DISCLAIMER:
This story is not intended to be read by currently pregnant people. While I absolutely have positive birth story resources for currently pregnant people, and this birth story IS positive, it still contains graphic depictions of potentially stressful situations. You don't need that, pregnant mama. Go watch some reruns and snack.
Likewise if you're squeamish! I'm holding back absolutely nothing. So...go away.
When I think back on Griffin's labor, the first thing that comes to mind is laughter. Gobs and gobs of laughter. Bad jokes, awkward mishaps, comically embarrassing situations, a whole rowdy conversation about the real existence of a latex maternity dominatrix catsuit including a riding crop...much to the surprise of the nurses in the room (I have the link still should anyone be interested in said outfit), and a hundred giggles sprinkled here and there.
There was laughter between contractions, laughter during (up to a point, that is), and laughter spreading out into the hallway as nurses or midwives would pop into our room and stay a while just to see what all the fuss was about. They would inevitably end up joining in on whatever the current joke happened to be and then look at their watch and go racing from the room as they were late to their next round or way past their clocking out time.
Our room was described as a party, our energy described as "having too much fun", and our team work described as "fantastic".
The "party" began at 5:15am on February 9th when I got up to drink water and felt a trickle down my leg. Not being one to experience incontinence even at 41 weeks pregnant (I don't know how I escaped that common conundrum) I knew immediately that my water had broken. I sat on the toilet and confirmed it without a shadow of a doubt when I wiggled about and could produce more trickles as Griffin shifted inside me and would "unplug" the hole that had been made in his bubble.
I put a gigantic pad in my underwear, expecting to dribble more fluid for the remainder of my labor, and tip toed back to bed to alert Hunter. Then I called my mom, who had been at the ready for two weeks prior, waiting for her call to action.
Hunter and my mom were my chosen birth team. Choosing one's own husband and mother to be at your birth might sound like obvious choices to some (though I know plenty of people who would balk at the idea of anyone other than the partner attending and that's perfectly valid) But there was still thoughtful decision making as to why these two people would be my lighthouses for the experience.
Hunter and I have done it all. We survived the growing pains of our twenties together when we were changing all the time and allowing for that change. We have done the little everyday things together, we have done the big challenges together. We have seen each other struggle and fail and we have also been there to witness big accomplishments. And all the while we have thrived as a team.
Hunter is a solid rock in rushing water. He is an anchor to reality, my first choice for a shoulder to lean on....or cry on. But he isn't immovable. He adapts and learns how he can meet the needs of the current situation. And because of that, he cared to practice beforehand how to show up the best he could during my labor.
He took my online hypnobirthing class with me because he *wanted* to (the class was not as crazy as it sounds, it's about mindfulness, not hypnosis), he wholeheartedly adopted the attitude I wanted to bring with us into the experience, he protected the energy in the room and continually offered me physical and emotional support even when he was dog tired. So while choosing him was a no brainer, but it turns out, as "duh" as it is, there is plenty to say about my "why".
My mom has attended many births of her friends and family and was often chosen as a coach because of her calm and assuredness in times of stress. I chose to have her with me because I knew these things to be true about her myself, but also because I knew it was a shared experience I wanted to gift to my mom and to myself. Arthur would have met his Bandie on his birthday, too, if things had gone differently. Additionally, I knew my mom would bring boundless energy and levity to the day and if there was anything I knew I needed, it was going to be an overall sense of excited anticipation for the arrival of Griffin.
I told friends that I wanted my labor to feel like a celebration, and these two knew exactly how to make that happen with me.
After discovering my water had broken, I settled in to the morning routine, expecting to feel contractions begin within a couple of hours at most. My mom was on her way down from Placerville to come hang out for what we expected to be a few hours of laboring at home before heading to the hospital. We got Hunter's parents on the road as well so that they could take over Arthur's care when it was time to go.
Not a single contraction was felt for the next 33 hours. Not. A. One.
