Here and Safe at Last

I wrote the majority of this post from my hospital bed two days after my son was born. Even though they say sleep when the baby sleeps, I was wide awake in the late night/early morning with the sounds of medical equipment passing through my ears, and thoughts of the big day running through my head:

So this is what motherhood looks like. Holding a sleeping baby at 1:40am after nursing because he is finally full, balancing his body above an incision wound and learning as I go that he is the least fussy when he's warm.

Yes, I had a scheduled induction for Thursday, June 6 to bring my baby into the world. And then my water broke on Wednesday, June 5 at 8:36 in the morning. Luckily, I had just finished breakfast. I was sitting at the end of the breakfast table about to share updates with my writing group on Facebook to let them know what my doctor said at Tuesday's appointment. I was excited to let them know that I was going to be induced, because at least then I knew for sure when Baby was coming and they could keep a look out for information about his arrival. I opened up the Facebook group page and was going to start my post with "No baby yet" as I'd been doing with most texts back to my friends and family this week so they wouldn't get too excited or anxious. Or maybe I was going to say, "Not related to writing, but I wanted to update you all...." I lost my train of thought because I only got as far as typing "Not" on my phone when I felt the warm gush.

It was almost just like the movies, even though I was warned it wouldn't be. A woman's water only breaks in about 15% of births, and often it's just a trickle. My doctor even said if it does happen, you just feel like you wet yourself. I'd also read that, unlike with urine, you wouldn't be able to hold it in. I experienced all these sensations as I ran to the bathroom with an "Uh oh," leaving Hubby behind in the next room wondering if I was okay. In the bathroom I confirmed that this liquid was clear and not at all the color of urine. I was positive of what had just happened.

Excited and filled with as much adrenaline and uncertainty as the day we first learned I was pregnant, we quickly showered, locked up the house, and headed to the hospital.

Once there, they determined that I was 4 cm dilated and 90% effaced already. Baby was definitely on his way! Labor seemed to be progressing at a great pace too, and the sweetest nurse Gabby said I was "too smiley to be four centimeters!" They confirmed that it was the amniotic sac that had ruptured and prepared me to have a baby!

I was hooked up to monitors and given a room where I slowly started having contractions that I could feel. At first, it was just as they describe: like strong menstrual cramps. But nothing I couldn't handle. Hubby helped me breathe through the strongest ones, standing at the end of my hospital bed and raising his hands to instruct me to breath in deeply through the nose, and pushing his hands down to instruct me to push  the air and the pain out through the mouth. It helped that he was wearing a Marvel comics T-shirt with dozens of characters that I could look at to distract myself too. After a couple of hours of this that seemed to pass instantly, the contractions did start to intensify at last. I experienced one that I considered to be the worst--level 7 pain--after a few that were level 6 to me. At that point, rather than breathing together, I just asked to squeeze his hands and wait through the pain of those larger ones.

I was going to see how things went as far as pain medicine, but wanted to stay open minded on both sides. I wasn't opposed to going natural if I could handle it. I also wasn't opposed to an epidural if I couldn't handle it. I had no idea how I would feel until in the situation, but my personal goal was to at least make it to 7 cm before deciding on an epidural. My biggest fear wasn't even contraction pain, but feeling the pain of trying to push out a baby that I could just tell would be a bit on the large size (for my body at least).

But of course, because of all the current c-sections scheduled that day, the anesthesiologist was only available at certain time periods. Nurse Gabby warned me that if I did decide I wanted an epidural, I should give her notice before my pain was so unbearable I couldn't stand it, because I would likely have to wait a while for the anesthesiologist at that point. I didn't know at what point pain would be unbearable for me, and Gabby seemed to think I was a rock star for lasting this long (some women demand an epidural immediately when they're only 1 cm dilated). I worried about stalling labor with an epidural and asked about the risks. Gabby told me that while labor could stall, they had medicine to easily get it started again. She added that the epidural would make labor comfortable enough where I could have more strength to push at the end. Ultimately, this sounded good to me. So when Gabby strongly recommended the epidural as I reached around 6 cm dilated, I said yes.

