The Warrior Has Arrived

Six and a half weeks ago I had a baby. 

I simply can’t believe how quickly the past few weeks have gone.  There’s cliché #1 that has proven to be true (“time flies”), along with pretty much every single other one: everything “they” say about becoming a mom.  I love this child more than life itself and I did so instantly.  I am exhausted but can’t imagine a world without her.  I somehow have no time to do anything, yet all I do is feed, burp, change, hold and rock my baby.  Getting a glass of water has proven to be a challenge (I joke that I need one of those hats that has bottles attached to the sides with straws that lead down into the mouth so I can have water whenever I need it, but honestly I am considering seeking one out).   The fear I had of becoming a mom is still there, but yet I know I can do it.  No matter how you feel about other people’s kids, you will love your own so unconditionally it’s ridiculous.

And the biggest truth is that it really didn't matter in the end how she came into this world.  It seemed perfectly orchestrated to result in the moment when a big (9lbs!) beautiful baby girl was placed on my chest, bobbing her head around looking for food…before I knew it, Sloan had arrived.

On Friday, March 8^th Jaime and I checked in at Southlake hospital where I was examined to determine whether I needed Cervadil or not – a drug that softens the cervix.  To my surprise, I was 1 cm dilated!  I was sent home and told to come back at 7:30am the following morning. This was wonderful news – perhaps I would get my home birth after all!  I was 1 cm dilated – maybe overnight I would go into labour.  Call it wishful thinking, but I believed that night I was going into labour.  So much so that at 6:30 on Saturday morning I called my midwife telling her I thought I was in active labour, and perhaps I didn’t need to go to the hospital after all.  I was laughing and happy, and talking no problem – all signs, she said, that I was definitely NOT in active labour (and which I later felt like an idiot for even thinking once the real drama began).  I gave it a few more hours, and to my dismay everything stopped.  So off to the hospital we went. 

When I arrived I was in a mood let me tell you.  I had a bag full of comfy nighties to wear, I had my exercise ball and was armed with all kinds of pain management movement techniques and homeopathic remedies that I was planning to utilize once labour began.  And then I found out I likely couldn’t use any of them (except the homeopathy).  With Pitocin, you are on IV constantly, and you are also attached to the fetal monitor constantly.  I mean, I had to call the nurse when I had to go pee, so she could detach me from everything.  So rolling around on the exercise ball was out of the question – so was walking around.  I was basically confined to bed.  And I was told I couldn’t even wear my own nightie!  I fought for that though and the sweet nurse finally agreed.  However, I was furious and grumpy.   Now my ENTIRE plan was completely gone. 

And then the Pitocin kicked in.

Pitocin is no joke.  Within 45 minutes I went from feeling no contractions whatsoever to being in full active labour – intense contractions a minute apart, each lasting for 60-90 seconds.  I was caught off guard and terrified.  My doula arrived and helped me breathe through them, but they were so intense that the “break” in between didn’t feel like a break at all – I felt like I was still contracting, only not quite as intensely as the actual contractions.  I was in constant pain.  The only thing getting me through was the hope that this was dilating me quickly and I would have my baby soon.  Well, 5 hours, a lot of vomit and many contractions later, I was checked and was only 3 cms dilated.  I was so discouraged.  I was also told that the Pitocin was going to be increased to help speed things up, because if it didn’t increase there was a chance labour could actually stop.  I found out I was only on the first level of intensity of Pitocin.  I still had a long way to go.  Finally, by hour six, I decided to get an epidural.  I just knew I was going to have a very long labour, and the nurse assured me it was going to get much, much worse.  Plus, she added, the anaesthetist was right outside my room, and would be unavailable for the next 5 or 6 hours so if I was considering an epidural, now was the time to get it.  How can you turn that away?

