This is a birth post in 3D, technicolor, high definition, Dolby-sound clarity. If that disturbs you, you might want to move right along to the next blog. And if you're a man from my ward reading this (but why would there be a man from my ward reading this?), you might also want to move along. Here, you can go read
THIS. Well, unless you are D., and in that case, since you've already read
The Fah-HEE-nah Monologues, and you are my husband's cousin, married to one of my dearest friends, and you like medical stuff like this, I guess you can stay...
The pains began about 3:00 AM on Saturday morning. I could feel they were different from Braxton-Hicks because towards their peak, they stung a bit. They would come every twenty minutes, or every ten, or sometimes only once in a hour.
I had spent the previous evening seated in a metal folding chair by a bonfire, spending time in the company of other members of my ward (the Mormon word for congregation) at a dutch oven cook-off. Almost everyone there asked me "When are you going to have that baby?" and some said I looked miserable. I was...both in body and in spirit. I said to myself that if I didn't have this baby by Sunday, and if I had to go to church pregnant again, I was going to die.
Thus, the commencement of these little pains brought a great deal of joy to my psyche. Because I was too excited to sleep, I went into the kitchen and did some blogging, both reading and writing, auto-posting some photos for my
life in Mexico blog, knowing that I would be unavailable to post for a few days. At about 6:00 I headed back to bed. Just as I hoisted myself up onto my mattress, however, I realized that John was preparing to get up for the day. This disappointed me, so to keep him from going, I said, "John. Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes," he said.
"I'm in labor."
A smile spread across his face and he climbed back into bed with me. It had worked. He asked me about the pains and how long they had been going on and what I wanted him to do. He said he had had a feeling I was going to go into labor tonight, and I said I had had the same feeling. I told him that I was tired, and thought I could sleep between the contractions as they were coming sporadically for the time being. He said okay, kissed me, and got up to began his work for the day, which included checking the progress of the workmen who were building a storage room for his parents, and making breakfast for the kids.
I went back to sleep, only waking for a few seconds periodically during the pains, and was able to sleep until about 8:30. I had made John promise that he wouldn't tell anyone I was in labor. For some reason, I just wanted to keep it between us, as I knew it would be a long time before Daniel arrived, and I couldn't stomach people calling all day to see how I was progressing. We didn't even tell the kids.
Most people say that when labor starts, one can speed it up by walking and being active. However, since my labors are usually more than 24 hours long, I decided to use this period of early labor to rest as much as possible. During the morning, I ate a small breakfast and sat on the couch in the kitchen with the older kids, just talking. It was enjoyable and relaxing. I then started working on my "labor playlist" and downloaded some Enya and the theme music from "The Mission". I asked the 15-year-old girl if she could add a few more songs that were soothing, such as hymns and classical music, and she spent the next hour doing just that. Later, all of us at the hospital would greatly appreciate the work she did. The pieces she chose were beautiful.
I continued with my day, doing light housework, such as folding laundry, and took another long nap in the afternoon, again, only waking up during the peak of the sporadic contractions.
When I awoke, the pains were coming steadier and stronger, about every ten to fifteen minutes, and I knew at this time that I was beginning active labor. It was about 4:00 in the afternoon. By this time John had called my Friday-morning helper lady, Ester, to notify her that we would probably be calling her some time this evening to come sit with the kids, an arrangement I had planned out with her weeks before. We also called our doula, Christine, to give her the same message. Christine happens to be a dear friend of mine, a beautiful woman, both inside and out, a spiritual giant, a naturalist, and a health nut. I love her! More about her later.
At about 6:00, we received a visit from John's brother, his wife and their daughter. I tried to pretend I wasn't in active labor, but it was hard, and I think I saw my sister-in-law noticing that I was breathing through a few contractions. After they left, John complimented me on doing a good job of concealing the thing, but later I learned that I hadn't fooled my sister-in-law at all.
I also realized I hadn't fooled the 15-year-old girl, nor the 13-year-old boy. After John's brother and his family left, the 15-year-old girl came up to me and asked, "Mom, are you in labor?"