At the 12 hour mark post rupture, about 5pm on the 9th, Hunter and I popped over to labor and delivery to check on Griffin with a quick heart rate monitoring and some vitals for me. Everything checked out fine, and still no contractions were measured. I was allowed to go home and wait some more. I was told firmly to come in at the 24 hour mark to be induced. Which would land us back at L&D at 5 in the morning on the 10th. The reason for a 24 hour cap on having one's water broken without labor starting is to protect mother and child from infection as the amniotic sack has been ruptured and germs can potentially make their way up the birth canal into unprotected space.
In all the time that I waited for contractions to begin, I never stopped doing things that are recommended for helping contractions start and stay steady. I performed the Miles Circuit several times during the day, went on walks, did my prenatal yoga, and rested, ate, and drank water in between activities to keep my energy up. And still they did not start. But boy, did I keep leaking fluid. All day long I was changing out pads and thinking "okay THIS has got to be the last of it" only to be proven wrong as I would stand up from "downward facing dog" and feel a gush. I finally had nothing left to leak by bedtime.
I told Hunter that if contractions didn't start overnight, I would not be induced at 5am unless I felt it necessary due to changing circumstances. If I didn't develop a fever or feel "off" or notice changes in Griffin's movements, then I felt personally comfortable choosing my own time to go to the hospital.
I planned to sleep until my usual 7am, have my usual breakfast time with Arthur, and enjoy his company and some playtime with him before we would go to the hospital. Hunter agreed that it was the best plan.
And that is exactly what we did. Griffin continued to dance and kick throughout the night, never giving me pause to wonder about his well-being.
Labor and Delivery called me twice that morning to prompt me to come in and I politely let them know what my plan was and that I would see them around 9:30. I have a feeling I ruffled some feathers but the important thing for me was that my day felt like MY day and that my choices honored what I valued most: Overall calm, mental preparedness, and time with my family.
Protecting my rest and routine as well as savoring my last hours as a mom to one honored my values.
Upon arrival at the hospital we found it to be a bit of a zoo in labor and delivery. Nurses told us that the day before had been very quiet and that they had been busy with new labors since the wee hours. Housekeeping was understaffed to turnover rooms and nursing was understaffed to fill in the cleaning demand. Hunter, my mom, and myself were put into a teeny recovery room rather than a labor room to wait for space to open up. I changed into my chosen laboring gown I had found online. Soft and stretchy and lilac colored for comfort. It buttoned up the back for port access if I were to get an epidural and had buttons to undo the front as well for nursing. It fit correctly rather than swallowing me up and slipping off my shoulders constantly like hospital gowns have always done. A nurse brought in a gown and told me that it was time to change, that I would want the hospital gown. "No thanks, this is what I'll wear to labor in!" And so I did.
At 1:30pm after three and a half hours of being in a recovery room playing the waiting game we were finally moved to a much larger delivery room. There we had access to more labor tools such as an exercise ball and a foot stool for various beneficial movements. We also just plain had space to really make our own. Hunter taped up my birth affirmations banner across the room from the bed with such phrases as "My labor can't be stronger than me because it IS me." And "Griffin and I are working together." And "I can do anything for 1 minute." As well as a handful of others. Nurses would come into the room and stop to read the banner, often out loud, and comment on how much they loved it.
The OB on shift came to my room to discuss the induction plan. I had never met her before and she plainly told me that my induction would very likely not work. I already knew this was the attitude I would face going in to this experience because many doctors believe being overdue to the point of needing an induction, not being very dilated at all (I was maaaaybe 1.5 centimeters at my last check up a week prior) and never having had a vaginal birth before means, according to statistics, that you're more likely to need a c section. I had prepared myself to mentally toss out anyone's opinion that fell along those lines because I knew doubt was not my friend if I wanted to give my labor the best chances at success.
The doctor told me we would start misoprostol to begin my labor. It softens and helps to dilate the cervix which can trigger the body to begin contracting. I politely waited for her to finish telling me her plan but I already took issue with it. Misoprostol is not recommended for anyone who has had a previous c section. In fact, it's downright dangerous. The drug is a powerful way to start labor and for women who have a scar on their uterus, it can put their body under too much strain and causes scar ruptures at an alarming rate. Scar ruptures during labor are life threatening for both mother and baby and require an emergency cesarean to get in there and control the bleeding.
I knew this about misoprostol because I had been doing a lot of reading about how to have a successful vaginal birth after a cesarean and there was a long section about it in Ina May Gaskin's Guide to Childbirth.