Throughout the 6 hours that I was in epidural-free active labour at the hospital, I tried very hard to push the thought of an epidural away every time it entered into my mind (which was a LOT).  I wanted to hold onto something natural.  But I was reminded time and time again that the experience I was having was nowhere near “natural”.    And as it went on, I started to care less and less about my plan.  I needed to focus on delivering my baby, and my instincts were telling me (along with the nurse!) that if I continued this way I would soon be so exhausted that pushing would be even more challenging, if not impossible. This tapped into my C-Section fear (which at this point bordered on a phobia).  Plus, I must admit, I just wanted the pain to go away!  I had already vomited twice from the pain, and not being able to do many of the things that I planned to do to manage the pain made it much worse – even if it was just psychological (only downside – I now had no choice but to put on the crunchy hospital gown). 

Once I got the epidural, I felt relief like I have never felt before.  The nurse advised I sleep if I could, to “rest up to push”.  Well I took that advice and ran with it…or should I say cuddled up to it.  I went to sleep at 8pm, only waking when the nurse would come in to check me.  As the night wore on, my progress continued to be slow.  By 2am I was only 7cms dilated, but with very intense contractions that were lasting for 2-3 minutes each.  That’s when the nurse had me push to help dilate me – within an hour I was 10 cms and the real pushing began.  My labour was progressing so slowly, that the Pitocin was even beginning to tire out.  I had reached the maximum drip allowed, and my contractions started slowing down.  Towards the end, they were 4 to 5 minutes apart...but lasting 4 to 5 minutes each (now imagine that without an epidural!  I simply could not have done it).  My amazing nurse came to my head and said "Pretty soon, the doctor is going to come in, and she is NOT going to be happy with how long you've been pushing.  I know you want this baby out your way, so you have to give it all you've got.  I am off at 7:30.  We are having this baby before then".  I could have kissed her.  I looked at the clock.  I'd been pushing for three and a half hours by this point.  I was exhausted.  But her words motivated me something fierce.

Sloan was big.  And I am small.  The pushing was the hardest work I have ever done, but by far the most awesome.  My epidural was so good, I could feel everything.  I could feel my legs, I could feel the contractions, I could feel when to push, and most amazing of all, I could feel her moving down my birth canal and eventually I felt her come out.  I just didn’t feel pain, which 20 hours of active labour later, I was so grateful for.

A total of four intense hours of pushing later, out came the baby.  The relief was indescribable, only trumped by the excitement to see my baby.  I looked at Jaime who had a dream-like, intense, teary-eyed look on his face.  “What is it?” I asked?  “It’s a….it’s a girl”.  I was in shock.  I was completely convinced I was having a boy.  I referred to my baby as a “he” the entire time she was in my belly.  When buying stuff for the baby while I was pregnant I would always navigate towards the blue stuff.  However, I oddly always dreamed I was having a girl.  And here’s some real honesty: I really wanted a girl.  I want a boy too…but I really wanted a girl first.  So when Jaime said those words, I was overcome with an excitement and a joy so profound it felt like an out of body experience. 

Suddenly she was in my arms, on my chest, her little perfect, slimy body wiggling around – rooting for the breast, knowing exactly what to do.  In an instant everything was worth it, and I honestly would have had 20 C-Sections to have her.  My plan no longer mattered; in fact it seemed trivial just like everyone said it would.   My midwife later told me that I would have most likely been transferred to the hospital by ambulance if I was at home.  I pushed for far too long by most standards (but since baby was fine, I was up for it, and had THE MOST amazing nurse ever – Fahima – I was able to do it without further intervention).  Plus, Sloan had shoulder dystocia, which is when the baby gets stuck after the head has come out.  Very quick thinking and a very skilled and fast delivery needs to happen in order to ensure the baby comes out safely.  The OB (since I was induced, it was a “transfer of care” meaning the on-call OB had to catch my baby, not the midwife) was incredible.  She gave me a quick episiotomy, jumped on the bed, reached in with both hands and twisted and pulled Sloan out safely (again, thank goodness for that epidural).  This is not to say that my midwife wouldn’t have handled it so well…but you never know. 

All I know is, my experience was beautiful – hospital, drugs, crunchy nightgown and all.  I had the man I love by my side cheering me on (and who later said that the 2 days in the hospital were the best of his life), and in the end we got to finally meet the most precious, gorgeous little girl who has made us ooze love in a way that we never thought possible.