"Maybe," I replied. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you're bending over holding onto things and breathing heavy."
"Yeah," the 13-year-old boy added, "and you sound like Darth Vader", then he imitated me, breathing in and out and moving his hand as I had been moving mine, as a way to physically visualize my uterus pulling my cervix open as I breathed in, then imagining it pushing down on the baby as I breathed out. I had to laugh at that, even though I didn't think I'd feel like laughing at this point.
One other important reason I hadn't wanted to tell the kids was because I knew my mom or sister would be calling to ask if anything had changed with me yet. Normally, I will call my mom immediately when I go into labor, and we'll talk throughout the day about the progression. Then, sometimes days later, the baby will come. This time I thought it would be a fun surprise if I simply didn't tell her I had gone into labor, but sent her an email after the baby came with a picture of me and him together. I would call her, ask her to check her email because I wanted her opinion about something, then listen to her scream as she saw the photo. She would never have to go through the anxiety of waiting through my long labor and I thought it would be an excellent way to share the news with her.
When I realized I hadn't been able to hide my labor from the kids, we had a family council and I told the kids who hadn't yet figured it out that we were going to be having the baby tonight. I reminded them that they could tell neither Grandma nor Robyn that I had gone into labor, and that if they called, it would probably just be best if they didn't answer the phone. I told them that Ester and her husband would be coming later on in the night to care for the 3 three and under if any of them woke up, and the 13-year-old boy begged me to let him stay up to do that job. I told him no, that it would be in the middle of the night and that he needed his sleep for church the next day.
By this time it was after 8:00 PM, so the 18-year-old boy suggested that we say family prayer, since we were all gathered together in the same room, and we did.
Some of the younger kids went off to play a board game together, some went to the computer to watch videos, and John started getting the 3 three and under ready for bed. After he had put them to bed, I suggested that he get as much sleep as he could while I was still able to deal with the contractions alone. I reminded him how long my labor had been with the 3-year-old boy (36 hours), and how he would need his strength later. He was remiss to do this, but I finally convinced him and when I went back into the bedroom to check on him later, he was fast asleep.
By this time, I knew there would be no sleep for me, so decided that this would be the time for me to walk and remain active. I continued with light housework, such as folding laundry, sweeping the kitchen floor, and straightening up toys and throw pillows, stopping to lean against something with each contraction, as they were now coming about every five minutes, lasting about 45 seconds a piece. By the time I was finished with my chores, the house was spotless, the perfect condition in which to bring a baby home, and I was happy.
The 18-year-old boy finally went to bed, and as I was tired again, I went to our bedroom and sat on the recliner next to the fireplace to read. This proved unrewarding however, as I couldn't read through the contractions and it was too difficult to leave off and pick up every five minutes. I did, however, fall asleep between some of the contractions, and continued to deal with them by alternately walking down our hallways, one of which is 46 footsteps longs, the other of which is 50, rocking in the recliner by the fireplace, sitting on a birthing ball, and getting on my elbows and knees in the "stink bug" position.
It was close to 1:30 AM by now, and the pains began to be so strong that I knew I wouldn't want to travel the 30 minutes to the big town once they got worse, so I awoke John. He readied himself, called Ester, and took my bags to the truck. I climbed up the stairs to both the 15-year-old girl's room and the 18-year-old boy's room and told them that we were leaving, to not forget to get up for church on time, and to say a prayer for me. They agreed to do both and promptly went back to sleep.
On the drive to the big town, I couldn't get my seatbelt to buckle and was more than annoyed at the truck's continual reminder that I needed to buckle up. Every minute or so, loud beeps would emanate from the dash board, breaking my concentration during the contractions. I asked John how long it would go on, and he said it would stop soon. It did finally, after about ten minutes. I remember driving by a peach orchard and seeing large square shadowy forms in the field near the road during one of my contractions, and I had wondered if they were the fruit boxes packers used to pack the fruit in once it was ripe. I wasn't sure because it was so dark.
