It’s probably pretty obvious at this point of the story that going to the hospital was not what I had wanted. I had decided to give birth at the birth center with a midwife because I wanted a natural labor and birth. I knew there was a chance I could end up at the hospital anyway—but I didn’t really believe it would happen as long as my baby wasn’t breech, premature, or beyond term. While I was in labor, dilating at the birth center, I didn’t think there was any chance that I would end up in the hospital.  Even when my labor went on and on, and my midwife worried that I might get tired, I never felt anything less than strong, even invincible.

I had some theoretical ideas about what I wanted to happen if I had to be transferred to the hospital, and even have a cesarean—I wrote them down in my birth plan. But I thought that I wasn’t really prepared to go to the hospital.

Surprisingly, though, I was prepared for it. I remember telling my sister that if I had complications and ended up in the hospital, I would take advantage of everything that could potentially help me give birth. I never thought I would have to live up to those words, but when I entered the hospital, I didn’t look back.  I knew that my body had already done everything it could to birth this baby without assistance, and it wasn’t enough. I felt strong enough to keep on going, looking forward. When my midwife showed up, I didn’t even really want her there, because I didn’t want to look back at all!

The first thing I did at the hospital was ask for an epidural. My birth plan requested that I not be offered pain medication unless I asked first, so that forced me to be active right from the very beginning. Because I had pushed for so long without progress, knowing the whole time that the pain wasn’t accomplishing anything, I had entered a place, mentally, where I was no longer trying to stay on top of the pain, but exit on the other side of it. I knew I had to get it together again in order to make any decisions. I also knew that an epidural could potentially help me relax enough to give birth vaginally. I wanted to do anything I could to avoid a c-section. Asking for an epidural made being at the hospital very real—but like I said, I wasn’t looking back.

But would they give me an epidural? Nope. The nurses and doctors told me that I was about to have the baby, and there was no time for an epidural! How I wished that were true! To give everyone credit, it was completely reasonable that they would come to this conclusion: anyone with eyes could see my baby’s head. The doctors didn’t know that I had felt his head in that same position for hours already. In fact, my nurse, thinking I wasn’t really aware of his position, placed a mirror so that I could also see my baby. I was surprised at the large caput that had formed on his head—the whole time I had thought it was an amniotic sac!

I was very frustrated with everyone for assuming the baby was about to come out on his own. Why would I be at the hospital then? Maybe the doctors thought I had gotten too tired at the birthing center, or that I hadn’t been pushing properly before. This was clearly faulty reasoning, as I had been just about as bad-ass as you can be during labor, and soon the doctors realized their mistake.  After observing the lack of baby’s descent after some good, strong contractions, the “this baby is coming now!” urgency went out the window and I was given the go-ahead for an epidural.

Of course, the anesthesiologist was tied up in surgery. While waiting, I accepted half a dose of Demerol, which spaced out my contractions. I didn’t really notice that effect (it seemed to be doing nothing) until it started to wear off! Thankfully, about 10 minutes after that, the anesthesiologist came in to give me my epidural. I was told to sit on the bed with my legs dangling off, but I felt it was physically impossible to do that! I was kneeling with my legs to one side, and asked “Can’t you just do it like this?” The anesthesiologist said “I’ve never seen that before, but okay.” After he placed the epidural in my spine, I panicked because I could still feel my painful contractions. I thought the epidural wasn’t working for me, as I knew was sometimes the case with back labor. The nurse reassured me that it took a few minutes to start working, and she was right. Feeling my contractions subside was blissful. At this point it was a little before noon, and you have to remember, this whole time (since 5:30), I had been pushing. I was physically unable to stop.

During my labor at the hospital, it seemed like there were a million people in my room. At some point there were two different nurses (both amazing), a nursing student who had never seen a birth before, an anesthesiologist and his student, one male doctor, at least four female doctors or residents, and another male doctor after the shift change. My midwife and Eric were also there.

