First, I forgot to tell you that I had asked the nurse if breaking my water would prevent the necessity of labor inducing meds. She told me that the baby had moved back up the birth canal and was so high that breaking the water would make contractions more painful and less productive. So, no...
Okay, so I'm in a hospital bed, on my side still, in full back labor. And that hurts. Jim and I discovered that if he pushed his balled up hands against my lower back on either side of my spine through the contraction, I found relief. After about an hour and a half of this, the attending doctor checked dilation. I came in at a 4 and after an hour and half, I was still at a four.
"Sarah," I said, "I think I want to just talk to someone about an epidural."
Ninety minutes and not even a centimeter of progress? After a pretty sleepless night? And how long is this going to take? Can I do hours and hours of labor like this? I wasn't sure and wanted to discuss options and float the idea.
Except I wasn't a candidate for an epidural with no progress. And for the second time in 24 hours, I nearly cried. Nurse Sarah called my doctor to go over the situation. My doctor called my room. "Honey, I know you're having a hard time," she said. And then suggested a medicine called stadol. If I could go an hour on that we'd reassess. Between contractions we reviewed the merits of it. With Willa, I took stadol and felt absolutely no relief. But, it seemed this was the only option for a gal stuck lying on her side, in a heap of pain, and not progressing.
Just a few minutes after the stadol was added to my IV, I was more relaxed. Stadol didn't dull any pain for me. It dulled how much I seemed to care about it. I also stopped worrying that we'd have to replace the hospital's bed if I had broken it while using my kung fu-woman-in-labor grip on the side rails.
After a while, I asked again about breaking my water. The nurse said she'd talk to my doctor about it now that I had a good amount of active labor and no progress. I whimpered a little through my next contraction. I heard Nurse Sarah tell Jim, "I think she can do this soon, and without an epidural."
That, more than any medicine prepared me for the last part. I started saying "I can do this" with every contraction. Jim said it with me. At some point, my mom joined us in the room, and I think she was saying it too.
Someone checked my dilation, and I had progressed a lot in a short amount of time. It was time to call the doctor who was at home cleaning up her son's birthday party. It was, in fact past time.
And she took forever to get there. We couldn't break the water bag until she got there because it would go fast after that. At that point any loyalty I had to Dr. B was gone. I was thinking break the water and Jim can catch the baby. Still, we waited.
There was construction, and roads closed because of the city's big marathon, but she got there. The water bag was tough and took a few tries to break (this involves catching a tool that looks a lot like a crochet hook on the membrane that holds the amniotic fluid). Dr. B said it was so tough it was likely keeping the baby from descending into the narrow birth canal. There was a gush.
A few contractions later I felt the distinct urge to - I'm sorry there's no delicate way to put this - poop. And even though I knew what this meant in the delivery process, I remember being concerned that the medical staff - there were a lot of nurses and my doctor and a few in training it seemed, and they were all casually chatting as though they were having coffee - would not let me get up to visit the bathroom.
I told the nurse that I would like to watch the delivery in a mirror. I had done this with Willa, and it empowered me to get through 3 hours of pushing. She called for a mirror.
And then I started pushing. No one told me too, I wasn't trying to, my body took over. I said out loud, "I don't know if I should stop, but I can't stop pushing." And it felt sooo good.
There was no time to break the bed apart for the birth. There was no time for stirrups. I am pretty sure I had enough time to roll from my side to my back.
I asked about the mirror again, and Dr. B asked if I wanted to reach down to touch my baby's head. I was astounded I (mostly because the last 6 paragraphs all happened in about 4 minutes). I started to reach down, but before I could get there, I had another contraction that my body pushed through. And a newborn baby - sticky, white, slimy and wailing - was placed on my chest.
And at this point, I did cry. Joy, relief, and feeling like the most powerful and lucky woman on the planet.