"Do you have any questions or concerns?"
"Yes, I can't have misoprostol as I am attempting a VBAC." I replied, an itty bitty bit annoyed that I had to inform her of my medical history even though she should have reviewed it before coming to talk to me. But also equally thankful that I was well informed on the safest way to induce labor for a VBAC.
The OB took a paper from her pocket, presumably the notes on each of the laboring women she would be in charge of that day, and realized her mistake.
"Oh, you can't take that. You will be put on pitocin."
"Sounds like a plan."
I was glad to have the OB consult over with. I needed to get back to my party.
At 2pm I was finally started with a pitocin drip set to a low dosage to see how my body would respond over the next hour. Ratcheting up pitocin too quickly can also risk a uterine rupture in a VBAC, so it starts very low and very slow, only ticking up the dosage as long as every monitor is checking out fine. Speaking of monitors, I wore both belts through the entirety of the induction. One for measuring contractions and one for keeping track of Griffin's heart rate. I knew I wanted to be very active during my labor to encourage Griffin's descent and that the monitors would likely slip and slide and lose their readings often. I was a little bit nervous that the nurse or midwife assigned to my room would become annoyed with having to reset the monitors constantly, but in the whole 19 hour induction, not once did I sense any bit of annoyance from anyone who had to reset them for me. Every time a midwife or nurse had to come in to my room or find me in the hallway to fix them (it was probably once or twice an hour) they were always encouraging my movement, telling me that we were doing exactly the right thing to keep things progressing.
At the start, the midwife assigned to my room led me through a fancier version of the Miles Circuit that contained more steps. I appreciated how quickly she adopted the can-do attitude in the room and fit right in with us. A couple of hours in, and my dosage ticked up by a couple units, and I was antsy to get walking. The room was big and it had amenities I appreciated, but there's no better substitute for walking during labor than just getting out there and doing it. My contractions had arrived finally, the pitocin was doing its job, but they were irregular and hadn't organized into a pattern yet. They also weren't particularly strong. Walking would help.
The next time my nurse came in I asked her if there was any reason I couldn't walk the hall with my monitors and IV pole. She double checked with the OB and got the green light to set me up for my adventuring. Hunter "drove" the pole for me and the battery packs for my monitors hung from the hooks. We paced a U shape back and forth through the hall of the labor wing. The nurse's station was at the "bottom" of the U, and each time we passed by my nurse could either wave us on or come and fix my monitors if they had slipped.
That first walk lasted about 20 minutes and it certainly helped to bring on stronger contractions. Gravity, the movement in my pelvis, and the jiggling of taking steps helped Griffin's head to press down and trigger my body to respond.
They were strong enough that I would stop walking and let them happen before continuing on. But I could still talk through them and they were still several minutes apart.
We headed back to the room and decided on dinner. Hunter left to get In n Out and my mom and I hung back and chatted while I sat on my exercise ball and did figure 8's with my lower body.
It was during Hunter's outing that my dad came by on his way home from work to poke his head in to our room and reassure himself that everything was fine. Satisfied with the wellfare check, he went home to await news.
I think everyone had expected a little more hubbub during my induction but it was a slow and steady process with a lot of hurry up and wait time. My body had a lot of prepping to do before any noticeable progress could be made, so faster wasn't necessarily better anyway.
Fueled up on a burger, fries, and milkshake (Griffin was built on burgers during my pregnancy. So. Many. Burgers. One more to seal the deal felt right.) and we settled in for a long night of encouraging contractions.
Every hour my nurse bumped up the pitocin and every hour my contractions got stronger, closer together, and more interesting to manage.
We continued to take walks. I continued to use the exercise ball when my feet got tired. A midwife showed me how to do a wall sit and belly lift move that would help tip Griffin's head down lower into my pelvis during a contraction.
Finally, hours and hours later, my contractions were becoming something to be reckoned with. I breathed down through them, could no longer talk during them, and attempted to keep all of my muscles relaxed everywhere to not create unecessary tension and stress elsewhere in my body. I even felt rushes of excitement as they would pass and I would announce to the room how strong they were getting. Stronger meant closer to Griffin! Stronger meant we were making progress in the face of much doubt over my particular labor circumstances. Stronger didn't necessarily mean that I was dilating more, but to check my dilation without good reason would be ill advised due to my water having been broken for so long. So we only had contraction timing and strength to guide us on our perception of progress.
