04.13.05
You know, those Baby Story shows on TLC are full of crap. Carefully planned and executed births with attentive doctors by your side the entire way? Yeah right. You want a birth story? I�ve got a doozy.
I wish I could say that my labor and birth experience was a positive one. I wish that I didn�t feel at time that I had a mild case of post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of it. But I still have vivid flashbacks of it to this day. (J swears I woke up in the middle of the night the other night in cold sweats screaming, � PUSH!�) Fortunately, I have a healthy, beautiful baby in the end.
My main problem? I had picked the wrong doctor. I was too dazzled by the array of accreditation certificates and degrees on his wall and the fact that he had been the acting director of the L&D department at my hospital to notice that he was an egotistical insensitive ass. But enough about him, let�s have the story shall we?
Disclaimer: the following story contains graphic details involving bodily fluids and other icky things.
I had been having labor contractions for 3 days but they never got close enough to get me to the hospital. Finally on Monday afternoon about 2:30 pm (after being up with NO SLEEP Sunday night because of painful contractions) they got close enough for me to get to the hospital. When we got there, though, I was only dilated 2 centimeters. So instead of sending me home, the nurses had me walk the hallways for an hour to see if I progressed. After an hour of walking (with my mom and hubby as VERY enthusiastic cheerleaders) I was in a lot of pain and had dilated to almost a 4. They admitted me and because I am not a big pain and suffering fan, I immediately asked for an epidural. By the time the anesthesiologist got there (around 5 pm Monday afternoon), I was dilated to 6 cm and had started shaking uncontrollably from the pain, nerves, and hormones. Marry me, Mr. Anesthesiologist. After that, I was able to relax and try to sleep (yeah, right). My mom, J, and my best friend were there in the room, though, so it was tough to just sleep.
Unfortunately (and predictably�it�s a tradeoff), the contractions slowed then and by 9 pm I had only progressed to a little over a 7. The nurses kept hoping that my water would break to help the baby move down a little quicker, but only the doctor could do that and the nurses told me that if they called him in a minute before the baby was crowning, he would get mad and leave (what a jackass).
Anyway, they called my doctor and he had them give me pitocin to help. Around midnight, I was still only around 8 cm so the nurse did an internal and "accidentally" broke my waters. (I was glad she did, but later on, found out that while she was trying to break my waters with a little finger pick thing, she had completely scratched the hell out of my poor baby�s head.) Finally around 3 am the baby had descended and I was ready to push. I was completely exhausted by then and had no idea how I was going to do this. Plus, the epidural, while a pain-saving blessing, made it harder for me to figure out when and how to push. I pushed for one hour with little progress and was sure that I was going to have to get a c-section (note: STILL NO DOCTOR!!) when a new nurse came in. I called her Nurse Nazi but she was just what I needed then. She wouldn't let me rest a second and I finally figured out where I needed to push from.
I can�t even tell you what a surreal experience it was to be pushing the baby out at that point. First of all, it is such a stereotypical moment. You see it in the movies all the time; you imagine what it will be like when it�s you, but when you�re there in the moment, you just can�t believe you�re really doing it. I just remember at some points (when I wasn�t deliriously declaring that there was no way on God�s green earth I was going to be able to finish this) thinking, �Huh, so this is what if feels like to push another human being from out of your body.�
Then, just when I was sure I was going to die and couldn�t possibly take any more, the absolute worst part. The baby's head was crowning and had just stretched through the perineum when the NURSES MADE ME STOP PUSHING and WAIT FOR THE DOCTOR who they HADN�T EVEN CALLED YET. You have no idea how crushing that was to my already fragile psyche at that point. I was so upset and in so much pain, I don't know how I survived it (by this time, the epidural had begun to wear off). I literally laid back, closed my eyes, and had to remove myself mentally from the moment. I remember feeling like I was having some bizarre out of body experience; like I was watching from a distance or something. Once or twice I came back and remember crying and begging them to let me push. Looking back, I realize that I SHOULD HAVE JUST PUSHED, nurses and doctor be damned. But at that point, you just have no idea if there is a problem that the doctor has to be there for or not. Anyway, FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, he shows up, having obviously just rolled out of bed. I remember pushing a few more times and all of the sudden my beautiful baby came into the world. As long as I live, I will never forget the way it felt when he came out. It was such a huge relief�a warm gush of fluid, an immediate release of pressure, and there he was on my chest. (Ew, sorry. See disclaimer.)
