CAVEAT: Birth involves the female body and frank discussions of it. If, for whatever reason, you feel uncomfortable reading such terms and descriptions, stop here. Fair warning. Seriously.
My due date with Nova was Friday, June 8th, and like with Landon, I was in a bit of a time crunch to get the baby out. While Landon's birth had a deployment looming, Nova had a "Report No Later Than Date" of 41 weeks simply by virtue of being a VBAC. Her 41 week mark was June 15th, and lucky me, the hospital did its planned C-Sections on Wednesdays and Fridays. So, at my 38 week appointment, we scheduled a C-Section for 41 weeks and the awesome doctor told me she hoped that I would go into labor before then.
Right before my 40 week appointment, Dr. Awesome called and apologized profusely: we had to move my scheduled C-Section date up by two days. I was heartbroken. Convinced that this was the end of my VBAC hopes and dreams, I made my friend E process my feelings with me...over and over. Still. I was still a VBAC hopeful until check in time.
On June 8th, I drove myself up to RAF Lakenheath for my 40 week appointment. I was up 1lb from my visit two weeks previous. My BP was elevated higher than what had been my usual prior to 34 weeks pregnant; my legs and feet were swollen - like they had been for the past two months. I was 25% effaced and 2cm dilated, and Nova was still riding high--although lower than she had been through the rest of pregnancy. The provider--a midwife this time--talked me through various methods of convincing baby to come out and stressed that I should get uncomfortable. Got it. She also swept my membranes and told me that, if something was going to happen, it would happen in 48 hours.
The next day, Saturday, June 9th, we just hung out at home while I bounced on my yoga ball, did squats, took the stairs two at a time, folded laundry, and sipped raspberry leaf tea, all while making myself come to grips with my inevitable C-Section. At 6pm, I noticed that I lost a good chunk of my mucous plug. Inspired, I went on a 45 minute walk and ended it with the briefest of joggy, waddly, sprints through our neighborhood. Quite uncomfortable and quite disturbing. From midnight to 2am, I was uncomfortable enough that I had to get up and take a bath, but not quite uncomfortable enough to call anything a contraction. I finally fell asleep around 2:30am Sunday morning.
Sunday, June 10th. I woke up to Landon cuddling me around 6:30am, and we made our way down the stairs around 6:45. Right after 7am, Landon leaned into me as my back contracted and I pushed him away. Surprised at myself, I decided to start timing contractions - just in case.
Two hours later, Stephen glanced at my phone at noticed that my contractions were 5 minutes apart and 45 seconds long and that I hiding myself away and grunting through them. He made the executive decision to take Landon to our friend's J's house, despite my protestations that I was definitely not in labor.
10am. My contractions have been coming in regular intervals for three hours and they're now 3 minutes apart - every single one of them has been in my back. I maintain that I'm not in REAL labor yet because I enjoy the fine art of denial.
10:30am. Stephen arrives back home. He mentions that he had to fill up the half full gas tank off base because, of course, the base gas station wasn't open. We had more than enough gas to get us to the base, but this is England, and in England, they close the roads randomly. Stephen also insists that it's time to leave and ignores my protestations that I don't want to go. My contractions are 2.5 minutes at this point.
10:30-11:30 am. My contractions mercifully lengthen to 4-7 minutes apart, and I deal with the pure back labor by pulling up on the handle above my seat and hanging my head out the window and moaning. I looked like a dog and people stared, but it worked.
Good morning, Cambridge. Just a laboring American on her way to a hospital where you don't have to pay for parking. Yes. She's definitely hanging her head out the window.
11:35am. We got to the hospital in exactly one hour--our fastest time ever--which I attributed to the lack of traffic, but was also influenced by Stephen driving [speeding] like a Brit. Once we parked, my contractions immediately bounced back to 3.5 minutes apart, but since they were only 35 seconds long, I was convinced they wouldn't admit me. I made Stephen walk the perimeter of the hospital with me. After one lap, he convinced me to go inside to just see. Four hours of straight back labor makes me weak, so I agreed.