With so many cooks in the kitchen, or doctors in the delivery room, things got pretty confusing at times. First, nobody could agree on the baby’s position. Because of my back labor, the nurse thought my baby was sunny-side-up, so she put me in an exaggerated side-lying position (Simm’s position) to try and get him to turn. She said “I wish Dr. So-and-so were here. She would try and turn your baby.” I wished that too, but at the time, I tried not to focus on what-if’s.

As soon as my epidural was placed, having a C-section was brought up. When I first got to the hospital, I had refused to sign the C-section consent form, telling the doctor “I’m not ready for that.” I was polite, but I inwardly felt very agitated when it was brought up again about 5 minutes after my epidural. I hadn’t even had the chance to see if the epidural would do anything! Eventually that doctor went away for a little while when I kept repeating myself.

Another doctor came in and talked about the possibility of a vacuum assisted delivery, which I was willing to consider over a C-section, though I still wanted to wait a little. He left, saying that I probably would have the baby in my arms in an hour or two, without either of those interventions.

My nurse coached me in pushing through some contractions, which was extremely weird. I couldn’t feel them anymore, so I had to rely on her telling me. If I hadn’t felt my body bearing down without the epidural, I would not really have known what to do. Having felt them, however, I was able to try and use those same muscles now. All the nurses and doctors told me that I was a really good pusher, but it still wasn’t working. One doctor gave me a sheet and we did “tug of war” with it, to try and give me as much traction as possible. Again, I was told how strong I was, but it still wasn’t working.

The epidural had relaxed me, slowing my contractions down. It was really frustrating, and the nurse suggested we could strengthen them with Pitocin. I said “let’s do it!” when the nurse promised we would shut the Pitocin off if my baby showed any signs of distress.

Right after we started the Pitocin, the pro C-section doctors came in and tried to convince me again. I was annoyed because I felt like I was wasting time now. I didn’t want to repeatedly say “not yet” while I could be working with the Pitocin! Eventually I convinced the doctors to leave me to try and labor in different positions. I told Dr. E., who stayed with me most of the time, “I didn’t put these drugs in my body for no reason. I want to see if it does anything.” She said “fair enough,” and helped me with the next part of my labor.

According to one doctor, it wasn’t “safe” for me to labor off of the bed with an epidural, but I could move around as long as I stayed on the bed. I took her literally. The nurse and Dr. E. put up the squat bar and I tried to squat with it—but that wasn’t comfortable. So, I stood up. On the bed. With an epidural. I held onto the squat bar and moved my hips, trying to wiggle that baby down. I pushed with each contraction. I knew I looked ridiculous, but it brought a levity and energy to the labor that I really needed. The nurse told her student “You’re never going to see this again. Most women don’t stand with an epidural.”

After a while I tired and sat back down. I pushed for a few more contractions. The nurse checked me, found the baby to be in the same position, and said “this isn’t working.” When I heard that, I felt deflated, but I knew she was right. It was about 2:30. I had first started pushing 9 hours ago, and at least 7 or 8 of those hours I was actively pushing. I had done everything I could do.

The pro C-section doctors came back in, ready for the kill. When I asked about a vacuum-assisted delivery, they said, “We wouldn’t have necessarily offered that to you.” They explained that it was mainly used when more assistance is needed on the woman’s part—the woman tires and can’t push. But I was too good of a pusher, I wasn’t tired, and they felt that something on the baby’s part was preventing him from coming down. They went to talk with the doctor who had offered it some hours ago, and came back with a “no” from him. Since I hadn’t progressed, he wasn’t comfortable doing it.

That’s when I started to cry, because I knew I was having a C-section. I hadn’t even wanted an epidural, and here I was, ending up with a C-section! After a little while, everyone left so Eric and I could have some privacy. We cried together for a little while, and then I tried to reassure him. “It’s okay.” I said. “We’re having our baby. We’re going to become parents.”