Every labor and delivery is unique, and every woman has their own wishes. I wasn't sure what I wanted, and did think I probably could have survived the pain for longer. But I also knew there was no wrong way to bring a healthy baby into this world, and that this whole experience was one big experiment to me. So I trusted my nurse's input and made a decision that I hoped was right for me.

The epidural was administered and things continued smoothly for a while. I could still feel my legs enough to move in bed, which gave me a sense of control, but I no longer felt any contractions or cervical checks, which gave me a sense of relief. Gabby came in to place an internal monitor for baby and with another nurse helped turn me to my side so the numbness in my lower body would distribute evenly. Then I heard Gabby proclaim, "Oh, Baby doesn't like that."

I didn't know what she meant, but she seemed unfazed. They would simply turn me to the other side for now.

But apparently Baby didn't like that either. I began to realize that my nurse's definition of Baby being mad and not liking me lying on my sides translated to a drop in his heart rate. I just didn't realize how much.

In a matter of seconds I went from two nurses in my hospital room to six nurses at my bedside, with more knocking on the door every few seconds, asking Gabby if she needed extra help. They all acted calm and methodical, but I was aware that something was wrong. What was wrong with my baby??

I was given an oxygen mask and instructed to breathe deeply. They still didn't tell me what was going on, but I could hear them discuss turning me in different positions and mentioned bringing in a peanut ball to hold between my legs. I didn't know what the benefit of these positions were, but I would try anything to help make sure my baby was okay. I wished that Hubby could be closer to me, but he was hanging back to let the nurses do their work. At last they told me that they were going to help me turn so I could prop myself up on my knees and lay my head down on the bed pillow. My lower half was numb on the inside but my legs obeyed as I rolled over onto my knees and stuck my back in the air, almost a downward dog yoga pose on top of my hospital bed. That's when the beeping on baby's monitor got faster. His heart rate was climbing back up to a normal range.

I could feel tears of relief pooling into my oxygen mask as I held the pose, grateful for the nurses' knowledge of what would work to keep my baby healthy. I called Hubby close to me, and he did his best to console me--I couldn't stop crying with relief. He promised me that Baby was fine now, though his own tears gave away just how scared he had been too. We both calmed down together and breathed together. Until all this happened a second time.

Baby's heart rate started to go down when they tried to get me back into a normal position. Apparently Gabby had already contacted my doctor to see how to proceed. I later learned that in situations like these, if Baby's heart rate returned to normal, then we would continue with labor and a vaginal delivery as planned. But Baby's heart rate wasn't returning to normal. The flood of six nurses returned. I climbed back onto all fours on the hospital bed. Tears pooled in my oxygen mask. And my regular beeping fetal monitor was replaced with another monitor that sounded more like a ping pong ball popping back and forth. The room turned silent as we all listened to a slow pop, pop, pop, that got slower, faster, and then eerily slow again.

This time instead of calmly discussing peanut balls, they calmly discussed how my doctor was on his way and they would wait for him to make the official call.

I knew what this likely meant before one of the nurses (or possibly a doctor that had entered the room) asked me, "How do you feel about having a c-section?" I remember holding position on all fours, wondering why they would even ask me that. It's not like a c-section would ruin my dream birth plan, and even if it did, what would that matter if it meant my baby was safe? I remember almost whispering back, "Whatever it takes to make sure he's okay." I hadn't prepared for a c-section, but I knew what to expect with one (at least in the operating room) because my best friend experienced one at the same hospital exactly three years and three days before that day, and I had been her birthing partner. The idea of surgery was still scary. But I knew in that moment, ANYTHING for my baby.

I almost wondered why they weren't jumping to a c-section sooner. The last thing I wanted was to keep waiting and hear the pop pop of his heart rate monitor slow down to nothing.

Later, I would learn that Baby's heart rate had dropped to under 80 beats per minute for over 8 minutes. Hubby even thought he saw the machine show as low as 40 beats per minute at one point (a normal heart rate for babies in labor is between 110 and 160 beats per minute). While babies can tolerate a drop during labor every once in a while, to have it happen consistently and for so long just wasn't worth the risk. I was 100% effaced but still only 7 cm dilated, and I heard the nurses say that Baby's head was still too high. I would not be able to push him out yet, and the last thing I wanted was to risk his life trying.