John had called Christine, and she was waiting for us at the hospital when we arrived. One thing I forgot to mention was that earlier in the evening, when John had called our doctor to tell him we would be coming to the hospital later that evening, our doctor informed us that he was in Chihuahua, a large city about 3 hours away, but that he would let one of his fellow doctors know. This was not good news for me. This doctor and I had come up with a birth plan together, which included a very low drip IV, the ability to walk around during my labor, and having the baby placed directly on my chest after he was born, rather than be taken to the incubator, among other things.
Once I realized that we would need to call another doctor, I had to face the fact that my plans would most likely be thrown out the window. And because we had chosen my Plan B doctor, I would even have to deliver in a different hospital. During one of my many prayers that day, I asked God that he would help me take my new condition in stride, that He would give me the strength to be friendly and kind to the medical staff, even if I wasn't getting my way, and that He would help me to be accepting of their policies.
As I said, Christine, our doula, was waiting at the hospital when we arrived. I've been told that Christine is 70 years old, but I can't believe it. She carries herself like she is 20 to 30 years younger. She is gorgeous, thin, has really cool hair and wears styling clothes. I often look at her in envy, wishing I looked as good as she does. I met her through the 18-year-old boy's best friend, as she is his grandma, and, incidentally, her daughter, the best friend's mother, is just as amazing and dear to me.
When Christine saw us, she gave us both a warm smile and gave me a hug. She then looked at my belly and said that she could tell that the baby was much lower than when she had seen me a few days before and that I was making good progress. Then she paused to look at my face, and turned to John and said, "John, you have a beautiful wife. That is what I thought when I first saw her...that she is a beautiful woman." I was embarrassed, because I don't agree, but I smiled and was happy because it felt good to hear someone say that at a time like this.
Our doctor arrived shortly thereafter, and said that he would like to do a quick ultrasound to check the baby's heartbeat, along with a vaginal exam to see how far I was dilated. I reminded John that under no circumstances was the doctor to let me hear how far dilated I was. In previous labors, I had always been deeply disappointed during this time, thinking that I was a 6 or 7 when I was only a 3 or 4. I didn't want to know, because what would it matter anyway? My body was going to do its thing whether or not I knew how open I was.
The heartbeat sounded great, then, during the vaginal exam, I heard John tell Dr. R. that I didn't want to know how far dilated I was. As he was removing his gloves, he said, "Muy bien. Muy bien. Tiene cinco centimetros," which, being translated means "Very good. Very good. She is at 5 centimeters."
What could I do but smile and shake my head at John. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I wasn't, however, disappointed, as this is about how dilated I thought I was. Then pains were still quite manageable, and I knew I had a long way to go.
When I was taken back into the labor room, I sat on the bed talking to Christine and John for a while, having manageable contractions every five minutes or so. I felt good, telling her about how I found out I was having twins the time before, and how I told John, and how it was one of the best days of my life. As we easily talked, I realized that I had so far to go in my labor. I remembered that there would come a time when I would want to shut everything out around me. This would go on for hours, and I would probably at some point cry because I was so tired and I would tell John that it was the worst part of life, because that is always what I said at that point, and then transition would hit. The word struck fear in my heart as I played it over and over again in my mind, trying to mentally prepare myself.... transition.... transition..... transition. They say that sometimes this only lasts for 15 minutes. Not so for me, as I can be in this phase for up to an hour. I knew that my pains would get much, much worse at time went on, but for now, I was going to enjoy talking to Christine.
After about half an hour, she suggested that we walk around. By this time I was attached to an IV and pushed it around with me as we walked in and out of corridors. There were no other patients there, and only two nurses, and it was very peaceful. I asked Christine if I seemed relaxed enough during my contractions and she said I did.
