Kent's Birth Story

Happy 2 week birthday, Kent! Caution: it's a little long!

It was 1 am when I woke up to use the restroom and I felt cramping and low back soreness. I didn’t think much of it at first, but then my mind went where it had gone every day for so many weeks: Could this be the day I deliver? Could this be a labor sign? Immediately, I went back to bed, thinking of my sister-in-law Val, who decided to sleep as much as possible in the early labor phase. But of course, my mind was running: Is this really happening? I should take a shower. I haven’t finished packing! I can’t forget to bring (insert long list). I should have finished my crafts. Why did I procrastinate on (insert list)? Should I wake up Matt? No. After a feeble half hour of rest, I decided to rush around quietly and get some things done, including a nice shower. Glad I showered. Matt woke up and he started packing.

At 3 am, my contractions were noticeable, but somewhat irregular. I no longer doubted that this was real labor. I tried to sleep, thinking this would be a whole day affair, maybe into the next night. We let my parents sleep. I laid down and Matt started watching Titanic in the living room (for his film class), thinking this would take hours. My Dad woke up around 5 am and that’s when we told him that my labor had started. He got real excited and wanted to tell Mom, but since I was convinced that it would be a long labor, I encouraged him to let her sleep more. What could she do anyway?

Matt was in and out of the bedroom to check on me. At some point my contractions got closer together, around 5 minutes apart and I really had to focus on breathing. The most comfortable position was on hands and knees on my bed, hugging several pillows. My Dad woke up my Mom at 6 am. I don’t remember the time going by, because all I could do is breathe through my contractions. I do remember my mom rubbing my lower back and informing me of the minutes: when one would start and should end. She was so soothing and encouraging. I can just imagine what I looked like: eyes shut tight during a contraction, breathing loudly, lips puckered, then looking like a really exhausted zombie during the “off” minutes, eyes trying to focus on the clock in a confused and helpless state, totally dreading the next wave.

It seemed like it was finally time to call the midwife and tell her about my progress (somewhere around 6:30 or 6:45 am). The spacing seemed more like 3-4 minutes, but I was delusional at that point. How was I supposed to place the call when I couldn’t talk? I put it on speaker phone and Matt stayed with me. The answering service man (whatever his title is) kept asking me to repeat myself because he couldn’t understand or hear my answers. I’m sorry, answering service man, but I’m trying my best here. You’re not the one whose insides are twisting and opening so a human can pass through! The midwife on call was Carolyn and she asked how long my contractions had been less than 5 minutes apart. I didn’t quite know but I guessed 1.5 hours. To my surprise, she said to come into the office at 8 am (opening time) where they could check me and see what to do from there. We hung up and I was frustrated. That was as much talking I could do during labor. A half hour later and lots more heavy breathing and some painful moaning, Matt made the decision to go to the hospital. I remember that he spoke to me like I was a child: really loudly and slowly, repeating himself a few times. I must have looked in a faraway place of torture. This time we called the OBGYN to inform them, not to ask permission. The answering service lady told us that the midwife is no longer on call after 7 am, but to go ahead and go to the hospital. So where does that leave patients between 7 and 8 am when the practice opens?

The path from the bedroom to the front door was torture. I had to stop several times through the contractions which felt like they were coming at me mercilessly. From the front door to the car was worse. It was raining and I had very little strength to stand, let alone walk down 5 steps and get into the car. My eyes were closed tight and I breathed hard during that 30 minute ride. We were in rush hour traffic and seemed to hit all the red lights. With my right hand, I gripped the seatbelt straps. With my left hand, I sometimes pushed up against the roof of the car. At one point, I definitely could feel things move down there, like opening up and moving down (the head, most likely), so I grabbed my crotch and that’s when Matt got nervous. I remember him flooring it, but since it was raining, I was anxious that we would spin out of control. The only words I spoke to Matt were “slow down”. He might have talked to me during the ride, but I had no energy to respond. It was simply too much effort to do anything but breathe and moan through the horrible pain that wouldn’t stop. All that went through my head was: “Forget this natural birth thing. As soon as we get to the hospital, I’m getting an epidural.” The thought of an epidural was the only thing that kept me from going mentally insane.

