Disclaimer: this is exactly what the title says: a birth story. It is not pretty, and while I will try to err on the side of discretion and spare you gory details, it still may not be great for the sensitive (or my dad) to read. Our experience was less than ideal, and I hope that it will help others with their birth plans or experiences. But most of all, I just need the closure of getting this out there. Most of all, this is for me. 
As I poise my fingers over my keyboard, getting ready to write this birth story, my heart leaps in my chest. I have this uneasy and nervous feeling, like I am going to dig into myself, honestly to a place that is difficult for me.
Our birth story. What an event.
Almost since the beginning of our pregnancy, I desired an unmedicated, intervention-free birth. I am not going to get into all the reasons here, but I listed a lot of them in
this post, which now feels so long ago. Overall, it was a personal desire. I realize that what we wanted is not right for everyone, and I am in no way trying to say that it is wrong to have interventions and meds or an epidural. In fact, I know that in some cases it is necessary. But these were not things that I wanted, and Allen supported me.
Allen and I prepared for our desired natural birth. We took courses with the Birth Center designed for having med-free births at a hospital. We took hyponobirthing (google it; it is not as hokey as it sounds). We wrote a birth plan where we clearly and respectfully highlighted every intervention we knew was standard procedure, and what our wishes were. Overall, our message was the same. "If you think this is necessary, please just talk to us. Explain your concerns. Please hear ours. Our goal is the same: healthy mommy and baby." And then, after we felt like we had prepared as much as one can, we waited.
Lorelei was due on March 14. I was almost sure that I would be late, and when the week of March 7 began, I started making plans. A dinner date here, a lunch there, a shopping trip here; anything to keep me active, and not sitting around my house waiting for baby. I had little pains here and there, which just felt to me like menstrual cramps, and I had no idea that those would become what I now know as contractions. On March 8, I went to bed, feeling no different than before.
I woke up at 5 am on March 9 with more of those little pains, except I could not ignore them. I tried to change positions and tossed and turned in bed, but they kept giving me little twinges of discomfort here and there. I was still skeptical; I knew that one could have contractions for days, even weeks, before a baby came, so I just tried to get rid of them. Allen went to work, and I tried to sleep (unsuccessfully). Finally, I took a shower, remembering that the heat and the water can sometimes stop false labor. They kept on coming. I put on a sweatshirt and took a walk, thinking walking may stop them. Nope, they just got stronger. I called my friend Justine, who also was our back up support for the delivery room, and said "so...I think I may be in labor...butiamnotsureyet!" And she started screaming, telling me to call in and hour. The cramps still coming steadily, so I decided maybe I needed to see if they were timeable, and I went back home. "How does one time a menstrual cramp?" I wondered. After paying attention to my body, I realized that they had a definitive peak, and then they back down a bit, so I could kind of identify a start and finish. I logged online and pulled up a contraction counter, and started timing them for about an hour. Every 4-6 minutes, lasting 45 seconds each. Oh. I guess that may mean something. I was still unsure if this was the real thing, so I called the on call nurse at my practice, and told her my signs. She said to go to the hospital.
"Are you sure?" I asked. "I do not want to be sent home."
"You are in labor! Go to the hospital."
I still had a bit of a fear of getting sent home, so I made a point not to really call anyone else. I really did not want to worry/excite our moms for nothing, so I said that I did not want to call them until we were admitted. Even so, the word managed to spread. My friend Rachel, who works at the hospital with Justine and was due with her first a week later, called me asking "Is it true? Are you in labor?" I called Allen and said "Come home! I think this is it!" and then reluctantly called my dad to cancel our sushi date (begging him not to say anything about it). I tidied up the house and grabbed our bags, then ate some snacks while waiting for Allen to come home. He arrived around 12 p.m., and we were on our way.
After a 40 minute drive to the hospital, we checked into triage and I was put on a contraction monitor. I was still feeling steady cramps, and was about 4 centimeters dilated. The nurse said that her monitor was not picking up the contractions consistently, and she wanted me to walk around the hospital for two hours and come back. At first I was indignant. "What do you MEAN you can't pick these up?" I thought. "I know what I am feeling!" But now, I realize that this was the best thing that could have happened for us right then.
