It's Wednesday, so it's time for another labor- and birth-related entry as I count down the weeks remaining to Isaac's first birthday (here are postings one, two, and three). With just one week to go, I thought I'd share the first half of our actual Birth Story:
Monday, September 5, 2005
12:00 midnight
I woke up with what felt like twinges of gas pain. I even got up and took a Maalox before I saw that I had some brown spotting. I had been positive that my first signs of labor would be accompanied by anxiety, but instead I was quietly pleased. I went back to bed and got a pretty good night's sleep, interrupted by occasional lower abdominal pains, until I woke up at my usual hour seven hours later.
7:00 a.m.
I woke up Craig and told him, "Happy Labor Day!" (It was, too!) This drove him into high gear as far as finishing up his baby-related projects. He sped around the house for a few hours getting stuff done, while I tried to go about my normal business. I ate breakfast, read the newspaper, and obsessively checked my pregnancy books to see if this was "false" labor.
9:30 a.m.
We started timing the contractions, and as they were moving in the right direction I called my mom and the doula to put them on alert -- sometime later this afternoon, I told them, but not for a while yet. Then there was no more reading the newspaper for me, as I began to focus all my concentration inward. Even though I was sleepy, I was very uncomfortable when I lay down -- it made my whole midsection tighten up and ache terribly -- so I sat and rocked on the birth ball for a while, and then I leaned on a straight-backed chair and an arrangement of pillows that held me upright in a relaxed position. I was so relaxed, I think I even dozed off between contractions. I was fine like this for another two hours or so.
12:00 noon
My sense of time was screwy all day (the doula said, in labor, minutes pass slowly, hours pass quickly), but Craig says that around lunchtime I wanted him to stay at my side and help me. At this point, I felt like the contractions were getting ahead of me unless he helped me concentrate. I don't remember exactly how he helped; I think he just reminded me to monitor my breathing, to keep it calm and smooth. Together we did this for another two hours or so.
2:00 p.m.
Then the contractions started getting difficult, even with Craig's help. This was when I had my only real moment of worry: if they're this hard now, how will it be later? (Note: this turned out to be flawed thinking -- the contractions didn't get that much harder, only more frequent.) At this point Craig called the doula and told her that we needed her. Lying down continued to cause great pain; I simply had to remain upright. In fact, I was on my feet for most of my labor, putting my weight on a person or an item of furniture -- leaning over the dining table, for instance. (It's hard to imagine how difficult it would have been if I'd been at the hospital, in bed on my back, attached to the monitors or various other tubes.)
3:30 p.m.
The doula arrived just when we really needed help dealing with my increasing pain and nervousness. When she came in, she asked me, in a quiet confident voice, if I was ready to start working hard. I realized that I was ready -- and also that I was no longer worried. I was in the labor zone. The pain was something separate from me, and with intense mental and physical concentration I could let it wash over me and disappear. Now I become what they call an unreliable narrator. I barely opened my eyes, didn't make eye contact with anyone else, didn't time my contractions, never looked at a clock, and devoted all my focus to moaning low round tones and relaxing into each contraction. Whenever my exhalations became too high-pitched or tight, the doula reminded me to open up and to make my voice deep. It totally helped. I did it for the next eight hours.
5:00 p.m.
My entire family (mother, father, sister, brother, and his girlfriend!) arrived. It took them a while to get comfortable with our laboring, but eventually my mom and sister joined us. The doula kept us all moving from room to room every hour or so; each time it took about an hour of repeated suggesting and convincing to get me to move! I liked to find one position that worked for me and just stay in it -- which meant that the contractions became milder and easier to tame. The doula wanted to keep my labor progressing, so every time I got too comfortable she made me move, which really stepped up the intensity of the contractions. (She didn't let me get exhausted though, as she gave me plenty of chances to rest and catch my breath. She also made sure that I peed and drank some revolting hydrating drink every hour.)
6:00 p.m.
I spent several hours sitting perched on the counter in the hall bathroom, leaning forward on Craig (or my mom), with the doula (or my sister) sitting on the toilet rubbing my lower back. (They took turns.) When this eventually became too comfortable for me, again the doula encouraged me to move. She had to strongly encourage me to move, or I would have stayed in that bathroom for the rest of my life. We all lurched down the hall to the bedroom. Throughout my labor I felt the contractions in my lower abdomen, then radiating around my sides to my lower back. I never felt them any higher than my navel. I also couldn't stand to have any pressure on my midsection, not even someone touching it -- it intensified the pain. (I was very unhappy at the hospital when they finally did strap the fetal monitor around me.)
8:30 p.m.
When we got to the bedroom, we finally called my doctor. (My mother, who had been timing my contractions without telling me, had wanted us to call for the last few hours.) The doctor wanted to talk to me directly, but after I could only converse with her for a scant minute before I dropped the phone during a contraction, she said we could come to the hospital at any time. But I wasn't ready yet. I didn't want to go.
Partly I was afraid that upon examination, they'd say I wasn't that far along, and I would have been heartbroken to learn that many hours of hard, hard work were for nothing. Partly I dreaded changing position, since it increased the intensity of my labor, and I knew that the long walk down the hall and out to the car would be a killer. And partly I was so totally out-of-it that I simply wasn't capable of making a rational decision. So we stayed in the bedroom. Everyone was willing to believe me when I said we didn't need to go, I guess, or else no one wanted to argue with a woman in labor who was dead-set against going to the hospital.
As a side note, do you think that this account seems strangely absent of one important element: the baby? You're right. I was so focused on labor, I very nearly forgot that there was even going to be an Isaac at the end of it. I can't believe it now. If I knew how wonderful he was going to be, I would have been thinking about him every second of my labor. Maybe that would have made it harder?
But tune in next week for our thrilling conclusion -- Isaac's birthday!
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