Noon. A doubtful nurse escorts me to triage.
12:15pm. I'm mid apology to a nurse about my 35 second, 3 minute apart contractions when one hits. Right when it finishes, I feel a pop and a gush of warm liquid. Everywhere. It flows down my leg onto the grown, staining my white socks in dingy green.
"I didn't know it was green," Stephen remarked. "It's not supposed to be," I murmured.
I gleefully called out to the nurse that my water had broken (!) and that it looked like I was staying. Stephen sat next to me quietly, thankful that he had decided to ignore my crazy self and drag me to and into the hospital. The nurse checked me and I was 5cm! The same dilation I was when I went into the OR with Landon! I was halfway there. They had me move into a proper L&D room, where I immediately felt the same need for the bathroom, followed by internal panic that I had felt after my water broke with Landon.
12:30-2:30pm. I hate this part. As I've mentioned multiple times, I seem to only get back labor. While I was fine for the 5 hours my waters were intact, once it broke, I felt a surge of panic, and the intense need to stand up on my knees and scream. And that's what I did. Dr. Ocean and the nurses managed to get me to breathe relatively well using the term "birthday candles" and I might have made it without further hysterics...were it not for needles. Lots of needles.
I have no issues with needles, but needs take issue with me. Not only had Nova pooped in the womb, producing that noticeable green fluid, but I was also GBS+ and needed a penicillin drip. Dr. Ocean also commented on my hugely swollen legs and feet and asked for a blood panel to check for pre-eclampsia. In addition, I wanted an epidural, which meant that I needed to sit in the exact opposite position that was comfortable.
Those two hours were miserable. I naturally have tiny spider veins and the swelling in my hands and arms made them all but impossible to find. The back labor also made it difficult to sit and bend, and the familiar post water-breaking terror made it difficult for me to do anything but pull my body up and moan. The nurses had me hold a nitrous oxide mask to my face, which mostly made me woozy enough that I calmed down just enough to breathe when they told me to. Barely.
During these two hours, I called Stephen an imbecile for holding my hand wrong; dug my hands into anyone close enough for me to grasp; befuddled techs and nurses with my nearly invisible veins; and annoyed the poor anesthesiologist, as is my custom. Stephen also almost fainted during this time, due to locking his legs and having not eaten anything that day. Thankfully, he recovered, so that I could continue being the needy one.
3pm. All needles were finally placed, and I was finally calm again. The nurse checked me. 6cm. I had dilated 1cm in 2.5 painful hours, proving my theory that I can't dilate sans an epidural once my water has broken. Once I was totally numb and happy, the nurses had me try a peanut ball to position my body in a way to help me dilate. Nova was having none of it and signaled that with an angry heart rate. Visions of Landon's birth danced in my head, but the doctor calmly suggested lowering the bed in such a way to allow my high riding baby to drop.
It worked.
4:30pm. 9 centimeters dilated. I had progressed 3cm in an hour and a half. Once again, the epidural had worked its calming magic and dilated me while I relaxed. Stephen laughed and said that it was surreal to hear that report after watching my chill-- and very much not in pain--self lounge for an hour and half. Consider me team epidural for life.
The doctor came in and told me that my antibiotic drip would be finished at 6:30, and provided baby was fully in position, we would talk pushing. Oh, and I was pre-eclamptic. THAT was why my thighs were swollen.
6:30pm. My antibiotic drip finished! The doctor checked me, and once again, good ol' gravity had worked in favor of childbirth and baby girl was in prime position. Excitedly, the staff gowned up and Stephen ran to the bathroom.
6:45pm. I, a firm lover of the epidural button, couldn't quite feel the pressure yet, so the doctor walked me through my first push. Once completed, she looked at me and smiled, "You were made to push babies out." I took her words to heart. I also told Stephen that, while I was excited to meet our daughter, I also wanted dinner.