It took a long time for the C-section to actually be performed after we made the decision. Eric and I both tried to doze a little, but I think I just floated off into space a little bit. The nurse came back in and gave us caps to wear, and a paper outfit for Eric. Since I had previously refused to sign the C-section consent form, another doctor came in to talk with me about that. I didn’t like some of the things on it—I wanted to keep my placenta, and didn’t want photos or videos, except on my own camera, so we crossed those things off of the form, and I initialed them. (Me: I want to keep my placenta. How do you usually make that happen with a C-section?” Dr: “I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.)  I also asked if they could delay the cord cutting, and the doctor said it depended on the baby’s health. She did agree that Eric could be the one to announce the baby’s sex.

I was wheeled to the operating room, and Eric was allowed in after they had prepped me. I held onto Eric with one hand, and the anesthesiologist with the other hand. I remember looking at the anesthesiologist more than I did Eric—trying to gauge by his face if everything was going well. I asked him to tell me what was happening, and he said, “Oh, they’re already working on you. The baby’s almost out.” The nurse had explained that during the operation, I would feel pressure in my vagina. She was going to have to use her hand to push the baby back up the birth canal, and she didn’t want me to think that it was the baby finally descending! Truthfully, I hardly felt anything until they were stitching me up.

Eric was finally able to stand up and see what was going on when the baby was delivered. The baby cried out, and Eric said “It’s a boy!” They were the three most beautiful words I had ever heard.

Seeing and hearing the baby was unbelievable. I was worried that, because I was having a C-section, I wouldn’t bond with the baby right away. But even though I had an unnatural birth, I did experience a natural labor—and all those important bonding hormones had been released in my body. I cried, “He’s perfect!” the minute I saw his bright pink little self. “He’s perfect!”

I was wild to hold my baby, blood and all, and I couldn’t, because they were still operating on me! Well, if I couldn’t hold my baby, then I wanted Eric to. “Give the baby to Eric!” I said. But instead, they just kept on cleaning him up and weighing him. I must have told them to “give the baby to Eric” a dozen times, and nobody ever responded, except for Eric, who kept telling me everything was okay. Finally, I shouted “Why is everybody ignoring me?” What was the response? Nothing. They ignored me some more. I was even angrier when I heard Eric ask if they had delayed cutting the cord. No, they hadn’t. Why? They forgot.

When the baby nurse started to put on his diaper and wrap him in a blanket to give him to Eric, I shouted “No diaper!” It’s not that I didn’t want a diaper on him, but putting a diaper on him made it just that much longer until Eric could hold him. The baby nurse looked at me, said “No diaper? Okay.” It was like I hadn’t been saying anything up until then! She swaddled him and handed him to Eric.

When they handed Eric the baby, it was as if I was holding him too. I immediately relaxed, no longer fighting the intense fatigue that had come over my body as soon as the baby was born. I also became more aware of what else was going on around me. I was able to feel the doctors stitching me up, and as I focused on that, I listened to their conversation. It soon became apparent that one was instructing the other, and I kept saying “be careful!” when I heard things like “No, not like that. Go under,” coming from the other side of the paper barrier.

As soon as they were done, I was quickly wheeled to the recovering room, Eric and the baby following. The anesthesiologist asked how much blood I had lost, and I had him repeat the answer when I didn’t catch it. 500 cc’s. “That’s not bad,” I said. Of course, it was still enough to make me anemic.

In the recovery room, I looked over to see Eric holding the baby. Eric still had his gloves on, and the baby was sucking on one of his fingers. It was very cute. Then I was handed the baby, and I helped him latch on. He began nursing right away. It was so sweet to have him in my arms and sing “Happy Birthday” to him then. Of course, it was only minutes until he pooped everywhere! I found that funny—what a way to enter the world!

What a way to enter the world, Heron.

Reflections can be read here.