My friend Rachel had gotten off work around the same time, and she asked if she could walk with us. She was ready for her little man to come out, and I think she wanted to see if a nice long walk would help her out and support me at the same time. My contractions were getting a bit more painful (but still not awful by any means), so I told her if she was OK seeing me in pain, I welcomed the extra support. Thank God March 9 was a gorgeous day with warm Spring air, and our walk was as nice as could be. For the first hour, I was hardly breathless. I talked, walked, breathed, leaned on Allen and Rachel, and got increasingly more excited. It was just starting to hit me that I was definitely going to meet my sweet baby girl, and I couldn't wait!
The second hour of walking was more intense as my contractions started coming every 1-2 minutes. When I was gripped with a contraction, I would brace myself on Allen or Rachel, and ask the other to push on my lower back while I breathed or groaned. Sometimes I would push on a railing or bar near that sidewalk and sway my hips. I felt like though it was getting more uncomfortable, I was managing things well. By the end of that second hour, I definitely was anxious to get checked again. Rachel wished us luck and said she would be praying, and left Allen and I to go back to triage.
Once I was back in triage getting checked again, I had progressed to almost 6 centimeters. It was now 4 p.m., and I was definitely getting checked in. Somewhere before this point, however, I realized that I had left my birth plan in the wrong suitcase...at home. I was distressed that I would not have that valuable tool with me, as it was getting harder to have long and detailed conversations, but when I told the triage nurse that I had forgotten it, she almost looked relieved. It was like she was thinking "Oh, one of THOSE moms." She quickly said "Oh that's OK, we don't need that. We will do what you want us to do." But I was unconvinced. Unfortunately, I was right to be uneasy.
When Allen and I finally were taken up to our room, there was a nurse preparing stuff for us. I gave my standard greeting:
"Hi, I'm Diana. I would like to have my birth experience be as low-intervention and med-free as possible, and I really would prefer to have intermittent rather than continuous monitoring."
The nurse stared at me and blinked. "Why did you get checked in, then?" she asked.
What?
"It is procedure to be continuously monitored. Why would you let yourself be admitted if you do not want that?"
I stammered a bit now, shocked. "Uh, if you check my chart, my OB signed off on all these things (she did). Can I just labor in the shower for a while?"
The nurse looked at me like she was not sure what to do. "Well, I am on your side," she said. "I am used to natural births, so I am going to help you out. I am going to do my rounds now and pretend you are not here, and when I come back, I am going to monitor you a little. OK?"
I nodded, distressed that so far, my natural birth had to be "on the down low." But as I turned on a hot shower and Allen started calling our parents and closest friends to tell them that Lorelei was indeed on her way, I forgot about my interactions with the nurse. Allen and I talked and, despite the gripping pain that came over me every minute or so, it was bearable and even nice. The water was really helpful to my contractions, and I braced myself on the handicap bar and labored in the shower for at least a half hour. At some point, my contractions became even more intense, and I started swaying and vocalizing a little, singing low and high tones to breathe through. Allen was wonderful, pushing on my back, offering me support to lean on, kissing my cheek and being so strong and loving. But the contractions were getting steeper and steeper, and I was starting to really feel the pain that I had been told about.
Not too much later, the nurse came back, and I put my gown on to be monitored for a bit. The nurse and I talked for a little while, and I learned that she indeed was no stranger to unmedicated births. She had worked with Amish families in the past, and seemed to be very supportive. But I also got the sense that this was NOT how they did things here. Even so, I felt blessed that she was my nurse, and confident that I would get the birth I desired. I am not sure exactly when, but more nurses came in, and I said that I did not want an epidural, and to please not offer it to me. I know it is there, and I can ask for it. Unfortunately, that request fell on deaf ears.
