Thoughts on childbirth
Giving birth to my son was nothing like I expected. I've had almost three years to think about this, and it's a little easier to talk about now.
My water broke on Friday morning, April 12, 2002, although I didn't realize it at the time. All the things you see in the movies with the women unleashing a raging torrent from betwixt their legs...not me. My husband had stayed home with me that day. We went out and did some shopping, picked up a phone card so he'd be able to call his parents in Buenos Aires from the hospital, and went out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. We stayed in that evening, and my contractions finally started, or at least became strong enough that I could feel them ( I have a fairly high pain threshold -- having once run almost 10 miles on a broken foot to get back to my house, and not realizing it was broken until I got there). I called my OB/GYN to inform him, let him know which hospital I was going to, got my bags and headed out. Side note: my husband does not have a driver's license, so I drove myself to the hospital. We got there around 10 pm, got checked in and wheeled up to my LBR room. Made the obligatory calls to the local family. I got my IV after several tries. The nurse couldn't get a good vein in my arm, so I ended up with it on the back of my hand, just under my middle finger. I got the first of many cervix checks and also a swab which confirmed that my water had indeed broken. Friday night was pretty uneventful, me lying in my hospital bed, getting checked every so often, and unable to sleep. It really wasn't because of pain at that point, more of an anticipation, excitement: the big event that I had been working toward all these months was finally happening. My husband did sleep, however, in a recliner beside my bed.
Saturday morning came. I had been lying there watching the hours pass on the wall clock which was conveniently located on the wall opposite my bed. The nurses changed shifts, and at this point I got the nurse who would stay with me until I delivered. She was great. One thing I remember about her was one time when she came in and was checking the fetal monitor and my contraction monitor. She was talking to me about random stuff, and I was just having a normal conversation with her, no strain in my voice, no evidence of pain. She showed me the printout of the contraction I had just had that was almost so strong it was off the paper. I was unmedicated at this point. Loving that high pain threshold at this point. We discussed medications, if I wanted them, what I wanted, and when. By this point, I had finally made it to about 4 cm dilation. I told her initially that I didn't want an epidural, just Demerol when it came time to push. She explained that they can only administer the Demerol once, and that if it took a long time to push the baby out, that the medicine could have worn off and I'd be without pain relief. I told her I'd think about it. I ended up getting an epidural, since the contractions were getting stronger and closer, and I had been up for over 24 hours. I justified it to myself that I could possibly get some rest so I'd be better when pushing time came. So the anesthesiologist came. He was a nice guy too. One thing I can say is that he made sure I never saw the needle. They asked my husband to leave the room. I moved to the edge of the bed, hunched over a pillow with the nurse holding my arms for support. The doctor says for me to hold very still. Great. So I'm in one of the most uncomfortable positions for a pregnant woman, having some of the strongest contractions to that point, and I'm supposed to stay still. I got a shot of local anesthetic and then the epidural itself. If you've never had an epidural, it's a weird feeling. You can feel your lower body, but can't really move it that well, and you don't feel pain, only pressure.
I still didn't get any sleep. I was so drugged at this point, it wasn't funny. I had Pitocin in my IV by this time and I now had my epidural. I still wasn't dilating any further. My body said that 4 cm was plenty. By the way 10 cm is full dilation -- ready to push the baby on out. They were trying to give me time to dilate, they encourage natural births rather than C-sections. But things started looking bad. The baby's heartbeat was dropping every time I had a contraction. I got oxygen to help out with this, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. When the heartrate wasn't coming back up after the contractions, but just kept dropping, they called my doctor in and he said it was time to take the baby.
From here, things went into high speed. I got a cap over my hair and got moved onto a gurney so I could be wheeled down the hall to the OR. By the way, it's difficult to move onto one from another bed when you can't feel your legs and you can't just scoot because of the epidural. After arriving in the OR, I had my belly shaved and all the things they do to prep you. I was rejoined by the same anesthesiologist who administered by epidural. My husband came in shortly with his sterile jumpsuit on. I have to admit that at this point, I was terrified. I had never had major surgery before. I got the dosage in the epidural kicked up so I was even more numb, the drape was hung, and off we went. I still had the oxygen mask on, so it was hard for me to talk and be heard. Julian was sitting beside me, and he could move and see what was going on behind the drape. Having Enzo removed was an odd sensation. I couldn't feel pain, only pressure. As the doctor was pulling him out, I felt my lower body come up off the operating table. I could also feel another set of hands just below my rib cage, pushing down. Enzo was born at 1:30 Saturday afternoon, April 13, 2002. He was fine, screaming loudly, but who wouldn't be if you were just forcibly removed from the nice warm spot you had occupied for the last 9 months? I remember that Julian carried Enzo back down the hall to the LBR room for all the tests and to get bathed and as he walked, I could hear Enzo screaming the whole way. I also remember the doctor making a comment about how he made the incision low, so that it wouldn't show when I wore a bikini. I remember telling him that the only way I was ever wearing a bikini again was if he did some lipo while he was in there. One thing I don't remember was him asking me if we wanted Enzo to be circumcised. He told me later that he held off because my response at the time was, "Sure, whatever, sounds good to me."
