James' Birth Story Part 2

Click here for Part 1

I called Brenden. My mom called my dad and just about everyone else she knew. Brenden drove straight up from work as soon as we called. Dr. Hulme called the hospital so they could get prepared for my arrival. When we got there I knew it was going to be awhile before I could eat again if I was really going to have this baby today (I was still partially in denial), so we grabbed some sandwiches at the Subway near the Women's Atrium in the hospital. I felt this was okay because I followed Dr. Hulme's orders to go straight to the hospital, I simply didn't check in as quickly as he might have been expecting me to. After finishing half of my footlong, my mom and I went up to Observation where they told me Dr. Hulme wanted me in Labor and Delivery. Shortly after I arrived in my Labor and Delivery room, Brenden showed up. I decided it was okay to have this baby now. And somehow I think that psychological acceptance allowed the labor to start progressing. 

My first nurse was a former Scottish midwife. I gave her a copy of my birth plan. We went over it together and she was fully supportive of me choosing to go all-natural. My contractions had finally started coming closer together and with a stronger intensity I expected of labor. I found out my baby was occiput posterior, or face up. We needed him to turn so I was doing squats during my contractions. I was getting through them pretty well and utilized my trusty exercise ball too. My nurse's shift ended at 7pm and I had a new nurse come in who performed my next exam.

I was still at 6 cm. I had been laboring in the hospital for about 6 hours, give or take a few minutes, at that point. The contractions had become hard and painful but I wasn't progressing. The nurse informed me Dr. Hulme wanted to artificially rupture the membranes, in other words, break my water to help labor move along. He did and the contractions became stronger. And the medical interventions I wanted to avoid started creeping up.

I was tired. I had been awake for the past three nights. I was having a hard time doing the squats they recommended I do to get the baby to turn. My new nurse recommended I lie down on my side and hopefully he would turn with this new position. I hated laboring in bed but I also hated standing up and I knew I was too tired to keep doing squats so I decided to lie on my side to get this baby to turn. 

They hooked me up to an external fetal monitor to check the baby's heart rate as they had been doing off and on throughout the day but this time they couldn't find the heartbeat. They kept looking for it but couldn't find it. I realize now it was strange that I wasn't worried about this but I wasn't. Everyone else was concerned but I just figured the baby had shifted a bit (like we wanted) and his new position made it difficult to find the heartbeat. But because nurses and doctors aren't allowed to trust a mother's intuition, they insisted I have an internal fetal monitor set up. I was not happy about that. I didn't want them attaching anything to my baby's head before he'd even had a chance to come out. But they were insistent, they needed to find the heartbeat and so, with my permission, they inserted the internal fetal monitor. They found the baby's heartbeat, recorded his heart rate, and everything was fine (as fine as hard labor can be, that is). And when they pulled the little electrode back out, there were little baby hairs attached from where it sat on his head. My baby wasn't bald! I had a new wave of energy. I don't know why my baby having hair was so important to me but it was. Don't worry, I still think bald babies are cute too.

By my next exam I had only progressed 2 cm to a lovely 8 cm. And there I sat, at 8 cm, for much too long, both in my and my doctor's opinion. I had been having strong contractions for almost 72 hours (with basically no sleep) with about 8 of those hours in serious, hard pain. I was hysterical and I couldn't calm down. All my breathing techniques flew out the window with each sharp shallow breath. I lay there praying, begging for my labor to end. Dr. Hulme recommended pitocin and an epidural but I was adamant about no epidural and I didn't want any pitocin because I knew that would make the contractions even harder. I continued to labor out of control, exhausted but stubborn. 

After they checked my progress again and I was still sitting at 8 cm, Dr. Hulme strongly recommended I get an epidural and pitocin. I was no longer in control and I was completely, utterly exhausted. Finally I consented. And once I decided I wanted the epidural, the anesthesiologist couldn't come soon enough. I got the epidural and I got the pitocin. The pain relief came but I was still uncomfortable with each contraction, struggling to get through them. I could feel incredible pressure but I wasn't in pain. 

I got the epidural and pitocin around 9pm and I finally started dilating again. When it came time to push, I was so ready. Pushing was easy for me. It was a welcome change to the previous passive stage of labor. I was excited to push and finally get that baby into this world. 

I still remember the excitement in Brenden's voice when he told me he could see the baby's head. He was at my right side, my mom was at my left. I had never heard such excitement in his voice before. He was so happy and in awe of this miracle we were experiencing together. We were doing it. After a long, LONG labor, and a relatively short pushing stage, James Atticus entered the world. He was immediately whisked away to be weighed and measured and checked, something I had wanted to postpone so I could hold him immediately and begin breastfeeding (since, during my research, I learned this practice aided in more positive breastfeeding outcomes). But, you know, it didn't bother me as much as I thought it would and I hope that doesn't sound like I didn't care about him or didn't wanted to hold my new baby. I was just tired and he was here safe and sound, which was what I was really aiming for. 

He was here.

And he was crying and crying and crying. The nurse cleaned him off and handed him over to Brenden, while I remained in bed getting stitches (is that too much information?) Almost immediately as James was put in Brenden's arms, James quieted. I couldn't believe it. Did he know it was his father holding him? Could he sense Brenden's love for him simply in the way he cradled him?  

The bond was immediate but the bonding moment was shortened as the nurse realized James' breathing wasn't normal. She checked him again. They had to suction gunk (yes, that's the official medical term...) out of him. My poor baby was welcomed into this world with bright lights, beeping machines, and a suction tube. Because of his breathing problem, they wanted to take him straight to the nursery to be checked by a fetal maternal specialist. Brenden went with them to the nursery. And I still didn't get to hold my baby.

Everyone that had come to cheer me on and meet James, came into the room to keep me company for a bit before heading over to the nursery to see the baby. My mom stayed with me the entire time.   

After a couple hours, baby James was finally brought to me. 

I held this tiny baby in my arms, completely overwhelmed. I think part of my denial that I was in labor stemmed from deeper feelings of inadequacy and unpreparedness and those feelings came to surface again as I clumsily cradled my innocent, helpless new child. 

But he was perfect and this perfection was a reminder that I didn't create this baby on my own. I would never be able to create something, someone, so perfect in this world. Remembering my Father in Heaven's hand in my son's creation, I realized I would not have to raise him on my own either. 

I had seen James while they had cleaned him up immediately after the delivery and I could tell he was beautiful. But when I held him in my arms, I was struck by his perfection. The perfectly round head with brown hair. The miniature nose and chin. The sweet baby cheeks I had been longing to kiss for months now. The two pink lips with a dimple separating the bottom lip from his chin. He was beautiful. I couldn't believe he was mine. 

I held him close to me, marveling at his flawless features. 

I was in love. 

I was so in love with my James Atticus that it didn't bother me one bit when he pooped so much it leaked out of his diaper and down onto my arm. 

Hello to you too, sweet baby boy.