The First Day of my Life

It is truly amazing how quickly you forget what happened the day your child was born. I’ve read that it’s your body’s way of protecting you, and ensuring that you will continue to reproduce.  But for me, the whole experience was so incredible that even on that same day, I was sure I wanted to do it again. 

So I am going to try and remember every detail, as accurately as possible.  Here it  goes…

Clementine’s Birth Story

My first contraction woke me with a jolt at 3:20am on Monday, February 6. It was a sharp pain, but not too painful or strong. In fact, I wasn’t even sure it was a contraction. I sat still for a moment, and waited for something to happen. Another one came, and then another.  I timed them for a little while, 5-6 minutes apart consistently. I woke Chris, and told him that I may be in labor, but to go back to sleep in case it was a false alarm, and that I would wake him if anything changed.  I got up, walked around, sat on my exercise ball, and continued to time them for another hour, 5 minutes apart.  They were getting progressively stronger, but still manageable. I decided to get in the bath, to help me relax, and ended up soaking for almost an hour, during which they had become 4 minutes apart consistently. By the end of my bath, they were strong enough that I could no longer time them by myself, and had to focus in order to stay relaxed through a contraction. It was 5:30am when I woke Chris to start timing them for me.

Once Chris was up, and realized how close together the contractions were, things got a little nuts. I’m embarrassed to admit that we had not packed a hospital bag, and had yet to install a car seat. So between contractions and bouts of vomiting, I began hollering out items to be packed in our hospital bag like a drunken drill sergeant, while Chris buzzed around the room grabbing everything that seemed even slightly relevant. By the time he finished installing the carseat, it was 7:00am and the contractions were 3 minutes apart, and 50 seconds long.  I had only been in labor for 4 hours, so I didn’t believe I had made much progress.  I wanted to labor at home for as long as possible, so I tried to convince Chris that we didn’t need to leave yet. He was sure we needed to get to the hospital, so at 7:30am, against my will, we left. He called the doc on the way, and explained my contraction pattern, and he too suggested we get there as soon as possible. I was sure they were being dramatic and that I would arrive at the hospital, have no progress, and be turned away.

Boy was I wrong. My first exam at 8:00am revealed that I was at 8 cm, and 100% effaced and that my water had broken. I was simultaneously shocked and relieved. About 30 minutes later I was checked again, and I was at 9cm, but my nurse discovered that she was previously mistaken and that my water had not actually broken. Before I knew it, and without warning, a minor explosion occurred and I was informed that they had ruptured my water. And then things got ugly... really, really ugly.

Up to this point, the contractions were very painful, but nothing I couldn’t manage. Once my water was broken, there was no comparison. I thought I was dying.  I cannot describe the pain. And my favorite thing in the whole world to do is describe things. Holy fricking mackerel.  I immediately began vomiting uncontrollably, which only added to the insane contracting that was already happening. As if the mere strength of the contractions at this point wasn’t enough, they began lasting over a minute long, and occurring every 15-20 seconds. I literally had no recovery time in between them.  My poor little (big) body was still throbbing from the previous contraction when the next one began. I lost it. At the first hint of a new contraction, I would explode with “Nooooooooo! NOOOO! NO! NO! NO!” Yep, I am THAT girl… This continued for the longest, most brutal hour of all time, when I was finally checked again and was at 9.5cm. I was feeling the urge to push (kind of), so the nurse said I could push through the last half centimeter. So I began pushing around 9:30am. The baby still felt really high, so I knew I might be pushing a bit longer than I had anticipated. After an hour of relentless contractions and pushing (incorrectly) with everything I had, I hadn’t made any progress. But I wasn’t discouraged, and the baby wasn’t in distress, so we continued pushing through contractions…

Until my doctor arrived. He arrogantly walked into the room and immediately announced that we would be going into surgery and having a c-section. We were instantly confused and shocked. Why? Nothing was happening that would illicit worry or emergency action. The baby was not in distress, I was not at the point of exhaustion. He informed us that the baby was transverse, and was stuck. We couldn’t understand how this was possible, since she had been perfectly positioned for delivery for months. We argued with him, so he angrily left the room and came back minutes later with an ultrasound machine. Obviously irritated, he quickly did the exam to determine the position of the baby, who, as it so wonderfully turned out, was NOT transverse; just a little teeny bit crooked. So he agreed to give us 30 more minutes to push, leaving us with the delightful threat that “If I don’t see hair by then, I’ll see you in surgery.”

In that moment, Chris disappeared and Coach Kahl was there. My frustration turned into anger and subsequently into motivation. Nothing gets my stubborn self fired up like telling me I can’t do it.  And luckily for us, our nurse Helen, who's performance, let’s be honest, had been less than stellar up to this point (I was on my FOURTH IV port courtesy of her handiwork), kicked into gear, hollering in her thick far-eastern accent “NO C-SECTION! NO C-SECTION!” These were the first words that she had uttered that I had actually understood, and I could not have been happier to hear them. The clock was ticking, and the race was on. I was going to beat Dr. P.

A second nurse arrived with some contraption that required me to pull myself up into the squatting position to push. It was strange and uncomfortable and ineffective and I bagged it in a matter of minutes. We didn’t have time to screw around! But what this second nurse did for me was invaluable- she told me how to push. This may sound ridiculous, especially at this point in my labor, but it was then that I realized that no one had ever actually told me HOW to push. It seems as though it would be instinctual and obvious, it’s not. At least not for me. As soon as I had this information, we were making progress! It was then that a poor, unsuspecting anesthesiologist arrived to go over our upcoming surgery and was immediately bashed, rejected, and verbally attacked before accepting defeat and exiting our room. I took control. Instead of having poor Helen instructing me, I pushed when I felt the strongest contractions, when it hurt the most. Coach Kahl was in full force, with unrelenting encouragement and constant reminders of our incredible goal. Every push from here on out was working, she was coming! The minutes flew by, and boy did we need every single one of them. Before we knew it, there it was, what we had all been waiting for; HAIR. Without us even knowing it, 30 minutes had gone by, but there was no sign Dr. Jekyll P. Little Helen flew out of the room hollering behind her, “STOP POOOSHING STOP POOOSHING!” Ha! Yeah right! After HOURS of desperately trying to get this far, I was not about to stop. So I didn’t. As per usual, the incredibly  inconvenienced Dr. P took his sweet ass time getting back to us, but once he was there, it was just about over. He snapped on his gloves, took his seat, and told me to go ahead and push. After a few pushes (and one UNAPPROVED episiotomy), her head was out, quickly followed by her body. She was here. It was 11:58am.

We were later told by our night nurse that our surgery room had been all set up, and the C-Section was scheduled for Noon… NOON. It’s amazing what 2 measly minutes could mean to someone, what a difference they could make. For us, they were everything.

In the end, it didn’t matter how she got here. Just that she was here. C-Section, no C-Section, Epidural, no Epidural, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, it wouldn’t have changed how special that day was. Our Clementine was here, healthy as could be, and our hearts were as full as they had ever been.