got more time just to be with our sweet baby, and we were

overwhelmed with love for him and for each other. I’ve been typing and typing this story without even having to pause to think about anything, but I’m suddenly at a loss for words to describe how powerful an experience this was. The love and respect Troy and I gained for each other through the whole process was also amazing. He must have told me dozens of times throughout and after how much he loved and respected me, and what an amazing job I did. I felt the same toward him. He was there for me through the entire labor and birth, doing exactly what I needed him to be doing, without me even having to say a word. He was able to just read me completely. Now we were through it and we had our baby, and it was pure bliss.

I’m still not sure when you are supposed to count the start of labor. I think some women count it from the very first contraction and some from the time they arrive at the hospital and/or reach active labor, which, technically, I barely even reached on my own. When all was said and done, though, it was more than 48 hours since I had started timing my contractions and thinking something was up, and more than 40 hours since I could no longer sleep through them. In the 48 hours, I got that initial three hour chunk of sleep, a few minutes here and there, and that hour or so after I got the epidural. I don’t know how long it would have taken me to birth Ewan if I had kept at it naturally, but I have to say I’m glad I decided not to find out. Although I wish I hadn’t had such a prolonged early labor, I have no regrets about the course of action we decided to take. What was especially important for me was that I always felt in control. All decisions that were made were made not only with my consent, but usually at my request or insistence. And, of course, although we didn’t quite have the birth we had planned or wanted, we got what was most important: a beautiful, healthy baby. We couldn’t be more thrilled with that, and I don't let a day go by during which I take that for granted.