Birth Story, Part II (Men read at your own risk. . .)

As written about here, I went into labor five days after Jacob’s due date, on the afternoon of Monday, October 1, 2007. I labored through the night at home, and from what I can remember, there was a fair amount of timing, showering and pooping (sorry guys, but isn’t it better to do it in the toilet than on the birthing table?) At around 5 am, after 12-13 hours, we headed to the hospital.

As soon as we got to the hospital and I was in the bed, I was hooked up to the fetal monitor and given IV pain medication and Pitocin. I was so exhausted at this point that I didn’t even think about whether or not I wanted pain relief or the ability to walk around. I dozed in and out, and continued to contract without much progress. At about noon, my OB came in and physically made my water break (also called “breaking the bag”). I think that I was around 4 cm dilated (you need to get up to 10) and had received an epidural, so I felt nothing. There was meconium (fetus poo) in my waters, which wasn’t such a huge deal, but we wanted things to move forward, that’s for sure. Then Jacob’s heart started dropping on every contraction, so they gave me medicine to stop the contractions, and then to start them up again.

On and on we went through the afternoon, and during some of that time I needed to wear an oxygen mask, which I hated. I felt tied to the bed, scared, and somewhat claustrophobic with the mask, but too foggy to even think about what was happening.

At around 5:30 pm, my OB came back and gave me two options. She would let me labor until about 11pm, during which they would try to use a vacuum extractor to get Jacob out, and if that didn’t work I’d have to have a C-Section, or we could move forward with C-Section now. In thinking through what my body and my baby had been through, his heart going up and down all day, I couldn’t bear putting him through more of the same, and so we chose C-Section. At the time, I felt good about the decision, thinking that while it would be harder for me, it would hopefully be easier for Jacob, and ensure a safe delivery.

We rolled into the operating room at about 6pm, and I was laid out with my arms in the crucifix position as the anesthesiologist got to work. I remember my doctor chatting with the other surgeon about her upcoming high school reunion, her telling me that my abs looked great, and that “they won’t look as good the next time around!” and I was comforted by the chitchat which made me feel like what was happening was not such a huge deal.

I remember starting to shiver, and the feeling that I was going to throw up, and the fear that I would vomit on my face or into my mouth because I couldn’t sit up. Josh was on my left, and when Jacob came out, he was dazed at first, until the anesthesiologist nudged him into action: “Go on, take some pictures!” Then Josh was dancing (if not physically, his voice was) and saying how much Jacob looked like his dad. He brought him back to me so I could see him, and as I’ve written here before, I felt nothing. I still couldn’t stop shivering, and what I didn’t know at the time was that my body was beginning to fight a uterine infection that was only the beginning of things to come.

They brought me into recovery and I passed out as my fever spiked. I was in and out for about an hour, and then I was awake enough to sit up and have Jacob come in and try to nurse, without much luck. We rolled back to the room and I think that our family was still there: my mom, Josh’s dad and stepmom, Josh’s brother.

My fever spiked twice more. I remember one of the labor and delivery nurses telling me that one of the spikes (104 point something) was the highest temperature she’d taken in her 30 year career, and I had a little sick pride over that. I remember that the on-call OB decided to only do a uterine scan if I spiked a third time, which I didn’t, and six weeks later, we’d both wish that she had ordered the scan. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

I remember the removal of the catheter, and subsequent pain and re-insertion after my bladder got so full and I couldn’t physically pee. I remember the kindness of the labor and delivery nurses, the best nurses of all. One braided my stinky hair and got the knots out when I couldn’t shower for two days. She was the same one who got as giddy as a schoolgirl when I finally passed gas, which meant that I could eat food, and ran to get me a menu so I wouldn’t have to wait until dinner time after nearly three days of watered down apple-cranberry juice and ice chips. I can’t say enough about labor and delivery nurses, who certainly don’t chose this specialty for the pay. Overall, Josh, Jacob and I got a lot of tender loving care during our stay.

We stayed 5 days in the hospital so I could recover, and went home on Saturday morning, and while the real-world journey of parenthood began, the labor and delivery part was not yet over.

After the C-Section, I felt like I had failed at something so fundamentally female, the experience of childbirth, and I second guessed all of my choices. What if I had created a more specific birth plan? What if I had held out when they started hooking me up to machines and medicines from the moment I walked into the hospital? What if I had waited until the last possible moment, and given the vacuum extractor a shot?

I find it easier to question myself than to give myself credit for making a choice that may have saved both me and Jacob from further trauma. I find it easier to listen to the voices that speak of interventions and criticize C-sections and hospital births instead of trying to accept that my birth story is my own, and I could have had a much worse outcome than I did. As it stands, I had a healthy baby who was a good eater, a good sleeper, with a calm and mellow personality.

I think that the scariest part of a C-section is my fear of a repeat experience. And while everything I’ve learned has taught me that an operation without labor can be easier to deal with, I’m still scared. I’m sharing this to try to let go of that fear, because I want to make the best choice for me and Keiki, and I don’t want it to be a choice that comes out of fear. As I write, I’m learning that it may not be the C-section itself that is scary. To use a California metaphor, if my C-Section was an earthquake, it set in motion a series of more dangerous aftershocks, and for me, everything that happened in the weeks after Jacob was born emotionally leads me back to the C-Section and clouds my ability to make a choice now. And all that is another story. Stay tuned.