Our Birth Story

Hey friends!

Well, it has been a whirlwind since I last wrote to you. I could write an entire blog post on it but I can summarize this in just a few words: pregnant grad student, teaching full time. I bit off a lot. Knowing that, I decided to wait until things had settled a little bit and we had time to bond as a family before taking this back on.

I could not think of a better way to kick start my new mama series than by sharing our birth story with you all. If we are being honest, I'm doing it for me, too. Our birth story is not the one I expected to be telling, but it is ours [yes, I said ours. While I was the one who carried and labored with our daughter, my husband was my partner every step of the way - this is as much his story as it is mine and Little Miss’s]. I have felt tremendous guilt over our birth story, like I wronged our daughter by allowing interventions. I spoke of nothing other than wanting a natural birth and brushed off all of the looks and comments I received telling me that epidurals were invented for a reason and I should stop being so stubborn. I wanted it and when it didn't happen, I allowed it to consume my thoughts and began thinking of all the ways I would need to compensate for this later in her life. What I didn't realize, was that what I wanted did not match God's plan.

I had searched for resources and podcasts that would help my spiritual growth as a mother early on in my pregnancy. One of my favorite podcasts is the Risen Motherhood podcast. I listened to Emily and Laura every day, even after delivering. One night, after the baby was asleep, I was listening to my next episode of RM and it just so happened to be Episode 26 -When Birth Doesn't Go to Plan. After listening to the words of advice they had to offer, I wanted to share my story. For me. For someone going through the same thing. For someone who wants to know. For whoever needs it.

So, here we go.

Jump back to the end of my seventh month of pregnancy... I was due to deliver on February 10th, and found myself in the hospital on January 1st and 9th in excruciating pain. These episodes continued until I delivered. Two weeks prior to my due date, I went in for a routine appointment and had to be monitored in L&D because our sweet girl's heart rate was high. Things settled down and I went home a few hours later. At the rest of our appointments, her heart rate was slightly elevated but it was nothing concerning.

...and so begins our birth story.

The days before

At my 39-week appointment on Monday, February 3rd, the Braxton Hicks episodes had become a nightly occurrence - I called the doctor frequently wondering how I would be able to tell I was actually in labor. After checking my cervix and finding that I was only dilated one centimeter, my OB sat down...something he has never done. He told me he knew I was tired and it was evident this was taking a toll on me. He also expressed concerns about the stress these episodes were putting on our daughter. Then he said the "I" word: induce. 

Inducing our child was not in my plan. I did not want Pitocin. I did not want to interrupt the natural flow of this process. I had dreams about going into labor in every conceivable place in the world. Having that moment of "holy smokes, we are having a baby - it's go time!" But this was our daughter we were talking about. If the OB was worried about the stress it was placing on her, then I was going to take that under consideration and discuss the option with my husband.

We prayed. We talked. We slept on it. We scheduled our induction for that Friday, the 7th.

(In the spirit of honesty, I spent every moment leading up to our induction trying to make myself go into labor. I drank the tea, walked more than I ever have in my life, did lunges around the house, etc.)

The day of

The morning of my induction, we were instructed to call the hospital prior to coming in. When I called, the nurse who answered the phone was obviously frazzled - we later found out they had had several back to back deliveries and everyone had stayed long past their shift's end. She told me to wait another hour and call back, they should be able to get me in. Well, that word - should - did not sit well with me. My husband told me not to focus so much on the word and just try to relax and watch the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy. I pretended to watch the show and called the hospital back as soon as the clock struck seven. We were finally given the go ahead and began our trip to the hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital and began unpacking the car, it hit me. We were about to meet our daughter. This was the day. I took my gown out of my bag (thank you, Etsy) and walked up to the room with the nurse.

After asking the routine questions, she asked me if I was feeling any contractions - apparently they were showing on the monitor. I told her I was, but they were what I had been feeling the past week and a half. She told me that these were, in fact, contractions, which made me feel relieved in a weird way. I had started to feel like I was going crazy, imagining contractions that were not happening.

Anyway, she hooked me up to the IV and started the Pitocin. After about an hour, the nurse came to check on me. My contractions felt the same but I was finally progressing and had dilated 3 centimeters. While this was good news, I was only at 3 centimeters and my contractions were spaced close enough that they could not increase the dose of Pitocin, which I was grateful for. After evaluating mom and baby, the OB who would be delivering me came in and suggested we break my water. She broke my water and within minutes, the painful contractions began.

