The Birth Story

Thursday, June 3. Dug shows up to work from home while Molly naps and I head to the appointment that my OB told me, the week before, I probably wouldn't be keeping.

He pokes around and says "Well, I don't know what's keeping her in there.".

"Are you going to strip my membranes?" I ask. "I did", he says. "Really? I didn't feel it".

You know, membrane stripping usually kind of hurts.

"There's not much there to feel", says the good doctor. "So, I'll see you in a few hours".

Ha ha, think I.

I drive a bit further north from home, up to M's house to drop off the Aerobed they're borrowing from us. I sit and chat for a bit, and then head back home. I begin to feel a slight twingeing.

I stop to get gas, as I'm on E. The twingeing continues.

I get on the 101--and traffic is at a dead halt.

I get back onto the surface streets--traffic there is at a standstill too. The twingeing continues.

I call Dug and tell him he needs to make sure Molly is fed and ready to go.

Back onto the freeway. Traffic finally moving. Twingeing getting more urgent.

At this point, I'm clearly in actual labor, but it's not painful yet. The pressure is getting more intense, and some of the contractions are pretty close together, but there's no pattern and I'm not feeling any other type of action--no fluid leakage or anything like that. I still take the back route, which isn't exactly a short cut but is often quicker nevertheless.

I get home, change clothes. I was wearing one of my favorite maternity dresses, and I guess I didn't want to risk ruining it. Also, I want something warm and familiar. Also, I'm not entirely rational. Still not feeling any pain, still no pattern.

We depart. Back up north, back to M's house, which is where Molly is being deposited. I catch myself humming a weird little tune, like a sort of meditation.

We drop off my tiny little Molly with her bag of jammies and diapers and her Lambie and her blanket. I wave. We leave.

Dug decides it's time to start timing my contractions in earnest. I try to oblige, and I do my best to tell him when they start, but they start getting kind of hard to differentiate and then all of a sudden, the next one hurts.

And then it doesn't stop. And here's where it turns into a scene from a movie.

Dug starts taking advantage of the Jetta's turbo and zips down the freeway. There's discussion of which exit to take. I hang on to the oh-shit handle and try not to freak and fail miserably. Dug keeps reminding me to breathe. I try to do as he says, because I need to scream a lot, and I can't scream if I don't breathe. I'm afraid of breaking the oh-shit handle. I'm afraid of ruining the leather, or the carpet. I'm afraid.

Lights are red where we need them green. People are stopped where we need them to go. I can't stop hollering. I feel like a complete idiot because women have been doing this for millennia, and I can't handle it. I want my epidural. I want a moment's peace in between contractions. I want to go back in time and enter a convent.

We pull into the parking lot of the hospital and there's a guardshack with one of those barriers and you're supposed to stop, push the button and take your ticket, and the barrier goes up and you go through. Dug pulls in too far and the barrier doesn't go up and I don't understand and I scream for someone to raise the fucking barrier and I'm scared for a moment that Dug will just drive on through it, because that's what they'd do in the movies and this is just like a movie and it's NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THE MOVIES, everyone says it's not like the movies and Molly's birth was so mellow and controlled and I loved it so much and wanted to do it again, and I don't understand why this time is so wrong, why I've been having one continuous contraction for the last half hour, why I am so frightened. I want my epidural so badly.

And the little security guard comes out of his shack with a look of terror that almost matches my own and he pushes the button and the barrier goes up and we hurtle through and there's this big curved dropoff area and we pull over and I'm screaming for a wheelchair, we've gotta hurry, I can't do this, and Dug goes for a wheelchair and a valet comes for the car and we leave it doors open and running and Dug's wallet on the dashboard and I get into the wheelchair and I'm screaming and I'm so embarrassed. There are people just milling around and they're all looking at me and I know they don't know I've been having the same contraction for a half hour and that I'm all out of self-control. I'm scaring the crap out of them and the humiliation of it just makes me feel worse. And it's Stanford, where the maternity ward is at the children's hospital, so there are...CHILDREN all over the place. Seeing me like this. And I know there are kids whose lives were forever altered by seeing this crazy woman not keeping her shit together.