7:00pm. I started to feel pressure building--and I disliked it. It reminded me that I could tear, and I had a few--weaker than they could have been--pushes in there because of it. I focused on what my mom had told me about pushing.
Push efficiently. Short. Hard. Don't panic. Push, not strain.
I also closed my eyes and thought about the women in my favorite mom group who were rooting for me...about my mom and aunts and all the women today and yesterday who have expelled babies out of their bodies. I felt the press in my pelvis of a baby's head, but in my mind I felt the spirit of every childbearing woman cheering me on.
And at 7:12pm, I pushed Nova Elizabeth's head outside of my body. I felt the slight sting of what would be the ring of fire--sans the epidural. The heavy pressure of a baby in the birth canal. And then I felt her body sliding out of me, replacing heaviness with lightness.
It took her a second and a half to cry, and that second and a half was the longest of my life. Once she let out a lusty wail, I started sobbing while checking that she was, indeed, my baby girl. She was drenched in meconium and suspiciously fluid-y, but she was pink and perfect. After an hour of skin to skin in all her mec-bathed glory, they weighed and measured her, and then handed her to her eager daddy.
Nova Elizabeth Maurer.
8lbs,7.8oz.
20.9 inches long.
37.5cm head circumference - 99% on the World Health Organization percentile scale.
My VBAC'ed baby girl was bigger in every way than her C-sectioned brother. I had done it. I'd had a vaginal birth after caesarian. I had pushed out a massive head. I had gone into labor on my own, labored for a while, had an epidural, and succeeded in making it to the pushing stage AND the pushing the baby OUT stage in 12 hours.
I bawled. Four years before, a little boy with a big head had been placed in my arms after a belly birth and made me a mother. That little boy taught me how to be a mother, how to love like a mother, how to be someone better than I was before him. I didn't need to redeem his birth because his birth was perfect for who I was at that time. I couldn't have pushed a baby out then. I didn't want to push a baby out.
But that evening, I pushed out a baby girl and my heart doubled. I cried blissfully, loving each second of pure joy. I had my baby. I had babies. I was complete.
And for the next 18 hours, everything was perfect. Until that fateful BP reading.
To be continued...Part 2 - what went wrong
My due date with Nova was Friday, June 8th, and like with Landon, I was in a bit of a time crunch to get the baby out. While Landon's birth had a deployment looming, Nova had a "Report No Later Than Date" of 41 weeks simply by virtue of being a VBAC. Her 41 week mark was June 15th, and lucky me, the hospital did its planned C-Sections on Wednesdays and Fridays. So, at my 38 week appointment, we scheduled a C-Section for 41 weeks and the awesome doctor told me she hoped that I would go into labor before then.
Right before my 40 week appointment, Dr. Awesome called and apologized profusely: we had to move my scheduled C-Section date up by two days. I was heartbroken. Convinced that this was the end of my VBAC hopes and dreams, I made my friend E process my feelings with me...over and over. Still. I was still a VBAC hopeful until check in time.
On June 8th, I drove myself up to RAF Lakenheath for my 40 week appointment. I was up 1lb from my visit two weeks previous. My BP was elevated higher than what had been my usual prior to 34 weeks pregnant; my legs and feet were swollen - like they had been for the past two months. I was 25% effaced and 2cm dilated, and Nova was still riding high--although lower than she had been through the rest of pregnancy. The provider--a midwife this time--talked me through various methods of convincing baby to come out and stressed that I should get uncomfortable. Got it. She also swept my membranes and told me that, if something was going to happen, it would happen in 48 hours.
The next day, Saturday, June 9th, we just hung out at home while I bounced on my yoga ball, did squats, took the stairs two at a time, folded laundry, and sipped raspberry leaf tea, all while making myself come to grips with my inevitable C-Section. At 6pm, I noticed that I lost a good chunk of my mucous plug. Inspired, I went on a 45 minute walk and ended it with the briefest of joggy, waddly, sprints through our neighborhood. Quite uncomfortable and quite disturbing. From midnight to 2am, I was uncomfortable enough that I had to get up and take a bath, but not quite uncomfortable enough to call anything a contraction. I finally fell asleep around 2:30am Sunday morning.