After about an hour from Dr. R.'s first exam, he wanted to check me again. This time I was at a six. I was shocked. I had had very manageable contractions, probably about 15 of them since he had last examined me, yet I had already progressed one centimeter! In most of my labors, I fought hours for each centimeter, and I couldn't fathom how this had happened. John then told me that I was going to be prepped to be taken to the delivery room and Christine told me that she thought she understood Dr. R. saying I would deliver in under an hour.
I knew that Christine had to have misunderstood him, because that was impossible. I still had 4 centimeters to go. She had to be wrong. But then I heard the nurse come in and ask for the babies clothes we had brought. I had been told ahead of time that we would need to bring all of our own supplies, and, as I always love to try to impress John with my organizational skills, something he very much appreciates, and something I've had to work on since we've been married, I proudly announced that the baby's clothes where in my pink suitcase. He could pick from a onesie, a sleeper, or a gown, and that there was also a beanie cap in the left corner. I really was proud of myself for thinking ahead. The nurse then asked for some diapers. I froze, not realizing that I would also need to supply these as well. As I saw John rummaging through my suitcase for the diapers, I had a vague hope that somehow I had packed them, but it turned out I hadn't. I suggested that the baby would have to wear a receiving blanket for a diaper and that is just what he wore.
Even with all of these preparations for the birth, I couldn't fathom why they were doing this so early. I knew I had hours and hours left of labor, but even so, I was transferred into a small, hard bed with wheels, pushed into the delivery room down the hall, transferred to an even smaller and harder delivery bed and was asked to lie on my back. Dr. R. was not in this room yet, so I asked the nurse, in Spanish, "And if I want to walk around, can I?" She answered no. "And if I want to sit up?" No. "And if I need to go to the bathroom?" By this time, she seemed embarrassed at having to continually answer no, so she gave a small smile, and shook her head, and meekly said, "No."
I couldn't understand this. I still had 4 centimeters to go, including transition, which entire process would take hours, and I was being placed on this hard, small bed, on my back, with no hope of getting up. I was not at all happy.
Then Christine came in and she was dressed in scrubs from head to toe, mask and all. And John came in, and he was dressed the same way. Dr. R. entered, along with two nurses, the pediatrician and another random guy, whose job I didn't know. And they placed a bucket on the floor at the foot of my bed, as if I was about to give birth.
Then, to my horror, I saw Dr. R. assembling tall stirrups at the foot of the delivery table. This is not happening, I told myself. They are not going to make me lay flat on my back with my feet in the air for the next few hours, then deliver my baby in this most ineffective of all birthing positions! I said to Dr. R. in Spanish, "Do I have to put my legs up there?" And he said yes. Then I said, "And if I don't want to put my legs up there?" He said I have to. I muttered to John, in English, that this was completely ridiculous and archiac (I don't know if I said archaic or not, but I thought it) and I told him that I would think we could work with gravity here to get the baby out. Poor John didn't know what to say, so didn't say anything, just held my hand. To make matters worse, I saw that while I was talking to John, they had actually velcro-ed my legs into the stirrups, so that even if i had wanted to remove them, I couldn't. Unbelievable.
During this time, contractions were still coming, but none worse than any I'd already had. I easily breathed through them, while I squeezed John's hand, and continued to mentally prepare myself for transition, laying flat on my back.
The random man and Dr. R. then began sterilizing what seemed like my entire lower body. Random man poured large amounts of a brownish yellow liquid over my lower parts and Dr. R. swabbed the liquid in every possible area I could conceive of. I forgot to mention that my lower legs had earlier been wrapped in bandages to help with blood circulation, which actually felt good, but as I looked at myself with my bandaged legs up in stirrups, which had to be raised even higher then usual, incidentally, because I guess my legs are longer than those if your average Mexican woman's, and my sterilized lower abdomen and nether regions, my chest and thighs being covered with protective cloths, I felt so strange and medical and sterile. Not at all what I had hoped for.