In hindsight, I believe that I had grown accustomed to having the contractions before arriving at the hospital that this sudden, intense change was even more overwhelming. I was lucky to have a great deal of family support that day. My mother-in-law flew in to town, my mom was able to take the day off of work, and my dad (who travels a great deal for work) happened to be at home. My siblings even drove home from college. Everything aligned.  

My mother-in-law is a yoga instructor, so she was able to help me with my breathing and knew pressure points to help with pain relief. My mother held my hand, told me she loved me, and joked frequently about how she would have given in and “gotten the epidural hours ago”. It made me laugh and also gave me a weird sense of accomplishment. My husband was the counter pressure expert. They were all there for the full 17 hours, start to finish.

Now, I love them all dearly, but sometimes having them all at my side really irked me. I remembering constantly yelling at them all to get off of me and then profusely apologizing once that contraction had finished. I felt insane. 

I was also lucky to have had the most amazing nurses who helped me stick to what was left of my birth plan for as long as I could. Though I could not get out of bed since I had been given Pitocin, my nurse showed us how to move the bed into a seated position, so I could move positions as frequently as I wanted. When the contractions became overwhelmingly strong and I just screamed with each one, she came in and snapped me out of it.

She also helped me realize it was time for the epidural. Mamas, let me tell you. I fought and fought not getting the epidural. I wanted nothing more than to deliver her naturally, which I had already altered. I talked to my husband, mother-in-law, and mother (yes, they were all there!) and knew my body was just too tired. I had not dilated more, almost as if my body was fighting delivery.

Sitting still for the epidural was probably the most difficult thing I had to do, aside from actually pushing. Luckily, the pain of the contractions distracted me from thinking about what the anesthesiologist was doing. Once the epidural was placed, I spiked a brief fever and both my and Little Miss's heart rates were worrisome. The nurse gave me an oxygen mask and only allowed my husband to stay in the room so they could closely monitor us. Once I felt the medication begin to work, I dozed, to wake up an hour later for another cervix check. And what do you know...in that hour of rest, my body jumped from 5 to 9 centimeters.

When I began pushing, I thought she was never going to come out. I recall saying those exact words to my nurse, who smiled and just kept encouraging me -seriously though, she was the best. I was doing well with pushing, but felt I was making no progress. At this point, the epidural did not seem to be doing much of anything and I began feeling excruciating pains in my sides. I was given a bolus, which ended up slowing me down. With the epidural only, I felt pressure from my contractions but I was able to feel my pushes. With the bolus, I could not feel pushing, touch, nothing.

I ended up pushing for about three hours, which pushed us into the next day. Once Little Miss decided she was ready to come out, everything moved rather quickly. I was screaming at the nurse that Little Miss was never coming out and was told that they could see her head. I asked if I could feel and she guided my hand, though in my head I was thinking "proof or it didn't happen". A few minutes later, she was calling the doctor to tell her I was ready to begin the final pushes. The nurse told me to keep up the work, we still had a little ways to go but we were getting closer.

Well, I guess my daughter decided she did not want to wait. Not ten minutes later, my OB was in the room putting on all her gear when I screamed out "I can't stop this one". I was overwhelmed by the strongest need to push and my OB barely had time to sit down and catch her. I don't know that there are words to describe the shock on my OB's face. No one expected that to happen.

They placed her on my chest while delaying her cord clamp and our little girl was here!

The days following

It took until my six week appointment for me to open up to my OB about my disappointment in my delivery. In this time, we had learned our daughter was born with a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot, which was not caught in our prenatal sonograms. It was at my six week follow-up that my OB told me the stress my body was under, Pitocin or not, would have continued to increase the stress on our daughter's heart and may have lead to an emergency situation. So, while I did not have the "perfect" birth story I had hoped for, we had the birth that we needed to keep us both safe.



I share this story not to brag about our story or ask for sympathy, rather in the hopes of adding to the stories available to future mothers and partners. Every birth story is different - unique to every mother, birth partner, and child. Thank you for allowing me to share mine.

I would love to hear your birth stories! Please share your experiences in the comments below.