Sarah's story
Washington, DC
When Carter nurses, his face tightens up with an incredible intensity. Then, when satiated, his face falls away from my breast and the side of his mouth turns up in a smirk, and I fall in love.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. But it's difficult to remember only a few days ago when he was in my belly, not here in front of me. I look at his head and need only to shift in my seat to be physically reminded of his coming into the world.
On Monday morning, September 10, I lost my mucus plug while going to the bathroom. The mucus plug is a thick piece of mucus that plugs up the cervix during pregnancy—some women, like me, lose it is one big piece that looks a little bit like a slug, while others never notice it's passing. It can mean labor is imminent, or still days or weeks away. Still, it was the first sign is my peaceful pregnancy that my body gave any indication of actually planning on having this baby, so it was exciting. I yelled, "Rob, I think I lost my mucus plug!" and he came up, wanting to see it. Not realizing he was nostalgic when it came to mucus, I'd already dropped it in the toilet.
Because the loss of the mucus plug is usually followed by more mucus, I wore a menstrual pad for my walk to work. Walking down Vermont Avenue, just south of Logan Circle, I felt a gush soak the pad and my underwear. I waddled uncomfortably the rest of the way to work and sat in the bathroom looking at my wet underwear and thinking, "Did my water just break?"
Not having any other supplies at work, I put some paper towels in my underwear and continued with my day. Right before a meeting I walked downstairs to Burger King for a "Moka Joe" (a delicious chocolately coffee drink); standing in line I had another gush, felt the paper towels soak, and squeezed my legs together to prevent anything from dripping down. I went back to my office and did some web searches about breaking water, then ventured to CVS to buy some vitamin C (to help my immune system because risk of infection is higher if your water breaks before going into labor). In line at CVS, another gush. I decided not to stand in any more lines.
I stayed at work for a few hours, being wildly unproductive as I considered whether or not my water had broken and when I might go into labor. How many times had I imagined this scenario in my head? The start of things… I called Rob and told him, and we agreed to walk home together.
We stopped at Giant to buy some good laboring foods, and went home to wait.
About 11:30 that night I started having mild contractions. The best way I can describe a contraction is to say that it feels like the worst menstrual cramp you've ever had, then it gets a little worse, and then goes away completely. I think labor is survivable only because the pain completely subsides between every contraction, so much so that I managed to forget the pain each time.
No doubt we should have slept that night. Looking back on the contractions, they were completely sleep-able, but the reality was that this was our first baby, and I was in early labor, and we couldn't sleep. We laid in bed quite awake, timing contractions, and consoling ourselves that our baby would likely be born on September 11. "Well," I thought, "September 11 will eventually be a holiday, so maybe our kid will never have to go to school on their birthday."
By the time the morning came, we thought things were getting more serious. My contractions were getting closer together…and I was convinced that I was experiencing the "emotional signposts" that come with being in active labor. We had been watching Office Space, and I wanted to turn it off---BEFORE we even watched my favorite scene! If that's not an emotional signpost that my mood was getting more serious, what is?!
Well, it wasn't. Nicole, Karen's midwifery apprentice, came by in the morning to check on me. I was only 3 cm dilated and determined to be in "early labor." I was devastated. I hid in the bathroom and cried. Still in early labor? But this hurt, and I was tired. I had about 10 minutes of losing all hope—I considered driving myself to a hospital and demanding that they take the baby out, because if this was only the beginning, I couldn't keep going.
I pulled myself together and determined to pretend that the previous 12 hours hadn't happened… to assume I was in early labor until proved otherwise, and do my best to keep my spirits up and stay distracted. In that mood, Rob and I spent much of the day playing cards, making pizza dough, and taking walks around the block in the rain. When I had a contraction I would just sort of collapse in his arms, no doubt making an odd sight in our alley.
When evening arrived, Nicole checked me again, and I had dilated further and she seemed to think I was now in active labor. Boy, was I glad to hear it. Looking back to what I thought was active labor is now humorous—I was writing emails during that time telling my coworkers I was in labor, and I thought I was in active labor? No way. Once I was laboring seriously, I couldn't stand to think of anything else…couldn't do anything but rest in the time between contractions and get through each one.
Nicole brought in her birthing tub and set it up in our living room…it took up the whole room, and felt heavenly when I climbed in. I stopped fitting in our bathtub a couple of months ago, so I hadn't been immersed in warm water in a while. The hot water felt amazing and helped with the contractions to a certain extent. However, I was having intense hot flashes with each contraction, so compounded with the hot water in the tub, I felt pretty overheated. Also, it was a little too relaxing. We were falling asleep between every contraction, and while it was nice to get those little bits of rest, waking up at the peak of a contraction was absolutely terrifying. I was constantly waking up in a panic, my body seized by pain, and I would have trouble breathing through the contraction, which made it much worse. I also found that it was a greater relief to stand during the contractions, so after about an hour or two we decided to head upstairs to our bedroom.
Once in the bedroom, I established a good pattern for my contractions. We sat on the edge of the bed, and when a contraction hit I would stand up and grip the sides of our bassinett. The contraction started in my lower abdomen then tightened around my whole stomach, and send excruciating pains shooting through my lower back. Rob applied counter-pressure on my back and butt with his hands and a tennis ball (the tennis ball was amazing! Much better than when we tried to use the rolling pin, which just grated against my spine). I took in deep breaths and sent all my breath right down into my stomach, staring it at it and imagining the breath helping my muscles relax. Breathing out, I let out low moans and bent my knees up and down. Occasionally I would whimper or verge on screaming, and Rob would remind me to stay relaxed and keep my sounds low. After a contraction we would collapse onto the bed, rest our heads against eachother, sleep for about one minute, and then bound up again for the next contraction. If there had been any time to lose hope, I probably would have—but it simply wasn't an option. There was no going back, this had to happen, and I was just riding it out as best as I could.