My nurse checked me again and I was seven centimeters (it was about 6 p.m. now). Thinking that my labor would likely be hours longer, she went on her dinner break, leaving me in the hands of the epidural-happy nurses for my transition. Great. Pretty soon, I understood what I had been told for so long about this dreaded stage called "transition," and was in horrible pain. I was still on the hospital bed from being monitored, and tried to change positions several times, but the pain just got worse and worse. "Allen, put your hands here. Push here. No here. Wait, let me flip over. Maybe if I sit this way." But it was to no avail. The pain was intensifying and without any relief.
"Are you sure you don't want the epidural?" A nurse asked me with a somewhat know-it-all expression. "It is only going to get worse, you know. You could be in labor for hours, and then pushing could be hours more."
"No. I will ask for it if I want it," I gasped, but really I was getting angry and stressed along with my pain. Did she think I did not know this? Did she think that I did not have any idea what I was in for? And that was not the only time either. Nurses kept telling me that it was going to get worse, that I could get the epidural still, pushing it in my face. I was getting stressed and frustrated and in so.much.pain.
At this point, I was screaming through contractions, a horrible sound that made me feel bad for the women down the hall. Allen was trying so hard to be comforting, and his presence alone was my rock. He watched the contraction monitor, stroked my arm, kissed my cheek and told me to breathe. He recited the breathing prompts that we worked on, and his voice was calming, but eventually I started falling apart more and more. I felt like a cannon ball was exploding inside me, ripping me apart, and other than my husband, I felt no encouragement from the nurses. They all seemed to be looking down on my decision smugly, like I had no idea what I was in for. And maybe I didn't, but I still wanted to keep going. At least I thought. I gritted my teeth and cried, doubting myself. Maybe they were right. Maybe I couldn't handle this pain.
"Allen," I sobbed, "I do not think I can do it. Maybe they are right. What if there has been no progression? What if I do need the epidural?"
"Why don't we try this," he said. "We can ask your nurse to check you again, and if you have not progressed, start getting the bag of fluid for the epidural. If you have progressed, maybe you will feel like you can do it."
I nodded, and when my nurse (the nice, supportive one) popped in, I asked her to check me.
"Nine centimeters," she announced. "Almost ten."
"OK. I can do this." I said, my resolve returning. No epidural for me. I was almost done transition. And though I knew pushing could still take a while, I felt like I had accomplished something. It WAS doable! The nurse went to tell the on-call doctor (one who I had never met before, who was not even in my practice), that I was almost ready.
Not even 15 minutes later, I was howling in pain. I felt incredible pressure on my back, one that I felt an active urge to do something about. I knew. It was time.
"I need to push! I need to push NOW!" I screamed. The nurse checked me one more time, which was incredibly painful and terrible at this point, and announced that I was ten centimeters with barely a lip of cervix. I kept screaming, asking her "please, please, please stop checking me." But she was helping that lip of cervix, getting me ready to go.
The on-call doctor was not near enough to deliver me, so the nurse said that the chief of resident was coming. I know that I felt a flash of nervousness at that point, but that quickly disappeared as I screamed in pain. I think it was at this point that my friend Justine popped her head back in to check on me, and I cried something like "I am having her RIGHT NOW!" Now, I wish I had made her stay, but my mind was not even going there. She kissed me on the cheek and wished us luck, and a bunch of nurses (some of the epidural pushers who I loved so much), rushed in, and got me into pushing position. As the nurses held my legs, I heard them talking.
"Why are we here right now? We aren't even assigned to her! She was not supposed to go this quickly. Where is her doctor? Where are her other nurses?"
Allen and I were flabbergasted that they would talk this way in front of us. Uh. Sorry my baby decided to come quickly and not on your time schedule. Next time, I will try to hold her in longer. No one was encouraging me. No one was urging me that I was doing a good job, to keep going. Except for my wonderful husband, who was starting to get overwhelmed himself at this point, I felt alone, and like a horrible inconvenience to them. Another nurse even leaned between my legs, now being held high for pushing, and said "So do you want the epidural now?"
I do not know if she was serious or being a jerk, but either way, I was angry.
"How the hell do you expect me to sit still for it NOW?" I asked, as I gritted my teeth and tried to push through another contraction. It was the only time I was rude back to a nurse, but frankly, she deserved it.