The poor thing had a ring around his head that looked exactly like he had had a glass jar screwed down on it where they had made me stop pushing and hold him for 15 minutes. His head was scratched to bits from the nurse earlier. He had been stuck in my birth canal for 2 hours. The first words out of my mouth to my baby were, �I am so sorry!� But J was the sweetest. He had tears in his eyes and kept saying, �You did it, sweetie. Look at our beautiful baby!� That part was worth remembering.
The rest of the experience was equally bizarre. They cleaned the baby up and laid him on my chest while the doctor was delivering my placenta. All of the sudden, there was this explosion of blood that sprayed over me, J, and the baby. It was just like a scene from a horror movie. Everyone just kind of stopped what they were doing. I was thinking, �Great, I�ve hemorrhaged and now they�ll have to do some emergency surgery or something.� Fortunately, it turned out to be nothing, but it was very disturbing to say the least.
Then, as I was lying there holding my baby, I began to notice some sharp pains and realized that the doctor was sewing me up. Now, before the baby was born, the one concern that I had expressed to the doctor was that I didn�t want to get an episiotomy if I could avoid it. He assured me that he rarely if ever did those anymore, so I assumed that I had torn and he was repairing the tear. I asked him how bad the tear was, and he didn�t even bother to acknowledge me. He just kept jerkily pulling on the stitches. When I finally said, �Ow, that really hurts,� he says, �I�m not doing anything.� Uh, sorry, but yeah�you are. Then he grumpily asked the nurses for some lidocane for me. How nice. Turns out that the minute he sat down to �deliver� the baby, he reached for the scissors and *snip*, performed the episiotomy without saying a word. (Add this to the list of hate for the doctor that I now have.) I mean, granted, I was having a really big baby, but at least explain to me why you needed to do it. My mom told me later that I must have felt it because I cried out, but I can�t for the life of me remember that.
After holding the baby for a few minutes longer, I guess I pretty much passed out from fatigue because the next thing I remember was J waking me up in a darkened room to take me to the room we would be staying in. I was so out of it that it took me a minute to even remember that I had had a baby.
I hate that I�m so negative about the whole thing. I really don�t want to scare anyone with this story. My best friend who was there said afterwards that she honestly had no desire to have children after that, and that�s not what I want. I really do believe that my experience was out of the norm and that ultimately giving birth is a beautiful experience�even one as traumatic as mine. And honestly, the further away from the experience I get (and the less the episiotomy hurts, which has been the worst part about coming home) the less angry I am. But I do feel sad at times because what could have, and should have been, a tough, but beautiful experience was turned into something so miserable when it just didn�t have to be that bad. Ultimately, the pain wasn�t what was the worst part, the attitude of callousness towards myself and, more importantly, my baby on the part of the doctor is what was the worst.
But I�ve learned from it all. I never knew I had that kind of strength within me. It�s amazing what we can do when we have to. I have so much more awe and admiration for mothers now. Also, if J and I do have more children, I know exactly what to look for in a doctor now. And really, I am so, so in love with my baby. He is the sweetest thing in the world. My life has been turned completely upside down, and I have had more than one post-partum meltdown, but it is all worth it when I hold him next to me and smell his sweet baby neck and kiss his baby fingers and toes.
I want to write more about life since having the baby, but because this post is already too long, I will save it for the next time I have a few minutes where I am not attached to a ravenous baby or trying desperately to fall asleep before he wakes up. Suffice it to say that the past week has been some of the most difficult yet wonderful days of my life. I am amazed and in a state of constant awe. My son. My little baby boy.