We get inside and have to wait for an elevator. Who the fuck designs a hospital such that a woman in labor has to wait for a fucking elevator? And the wait means more people see me and hear me and I am so ashamed of my inability to manage this, and I feel like I should be able to breathe, there should be some Lamaze trick or Bradley trick or yoga trick that should allow me to compose myself enough to quit making such a fucking scene, and I'm so ashamed for not knowing what the trick is. And I want to tell everyone around me "This isn't normal, most women don't act like this, this is all happening very quickly and I'm sorry I'm not handling it very well, but if you knew, you'd understand..."

But I can't tell everyone that, because I need to be screaming. All I can do is tell Dug that I'm sorry and that I feel so stupid, so stupid.

And we're up in the elevator and we're out of the elevator and we're rushing down a hall and into a delivery room and all of a sudden there are like, ten people in there. And you can tell, they're all confused and nobody's sure who exactly needs to be there and I'd feel a little lack of confidence if my whole being wasn't so focused on feeling pain and fear. And I'm begging for my epidural.

Because I remember, I remember how I felt last time. I could feel everything but pain, and I felt so in control and so part of the process, and it was so positive. And now I feel only pain and fear and it's all happening without me and I can't focus and I want my epidural NOW.

And someone tells me they are going to help me take off my pants, and I say no, I want my epidural. I figure I can lean over the table and hold very very still, and they can give me the epidural, and then they can take off my pants, or whatever they want to do, it will be fine with me. I am in so much pain I want to die, but I have saved up just enough control to hold still for that shot.

But the someone says no, they need my pants now, and I need my epidural, and okay but first let's see what's going on, and oh, here's the head, push.

And I push. "Okay, another push."

And I push and there's a sort of splash and a gush and there's this baby and I begin to think I'm not going to get my epidural after all.

Dug is next to me trying to calm me and I look at him and say "Cord blood kit".

Because we're storing the cord blood, and we have this kit, and it has to be collected immediately. And the kit is in the car.

Dug's first glimpse of his new daughter is from over his shoulder as he races out the door. The valet is just driving off with our car and Dug chases him through the lot and retrieves the kit and comes back and I'm lying there under a nice warm blanket with this baby, and I'm still not sure how I got there or what just happened.

When my OB got there, he made fun of me for not believing him when he said he'd see me later, and for not going straight home like a good girl.

It went so fast that by the time they wheeled me to my room, I felt like I'd never even been pregnant. I got up and went to the bathroom and it was just...normal. No drug hangover, obviously. I wasn't tired. There was no trauma to my body. It was just weird.

It was a busy day for maternity--I couldn't get a private room, and had to share. My roommate had been through the wringer--she failed to progress, the Pitocin sent her baby into distress, and she ended up with a c-section. Worse than that, though, was the adverse reaction she had to her epidural. She spent the first twelve hours of our acquaintance puking. She was dizzy. Her baby wouldn't latch on and couldn't nurse. It was heartbreaking.

The next day when she felt better we chatted a bit. She told me her story. I mentioned that my labor had been unusually swift.

"Oh", she said. "You're the one who came in screaming and then had the baby immediately". Her husband said "Oh, we heard you!"

Great.

Dug couldn't stay with me, and we felt it was best if he go and get Molly and take her home to sleep. He brought her to me the next day...and she was so big and so grown up.

She immediately took to her baby sister--though it turns out, she's convinced that the baby is some kind of kitty.

And then they let me get discharged after 24 hours and we came home. I wasn't sick. I felt fine. My roommate was making me a little uncomfortable and self-conscious. I was done being at the hospital. And the baby was done, too.

You know, when you read birth stories, there's always some story about a homebirth where everyone the mother knows is present, and it's all very beautiful and serene and hippie, and then the mother gets up and makes soup for everyone, and you think "I call bullshit"? Well, I know better now. I could totally have made soup for everyone the night I gave birth.

Anyway. We're done having kids. Even though my OB promised in at least half-seriousness that next time, he'd admit me at 36 weeks. I'm afraid if I get pregnant again, I'll just be walking along one day and a baby will fall out of me, and I've had enough delivery-related humiliation for one lifetime.

And that's pretty much how it all went down.