We pulled up to the hospital at 8 am and Matt left the car there until he could admit me. A lady saw us and started running ahead to get help, I think. How could I get out of this car between these super close 1-2 minute contractions? Again, some sort of miracle. Probably the idea of an epidural. I got into a wheelchair and a security officer escorted us to the 6^th floor. I remember the woman and the man’s voices, but not their faces because my eyes were shut. Matt left me to the nurses to park the car. The nurses handed me a cup for a urine sample. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!  I couldn’t do anything myself, so she had to undress me and hold me. I could barely stand up.

There were no labor and delivery rooms available (it was a full house!) so we were in a recovery room while the staff scrambled to find us one and get it cleaned up. The contractions were still coming hard and fast and I remained unable to speak. I remember my body convulsing over and over uncontrollably and I’m sure I had the worst expressions of pain on my face. I squeezed Matt’s hand because I was so tense. At this point, I don’t think I was breathing correctly, I was just suffering through them, hands and knees on the bed, clutching the back of the bed. The nurse checked me and announced that I was 9 centimeters dilated. My first thought was “Really?? Already?? Nooo!!!! It’s too late for an epidural!!” I was so discouraged and weak, wondering how in the world I was going to continue. At the same time, 9 centimeters meant that I was almost done, whereas I assumed I was only in the 6-7 centimeter range. Did I really get here all on my own? No meds? Wow.

Finally, about an hour later, a room was ready and it was time to push. The wheeled me over and asked me to transfer beds. Seriously?!? I remember my sister-in-law Kara saying that it was a relief to push, but I told the nurses that I had no more energy, that I couldn’t do it. They told me that I’d be surprised by the energy I could muster up in this time. They were right. I pushed and pushed until they redirected my pushing efforts to be more efficient: the 10 second count three times during a 1 minute contraction. Matt told me later that the nurses giggled a few times when I went beet red from the pushing. “Push through your butt, not your face!” they repeated. My sister-in-law Corrie had said the same thing, and now I understood what she meant. They told me to keep my eyes open and focus on something, which was hard to do. I chose a light fixture above, but soon I had to change positions and be on my hands and knees again, this time with oxygen and an IV in my hand because of Kent’s heart rate. With every contraction, I gripped my face in both hands. They made my water break just before he was ready to crown. At some point, I remember Matt standing on my right side, taking over for the midwife who was putting on scrubs or something. He held my right leg and followed the nurse’s lead. When they told me that they could see the head and that he had black hair, my whole heart exploded with joy. This was it! We’re almost done! And black hair? My dream come true! In all honesty, it didn’t seem like it was going to be over soon, and I secretly wondered if the midwife and nurse were exaggerating to motivate me. But when I heard Matt’s voice saying “You’re almost there! I can see the head!” I knew I could trust everyone.

The head crowning was a weird feeling, a different kind of pain and stretching. I felt the burning sensation I had heard about, but I knew it was very, very close to being over. The head popped out and the rest of the body in one big swoop that I barely recall. The next thing I know, they’re holding up a purple wrinkly baby with black hair and an upset grimace on his face.

What do I remember thinking? It’s over. Finally! You’re my baby. You’re here. Are you really mine? Look at this face! I have no idea where Matt was, or what his reaction was, or what his face was like. I regret not looking up. I could only look at this baby on my chest as they wiped him down, cleared the gunk from his mouth and nose and put warm blankets around us. I didn’t cry. I thought I would. I remember saying to the nurse “He’s blue!” and she said it was normal and look, he was already turning pink. Matt snapped some pictures and then the nurses wanted him to latch on and start nursing. That was not fun. When the nurses took him away to be weighed, measured and checked, we noticed that he had pooped all over his swaddling blanket, the heated blanket and my sheets. Thanks, baby! A first of many. Kent was really calm, quiet and mellow during his check-up. His eyes were wide open, checking out everything, and his head was turned towards me while Matt and I talked about that crazy morning and the labor. It was an intense and amazing process, but I felt great and I was coherent immediately after that last push. Thank you, God!