The resident and resident supervisor rushed in, and my pain was getting more ridiculous. Since half the nurses were on their dinner break, they made Allen hold a leg, instead of letting him be by my head where I wanted him. Instead, the resident supervisor, a kind older man, was by my head. Now, I liked him. Looking back, he was the most helpful staff member I had encountered yet. As I screamed through the pain, the horror of starting to push, he spoke in a soothing voice, trying to tell me to direct my pain in a purposeful way.
"I know you want to scream, but you do not want to use your energy on that. Use all your energy to breathe and push, OK? Try not to scream. Just focus. Breathe. OK push. Now hold on a minute. OK now push. There you go!"
It was wonderful to have someone from that hospital helping me through this rather than telling me that I needed pain medication. Honestly, even though it was still painful, that was when I felt most in control. I fully believed that my pain level was directly associated with the anxiety and discomfort I had been feeling, and when someone was there not judging me, the pain was different.
"Please stay!" I begged him. "I like you!"
He smiled and stayed as long as he could, but was eventually paged and had to go. I thought I finally had a handle on things. Allen was holding my leg, and I could feel some sense of accomplishment in pushing, though it was horribly intense. Then, they announced that the on-call doctor had arrived, and that she was going to switch with the resident. This announcement was made during a particularly strong contraction, and I guess at this moment I let out a loud scream. The doctor, who had just walked in the room, jumped like she had never heard a woman in labor before and barked out "Don't scream like that!" in an annoyed voice.
Great. Another helpful advocate.
I kept on pushing through the pain, trying not to scream so not to annoy the doctor, and Lorelei was almost there. I think at this point, the doctor broke my water, which of course intensified things even more. I heard them say something about meconium, which worried me for a second, but I did not think about it for too long. I was feeling the burning of her crowning, and no one (except Allen) was talking to me anymore. They kept whispering like I was doing something wrong, making me feel self-conscious on top of my pain. Finally, as I knew the baby was almost out, the doctor held up a pair of scissors and announced to the room "I am going to cut you."
Now, let me pause and say that an episiotomy was one of the procedures that I had decided I did not want unless it was necessary. Had the doctor taken five seconds and said something like "Now, I this is not something I commonly do, but I feel like it is in your best interests that we give you an episiotomy to get the baby out faster," I would have probably said "OK, fine." But she didn't say that. She brandished a pair of scissors like a weapon and said "I am going to cut you." And all my overtired, pain ridden self could think was that I did not want to feel SOMETHIHNG else. So I screamed "Nooooooooo!!!"
I looked at Allen, with a plea in my eyes. "No! No please don't. Please don't let them cut me." The doctor still had the scissors, looking like she was going to ignore my pleas, until Allen looked at her and said in a commanding voice "She said no!" (Bless him).
The doctor put the scissors down, I am sure with a look of annoyance on her face, and just let me go. Screaming, burning, pushing, tearing. Allen sitting down, overcome with the sight of it all. And then, blessed relief. It was over. I glanced at the clock; our baby girl entered the world at 7:25 p.m., almost 2 and a half hours after we had checked into delivery.
"Is she out? Is she OK? Is she a girl? How big is she?" I asked. They did not put her on my chest because she had to be whisked away to the newborn cleaning station across the room.
"She is out," the nurse said. "We are going to go suction her lungs since there was meconium in your water, but she should be fine."
I waited with baited breath, and heard our daughter cry. I understand that is a very necessary procedure since that can be potentially very dangerous. I really do. It was just hard on top of everything to not have seen her, and every second waiting to hear how she did was torture. I was overcome with relief and exhaustion, in a daze and breathless. Allen smiled at me, and I told him to go over with her. I turned my head, trying to peak at her. "Is she OK? Is she OK? How big is she? I am sorry for screaming," I said over and over.
"She is OK," said the nurse. "7 lbs 6 oz. 20 inches long. Her lungs are perfect." Thankfully, that nurse kindly stayed by my bedside assuring me that Lorelei was OK as I waited to see her.