Now Introducing…

Heron Silvano West
Born September 4, 2013
7:06 p.m.
7 lbs, 14 oz
20.25 inches long

Heron, my perfect Mr. Blueberry Eyes, came into this world after a journey much like life itself—a mixture of sorrow and blessings that are, in the end, more precious than the sum of its parts. Here is the story.

My pregnancy was unusual in that it only got better as it went along. The first trimester I was exhausted in a way I never thought would be possible to sustain on a daily basis. I lived in a constant state of tension based on all the usual difficulties of early pregnancy—plus my difficulty in finding a midwife. My first midwife told me she couldn’t take me on after all because of her partner’s unexpected health problems, and it took me until 18 weeks to settle on another one. Because I had heard the third trimester was even worse than the first, I dreaded it—but besides for a return of nausea and some difficult trips out of state, it went beautifully. I felt flexible and strong, able to go on a 7 mile hike the week before Heron was born. I didn’t have to work, so I was able to complete projects around the house and rest at my own slow pace.

On Labor Day, September 2^nd, my friend Amanda had invited us to her house for a pre-birthday party for our little baby, still in the womb. We ate dinner that she had cooked for us, and then, after singing “Happy Birthday” to our baby, ate a rich birthday cake. Before we left for home we set off a “Wish Lantern,” a mini-hot air balloon made of tissue paper. The candle in it made the whole lantern glow as it drifted in the sky above the trees. (What did we wish for? I’ll tell you because it came true—a healthy and happy baby.) Because Amanda is a massage therapist, I had hoped she would be able to help me with back pain that had been increasingly bothering me for the past few days, but the car ride home was even worse than on the way there. I remember thinking, “If it’s this bad now, before I’m in labor, I really don’t want to know what the two hour trip to the birth center will be like.”

We went to sleep immediately, but I was up and down the whole night with early contractions—though I thought it was just indigestion from the cake! I woke up for the final time that morning at around 7:30, and by 9:00 a.m. my contractions were coming every 15 minutes apart. I told Eric, and throughout the morning we timed them 10-15 minutes apart. As I sewed some curtains and fixed a couch cushion, I kept telling Eric, “I’m not in labor!” because I knew this early stage could last days. This just stressed Eric out, though, and after we had snapped at each other a bit, I called my midwife. “My contractions are about 15 minutes apart,” I said, “but they’re not lasting long, so I don’t think I’m in labor.” She seemed non-plussed, and told me to call if anything changed—otherwise, she’d see me at my scheduled appointment tomorrow morning at 11:00 a.m.

After lunch, Eric and I went for a walk down by the river. The sun sparkled on the river, and everything seemed just the height of brightness to me. I remember most, though, how good the breeze felt on my skin. Walking felt good too, though by now I needed help getting through my contractions, which were about 7-8 minutes apart. Eric pressed on my back through each one. We walked to The Palisades, a restaurant local to us, and shared a root beer. I have no idea if the servers there realized I was in labor, but it was getting pretty hard to hide. On the walk back I told Eric, “Maybe I’m in labor.” I couldn’t move to the side of the road anymore if a contraction started. Eric was wonderful, ignoring all the strange looks from people in cars passing by as he pressed on my back and I had a contraction.

At home I rested as he made a quick dinner. We timed my contractions some more, and around 8:30 I called the midwife using my best tones of perfect nonchalance.

Me: “Hi, It’s Melissa. How are you?”
Midwife: “Good. How are you?”
Me: “I’m good. I said I would keep you updated if anything changed, and my contractions are coming closer together.”
Midwife: “Good. How close? 10 minutes?”
Me: “About four minutes”

The Midwife could not keep the surprise out of her voice (“Okay…”) as she gently asked, “Do you want to come on in, then?”

Me: “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the real thing.” I really did want to go in, but I was afraid of driving two hours there and then having to drive two hours home if it wasn’t the real deal.

