Archives of Birth Stories

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Doing it My Way
-Stacy Quarty, New York
Excerpt from "Frankly Pregnant: A Candid Week by Week Guide to the Unexpected Joys, Raging Hormones and Common Experiences of Pregnancy"

Last night, after many hours of “false labor” contractions, I settled into bed. That’s when the real contractions started. I was suddenly startled by a large kick from the baby, immediately followed by a real contraction. Yes! A real contraction! Welcome to me! How did I know it was a “real contraction?” Well, it spread from my lower back and encompassed my whole middle. My uterus then became extremely tight, distorted looking and painful. I noticed at the height of the contraction I had a few waves of nausea from the pain. I can see why some women vomit during labor. Again, the Lamaze breathing really helped me distance the pain and get through it.

Jamey kept asking me, “Is this real labor? Is this it? Is it? Is it? Is it?!” The clincher for me was the fact that I could not talk during the contraction. This was definitely it!

We started timing the contractions and soon noticed that they were progressing very quickly. By 11:30 they were already six minutes apart. Uh, oh... we should have already been at the hospital. I packed my last minute items and grabbed a bunch of old towels for the car (you never know when your water may break). By the time the baby-sitter arrived, the contractions were five minutes apart. I, for one was happy to have things progressing so quickly. Jamey, on the other hand, was looking a bit ashen.

We arrived at the hospital by midnight. As we approached the nurse’s desk I blurted out, “Epidural,” before Jamey could even begin to tell her my name. I wanted to be clear this was a top priority. It seemed Jamey’s top priority was to get me admitted, and fast. Although I was already pre-admitted, there still were a few forms to fill out. The panic on Jamey’s face did finally diminish when I was hooked up to all the proper monitors and was fully in the care of the hospital staff.

By the time the doctor examined me I was already six centimeters dilated. Yeah! Epidural time! (Most hospitals have a standard of at least four to five centimeters’ dilation required before it can be administered.) Upon voicing my request of the epidural to my doctor, he advised me against it. He told me that in his opinion, with a VBAC delivery, an epidural could diminish the chances of a vaginal birth by about thirty percent. The drug sometimes interferes with a mother’s ability to push.

What?! I was never told this before. I had come into this hospital with a plan and thought that I had already made all my decisions. What should we do now? At that moment, another contraction seized my uterus and, Presto!– my mind was made up. It was epidural time. No matter how numb the epidural made me feel, I would find a way to push.

Once my decision was made, I still had to get through over an hour more of contractions. Before an epidural can be administered, you have to get a bag of IV juice pumped into you, someone has to summon the anesthesiologist, the anesthesiologist has to brief you on the procedure and then, finally then, you get to have the big needle in the spine.

By the time I was ready for my spinal poke, I was already seven centimeters dilated and starting the “transition” stage of labor. At that point, the contractions became more intense and my body was beginning to shake.

This time, when the anesthesiologist swabbed my back with antiseptic, I was actually looking forward to having that needle jabbed into my spine. The first injection of Novocain was a small pinch that was no more uncomfortable than having blood drawn. The second injection, where the anesthesiologist puts a larger needle into the spinal column and inserts a tiny catheter, didn’t hurt at all. It just felt kind of strange, as if someone was poking around inside my back. Believe it or not, the most painful part of the epidural was afterward, when the duct-like tape was torn off my back.

Suddenly my right leg gave a wild kick as I felt a jolt, cold and electric feeling, but not painful, go from my hip to my toes. And...that was it. No more pain. “Am I having a contraction?” I asked as I felt a pressure and squeezing of my uterus. “A huge one,” Jamey replied as he turned the monitor my way so that I could see the inked, blue line spike off the chart.

At 5:15a.m. the doctor examined me, announced that I was fully dilated, and ready to push. Great! Let’s get this show on the road! Jamey stepped into the bathroom for a quick break, the doctor left the room to get his scrubs, and the nurse disappeared down the hall. I felt my next contraction taking hold and I was all alone. Should I start pushing? Hello? I was about to have a baby here!