My OB doctor arrived and apologized to me as he confirmed the fact that we had to do a c-section. But I already knew that was exactly what he would decide--what I would decide--and I knew getting my baby out safe was nothing to apologize for.

They gowned up my husband as they prepared to take me to the Operating Room in my bed. I remember calling him over before it started to try to prep him for what was to come, based on my experience with my friend's c-section, and to ask him to bring my camera into the OR. They had allowed this at the c-section I witnessed, and while this wasn't how I expected Baby to come into the world, I didn't want to miss precious photos of his first few moments of life. Hubby was hesitant, surprised that this was even on my mind in the middle of such a terrifying moment. Photos were the last thing we should be worrying about when my son could be in danger. But I needed something to hold onto. I didn't know if Baby's cord was wrapped around his neck as the nurse suspected (I'd later learned it wasn't). I didn't know how low his heart rate had dropped at the time. I didn't know how much of this c-section was precautionary and how much of this was emergency. But I knew we had to treat this experience as a regular delivery and hold onto the hope that everything would be okay. Taking photos in the OR was allowed, which meant it was normal. I needed normal right now. And I wanted to see my baby.

As I was wheeled into that brightly lit OR waiting for my husband to come to my side (they had him outside while the room was set up), I heard the song "Shout" by Tears for Fears playing over the hospital radio--likely music the doctors enjoyed listening to while performing surgery. It was something straight out of a TV show like Grey's Anatomy. I had a brief moment of reassurance as I thought about my first date with my husband: a Tears for Fears concert. Surely that was a good sign. Hubby told me later that he heard the song too and was reminded of the same thing.

Soon Hubby was by my side while I shook from nerves. A blue curtain screen was set up and I tried to focus on that instead of the tugging sensations in my abdomen and the sounds of surgery around me. Hubby distracted me by saying that soon I would hear my son cry for the first time and it would be the most beautiful sound in the world.

He wasn't wrong.

It happened so quickly, but I knew from past experience that the baby would come quick once the operation began. I heard short, tiny cries. They weren't as loud as I was expecting, but they sounded strong. The curtain was lowered and my son was raised just enough for me to see tiny purple baby feet and the little body behind them, screaming with strength. It was only a brief a glimpse--his purple feet disappeared as they whisked him away--but I was so happy to see my son.

There was more pressure sensations and more tugging, but no pain, as they continued the operation. I couldn't see my baby in the back of the room, but I trusted Hubby was at his side. Before I knew it he was bundled up and brought to my cheek as I lay flat on the operating table.

He stopped crying. It almost looked like he was smiling at me. My oxygen mask was removed at last and I could feel him against my cheek. I moved my arm to stroke his cheek. And Hubby snapped photos of our first moments together. Photos I'm so grateful for and will treasure forever.

Me with my son.

The rest of the operation seemed to last an eternity. I knew I was being "put back together" and hoped there were no complications. My doctor later assured me it only took so long because he was slow. Nothing went wrong. The surgery and my baby were both perfect.

My baby was for sure, I knew. He earned an Apgar Score of 9.9, almost the highest you can get, and rare for a c-section or baby in distress (they officially called the situation "fetal intolerance to labor"). I heard and memorized the rest of his stats as well. Born at 16:25 (4:25 pm), 7 pounds, 4 ounces, 20 inches in length. What a big baby! (For comparison, both Hubby and I were under 6 pounds at birth).

Much of the time after that was a blur. I don't remember when my son had his first bath. I was a bit out of it as my family came in to see me and take pictures. But I do remember being wheeled back into my hospital room and seeing my husband with a bare chest under his jacket doing skin to skin contact with our son. The one part of my birth plan that I was adamant about happening. I wanted my husband to bond with our baby.

And seeing this happen from the side of my hospital bed, in a situation where I couldn't be with them but knew they were in each other's good hands--it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

I have photos documenting the entire experience. I wanted to write down the details while I still remembered them vividly. And now here I am with a real live baby. My son is okay. He's here. Surreal as it is, I have a newborn in my arms, my child for now and always.

I am the mom I want to be at last.