Of course, she wasn’t going to believe me. She gently convinced me that things sounded like they were getting serious, and if they weren’t, we wouldn’t have to go home right away, but could sleep at the birth center. This sounded good to me, so I told her we would drop off our dog and be on our way.

After I got off the phone I got this feeling of “Oh, shit. My contractions are three minutes apart. What the hell am I thinking?” I told Eric we had to go, and we were in the car and on the road in about 10 minutes. That man doesn’t mess around. The house was a complete wreck, because instead of using my laboring time at home to get it ready for the baby, as I had planned, I had instead spent it in labor denial. Of course, that was only the first thing that didn’t go as planned.

In our driveway, I realized I had forgotten the food I had made for us to have at the birth center. It was a mark of how serious things were that we just kept driving—2 more minutes to get out of the car and get the food? No, that was too much.

Our friends Bert and Gwynn met us at their door with their daughter Zoe, who seemed a little afraid of me as she offered me a vase of flowers to take with us to the birth center. I thought I had been keeping it together pretty well—but obviously not. I used the bathroom while Eric gave them instructions on Seeker, and we were off.Later, Gwynn told me that she was worried I wasn’t going to make it to the birth center—that I might have the baby in the car!

Laboring in the car was pretty intense, but not as bad as I had imagined it could be. I was already in so much pain that I couldn’t feel the bumps in the road, even a gravel road. I told Eric to leave me alone and drive—so that’s what he did. As I felt each contraction coming, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to face the backseat. On my hands and knees, I would chant “Omm.” Eric laughed and said “People are going to think there’s a ghost nearby!” and I smiled too.

Two methods of pain management that I was able to use successfully in the car were visualization and non-focused awareness. I spent some contractions thinking about walking on a path, and other contractions noticing everything around me—not just the pain in my body. (The rear windshield on our vehicle has a lot of smudges, btw.) I tried some other methods I had found in the book Birthing From Within, but they didn’t work for me.

When we got to the birth center at about 11:00 p.m., I hugged my midwife. I was so happy to be out of that car!  My midwife examined me and quickly pronounced me “seven centimeters and stretchy.” I was ecstatic! I was so afraid that I was going to be one of those women who go in thinking they are almost there, and they really are only 1 cm. I jumped up, hugging and kissing Eric, shouting, “We’re having a baby!”  My midwife smiled and said “A mama is being born.”

Now it was time to really get down to work. The first few contractions were much better than the ones in the car, because now I had people to press on my back and help me through them. As they intensified, I asked my midwife a few times, “Are you sure this is really it?” If it wasn’t, I was going to die. She reassured me, saying “You’ll have a baby in your arms by breakfast time.”

So I labored. Mostly, I labored standing up, leaning over so that the midwife, her assistant, or Eric could press on my back as I held on to someone else. I labored in the bathroom, standing over the toilet. I labored on all fours. I labored in the birthing tub. I walked around, watching people watch me, waiting for the next contraction. I drank water, and whenever I felt a contraction coming, I would give the glass to whoever was nearby, and then get upset because they couldn’t press on me. I remember choking out “Put the water down!” when I was having one contraction.

It was painful, and long, just like I expected. Yet, I still asked: “Why is it taking so long?” My midwife said “It’s taking a long time, but you’re doing great.” I kept going. I knew to keep my voice low, yet I still felt like I was screaming. At some point the back pain became so intense that there was no break from it, even between contractions. I told my midwife “This would be nothing without the back pain.” My midwife asked to check me a couple of times, but I wouldn’t let her. I knew I wasn’t complete yet, and I knew I would lose it if she checked me and I heard anything other than a “ten.”

Finally, when I was in the tub again, I felt the first urge to push. The transition between dilation contractions and pushing contractions seemed to take a long time—and it was really scary. I didn’t know what kind of contraction I was going to have next, and I had a hard time figuring out what to do with that. I also didn’t believe that it was possible for the baby to come out without killing me. I knew these were normal thoughts, and I knew that I had to move past them.