I got stapled up and wheeled back to the LBR room. I don't remember exactly how much time had passed. I was a little out of it, because my epidural had been removed and replaced with a morphine drip. My mom, sister, and nieces finally came. Everyone was holding Enzo, passing him around, talking about how good he looked, etc. I had not held him yet. I hadn't even had more than a passing glance at him as he was whisked out of the OR. I finally got a chance to hold my son more than an hour after giving birth. So much for my ideal of pushing him out and having him placed immediately on my stomach and having the opportunity to nurse.
I later found out that he never dropped into my pelvis like he should have, and this is why I didn't dilate fully. It was a case of cephalopelvic disproportion. Basically, his head was too big to pass through. I'm told that it's fairly common in short women (I'm 5'0"). I also have a fairly small bone structure as well.
Anyway, my whole birth plan went out the window. I didn't have an opportunity to nurse him until much later that day, since I basically passed out after my surgery. A nurse and the LC came in and said that they had a very hungry guy who wanted his mommy.
I know now that it's not the case, but at the time I felt like less of a woman for not having given birth vaginally. It didn't help that my mom and my sister both had 'normal' births with both of their children. I was once again the weirdo in the family. No one understood how I felt. I couldn't really talk to either of them about it, because, hell, they were the normal ones. I tried to talk to Julian some, but I think he thought that I was crazy. I became so depressed. I talked to my OB/GYN about it and I got a prescription for Zoloft. I stayed on it for a while, until I was able to rationalize what I had gone through and make sense of it all internally.
Things are much better now. I've been medication-free for over 2 years. I have a beautiful toddler who is becoming more and more independent each day. He walks, he talks, he sings, he gives me hugs and kisses, and he uses the potty. I look at him now and it's almost hard to fathom that he is the same little guy who used to live in my tummy.
My water broke on Friday morning, April 12, 2002, although I didn't realize it at the time. All the things you see in the movies with the women unleashing a raging torrent from betwixt their legs...not me. My husband had stayed home with me that day. We went out and did some shopping, picked up a phone card so he'd be able to call his parents in Buenos Aires from the hospital, and went out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. We stayed in that evening, and my contractions finally started, or at least became strong enough that I could feel them ( I have a fairly high pain threshold -- having once run almost 10 miles on a broken foot to get back to my house, and not realizing it was broken until I got there). I called my OB/GYN to inform him, let him know which hospital I was going to, got my bags and headed out. Side note: my husband does not have a driver's license, so I drove myself to the hospital. We got there around 10 pm, got checked in and wheeled up to my LBR room. Made the obligatory calls to the local family. I got my IV after several tries. The nurse couldn't get a good vein in my arm, so I ended up with it on the back of my hand, just under my middle finger. I got the first of many cervix checks and also a swab which confirmed that my water had indeed broken. Friday night was pretty uneventful, me lying in my hospital bed, getting checked every so often, and unable to sleep. It really wasn't because of pain at that point, more of an anticipation, excitement: the big event that I had been working toward all these months was finally happening. My husband did sleep, however, in a recliner beside my bed.
Saturday morning came. I had been lying there watching the hours pass on the wall clock which was conveniently located on the wall opposite my bed. The nurses changed shifts, and at this point I got the nurse who would stay with me until I delivered. She was great. One thing I remember about her was one time when she came in and was checking the fetal monitor and my contraction monitor. She was talking to me about random stuff, and I was just having a normal conversation with her, no strain in my voice, no evidence of pain. She showed me the printout of the contraction I had just had that was almost so strong it was off the paper. I was unmedicated at this point. Loving that high pain threshold at this point. We discussed medications, if I wanted them, what I wanted, and when. By this point, I had finally made it to about 4 cm dilation. I told her initially that I didn't want an epidural, just Demerol when it came time to push. She explained that they can only administer the Demerol once, and that if it took a long time to push the baby out, that the medicine could have worn off and I'd be without pain relief. I told her I'd think about it. I ended up getting an epidural, since the contractions were getting stronger and closer, and I had been up for over 24 hours. I justified it to myself that I could possibly get some rest so I'd be better when pushing time came. So the anesthesiologist came. He was a nice guy too. One thing I can say is that he made sure I never saw the needle. They asked my husband to leave the room. I moved to the edge of the bed, hunched over a pillow with the nurse holding my arms for support. The doctor says for me to hold very still. Great. So I'm in one of the most uncomfortable positions for a pregnant woman, having some of the strongest contractions to that point, and I'm supposed to stay still. I got a shot of local anesthetic and then the epidural itself. If you've never had an epidural, it's a weird feeling. You can feel your lower body, but can't really move it that well, and you don't feel pain, only pressure.
