A Birth Story

In late January of this year I found out I was pregnant.  This was truly an awe-inspiring discovery as I have numerous health problems, all of which resulted in a "hostile uterus" and multiple medical professionals regretfully informing me that it was very unlikely I could ever bear children without interventions.  I was ecstatic.

Despite my cardiac health issues, bed rest, being told I should have a medically necessary abortion to save my own life, I remained joyful about my pregnancy and the miracle baby growing inside my womb.

I was put in the hospital for preterm labor at one point. That was a rather terrifying experience, but again, despite the odds, the baby and I were okay and able to return home.

My team of doctors (yes, team--I had several who worked together the entire time) told me I was at extreme risk of preterm labor.  No one thought I would make it to 40 weeks.  By week 38 I was ready to meet my baby.  But our Ninja Baby stuck it out and stayed put.  My due date was October 6th.

In the predawn hours of October 4th I found myself tossing and turning uncomfortably in bed.  My back hurt.  I rubbed at it to no avail.  I sighed.  I adjusted my position and my pillows a million times.  I tried to go back to sleep, and I did manage to nod off for an hour here and there.  Then around 6:30 AM I couldn't stand it anymore.  I got up and went in the living room to bounce on my birth ball.  When my husband groggily got out of bed to get ready for work I informed him that he wouldn't be going to work because I was in labor.

I called my OB and one of the midwives confirmed that I was likely in labor.  We waited until 10:00 AM to go to the hospital.  When we pulled into the parking deck I became quite distraught because I realized I had left my wedding rings (which were hanging from a necklace in my jewelry box, my fingers too swollen the last week or two of pregnancy to wear them comfortably) at home.  Kenneth said, "Okay, well we'll just go home and get them and then come back."  Then I had another contraction.  I glared at him, "Forget the damned rings!  Get me in the hospital NOW!"

Most people spend at least two hours in OB triage before being admitted to the hospital.  My husband says we were there about 15 minutes and when the midwife on call came to examine me she immediately admitted me to the Birth Place.

I had taken Lamaze.  I had worked in labor and delivery myself.  I had a birth plan I'd created at age 19 in a mom/baby nursing class, and I was ready.  I was attached to that birth plan.  I knew what I wanted.  I knew how this needed to go.  It didn't go that way.

My pulse was through the roof and it was messing with the baby's pulse too.  I was stuck in bed and not permitted to get up at all. I couldn't use the jacuzzi tub. I couldn't use the birth ball.  I couldn't walk the halls. I couldn't do any of the exercises I learned in Lamaze to manage the pain.  I was having back labor.  It was excruciating.  Several hours into the most painful experience of my life I glared at the doctor and the midwife and bellowed, "You're supposed to have breaks in between contractions! Where are my goddamned breaks?!"

The midwife shook her head at me,  "Oh honey, you don't get breaks with back labor. I'm so sorry.  There's a reason everyone says back labor is the worst kind of labor.  You don't get any breaks." 

My birth plan was already thrown out the window. I couldn't do anything I wanted to manage the pain.  I didn't want to be stuck in bed with IVs and constant fetal monitoring, but that was how it had been from the moment I was admitted.  It was medically necessary, but the medical necessity of it did not matter much to my pain-numbed mind.  I finally deviated from my plan myself by requesting an analgesic.  I didn't want to drug my body or my baby, but I was in so much pain I was vomiting and I simply needed some relief.  So they gave me a small dose of a pain medication in my IV and for about an hour I had some relief.

The pain medication wore off and I refused to allow them to administer anymore because I had not wanted pain medication in the first place. I had wanted to deliver naturally and manage my pain without drugs. I had wanted to move around.  Then right before I hit transition (7 cm dilated) my heart rate got worse.  It raced past 170 beats per minute.  The doctor came in and suggested an epidural.  My cardiologist was monitoring me remotely and had called to tell them my pain levels were likely causing my tachycardia to worsen and if I didn't manage my pain soon I might go into cardiac arrest.

So I had to do the one thing I had sworn I'd never do.  I had to get an epidural.

Two or three hours later I was fully dilated and ready to push.  The baby was occiput posterior position when I got to the hospital and they'd been turning me this way and that to try to get the baby to face the right way.  Our stubborn little Ninja Baby had other ideas though and refused to move.  Eventually the baby was vertical but profile, a terrible way to push.  I pushed for four hours.  FOUR HOURS.  I pushed so long and so hard, and I could see the baby's head in the mirror when I pushed.

And then things went wrong again.  My heart had had enough.  It was negatively effecting our baby's heart rate too.  I had to have a priority one (code blue) caesarean section. 

What happened next is not something I can write about.  It's not something I can talk about much either. It was horrific.  I nearly bled to death.  My heart stopped.  I spent a long time in the hospital and then I had to be re-admitted for an intrauterine infection.

The only thing that went right was our Ninja Baby.  Ninja Baby is a girl by the way.  She is healthy.  She is beautiful.  She is the most perfect thing I've ever done in my entire life.  I  have a very long, very rocky recovery in front of me, but she was well worth it.