Sunday, June 10th. I woke up to Landon cuddling me around 6:30am, and we made our way down the stairs around 6:45. Right after 7am, Landon leaned into me as my back contracted and I pushed him away. Surprised at myself, I decided to start timing contractions - just in case.
Two hours later, Stephen glanced at my phone at noticed that my contractions were 5 minutes apart and 45 seconds long and that I hiding myself away and grunting through them. He made the executive decision to take Landon to our friend's J's house, despite my protestations that I was definitely not in labor.
10am. My contractions have been coming in regular intervals for three hours and they're now 3 minutes apart - every single one of them has been in my back. I maintain that I'm not in REAL labor yet because I enjoy the fine art of denial.
10:30am. Stephen arrives back home. He mentions that he had to fill up the half full gas tank off base because, of course, the base gas station wasn't open. We had more than enough gas to get us to the base, but this is England, and in England, they close the roads randomly. Stephen also insists that it's time to leave and ignores my protestations that I don't want to go. My contractions are 2.5 minutes at this point.
10:30-11:30 am. My contractions mercifully lengthen to 4-7 minutes apart, and I deal with the pure back labor by pulling up on the handle above my seat and hanging my head out the window and moaning. I looked like a dog and people stared, but it worked.
Good morning, Cambridge. Just a laboring American on her way to a hospital where you don't have to pay for parking. Yes. She's definitely hanging her head out the window.
11:35am. We got to the hospital in exactly one hour--our fastest time ever--which I attributed to the lack of traffic, but was also influenced by Stephen driving [speeding] like a Brit. Once we parked, my contractions immediately bounced back to 3.5 minutes apart, but since they were only 35 seconds long, I was convinced they wouldn't admit me. I made Stephen walk the perimeter of the hospital with me. After one lap, he convinced me to go inside to just see. Four hours of straight back labor makes me weak, so I agreed.
Noon. A doubtful nurse escorts me to triage.
12:15pm. I'm mid apology to a nurse about my 35 second, 3 minute apart contractions when one hits. Right when it finishes, I feel a pop and a gush of warm liquid. Everywhere. It flows down my leg onto the grown, staining my white socks in dingy green.
"I didn't know it was green," Stephen remarked. "It's not supposed to be," I murmured.
I gleefully called out to the nurse that my water had broken (!) and that it looked like I was staying. Stephen sat next to me quietly, thankful that he had decided to ignore my crazy self and drag me to and into the hospital. The nurse checked me and I was 5cm! The same dilation I was when I went into the OR with Landon! I was halfway there. They had me move into a proper L&D room, where I immediately felt the same need for the bathroom, followed by internal panic that I had felt after my water broke with Landon.
12:30-2:30pm. I hate this part. As I've mentioned multiple times, I seem to only get back labor. While I was fine for the 5 hours my waters were intact, once it broke, I felt a surge of panic, and the intense need to stand up on my knees and scream. And that's what I did. Dr. Ocean and the nurses managed to get me to breathe relatively well using the term "birthday candles" and I might have made it without further hysterics...were it not for needles. Lots of needles.
I have no issues with needles, but needs take issue with me. Not only had Nova pooped in the womb, producing that noticeable green fluid, but I was also GBS+ and needed a penicillin drip. Dr. Ocean also commented on my hugely swollen legs and feet and asked for a blood panel to check for pre-eclampsia. In addition, I wanted an epidural, which meant that I needed to sit in the exact opposite position that was comfortable.
Those two hours were miserable. I naturally have tiny spider veins and the swelling in my hands and arms made them all but impossible to find. The back labor also made it difficult to sit and bend, and the familiar post water-breaking terror made it difficult for me to do anything but pull my body up and moan. The nurses had me hold a nitrous oxide mask to my face, which mostly made me woozy enough that I calmed down just enough to breathe when they told me to. Barely.