By the time the contraction was at its height, the room was again full of people and I was back in the spotlight. The nurse coached me on my pushing and assigned Jamey with a few tasks– supporting my neck and right leg during contractions, and giving me the oxygen mask after each push. (Jamey snapped a picture of me sucking on that oxygen mask, with eyes bulging like Marty Feldman. Sweet, huh?)

The nurse kept telling me to push out through my rectum, as if having a giant bowel movement. I guess that is the closest feeling you can compare it to.

During one very hard push, I heard a fart escape. Egads! “Did I poop?” I asked in horror. No, the nurse assured me, it was just a sign that I was doing it right. It wasn’t a fart, it was, what she called “baby bubbles.” During that mildly embarrassing episode, I was grateful that it was just the nurse and Jamey in the room. Believe it or not, in most hospitals the doctor is not present much of the time during the labor, and even the pushing stages. That was fine with me. I found the nurses to be fully capable and encouraging throughout the entire birthing process.

After a few hard pushes, the nurse announced that she could see the baby’s head. Of course, I couldn’t see from that angle, but I could feel the baby’s head beginning to peek out. Jamey became so mesmerized that he forgot to give me oxygen. “Jamey, oxygen,” the nurse said.

Although the baby’s head was becoming more visible with each push, it kept sucking back in every time I stopped. It felt as if I was severely constipated. Maybe I should hold the push until the next contraction? Was that possible?

The doctor made occasional visits to see how I was progressing and each time expressed dissatisfaction with my progress. The baby’s head was not advancing down the birth canal fast enough.

During my next push, the doctor asked the nurse for a long, pointy instrument. “What is that? What the hell are you doing?” I wanted to say, but I had no air to speak. He reached in and I suddenly felt a warm, wetness. “Oh, it was just the water bag he broke.”

“Jamey, oxygen” the nurse reminded.

The doctor said if I didn’t deliver within two hours, he recommended the C-section, as an extended strain on the uterus could but too much stress on the former scar. I looked at the clock. Where did the time go!? I had only forty-five minutes to get the baby out.

This doctor was really beginning to irritate me. I wondered what his hidden agenda was. Did he want to deliver this baby by C-section so he could end his shift sooner? Would he earn more money with a surgical delivery? Does he have a “God” complex and likes prove he is always in the know?

After the doctor left the room, the nurse warned me that the epidural was about to wear off. The medication being fed into the catheter was almost gone and she was sure the doctor would not allow me another dose.

I heard a windy, swooshing noise in my head. Sounds in the room were becoming distant. The one thing I did hear, loud and clear, was Jamey’s voice, “Push!” And I did, as hard as I could. The baby’s head was advancing, but soooooo slowly.

“Jamey, oxygen.”

Just after the two-hour limit, the doctor returned. His mouth flattened into one thin line and he shook his head from side to side. On my next contraction, I summoned up all the energy I could muster and pushed like hell.

“YOU BASTARD!!! DON’T YOU DARE SHAKE YOUR CONTEMPTUOUS HEAD AT MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

I was really starting to feel those contraction pains again, but the baby was progressing.

“Jamey, oxygen.”

After I got my breath back, I asked, “Please give me more time,” in my most reasonable voice. If I could convince him that I was a cooperative patient and he was the one in control, maybe I could manipulate him into doing things my way.

Since the baby’s heart rate was stable and I was still going strong with the pushing, I was given an extra thirty minutes. After that, if the baby was not born, I would be scheduled for the first surgery of the day, at 7:30a.m.

The hands on the clock advanced so quickly. The doctor would be back any minute, the epidural was done and the baby was still not out. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!

The nurse positioned a mirror so that I could see my progress with each push. I saw the top of the baby’s head, with lots of black hair, trying to burst free. If I could just get her out... I somehow managed to push a little harder and the baby moved a little more.

“Jamey, oxygen.”

Oh no. The doctor was back. He moved the mirror out of the way, checked on my progress and announced it was time for the surgery. “NO WAY! I can do it!” I screamed, now unable to suppress my raging will.

I mean, “Just give me a little more time,” I pleaded in my most respectful voice. Jamey then interjected a bit of buddy-boy golf banter, which helped soften the mood. At the time, I was wondering “what the hell does golf have to do with the price of tomatoes?” We managed to convince the doctor to schedule us for the second surgery of the day.

