Zee's birth story.

This is not a tale of great courage or unending strength, but it's still the story of how my son came into the world, so I'm owning it, and posting it for those who'd be interested.

Korin, I am posting this at you're request, though it may not be very empowering, so you may want to read it after the baby's born.

After 2 and a half weeks (yes, I said 2.5 weeks) of unproductive, yet mildly irritating contractions which came, every. single. 5-10 minutes, while I went about my typical daily routines, Duane and I decided to take a trip to BJ's just to make things interesting. Of course, while waddling my large round-ness through the aisles at BJ's, on a Sunday night, the contractions reached a new and interesting level, finally becoming strong enough to necessitate my taking a few minutes to regain my composure during each one.

Unfortunately, it was not yet time to call the midwife. Although consistently arriving at 5 minute intervals, the contractions were only lasting about 3 minutes at best. So, home we went.

This went on until Monday morning, when they hit that magical 5 minute mark for 30 minutes despite my soaking in the tub and drinking water and didn't go back down. So, the midwife said to come into the office. At my request, Duane asked if we should bring a birthing ball, as we had 2, but he was told not to, as they were "well-prepared with birthing balls and a birthing stool" already on site. Kate was on her way to drive us to the birth center, and I thought we were going to have a baby.... I was wrong.

Getting to the Birth Center required a white-knuckled ride along a very curvy Kelly Drive during which, my cervix had apparently migrated to Peoria and was not in ANY mood to cooperate with the likes of me.

The midwife on "birth duty" that day, just happened to be the one I disliked. I was disappointed at being sent home, but grateful that my baby would be delivered by someone... anyone else.

We were all exhausted. Everyone said that I should sleep, but after weeks of weak contractions and a full, sleepless night of ouch-producing ones, I was unable to sleep a wink despite the desperate desire to do so. And, here's where things got interesting... The midwife suggested, then injected a mild sedative to make me sleep and sent me along my not-so-merry way. Kate dropped us off at home and went back to her house, several miles away.

I had been warned that the sedative often made the situation worse. They were right. Not only couldn't I sleep, but the contractions were somehow, intensified. In fact, all I remember from that period of time is laying in bed and dozing for a few minutes, in between contractions, but whining miserably every time I awoke. I'm sure that was a LOT of fun for Duane, who was also trying to sleep. And things would only get worse for the poor guy.

The sedative I was given had made it impossible to focus my attention to move through the pain, thus, with every ctx, all I could think about was "OMFG, THIS HURTS!" and on every space btwn ctx, all I could think about was how much the next one WOULD hurt.

Finally, it was dark, but I have no clue what time it was, Duane, Kate, Naomi and I were on our way back to the birth center. My "favorite" midwife was still on duty. Oh, Joy. I walked in and said, "Look, before you check me, again, I don't care if you have to cut him out of me with a plastic spoon... I'm not going back home." She said, "Well, let's just see how far along we are, and we'll take it from there..." I said, "Listen to me, I'M NOT GOING BACK HOME!"

She checked, I was finally dilating.

She injected me with some other sedative, shuffled duane and I into a dark room, closed the door and LEFT ME THERE. Kate later told me she overheard this woman say, "She's going to end-up transferring, anyway, so why bother?" Or something to that effect. Kate and Naomi went home. I was in a dark room, wide-awake, hopped up on goof-balls, whining, while Duane slept. (he needed it, at least as much as I did.)

At some point, my water broke, but nothing was coming out except bright red blood and a few clots. It made me nervous. VERY nervous. It was a lot of blood. I was filling a lot of pads, and kept asking the midwife, "are you sure this is normal?" She just kept nodding her head, telling me I was fine, and shooing me back to my dark room. I understand, now, that I didn't believe her, and I was afraid. At the time, I felt like I was set on "automatic pilot" and just followed her lead, because I couldn't process the information the way I should have.

I remember venturing out of "the labor cave" over and over again, asking for help... Can I use the labor ball? Can I get in the tub? Can I have a cup of mother-fucking, god-damned, ever-loving tea? Can I sit on the birthing stool? Can I DO SOMETHING?!? Every time, I was met with a complacent, "No. "We're going to wait till you're a little further along." Or, even worse, in the case of the birthing ball, "No, our other patient is using it right now, and she's further along than you are, so she needs it a little more." (Didn't we ask if we should bring ours? I couldn't remember and my brain was fuzzy) I went back to the cave and paced the floor, in between contractions.

The pain was strong, but it wasn't the intensity of the pain that I found so difficult. It was the fact that I couldn't get comfortable, no matter what I did. I couldn't ease it, and I couldn't focus on anything else, and it was getting worse. I was still bleeding, a lot. And wondering why no one ever told me I would bleed, continuously, and so much, at that.

I could barely remember the various positions I'd read about for easing labor. I used them. All. On my own, in the dark. To no avail. I asked Duane for a back rub. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The pain was becoming more intense and I was back and forth to the toilet, repeatedly. At this time, the midwife suggested that we strip my membranes, as this may help progress labor. Although it went against every fiber of my pre-laboring being, my post-laboring being decided for me... I agreed to have the membranes stripped. (Or did this happen before my water broke? I can't remember) But, still, nothing happened.