During these two hours, I called Stephen an imbecile for holding my hand wrong; dug my hands into anyone close enough for me to grasp; befuddled techs and nurses with my nearly invisible veins; and annoyed the poor anesthesiologist, as is my custom. Stephen also almost fainted during this time, due to locking his legs and having not eaten anything that day. Thankfully, he recovered, so that I could continue being the needy one.
3pm. All needles were finally placed, and I was finally calm again. The nurse checked me. 6cm. I had dilated 1cm in 2.5 painful hours, proving my theory that I can't dilate sans an epidural once my water has broken. Once I was totally numb and happy, the nurses had me try a peanut ball to position my body in a way to help me dilate. Nova was having none of it and signaled that with an angry heart rate. Visions of Landon's birth danced in my head, but the doctor calmly suggested lowering the bed in such a way to allow my high riding baby to drop.
It worked.
4:30pm. 9 centimeters dilated. I had progressed 3cm in an hour and a half. Once again, the epidural had worked its calming magic and dilated me while I relaxed. Stephen laughed and said that it was surreal to hear that report after watching my chill-- and very much not in pain--self lounge for an hour and half. Consider me team epidural for life.
The doctor came in and told me that my antibiotic drip would be finished at 6:30, and provided baby was fully in position, we would talk pushing. Oh, and I was pre-eclamptic. THAT was why my thighs were swollen.
6:30pm. My antibiotic drip finished! The doctor checked me, and once again, good ol' gravity had worked in favor of childbirth and baby girl was in prime position. Excitedly, the staff gowned up and Stephen ran to the bathroom.
6:45pm. I, a firm lover of the epidural button, couldn't quite feel the pressure yet, so the doctor walked me through my first push. Once completed, she looked at me and smiled, "You were made to push babies out." I took her words to heart. I also told Stephen that, while I was excited to meet our daughter, I also wanted dinner.
7:00pm. I started to feel pressure building--and I disliked it. It reminded me that I could tear, and I had a few--weaker than they could have been--pushes in there because of it. I focused on what my mom had told me about pushing.
Push efficiently. Short. Hard. Don't panic. Push, not strain.
I also closed my eyes and thought about the women in my favorite mom group who were rooting for me...about my mom and aunts and all the women today and yesterday who have expelled babies out of their bodies. I felt the press in my pelvis of a baby's head, but in my mind I felt the spirit of every childbearing woman cheering me on.
And at 7:12pm, I pushed Nova Elizabeth's head outside of my body. I felt the slight sting of what would be the ring of fire--sans the epidural. The heavy pressure of a baby in the birth canal. And then I felt her body sliding out of me, replacing heaviness with lightness.
It took her a second and a half to cry, and that second and a half was the longest of my life. Once she let out a lusty wail, I started sobbing while checking that she was, indeed, my baby girl. She was drenched in meconium and suspiciously fluid-y, but she was pink and perfect. After an hour of skin to skin in all her mec-bathed glory, they weighed and measured her, and then handed her to her eager daddy.
Nova Elizabeth Maurer.
8lbs,7.8oz.
20.9 inches long.
37.5cm head circumference - 99% on the World Health Organization percentile scale.
My VBAC'ed baby girl was bigger in every way than her C-sectioned brother. I had done it. I'd had a vaginal birth after caesarian. I had pushed out a massive head. I had gone into labor on my own, labored for a while, had an epidural, and succeeded in making it to the pushing stage AND the pushing the baby OUT stage in 12 hours.
I bawled. Four years before, a little boy with a big head had been placed in my arms after a belly birth and made me a mother. That little boy taught me how to be a mother, how to love like a mother, how to be someone better than I was before him. I didn't need to redeem his birth because his birth was perfect for who I was at that time. I couldn't have pushed a baby out then. I didn't want to push a baby out.
But that evening, I pushed out a baby girl and my heart doubled. I cried blissfully, loving each second of pure joy. I had my baby. I had babies. I was complete.
To be continued...Part 2 - what went wrong
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