Comments

[beth]

oh, yay! and congratulations! sitting here, laughing and crying, and so very happy for you and your family, and welcome, little one!

[Christine]

Congratulations. And as for 'keeping your shit together': it's overrated. If you were in that kind of pain for any other reason no one would expect you to keep your shit together. Hollering is perfectly reasonable under the circumstances. Hell, give another yell now just for good measure! (but don't wake the baby, of course)

[Angela (Twinmama)]

Amazing tale...that must have been pretty scary! My labor was pretty similar--I went from 0 to 6 in something like less than two hours.

I agree, *two* is the perfect number.

Congrats (and get as much sleep as you can instead of making soup for everybody)!

[citymama]

Wow! What a story! I'd like to hear the best expletive (or combination thereof) uttered between 3:30 and 4:06!

I think I'm going to be wearing "net underwear" during the last month of my pregnancy. You've got me scared shitless that this kid is going to suddenly appear in my lap while I'm driving or something.

I know exactly what you mean about not being tired and feeling like you could get up and make soup. Pretty amazing what a woman can handle. We so rock. Hard.

Congratulations again! What a way to enter the world!

[Miel]

Congratulations! You are incredible. I can't believe you feel at all humiliated by screaming. That's an amazing story and who wouldn't scream?

That's a dramatic story and a fabulous ending.

There is a feeling of vulnerability or embarassment that comes with giving birth (I discovered as I heard the staff joking while shaving my privates on the operating table.) But damn. That can't be right. Remember the biology, etc. Or even remember the gruesome fact that women risk their lives to have babies--not as much for us in high tech hospitals but still. Sorry, screaming seems like par for the course.

Hooray for you and your baby.

[Amanda]

Ha! Screaming is perfectly acceptable. No one should tell you otherwise. Considering my recent birth experience (well, almost 9 months ago now), yanking out my own eyeballs still seems like it might be less painful.

BTW - I'm a fairly new reader and just now realized that we must be neigbors. I had my baby at El Camino.

[Tigress]

I was just thinking the other day how people should scream more often in life. It's good for the soul, you know, purging and all that. Anyway, WOOHOO! to the new baby (or kitty, if that's how she's recognized in your house). Best wishes to mom, dad, sis, Aunt Collete, and Grandma!

[Moxie]

Congratulations! I was in labor for 36 hours, but as soon as that baby was out I felt as if I'd slept for 10 hours, had a cuip of coffee, walked into the room and someone handed me the baby. I never understood what they meant when they said going unmedicated made it all over as soon as it was over, but damn. Strange how nature works that way.

And maybe you saved some girls from getting pregnant too soon (memories of your screams echoing in their heads).

[Proud Auntie Bunny]

Yep! That's my sister everyone! She does rock, doesn't she? I'm so damn proud! BTW, I spoke to her from Greece just as she was leaving for the aforementioned OB appointment. And of course, I didn't call back again for another 4 days. I'm a terrible aunt already.

Love to my nieces and the kitties (of which margaret is not)

Colette

[Patti]

Aw, Bun. But you will *always* have gum.

[Nancy Marhall]

Childbearing is the necessary steps towards grandparenthood, one of the ecstacies of existence, and longer lasting than a good wine or an orgasm.
Maggie really didn't want you to have that epidural. Isn't it interesting that not getting what you want turns out to be the gift. Auntie Ann directed me to your site. Great storytelling. Thanks for sharing. Nancy

[badgerbag]

Screaming is great. Those kids in the waiting room will remember you as they scream in labor and they'll be all like, "It's okay for me to scream, it's what that one lady did while we were waiting for the elevator...."

Howdy, neighbor! I'm in RWC just north of you. And after I did homebirth (screaming and cursing god and fate, not at all a good hippie) I got up and ate all the leftover Thai food in the fridge from like 6 people's dinners. And I was so flush with hormonal whateverness that I was like, "Bring it on. I could totally do that again tomorrow."

[Grammy]

Hate to take the wind out of your sails kiddo, but that is very close to how your little sister was born. I was in labor exactly 35 minutes with no membrane stripping. She almost came in the ER. AND your Dad was out of town.