For four months now I’ve been mentally processing the story of how Emma came to join us and working through the challenges of that day and making peace with the way that reality didn’t line up with years of daydreams and expectations. I’ve been thinking it important that I write it down soon, before it gets much more blurry around the edges, so that the important parts aren’t forgotten, and so that I can lay the story to rest in my mind. In the end, Emma’s birth was an entirely different experience than I expected—and yet, I can’t really imagine having it be any other way.
It all began with a scheduled induction one week before Emma’s due date. After suffering through ten weeks of Braxton-Hicks contractions (six of which I was on Procardia to keep them from progressing), I was exhausted. I’d had severe edema initially brought on by the Procardia, and was exhausted, uncomfortable, irritable, and LARGE. At my 38 week appointment (a Thursday), my OB asked if I’d like to schedule an induction for the following Tuesday, which was her next day on-call at the hospital. I enthusiastically agreed, happy that I didn’t have to beg, but sad she hadn’t offered to do it that minute. Later on, I had mixed emotions about induction, knowing that it’s often the first step on a very slippery slope of interventions, and I second guessed my decision all weekend.
On Tuesday morning, we arrived at the hospital bright and early at 6:45, after dropping the dogs at doggie day-care, and one last trip through the McDonald’s drive-thru. The hospital was brand-new, having opened only a few months earlier. Within seconds of checking in, we were whisked down to our birth-suite. It was as nice as a hospital room can be—decorated like a swanky hotel, and as spacious as the top floor of our house. The nurse took my vitals, and my blood pressure was through the roof—after remaining very low throughout the pregnancy. I firmly believe that if I had gone to the doctor the day before, and she’d seen my BP, a diagnosis of pre-eclampsia would have been imminent and we would have ended up inducing that day or the next. After we settled in for a few minutes, the nurse came to start the Pitocin drip.
As much as I had read about inductions, I wasn’t prepared for the fact that once the drip was going, I would be tethered to a fetal monitor until the baby came. I couldn’t go more than three feet away from the monitoring machine for more than a few moments at a time—never longer than a quick trip to the bathroom.
The Pitocin started to regulate my erratic (albeit frequent) contractions, and I began to progress very, very slowly. I made the rounds from standing and swaying to birthing ball to a variety of positions in the bed throughout the course of the morning, doing everything I had learned in baby class to help things along. The nurse kept cranking up the Pitocin dose, JMT and I watched some daytime TV (Mythbusters, Dr. Phil, Days) and at one point our friend Jeff stopped by.
Nothing we did got the labor moving along though. So after a few hours, my doctor came by and performed an amniotomy. This was the first drama of the day. First of all, it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable part of the entire experience. I nearly climbed backwards up out of my skin to get away from the doctor. Poor JMT… having to watch that and then watch the chaos that followed. My ginormous belly was apparently chock-full of fluid. The most the poor nurse had ever seen, and according to my doc, close to the most she’d ever seen as well. After the rush of fluid, I zoned out for a few minutes. And it’s good I did, so that I didn’t freak out from the commotion. Once they broke the water, the baby’s heartbeat crashed for a short-period. About five minutes went by before she stabilized and we could breathe easy again.
I’d been hoping that after the amniotomy, the labor would start chugging along, and it did a little, but not enough. I was eventually pressured into receiving an epidural by the nurse after the contractions I was having took over as back labor and I was dilated to about a 3. I maintain that the nurse was too pushy about the epidural, and that I could have and maybe should have lasted a lot longer without it. That said, I was tired and weak, and I didn’t take much convincing. Then came another piece of the puzzle I knew about but wasn’t prepared for—once I had the epidural, they wouldn’t let me out of the bed. So my labor really slowed down.
So now I’m stuck in the bed, and my labor isn’t progressing much, and it’s getting to be about dinner time. JMT went down to the cafeteria and got some spaghetti and I worked on some Jell-O and apple juice. Here’s a question. When they give you Jell-O in the hospital, why is it the sugar-free kind? I needed a little blood-sugar boost, and no amount of the imposter Jell-O would give it to me!
