The Birth Story, Part III: Picking Up Steam

Note: You can find part I here and part II here.

Further note: If you are inclined to be judgey about the decision to forgo pain meds, feel free to skip part III. Here is where I tell you how much it hurt and also that I am not a warrior about pain. But I am not really interested in being an example you can point to and say, “See! Not getting an epidural is crazy!” Plus, despite the pain, I would still choose this again.

Further further note: You may have noticed that Brice doesn’t feature prominently in this narrative. This is because, for the most part, Brice was just doing what he does best: quietly going about doing good. He was just there, you know, present with me, without getting in the way.* You can tell from the pictures how much he was a part of labor, but there are very few specific things I can point to and say, “Brice did this.” Mostly he just was. Which is exactly what I needed.

 

Finally, around 4 p.m., things went from sunny to doomy. Ahem, I mean that labor picked up. By which I really mean that I started whimpering and crying and saying, “No, no, no” repeatedly and despairingly. I mean really. I have distance from the whole experience now, which is why I can look at it and laugh, but in those moments it felt like my whole soul was saying, “No.” It felt like my whole world had narrowed down to just one unending contraction. It felt like this would never stop.

You want to know how desperate I was? When Susan suggested that she could check and see if I had a cervical lip in the way of pushing, I said okay. So here’s a bit of information about me: I do not—DO NOT—like cervical checks. When I’m asked what was the worst part of labor with Coriel, I can say without a nanosecond of hesitation, “Cervical checks.” (And that’s saying something, because labor with Coriel was pretty darn hard.) I didn’t get a single check with Addra, and that was bliss.

I am definitely not feeling good.

After I said okay, I also said, “But if you check and I’m only dilated to, like, a six, just lie to me.”

Here’s what she said after she checked: “Well, you’re not quite ready to push yet.” (I asked her later, in a postpartum checkup; she said I was dilated to about seven.)

You’re probably wondering about now why I would choose to do all of this stuff when there are awesome things like epidurals in the world. Well, that’s a complicated question with many answers. The short one: I think it’s better for me and for the baby.** Also, pain isn’t the end of the world, not even bad bad pain.

Speaking of pain, though, I never hopped in the shower! Ridiculous me. Showering was the epic relief that made Addra’s birth pretty much a cakewalk. (Which is only slightly overstating the case.) I remember that Laurie suggested it once or twice (her recollection: “I kept telling you to get in the shower”). And I remember that all I could think was how hard it would be to get in the shower. And how hard it would be to get back out. All that stepping over bathtub ledges as if they were the Great Wall of China or something. You can’t be asking me to do that sort of crazy hurdling when I’m in labor! And for what? Any minute now, I would feel the need to push. So instead I dithered around, forgetting that contractions do stop occasionally (no, not really in this case; I swear I was in transition—unending waves of contractions—for endless hours). Forgetting that the feeling of water beating down on my back might be lovely. That if I couldn’t pick my leg up to get over the ledge, someone would do it for me (because labor isn’t really weird enough without other people picking up your body parts for you). So, um, no shower.

And really, while I was in it, that time did seem to last forever—wave upon wave of contraction, with not even a long enough break in between to properly use the bathroom. (Come on, I would say, sitting on the toilet. Really? You couldn’t just wait for thirty seconds?) Now, outside of those moments, I realize it was only about three hours, maybe four at the outside, of really intense labor. But such is the nature of reality—it isn’t always helpful when you’re in it.

Scootching off the pillow again.

Eventually I was in sheer misery mode, whimpering “no” in a pathetic voice over and over again (no strong, Amazonian roars for me!), and I was lying in my bed. I repeat: I was lying in my bed. On my back! The horror! I used to see the occasional birth photos of other women lying on their backs straining and pushing, and I would think sanctimoniously, “Well, if you’d just get off your back, everything would be much easier. I had Addra kneeling beside my bed, and it was awesome. I would never give birth lying on my back.” Ha! As I lay on the bed, everyone kept trying to prop me up with pillows or suggest different positions. I would pretend I didn’t hear them and then slowly scootch myself sideways off the pillows until I was sort of leaning sideways but definitely on my back. It was the only thing that was even vaguely comfortable (emphasis on “vaguely”). So much for the virtues of gravity in labor, that’s all I have to say.

Stay tuned for part IV, in which things get even more hairy.

* Well, except for one or two contractions where he misjudged that I needed a massage or a hand on my abdomen when what I really wanted was not to be touched—and also to rip his head off and throw it out the window. But hey, no one’s perfect, not even Brice.

** Again, please remember I’m not judging you or anyone else for doing something different. NO JUDGEY!