Now my walks were becoming more difficult. With the onset of each contraction I would signal to Hunter with a finger point that I was going to hold the hand rail in the hallway and breathe as I waited for it to pass. He would move the IV pole next to me and then kneel and squeeze my hips together with all of his might. It was a comfort measure we had learned from our birthing class and it really did work for relieving some of the pain as the contraction would build, peak in intensity, and fade away again. I was always so relieved with how quickly the peak would dissipate after holding its intensity for a few seconds. It was almost shocking how it would disappear and leave behind not a trace each time. How could something so full-body and strong just *poof* away like that?
Several more hours into pitocin - and many ratchets up in the rate of delivery - and I was finally unable to talk or respond at all through a contraction and would go into the zone - completely shutting out the world around me - as they hit. They we're coming much faster, but I could still chit chat between them and be social, even enjoying the company of a midwife who came into the room to talk about some unique family background commonalities that she and my mom had. Oddly enough, she had worked as a nurse on a Navajo reservation in Arizona and my grandpa had been an OB on a Navajo reservation as well. My mom has fond memories of living on the reservation with her siblings. It was one of those very small world moments. I don't remember much of their chatty conversation across the room because I was bent over my raised delivery bed rocking my hips with a wide stance as Hunter applied pressure on my hips behind me.
As the contractions got stronger, my nurse would visit with us more often, either finding us in the hall or popping into the room and offering words of encouragement as she watched for how I was managing each contraction. One of the most encouraging things she said as I white-knuckled (literally) the hand rail in the hall and my mind was locked into just getting through a particularly strong and long contraction was "You are doing better than you think." My affirmation-loving personality grabbed on to that and said "Hey look! Even your nurse who has seen everything thinks you're doing a good job! Keep it up!"
After perhaps our sixth walk (I'm not sure how many we ended up doing throughout my labor) I asked to go back to the room and did not leave again until after Griffin was born.
The contractions were really going now. I often shook during them as they would build and build and build impossibly high before finally releasing. Breathing them down was getting a lot harder. Not clenching something as they came on became a lot harder. Relaxing my body between them became a lot harder. And *still* the pitocin would be increased every hour.
I had to pee constantly. Being on a saline drip AND drinking fluids throughout my labor caused a lot of bathroom visits. Peeing became a game of timing. Could I go to the bathroom before another contraction hit? For a while I could. I would finish a contraction, shuffle to the bathroom, stand and ride a contraction, sit and pee really fast, then stand for the next contraction before shuffling back out of the bathroom. But then they were too fast and I found myself sitting on the toilet, stuck there clinging to Hunter's torso as I had to ride out another one before I could get up and go back to a more comfortable spot. I smashed my face into his side and hung on to him with the full weight of my upper body while my toes curled on the bathroom tile and my knees bounced with tension. We have a picture of me slumped against him while I sat on the toilet, smiling, but obviously majorly worn out.
They say the toilet is a great place to dilate. I even chose to sit there for a couple more contractions because I wanted the benefits from it. Often it's called the "dilation station" because the position naturally relaxes and opens your pelvic floor. It's even encouraged to sit backwards on a toilet (that has a tank, it wouldn't work otherwise) and lay a pillow on the top of the tank to rest your head.
Well. It may be a good dilation station but WOW those contractions were almost unbearable due to the high pressure position. Which kinda meant that they were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing for me. So while it was extremely unpleasant, I was determined to believe that it was absolutely worth it to be groaning and shaking there for a while.
We made out way back to the bed where I stood and swayed some more but I was getting really tired and the speed of the contractions was no longer allowing me to rest and collect myself between them. Unfortunately that's a Hallmark of a pitocin-driven labor, the contractions aren't naturally timed by your body and instead it sets the pace and only goes faster and more intensely as the dosage is raised. This is why a majority of labors with pitocin are often paired with an epidural. They're just extremely intense. For me, I knew being mostly stationary after an epidural would add an extra layer of complexity to my already not-great-odds attempt at a vaginal delivery, so I wanted to avoid one as best I could. I wanted to be able to use gravity and movement to keep Griffin moving down, dreading the idea of stalling out and going to a cesarean because I couldn't assist him with the natural downward force of his body.