By this time, about 30 minutes had gone by and I thought Dr. R. was going to break my water, as I had requested earlier. I saw a tool and felt something happening down there, but quickly realized my water was not being broken. I was being catheterized! "Oww! Oww! What are they doing?" I called out. "I think they're breaking your water, Jen." John tried to patiently answer. "No they're not! They catheterizing me!" Part of my birth plan was that I wouldn't be catheterized, as this causes me pain for days to come after the delivery. Also, it would have been nice to have been told that I was about to be catheterized.
I tried, as I had requested help with in my prayer, to be kind, however, and not complain about it anymore, and I didn't, except for just now, in writing this. After the catheterization, my water was broken and I was grateful, for I knew this would help things progress more quickly.
During the next contraction I had, Dr. R. placed his fingers on my cervix and asked me to push a little. I wasn't sure why. I was only at a 6. I thought that perhaps he wanted to test my strength or something, so I pushed, even though I felt no urge. When the contraction was over, he seemed to triumphantly announce, "Ocho centimetros!" 8 centimeters? How could this be? My pains were no worse than before, and still coming only about every 5 minutes, so how could I have dilated this quickly? I was so confused.
Between each contraction, Dr. R. would massage my abdomen at the top of my uterus. It was a gentle massage, and felt good actually, and when I asked John to ask him why he was doing it, he responded that it was something he learned from the Japanese (huh?) and that it helped to stimulated the uterus. He also said that my contractions were "muy effectivos", which puzzled me. How could he say this when my uterus was notorious for being
INeffective?
With my next contraction, Dr. R. did the same thing with my cervix, whatever it was he was doing, and asked me to push again. I realized that when I pushed with the contractions that they didn't hurt, so I had no problem acquiescing to his wishes. After this contraction was over, he announced "Nueve centimetros!" 9 centimeters? Impossible! This was transition, but I was experiencing no pain, as I was pushing through each contraction. With the next contraction, he again asked me to push, again manipulated my cervix somehow, and at the end of it, again announced the condition of my cervix. "Casi diez centimetros!" I couldn't believe it. I was at almost a ten. Christine was at my shoulders, rubbing them, and she happily said "You're there, Jen!"
At this point, Dr. R. had asked John to come to the foot of the bed. I didn't know why and I was irritated because I wanted him at my side. During each of the previous contractions, while I pushed, I had held tightly to his hand, and I wanted his comforting touch there by me. However, I was too focused on breathing and relaxing between my contractions to do or say anything about it. Christine was still at my shoulders, and her touch was comforting, too.
Between each contraction, Dr. R. continued to massage my upper abdomen, and he would often remind me to "Respire....Descansa....Respire....Descansa", breathe.....relax....breathe....relax. Now, during the contractions, when he asked me to push, he was more enthusiastic, and said my name, saying, "Yenny (that's how you say my name in Mexico), empuje!" Jenny, push! "Yenny, empuje mas fuerte!" Jenny, push harder. He didn't sound demanding, just encouraging, and so I pushed, even though I never felt the urge. Christine, by this tme, was supporting my upper back so I could sit up a little with each push, and she reminded me to take deep breathes before I pushed. This helped immensely, and I could feel more strength and effectiveness with each push because of this help. At some point during these contractions and pushing, then rest periods, I heard Christine say that Dr. R. said that my baby would be born in only a few minutes time. I was still so confused by this. I didn't go through transition. How could this be? Yes, I knew I had to have gone through transition, because I was at a ten, but there had been no pain!
How could it be?
During this process, John had been allowed to set up my IPOD to play in the delivery room and I enjoyed hearing people's comments about the music. When Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing came on, I heard Christine say that this was one of her favorite of all hymns, and it made me happy that we had brought music she would enjoy. When How Firm a Foundation came on, Dr. R. smiled and said, "Maybe this is the song the baby will be born to." In case I didn't mention it you, 15-year-old girl....thank you for compiling this list!
With the next contraction, I pushed as best I could. I began to feel pressure, but again thought it was something that Dr. R. was doing to my cervix, and didn't realize what was happening until Christine, who was still standing at my shoulders, said, "Jen, he's almost here! And he has a lot of beautiful black hair!"