I still didn't get any sleep. I was so drugged at this point, it wasn't funny. I had Pitocin in my IV by this time and I now had my epidural. I still wasn't dilating any further. My body said that 4 cm was plenty. By the way 10 cm is full dilation -- ready to push the baby on out. They were trying to give me time to dilate, they encourage natural births rather than C-sections. But things started looking bad. The baby's heartbeat was dropping every time I had a contraction. I got oxygen to help out with this, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. When the heartrate wasn't coming back up after the contractions, but just kept dropping, they called my doctor in and he said it was time to take the baby.
From here, things went into high speed. I got a cap over my hair and got moved onto a gurney so I could be wheeled down the hall to the OR. By the way, it's difficult to move onto one from another bed when you can't feel your legs and you can't just scoot because of the epidural. After arriving in the OR, I had my belly shaved and all the things they do to prep you. I was rejoined by the same anesthesiologist who administered by epidural. My husband came in shortly with his sterile jumpsuit on. I have to admit that at this point, I was terrified. I had never had major surgery before. I got the dosage in the epidural kicked up so I was even more numb, the drape was hung, and off we went. I still had the oxygen mask on, so it was hard for me to talk and be heard. Julian was sitting beside me, and he could move and see what was going on behind the drape. Having Enzo removed was an odd sensation. I couldn't feel pain, only pressure. As the doctor was pulling him out, I felt my lower body come up off the operating table. I could also feel another set of hands just below my rib cage, pushing down. Enzo was born at 1:30 Saturday afternoon, April 13, 2002. He was fine, screaming loudly, but who wouldn't be if you were just forcibly removed from the nice warm spot you had occupied for the last 9 months? I remember that Julian carried Enzo back down the hall to the LBR room for all the tests and to get bathed and as he walked, I could hear Enzo screaming the whole way. I also remember the doctor making a comment about how he made the incision low, so that it wouldn't show when I wore a bikini. I remember telling him that the only way I was ever wearing a bikini again was if he did some lipo while he was in there. One thing I don't remember was him asking me if we wanted Enzo to be circumcised. He told me later that he held off because my response at the time was, "Sure, whatever, sounds good to me."
I got stapled up and wheeled back to the LBR room. I don't remember exactly how much time had passed. I was a little out of it, because my epidural had been removed and replaced with a morphine drip. My mom, sister, and nieces finally came. Everyone was holding Enzo, passing him around, talking about how good he looked, etc. I had not held him yet. I hadn't even had more than a passing glance at him as he was whisked out of the OR. I finally got a chance to hold my son more than an hour after giving birth. So much for my ideal of pushing him out and having him placed immediately on my stomach and having the opportunity to nurse.
I later found out that he never dropped into my pelvis like he should have, and this is why I didn't dilate fully. It was a case of cephalopelvic disproportion. Basically, his head was too big to pass through. I'm told that it's fairly common in short women (I'm 5'0"). I also have a fairly small bone structure as well.
Anyway, my whole birth plan went out the window. I didn't have an opportunity to nurse him until much later that day, since I basically passed out after my surgery. A nurse and the LC came in and said that they had a very hungry guy who wanted his mommy.
I know now that it's not the case, but at the time I felt like less of a woman for not having given birth vaginally. It didn't help that my mom and my sister both had 'normal' births with both of their children. I was once again the weirdo in the family. No one understood how I felt. I couldn't really talk to either of them about it, because, hell, they were the normal ones. I tried to talk to Julian some, but I think he thought that I was crazy. I became so depressed. I talked to my OB/GYN about it and I got a prescription for Zoloft. I stayed on it for a while, until I was able to rationalize what I had gone through and make sense of it all internally.
Things are much better now. I've been medication-free for over 2 years. I have a beautiful toddler who is becoming more and more independent each day. He walks, he talks, he sings, he gives me hugs and kisses, and he uses the potty. I look at him now and it's almost hard to fathom that he is the same little guy who used to live in my tummy.
posted by carrie at 11/28/2004 08:07:00 p.m.
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