I was getting tired. It had been about 15 or 16 hours of pitocin and movement and the contractions were finally getting the best of me. I couldn't calm down between them. I needed to lay down and gather myself but contractions while laying down were monumentally worse. I asked my nurse what my options were for pain management and she reminded me that fentanyl offered very temporary but very effective relief but we would need to know how dilated I was (if it's taken too late, baby might be drowsy upon arrival which could mean a temporary need for additional oxygen).
I sprung for it. The OB on duty was called in and I crawled into the bed to lay on my back. Not without several horrible sounds coming out of my mouth. The cervical check was terrible as a contraction happened at the same time. There was very loud protest from me. Though I can't recall perfectly, it was likely the first time during labor that I had yelled helplessly through a contraction rather than controlling my breathing (but not the last...ooohhh not the last).
The OB reported that I was four centimeters.
Four.
More than a dozen hours of hard, haaarrrd work and I was at a four. I had six more centimeters to go before I could even consider pushing a baby out. My mind immediately spiraled. How long would that take? Was I doomed to another 12 hours of this intensity? I couldn't do that. I couldn't do this intensity right now much less another hour from now!
My spirit completely broke in that moment. The OB left and I wailed, truly wailed, there on the bed with sadness, hopelessness, and frustration. All while another contraction slammed into me.
My mom and Hunter had nothing but their presence and petting me to offer as I cried. Everyone was disappointed by the news of a four because everyone wanted the hardest part to be done and have the promise of delivery and relief soon.
I collected myself enough to realize that now was the time for fentanyl. I needed a break. Badly. I informed my nurse and she was ready with the syringe to place in my IV within minutes. The relief hit immediately and I nearly dozed off. The contractions still came with frequency but I couldn't feel the sharpness of their ferocity anymore. I could breathe them down again. I felt in control of them again.
The relief lasted about 40 minutes. That's it. And during that 40 minutes the effect was slowly melting away, each contraction feeling sharper as the fog of the medication lifted.
As it faded off, I was sitting on the edge of the bed holding on to Hunter's waist and trying to breathe them down again, but the sensation was back full force and I was in the same boat that I had been in a short while before. Except now it was worse because I still had "four centimeters" ringing in my head, my belief in a vaginal delivery dashed by the fearful thought of not progressing soon enough and pooping out completely.
The contractions were right on top of one another now. The pitocin dosage was only two units away from being completely maxed out. I couldn't move from where I sat with my feet hanging off the bed and Hunter standing between my knees to act as a physical support. I was pulling Hunter's sweatshirt into my fists and kicking my feet as I was pummeled by the next one. And then the next one. And then the next one. I was loud. I was crying. Suddenly sitting hurt too much. Griffin must have moved down further. Hunter helped me lay down on my side and I asked my nurse again what my options were for relief. She told me we could do more movements to find relief and I remember telling her that there was no amount of "Spinning Babies" (a common set of labor movements to help manage discomfort) that would help me now. I couldn't think straight enough to follow a movement pattern and the contractions were so close together and so strong that I couldn't move at all without being stuck experiencing one or more waves in a precarious or extremely uncomfortable position.
I told the room that I wanted an epidural. I was toast, done, and couldn't handle the thought of enduring that level of intensity for another six hours as we waited for me to dilate. There was no knowing how long it would take and the fear of that unknown had fully taken over.
The nurse left the room to consult with the anesthesiologist and returned moments later to inform me that they were currently in an emergency c section and wouldn't be available for another half hour at least. I knew this was a possibility. I knew epidurals take a while to set up, administer, and take effect. I knew you had to wait your turn. I had feared she would come back and tell me this exact thing because I knew anesthesiologists are in high demand on a labor floor. My heart sunk again. She must have felt bad for me because she immediately offered another round of fentanyl to try to bridge the wait time. I agreed.