I was in awe that she could see his head, especially from where she was standing, and when she said this, I knew that I could muster all of my strength and push him out. I did, and I felt this tremendous pressure, and then there was a plaintive wail, loud, high, long and one-pitched, and I realized it was coming from me. The pressure and the burning were so intense, and I heard someone say that his head was out and that I should stop pushing. I breathed and let out another wail, then someone said to push again, and I did, and I felt him slip out of my body.
"Oh my gosh!" I cried, so happy. I laid my head back and basked in that "gloriously empty feeling", as an internet friend recently put it.
Because Dr. R. wasn't the doctor with whom I planned my birth, Daniel was immediately taken to an incubator about three feet away from where my feet were instead of being placing in my chest. I strained to see him, but couldn't. But I had heard him cry, and I knew he was safe. I heard Dr. R say that he would now have to do a procedure to examine my uterus for any tears or ruptures, because of the previous c-section. He said it would be painful, so I braced myself, feeling like I could take on the world after what I had just done. John added, however, that I would be put to sleep for the procedure, and that was okay with me, too.
I lay back on the bed again, after trying to get a look at Daniel, marveling at how quickly everything had happened. It had been less than an hour from the time Dr. R. had told me I was at a 6 in my labor room until the time Daniel was born. I was in awe. I saw Random Man standing next to my IV and realized he was an anesthetist and I saw him inject a clear fluid. I looked up at the surgical lights above me, and when they began to swirl and spin, something I'd never experienced before, I said good night in my head.
John told me that when I awoke, I was saying, "My baby. My baby" and reaching my hands out in his direction. I have no recollection of this, but I do remember someone placing him in my arms, then me saying that I thought I might drop him, then blackness again.
I next woke up in the labor room, where it had all started, and heard Christine say, "You're not quite out of it yet, are you." I said I guess not, but then I did come out of it, and told her I felt like I had slept for hours. She said I was only our for about 5 minutes. I was still disoriented, but knew I hadn't held my baby yet, and when I turned my head to the right, I saw him laying peacefully in his incubator. I told John and Christine that I wanted to hold him, and they got him out and gave him to me. At some point I nursed him, and he nursed for over 20 minutes on each side, almost long enough for John to drive home, get the diapers and return, but before he left, I asked him to take this picture...
... and to email it to my mom, as per my previous plan. More on her reaction in a later post.
While he was gone, and after Daniel had just finished nursing, Christine asked if I wanted her to take him so I could sleep. I said yes. Dr. R. said that even though the medication had only put me out of the picture for about 5 minutes, that I would probably want to sleep for 3 or 4 hours. Although I did fall asleep quickly, I woke up when John returned, nursed Daniel again, and profusely thanked Christine for what she had done. I hated to see her go, but I knew she had to be exhausted, too.
I didn't feel like sleeping, but instead, I held Daniel, and nursed him and read and thought. My mind was still doing flip-flops over how easy and peaceful this birth had been. I still couldn't understand how it could have happened, and I prayed to God to thank Him for what He had done, and I apologized to Him for not thanking Him earlier.
I want to give you more details, like how it is to stay in a Mexican hospital, and why I think my labor went faster, and how I felt about the experience as a whole, but these thoughts will have to wait until later, as I need to get some sleep now. It has felt good to finally get this all down on record, and I hope you haven't been all too bored by it.
Let me close by saying, again, how much I have appreciated all of your thoughts, well-wishes and prayers. I
KNOW they helped in making this the best and easiest birthing experience I've ever had. I now know that with subsequent pregnancies (and my mother laughs in disbelief when I say that) that I can go through my pregnancy without fear, knowing that I have the potential of having an easy birth. What a difference it has made! Can't wait to tell you more, and, as always, thanks for listening. :)
On 365 Days of TV-Free Toddler Time today:
It's Cereal and Pipe Cleaner Time! Click the pic to see.
On life in mexico {and other places} a picture a day today:
{a salmon wall and green shutters}