More blood.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely a couple of hours, Duane spoke to the midwife on my behalf and convinced her to allow me to use the tub, after another internal. I believe I had only dilated to a 4. Every time she "went in", the pain was excrutiating. I've known jackhammers of a more accommodating nature.

Duane helped me into the tub. It was surprisingly difficult to get in. Duane was at my side, on the bathroom floor, and exhausted. The tub was remarkably small. Just a bit deeper than the one I had at home, but with jacuzzi jets set along the sides and bottom.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get into the position I most wanted, which was to be on all fours, hanging my arms over the side. Everything else just felt "wrong" and uncomfortable. It was impossible to support my head and arms and I was (for some crazy reason) afraid I would fall under the water-line and not be able to pull myself back up. My body felt so heavy and, again, the room was faintly lit, but this time, at my request.

I felt dizzy, my large body "floating" there, and out of control. I wanted desperately for someone I trusted just to say this was all "normal". I asked Duane to put the lights back on. The pain was still intense. The blood was still coming and tinting the water a charming pink. The tub was a bust. Duane was so sweet, he helped me out of the tub, gingerly and put my clothes back on without so much as an annoyed look.

Time passed. Throughout the night, I kept rifling through my bag, looking for something... I still can't remember what, but I know I never found it. Maybe I was looking for my midwife.

I had finally hit my tolerance level. THE PAIN WAS IMPOSSIBLE!!!!!!!! THE PAIN WASN'T STOPPING!!!!!!!!! I staggered out, to the best of my ability, and demanded to go to the hospital, RIGHT NOW! I was met with an apathetic attitude, as she told me she'd check me, again. Fine. I was at 5 cm. Great, CAN WE MOTHER-FUCKING GO, NOW?!?!

All I remember is her sour, pale face, in front of me, saying, "Oh, you'll be fine. This will be over, soon, and you'll be fine." I asked if perhaps she hadn't heard me, as I was "GOING TO THE MOTHER-FUCKING HOSPITAL, NOW!!!! RIGHT NOW! WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!" Thus began the circus of getting me across the street and down the block, to the hospital. The midwife wouldn't drive me in her car and we didn't have a car, nor someone else to drive us... I had to walk to the hospital. Fine.

I walked. I screamed. I moaned. I hung my body from her neck, wishing for a noose. We entered through the back door of the hospital. The place felt like a maze. I can't remember much else, until we got to the birthing suite. They started IV fluids which plumped me up like a rum-soaked raisin. I found out later that this also made my previously normal nipples seem to invert. This made breastfeeding very difficult in the days to come. My milk didn't come in for almost 2 weeks after the birth.

The anesthesiologist, swollen and red-faced, had apparently been awakened or shaken off a bender, to come give my epidural. He was pissed. "If I had just come to the hospital in the first place, this wouldn't have happened." I didn't care. He prepped my back and said to keep still. He told me that if I moved, he wouldn't give me any drugs at all. JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING EPIDURAL ALREADY, YOU FAT FUCKER!

It went in effortlessly. Why was I afraid of this, again? Why didn't I want drugs? Did I say "Fat Fucker?" why, I meant beautiful creature." and, just a handful of minutes later, AHHHHHHHH relief... Baby? What Baby? Who's having a baby? The hell you say! I would be reminded later, and again, for weeks to come, why I should have stayed at the birth center, and why I wanted a less-medical birth, but that's for another post.

A monitor was placed on my stomach and I was put on my back, where I slept like the dead. I slept until the midwife came back to check on me. It was a different midwife. A truly beautiful, earthy lady that I really admired. Thank you!

I was dilated to 10 cm. She said it was time to push, and asked if I could feel the contractions. I answered "Yes" but the truth was, I couldn't. I was simply too tired and too afraid of the pain to tell her the truth. So, I guessed... Apparently, I guessed correctly, and pushed, once or twice. I was told that Zane's heartbeat had risen and wasn't going back down. I remember thinking, "How odd... Isn't the baby's heartbeat supposed to go down with the contractions, instead of up?" His HB was up in the 200's. They had to take him out, right away. They wheeled me into surgery. I was strangely calm. I had nary a concern. Surgery? Ok.

I was prepped. The doctors each introduced themselves and explained what they were doing. The midwife was with me the entire time. I remember telling her, in a moment of drugged bliss, "I'm so glad that it's you who will be here for the birth of my baby. You're my favorite." She petted my hair and smiled at me.

They cut, I felt nothing but tugging and pushing. They lifted him out. I waited for his cry for what felt like an eternity. I told Duane to go with him and not let him out of his sight, but he did so of his own accord... I doubt he even heard me. The midwife pointed at him. I still couldn't believe we had a son. He was so big. He finally cried. His apgars came back at a 9 and a 9. One of the doctors remarked at how thick the umbilical cord was, saying he'd never seen one so big. Does that mean anything? They sewed me up without a problem, and wheeled me to the recovery area, where I stayed for an hour and dozed on and off, until I could feel my feet. At which point, it was time to go up to the maternity ward and meet my son.