At this point I was sitting up again with my feet off the bed and Hunter back in position between my knees because laying on my side was hurting too much. The nurse administered the medication and it hardly did a thing for me. This is one of the downsides of fentanyl. It looses effectiveness extremely quickly with subsequent doses.
I felt drowsy and my body slumped against Hunter for a minute, but two contractions later and I was right back to full sensation.
My mom stroked my back for comfort and could feel a bulge at my sacrum, the lowest part of the spine. Late in labor when a baby is making their descent, the baby's head and body pushes the sacrum out of the way as long as the laboring person isn't laying on their back. The result is a physical and visual upsidedown triangle shaped protrusion on the lower back about the size of a hand. "Oh Chloe, he (Griffin) is RIGHT THERE!" I heard her exclaim.
"I need to pee and I feel like I have diarrhea cramps." I announced to no one in particular. My mom asked me how I would like to go about peeing and I told her I couldn't walk to the bathroom. She grabbed the toilet bucket from the bathroom, usually fitted over the toilet bowl to measure ins-and-outs, and placed it on the floor with a towel or absorbent chux pad, I can't recall. At this point I was entering transition in my labor but didn't know it. The intensity was at its very peak and I was in survival mode. Little did we know that things were about to move VERY quickly.
Hunter helped me stand and straddle the bucket while I wrapped my arms around his neck and endured yet another contraction that made my knees almost give out, requiring that Hunter brace to hold my full weight. According to my mom, I "peed a gallon and it was full of bloody mucus". Yum! In all the time I had been laboring, I hadn't passed the mucus plug, and suddenly it had all come rushing out.
My nurse was on a fifteen minute break and the cover nurse was outside the toom. My mom left the room to tell the nurse what she had seen, knowing that a sudden appearance of mucus likely meant something was about to change drastically in my labor.
"That sounds normal." The nurse told my mom in the hall. Yes, normal to pass mucus, but the situation was perhaps more urgent than she realized because she hadn't seen how I was laboring, being only the stand-in for my actual nurse who had become very familiar with how things had been going.
Hunter was losing his footing on the smooth hospital floor and his bracing position was becoming all wrong for him. He switched out with my mom momentarily so he could kick off his shoes and socks for better grip and shake out his muscles before taking over again. Holding onto my mom I knew I couldn't pull down on her with as much force as I had been making Hunter endure. But still she reported to me that it like she was holding me up completely as I stood shakey-kneed and stuck in place because the speed of the contractions didn't let me move.
Bladder empty, and holding back on to Hunter, the next contraction hit and it was different. My arms were still wrapped around Hunter's neck and he was still holding me up completely as I realized that I was pushing Griffin out. I had read all about the fetal ejection reflex that a laboring woman with no epidural can often feel once she has passed transition. It was exactly like it sounds. Griffin's much lower position made the contractions trigger a completely different set of muscles and movements that resulted in the overwhelming urge to bear down and push him out. My sounds were also completely changed. I was no longer crying and kicking through a contraction, I was making a low and gutteral roar.
"I think I'm pushing!" I called out to my mom. The nurse wasn't in the room again, having left right after she cleared away the pee bucket, not registering that the moment had definitely shifted into high gear.
"Okay, don't push yet, lift your chin up, you can't push with your chin up." She responded and raced out of the room to get the attention of the nurse again. Try as I might, I did not let myself bear down on the next contraction but lost the fight on the following one and was right back to pushing out a baby while standing up, hanging on for dear life to Hunter.
Within minutes the room was full of people getting ready for the arrival of a baby. I heard many voices telling me I needed to get on the bed. I had no desire to do so, knowing that moving my legs hurt really bad because Griffin's head was stationed directly between my pelvic bones.
Despite my reluctance, Hunter was able to help me at least turn around to face the bed and place my hands on the mattress before the next contraction hit. Again I was pushing. And everyone, except Hunter, was telling me that I couldn't push there. Truly honestly, I would have really liked to just do the rest of the labor right there. I was in a great position, gravity was on my side, I was in the zone now and totally in tune with what my body was doing, but this team was adamant that they didn't want to deliver a baby while I was standing.
I had seen plenty of excellent standing birth videos to know that they could have handled it just fine. Besides, they could have had bragging rights for a solid month. Sigh. C'est la vie.
