Wordless Wednesday

 

Coming Home

Shortly after my son arrived, things were all fuzzy. I was tired. The doctor was stitching me up. My son was on my chest, looking shocked and sucking on his fingers. People all around were talking. Once that was all taken care of, it got quiet in the room, and we were able to have a “golden hour” as a family of four. I couldn’t believe that our little boy was finally here.

While I was so happy that he got here safely, it didn’t feel the same as the last time I had given birth. I knew I loved this little baby, but it differed greatly from my daughter. I couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling, but it grew over the next 24 hours. It was like a slow bloom at first - as I stared at him. Then, tracing his nose and holding his little fingers, it felt surreal that he was actually in my arms. He would open his eyes and look at me with this intensity, too. He was perfect and very calm.

While at the hospital, I felt safe. If I had questions, the nurses would answer them. If we needed help, a nurse would come in. If you’ve ever given birth, you know that you get little to no sleep at a hospital. Surprisingly, I found comfort in that. There was always someone there if needed. And even though this was not my first time having a child - it had been 14 years since I had gone through this - everything was so different.

We were released the following afternoon, and while we were all excited to be going home, this is when my anxiety started to creep in. I worried about the car seat. I kept checking his breathing. When we got home, I thought I would feel more comfortable, but it was the complete opposite. Gone were the nurses. No one at home knew CPR. There wasn’t another person checking on my son to make sure he was okay in the middle of the night. Adding to that anxiety, he did not want to sleep while swaddled or in a bassinet. All he wanted was contact naps. And that’s when things started going downhill for me.

A Birth Story // Part II

When I say that I labored in all positions, I mean it. We walked the halls a lot. I would sit on the birthing ball and roll my hips in figure 8s. Then, when the nurse spotted the heart rate issue, I had to add several other positions. They dropped the bed, and I was in a sitting position. I went through several contractions that way. Then they laid me back down and put a peanut ball between my legs - having me bend back a bit. Not a fan of that one at all. And then I was asked to get on all fours - rocking back and forth. Then, they brought the birthing ball for me to wrap my arms around and rock. Finally, they got Corey involved, and we did the “slow-dance” position. We did this for about 2 hours. Switching between each one every 20 - 25 minutes. 

During all of this, the nurse kept monitoring my baby’s heart rate. Thankfully, her advice worked, and it started to remain steady. I was told that I could labor however I felt the most comfortable from that point on. While this was good news, this was also about the time that I started to struggle a bit. I began to waver in my decision to attempt this without medication. As I swayed through another contraction, the pain was so intense. I remember telling Corey, “I think I’m going to need something to get through this. It hurts so bad.” He told me that he supported that decision, and so I asked the nurse for some medication.

BUT it was too late. Originally, she told me that she’d bring me some pain medication to give me through my IV. Before she left the room, she checked me and said I was past 8 cm. When she returned empty-handed, I knew I wouldn’t be getting anything. “I’m so sorry. They told me that since you are at an 8, we can’t administer any medication.” I asked about nitrous, and she said they were out. I almost cried as I swayed from side to side next to the bed. The contractions were getting closer together, and they were painful. I mentally scolded myself, “Why did you think it was a good idea to do this without any drugs?” And just as another contraction peaked, a second nurse came in and declared that the nitrous had been restocked. She connected the mask, and they gave me instructions on what I had to do.

This is when time felt like it was going by really fast and slow all at the same time. I got up on the bed with the birthing ball and the nitrous mask. I had several contractions in that position before I was rechecked. Another nurse came in, and the doctor appeared. There was a whirlwind of pulling tables closer to the bed, and the doctor asked me to get on my back. She checked me and said, “It’s time to push.” The nurse told her I wanted to go with a squat bar for delivery, but the doctor said it wasn’t an option due to the umbilical cord. She needed access in case my son wasn’t breathing and she needed to perform lifesaving measures. My feet were placed in stirrups, and Corey was asked where he’d like to stand. My daughter and mother were sitting behind the doctor, and they opted to stay in the room.

As the doctor instructed me to push, I bared down, and that’s when I started to feel the “ring of fire”. It was so intense. As soon as the next contraction peaked, she said, “PUSH.” I pushed down as hard as I could. Other people were saying words of encouragement, but I tried to focus on the doctor. I was tired, and the pain felt like it was never going to end. The next contraction started, and soon after, I heard her say again, “PUSH.” This time, I pushed, but I didn’t do a full push. I felt weak and exhausted. I remember looking at Corey and thinking, “I can’t do this.” And that’s when I heard someone say, “He’s almost out, he’s right there, one more good push.” And I gave it all I had. My right leg came down, and the nurse had to grab it and place it back up. But I bared down, and within seconds, he was out. They placed him on my chest, and he let out a cry while I let out a sigh of relief. He was finally here.