This went on all through the night on Tuesday. At some point, Nicole had to leave to be with another laboring woman, and Karen arrived to relieve her and see us through to the end. It was exciting to see her setting up our room for the birth—putting the pads down on the ground, getting out her baby scale and warming up the receiving blankets. "This is actually going to happen," I thought in one of my few lucid moments.
The contractions continued to gain in strength and frequency, sending me to the edge of despair each time and letting up just in time. After one contraction, I looked up at Rob and his eyes were rolling back in his head. I realized that he didn't have the advantage of the hormones pumping through his body to help him survive this experience, like I did, and that he needed to sleep if he was going to live to see his baby be born. So he went downstairs to wake Karen, who was struggling to find a comfortable resting position in our papasan chair, and she took over in helping me through contractions.
By this time, Wednesday morning had arrived and Karen had to start canceling her appointments. In between contractions, she was making quick phone calls, then I would murmur her name and she'd be at my side to help me through a contraction. I wasn't sure if I was making progress, but felt really encouraged when she said, "You're doing great. Most women are besides themselves at this point." Eureka, I thought! I've made it to a point where it's appropriate to be besides ones' self, I must be getting somewhere. And indeed I was, Karen checked me during a contraction and I was 9 centimeters dilated. She told me to go ahead and "bear down" during my contractions to help get the baby further down, though I wasn't yet officially pushing.
Encouraged by my progress, Karen brought in her birthing stool for me to sit on. I asked if I should wake Rob, but she said he could keep sleeping, that she thought we still had a while to go. I had a contraction on the stool with Karen checking my dilation and her eyes widened. She looked up and said "Your baby is VERY low, you're going to have it soon!" She had me really bear down then, finally at the pushing stage, and helped move the cervical lip around the baby's head while I pushed. I could feel the cervix pop around his head, it didn't hurt, just kind of felt like a rubber band popping to the side.
Pushing was both incredibly difficult and incredibly satisfying. I was finally playing a more active role in this process, rather than feeling the contractions pulse through me. But it took the experience to a whole new level—pushing was the most intense, primal feeling I had ever had. My hands gripped the sides of the birthing stool and I pushed down down down as hard as I could, letting out a low, vibrating moan that shook my whole body. My first pushing moan woke Rob and he came upstairs to see me squatting on the stool.
Rob sat on the bed behind me with his legs on either side of me, and Karen was sitting on the floor in front of me. The contractions came about 1 minute apart…I would feel one starting, nod to Karen that it was coming, and then starting bearing down. Karen said, 'Bear down, bear down, HARD HARD HARD!" and I would push as hard as I could, while Rob whispered encouragements into my ear and rubbed my back. It's not a romantic image, but the pushing stage felt like I was having the largest bowel movement of my life. We did this for about 30 or 40 minutes… I would moan and yell and push and Karen would yell for my to push harder and Rob would rub my back. I had 3 pushes for every contraction, and a short rest in between. Every time I pushed my entire body was working, and I was sweating and quivering between contractions.
Karen told me his head was getting close, and the pushing was getting harder. After one contraction, Karen took my fingers and moved them down, and I could feel the baby's head. It was a really shocking feeling—it felt nothing at all like a head. It felt more like a water balloon, and I took my fingers away pretty quickly lest I pop it. Then Rob, who I think was crying at this point, felt the head as well, and I had another contraction.
While the pain from the contractions was an internal, muscular pain, the pain of pushing the baby's head through was entirely different. It was pain as we're used to thinking about it—burning, sharp, the kind of pain that makes you wince and scream. And wince and scream I did, as I pushed his head through. I felt myself stretching, and I just wanted it to be over, when Karen told me to slow down. "Ease up, ease up," she said, and I almost lost my mind. If I had a moment where I resembled laboring women in sitcoms who threaten those around them, this would have been it. I didn't have the energy to argue, and I knew deep down that Karen was trying to help keep my body from tearing too badly, so I just followed her directions. But in my mind I was screaming "What the hell are you talking about?! Ease up?! You've been telling me to push harder every time! Now I'm supposed to ease up?! What the hell are you talking about?!?!"
Pushing the head through really, really hurt. It sort of surprised me, and I recall informing Rob and Karen that "This really hurts!" (there might have been a swear word or five thrown in there), and I was assured it was almost over.
I had one more huge, searing, push as his head passed all the way through. "His head is through, now he's going to turn," said Karen, and I felt an enormous relief as the pressure from his head was gone. I could breath again. Then I felt him twist to fit the rest of his body through, and he spilled out. And there he was. Karen held him in her hands, and I looked down and couldn't believe it was actually a person. And a boy! His cord was wrapped twice around his head, and I told myself how normal that is, not to panic. Karen calmly untwisted him, with me murmuring "is he ok? Is he ok?" She untwisted his cord, and he was still and blue for just long enough to make my whole body stop, then he opened his mouth in one huge wail, and she handed him up to me.
I held him against my chest and Rob wrapped his arms around both of us, while Karen covered him in warm blankets. My body was relaxed and alert, and the whole thing was entirely unreal.
Carter, who wasn't named until hours later, was born at 8:49 am on Wednesday, Sept. 12. He was 7 pounds, 14 ounces, 21 inches long, and had a full head of hair. I am a mom!