Allen brought a bundle over to me so I could see our beautiful daughter. I wanted to hold her, and asked if I could, but the doctor said no.
"Since you declined an episiotomy, I need to stitch you up right now. You cannot hold her until we are done."
I do not know about you, but that sounds like she was punishing me. And so, as they delivered the placenta and started stitching me up, I had to gaze over the side of the bed rail at Lorelei, the beautiful creature I had just pushed out of my body. I was thankful that either Allen or the kind nurse I just mentioned held her next to me the whole time I was being stiched up so I could see her. At the moment, I was too tired to really care, but looking back, I am so angry that I did not get those first moments with her. I know that my stitching was not a life or death situation, and they could have let me hold her for a minute, but they did not. It was after 7, and they wanted to leave the crazy natural birth woman.
My first hour of my daughter's life was spent taking pictures of her with my cell phone and texting my friends that she was here. I had to take my mind off the fact that I could not hold her until the OB took a break. Finally, after an hour of stitching, my daughter was placed in my arms for five whole minutes. I treasured each minute, stroked her fingers, kissed her face, and marveled at how beautiful she was. Her face was perfect and round and her cheeks were big. She had a tiny nose and she looked like me. She was so precious and beautiful...and all ours.
My five minutes were short-lived, as she was taken away from me so they could stitch me some more. My parents were coming soon, and by the time I got her back, I was too tired to nurse. But I did enjoy that first night with our beautiful daughter, so thankful that she was here.
I wish I could tell you that the bad hospital experience ended there, but it did not. Because she was kept from me for so long, and because no one really encouraged it until hours later, I did not even try to nurse her until about three hours after she was born. Every time a doctor or nurse who was at the delivery checked on me for the next couple of days, they made sure to tell me that any extra pain I experienced through my healing was my fault "because I declined that episiotomy." When I called the hospital a week later asking for breastfeeding support, they told me they did not endorse the tool I was looking into (a nipple shield), and I needed to call somewhere else. And the worst of it? Throughout Lorelei's delivery and the days that followed, I found myself apologizing. For screaming, for declining that episiotomy, for inconveniencing them. And really, I should not have had to apologize for my daughter's birth. I feel like I am the one who should get an apology for being made to feel like a burden when I was going through one of the most defining experiences of my life.
So, there it is. Lorelei's birth story. It had a happy ending, as Lorelei and I were both healthy, but it was not a happy story. I am not trying to sound like one of those complaining, nitpicky women, but I believe with all my heart (as do many of the friends who have heard my story), that I was wronged greatly by this hospital, and that the biggest wrong was that in my daughter's birth, I was robbed of part of my joy. I do not remember that horrific pain, but I still feel the hurt and anxiety I felt because of the doctors and nurses who supposedly were in charge of my care. I cannot really complain since she is healthy, and I know that is so much more than some women have. Please do not think that I am taking for granted that in spite of a few hours of awful, I had a pretty “easy” experience. I know for that I am blessed. But to this day, I wish I had written the hospital and told them how unkindly I was treated, just for desiring a type of birth that was different than "the system," but one that was purely natural. And while I am not "anti-hospital" for things that require one, I will say that I will never go back to that hospital again for a birth, and I am strongly considering a Birth Center again for the future Paislettes. And honestly, I would do it again without medicine in a heartbeat. While terrible, it was completely doable. However, I never ever want to do it in that environment again. Because really, a birth is a beautiful and amazing thing, and one should not have her birth experience taken away by forced procedures and impatient staff members. I am now a textbook example of why people avoid hospital births, something I never wanted to be.
I hope in reading this no one things I would ever judge their birth decision. I support BIRTH in general. Birth the way that you want, in the way that you are comfortable, with medicine or no medicine. Epidural, or no epidural. C-section, or in your home, and I will cheer for you. But I believe that I too deserved to birth in the way I wanted, I just wish that my hospital and supposed birth team had cheered for me.
And now, I am going to get my fussing daughter up from her nap, kiss her face and thank God that I have her. Because as long as she is here with me, it is a good birth story.