I continued to push, harder and harder and the baby kept progressing. With each push I was becoming more and more out of breath. I barely had enough energy to slap Jamey in the chest.

“Jamey, oxygen.”

When the doctor returned, I was finally close to delivery. Before the next contraction took hold, I asked if it was possible to avoid an episiotomy. The thought of having to be cut from my vagina to rectum, was giving me the heebie-jeebies. The doctor suppressed a laugh and said that waiting for the stretching of the perineum could add hours to the delivery. I guess that meant avoiding the episiotomy was not an option. So, I’m sprawled out on my back, spread eagle, with my swollen, vagina hanging out and he’s being smug with me? Maybe he’s pissed because it looks like he won’t get to do the C-section after all. Okay. Fine. I’ll let him do one small, operation to satisfy his scalpel-itis.

It actually was not bad at all. I was surprised that with the epidural worn off, I didn’t even feel the injection of Novocain before the cut was made.

With the next contraction, I gave another hard push and suddenly felt some relief of pressure. The nurses and doctor huddled in closer and Jamey leaned over to get a better look, too. “What is going on down there?” I wondered, as I let my breath out and tried to lift my head.

“The head is out!” Jamey announced. I tried to peek around the still-large orb of my belly, but my vision was obstructed by the hands of the doctor. “Keep pushing,” he said, as he grabbed the baby’s head and turned her body.

I took another deep breath, held it, and gave another hard push. This time I felt no resistance and the baby’s small body slid out in one smooth motion.

She is out. I did it! I somehow found the strength to get her out and into this world. The doctor held the baby up. And you thought I wouldn’t be able to have a vaginal birth! Told you so! I would have spit in his face if I weren’t so damn happy.

I heard the cries of the baby and saw the nurse suction some goop out of her mouth. Within seconds, she was placed on my stomach. She was small and slimy, with a slightly gray tone to her skin, but she was so beautiful. This glowing life force was crying, flailing her floppy arms and legs around and looking at me. She was so small, so helpless. “What is going on here?” her eyes seemed to be asking me.

I reached down and held her tiny body, gook and all. Her flailing calmed to some mild twitches and she turned her glossy, round face up to me. I stroked my fingers across her grapefruit-sized head, covered with a good amount of thick, dark hair and noticed that she didn’t have a cone-head. I have seen many vaginally delivered babies with a cone-head appearance that sometimes lasts days after the birth. The plates of bone in the baby’s skull usually shift to allow the passage through the birth canal. Strange that her skull bones didn’t shift. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get the head out.

I traced my fingertips down the side of her face and her quivering lower lip, on her tiny M-shaped mouth became still. She has my mouth. This little person was my baby. She reached her tiny hand towards mine and grabbed hold of my little finger. What long, delicate fingers she had. I wonder what side of the family those are from.

The light in the room must have been quite a shock to her newborn eyes. She repeatedly tried to open them wide and had to squint against the glare. The irises of her eyes were already a very, dark brown, like pools of balsamic vinegar on china-white plates.

At that moment, she was so beautiful to me that I felt like I could devour her. Maybe that is why cats constantly lick at their newborn kittens.

This time, the love I felt for the baby was instant. With Karmen’s birth it took me a few days to be coherent enough to even get a good look at her. What a difference between a vaginal and a C-birth!

The nurse then whisked the baby away, for a quick clean up. Then the doctor stitched up my perineum. Thank goodness for Novocain!

Next came the delivery of the afterbirth. With a minimal amount of pushing the placenta came sliding out. The doctor held it up for me to get a good look at it. I began to laugh as I thought it looked like my liver had just fallen out, except that it had a phone cord attached to it. The nurse gave me a strange look as she handed me my baby. I guess she didn’t see the humor in a placenta.

Jamey stood close and put his hands on the baby, too, as I drew her in for her first breastfeeding. Although I had experienced it before, I was amazed that she seemed to know just what to do– as if she had been suckling many times before.

I envisioned a scene from Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. The Grinch’s tiny heart grew and grew until it burst out of its tight wire frame. And he felt, for the very first time, real love.

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