The doc and nursing staff convened and decided to start cranking up my Pitocin drip, and when they would, my contractions would get more regular and start to resemble the little peaks and valleys that they should. Problem was, however, that every time a contraction would start to be productive, little baby Teal would start to crash. Her heart rate would slow during the contraction—which is to be expected. The problem was that it wouldn’t get back to where it was supposed to be before another contraction would come. So over time, she was getting more and more compromised. It got worse as things continued, and we were really beginning to worry about the kiddo. My doctor brought up the possibility of a C-section, and we were not happy about that. We asked that she try any means left to stabilize the baby without resorting to a C.
After she thought about it for a bit, the doctor provided one more chance to avoid a C. She reintroduced fluid in the amniotic sac through something like a reverse catheter in order to relieve the baby’s distress. This worked for a little while, but my labor practically stopped because they had cranked the Pitocin back down to almost nothing in order to alleviate Emma’s distress. So then we were stuck in a holding pattern. We could keep Emma out of distress by not inducing labor further, but the clock was ticking now that my waters had been broken. I was already running a slight fever, so they were starting to worry about infection. We were no longer standing at the top of a slippery slope. We were sliding down it at mach speed, ass-over-teakettle.
By this point, it was about 8:45 pm. We were sapped after a full day of labor and fear about the baby. Our friends Jeff and Christina had been sitting with us for a while, and helped us make peace with what we had gone through. We assented to the C.
Turns out, a C-Section ain’t that bad. At least not for me. After we gave the okay, things happened very, very fast. JMT got suited up in scrub gear, I took off my jewelry and we were whisked down the hall. The part that took the longest was my doctor trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of the operating table that had been removed earlier in the evening in error. By 9:44, our little Emma (who was yet unnamed) was in JMT’s arms. Although I was completely awake for it, the C-Section wasn’t painful. Because of the epidural I could feel pressure and pulling during the procedure, but no pain. JMT sat by my shoulder and looked over the curtain from time to time. He saw my insides. He saw them take Emma from my tummy. Hearing her cry and seeing JMT hold her was the happiest moment of my life. I have never been filled with more joy. I was so proud of the family we’d created.
When the doctor announced that Emma’s umbilical cord had been wrapped twice around her tiny neck, the day’s drama made total sense, and all of a sudden the slippery slope didn’t matter any more. I went through the check-list of decisions I’d second guessed, and realized at almost every step, if I hadn’t taken my chosen path, things may have been worse. Specifically, if I hadn’t intentionally scheduled the induction, I believe my spike in blood pressure would have necessitated it anyways. Also, given the distress Emma encountered after the amniotomy, if I had waited for my water to break naturally, something catastrophic could have happened to her. Also, if I had labored naturally, I still would have likely ended up with a C-section, after the fetal distressed caused by the cord wrapped around Emma’s neck. At least we had the chance to mentally prepare and ask all our questions, instead of being whisked away for an emergency C during a more chaotic time in labor.
So… a long story, and one that I’m okay with now. Having a C-section was not my plan. There’s a lot of radical pregnancy propaganda out there that vilifies the C-section and those who choose it. It’s taken some time and a lot of mental processing to be at peace with the way things turned out. Now that a few months have passed and I’ve started thinking about when we might make another little one (not today, don’t worry) I’ve started thinking about my plan for next time. And rather surprisingly, I’ve willingly and happily accepted the idea of having a scheduled C-section next time instead of trying for a VBAC. I think for me, the drama with Emma’s birth was a result of things spiraling out of my control, not the ultimate means by which she was born.
So next time, a (scheduled C without a million hours of labor preceding it. I’ll be smarter about my recovery (no cooking Thanksgiving dinner two weeks postpartum) and more assertive about my desires (give me the kiddo to nurse and cuddle once before you wheel me away to recover for a couple of hours). I’ll know what to expect to some extent, and be able to enjoy every minute of the baby’s first days because I won’t be so busy beating myself up for the way he or she came into the world. Of course, that’s my Plan A. Goodness only knows what my Plan B will entail!