Since I had been in the tub awhile, I knew there was a good chance my labor would speed up if I got out. Making a conscious decision to increase the pain and following through with it by actually getting out of the tub seemed impossible—but I did it. My original thought had been to go to the bathroom, because that’s where my labor had seemed most intense before, but as soon as I got out, I knew I couldn’t labor alone. I walked to the bedroom, and with a couple more contractions and some blood, I knew I was finally complete. The midwife checked me and pronounced me a “ten.” It was about 5:30 a.m. and I was fully dilated.

Now it was time to push. I had looked forward to this part because that meant the baby was coming! I also knew that while the time spent in labor could vary from woman to woman from a few hours to a few days, pushing didn’t take days. I could be done in minutes, or at the very most, less than a handful of hours. Some women even feel their pain decrease when they push. (Not me. It was more painful, and a lot scarier.)

The midwife told me that my back pain should be decreasing now. When I told her it wasn’t, she gave me a saline injection just under my skin, but it didn’t help, and the injection itself hurt.

The urge to push took over until it was the only kind of contraction I was feeling. I don’t think I will ever forget that powerful feeling of bearing down—of being unable to stop it. My body just pushed, and pushed. I had a hard time getting on top of each push, helping it along instead of fighting it. At different points I was on all fours, squatting, and standing. The midwife checked me again and encouraged me to feel the baby’s head. I did, and it was encouraging at first—but the baby would recede after each push, and he just wasn’t getting past a certain point (“0” station).

That sunrise was the most heartbreaking dawn that I have ever experienced. As the sun filtered through the curtains and lit up the room, I knew my baby should be in my arms—and he wasn’t. I was still pushing. I felt like something was wrong, and I knew I was past transition and shouldn’t feel that way anymore.

At about 8:00, I told my midwife I wanted to go to the hospital. “Something’s wrong,” I said. She replied “Sometimes it takes a while. Let’s try for another hour.” I got up on the bed and did some pushing with the midwife coaching me through each contraction. My fear decreased, and I felt more on top of each push. Eric was right there helping me too, and I could see the joy on his face as he saw the baby’s head. “You can do it!” he said. I loved him.

That hour I still felt like something was wrong, and yet it seemed like hardly any time had passed when my midwife said, “Alright, I’m transferring you to the hospital.” The baby hadn’t descended.

When the midwife and her assistant left my side to do paperwork and make arrangements, Eric was left to coach me on his own. I wanted the pain to be over—it wasn’t doing anything. I wanted to lose it and get somewhere that would be beyond the pain, but I couldn’t. I could see my own pain reflected in Eric’s face as he tried to help me. It felt like we were the only two people in the universe.

When the ambulance came I got back into my clothes. Eric turned off the candles in the room—which seemed so sad and final, somehow. Eric and the midwife each went in their own cars to the hospital, while I went in the ambulance.

The ambulance ride was spent  wanting it to be over—and knowing it couldn’t be. The EMS technician who rode with me told me that every time I had a contraction he was going to have to check to make sure “God forbid” I wasn’t having the baby then. I told him that wouldn’t be necessary as I was not having the baby, which is why I was going to the hospital, but if I did have the baby it would be a good thing.  He let me be, and I truly labored alone.

The urge to bear down was if anything, even stronger, and I worked with it as best as I could. It was hard to do, knowing that it wasn’t making a difference. I found that I had been able to be on top of the pain when I knew it was bringing me a baby—and when the pain kept coming but stopped being useful, I thought I couldn’t take it anymore. Of course, though, I could, because I didn’t have any choice.

Getting to the hospital and being rolled on the stretcher to my room was just like a movie. I almost had to laugh at the way everybody was staring at me. An elderly patient and his nurse stepped aside for us to get on the elevator ahead of them, and before you know it, I was in a delivery room, surrounded by nurses.

Read part two here.