Every medical professional was telling me to get on the bed, but no one was telling me how to do that. My body was hardly listening to me anymore, I could just barely make it move where I wanted it to and here I was, stuck in position, riding out pushes, very happy to just do them where I was, and being told to climb into bed. To CLIMB. Hah! HOW?!
Eventually, I started to hoist my gigantic belly, tired legs, screaming hips, and contracting body, not to mention all my IV lines and belt wires, onto the bed. The midwife wanted to do a cervical check to see if I was dilated enough to be pushing. I don't know why I didn't just insist on making her do it while I was on all fours and far more comfortable. Actually, I do know why: Four or so voices were telling me that I had to lay down somehow and their pressure pushed me to follow "the rules".
It. Was. Excruciating. To get to a position they were happy with for a cervical check. Truly, I wish I would have just been stubborn enough to say "No" and they could deal with it. Because honestly, they COULD deal with it. Labor and delivery professionals can do a lot of things that don't fit into the "ideal" for them and I really should have picked the ideal for me in that moment. It was still my labor and my body was telling me exactly what would work for it, and it definitely wasn't laying down on my side.
Anyway. Lesson learned.
Laying on my right hip with my left foot in a stirrup, the midwife announced that I was "10 and +2" which meant that I was ten centimeters dilated and the crown of Griffin's head was already well past my cervix, making its true descent into the birth canal.
I went from a 4 to a 10 and +2 in no time at all, considering how long it had taken to get to 4 centimeters in the first place. Griffin was imminent.
As soon as the room heard the numbers, it grew a lot quieter. Now was the time to let me do my thing and let the midwife be heard if she needed to communicate something to me.
My contractions were much further apart now. I could breathe between them for several seconds and get my bearings. And now that the contractions were focused on pushing Griffin out, they were hardly uncomfortable at all, just immensely strong.
Griffin crowned and I loudly proclaimed that it "DID NOT FEEL GOOD."
The push ended and the room was quiet again (I was the only one making a ruckus, let's be clear) and I remember looking at Hunter, smiling, and saying "I'm doing it! I'm pushing our baby out!" I was in total disbelief that we were finally here. FINALLY doing what we had prepared for.
Griffin's delivery took between 5 and 10 pushes. No one can quite remember. But it wasn't many, and each push was wildly effective, as well as an enormous relief from labor contractions. Hunter stood next to my head and I held both his hands. When I bore down, I would pull my upper body forward using the leverage of his hands. The sounds I made were mighty. Part bear, part bovine. The pushes were loooong. My body held onto the contractions for what felt like a lifetime before relaxing again. The most amazing part was it was all purely reflex. I would feel the contraction start and suddenly I would be deeply involved in a push. No conscious effort necessary.
When Griffin's head was born the most intensely physical moments of the delivery were over. There were some more choice words said about how much I didn't enjoy the sensation of pushing his head through. One more mighty push and the rest of him slithered out. Many babies are born with a huge gush of amniotic fluid following them but Griffin and I had been sans amniotic fluid for so long that hardly any "extra" came with him.
He was placed on my chest immediately after Hunter cut the cord, wailing his brains out, angry that his mother had asked for the room to be colder and colder and colder as the labor had progressed. It was an ice box in there, truthfully. Everyone else was wearing sweaters.
Griffin cried and cried for several minutes, proving his vitality, and finally calming when we had three warmed blankets layered over us for him to enjoy.
He was perfect beyond all belief. An honest-to-goodness spitting image of his father at absolute first glance. And I had pushed him out, completing a successful Vaginal Birth After Cesarean. I was as proud as proud could be.
The placenta was delivered. A small tear was sewn up (gritted my teeth through twenty minutes of that). And after about an hour of us three just being in a happy pile together, breathing in the moment, Griffin was placed on the Panda baby station to be weighed and measured.
The Panda malfunctioned and read him as a 5 lb baby. We wouldn't find out until twelve hours later that he was, indeed, a much more substantial fella at over 7 lbs.
And that's how I vaginally birthed my comeback kid. Odds stacked high against us, put through the wringer of a gnarly induction, and still we did it.
And then Hunter got a vasectomy.
The. End.