*Trigger Warning: Story of failed birth-plan and NICU stay*
This is a personal account of my last hospital delivery.
When my daughter was born (child number two) I was done being pregnant. I mean DONE, done. I was so sure at the time that she was my last. The pregnancy had really taken a toll on my body and her delivery left me with problems that persist even now.
But oh, how time softens the image.
Three years seems to be my reset button with pregnancy. Like okay, maybe another one wouldn’t be such a bad idea and I did always want a big family. I felt a hole in our brood. Someone was missing.
And so, for the last time, we learned that I was pregnant.
And with a sure sense that this baby was the final one. This baby was the voice missing in our household. The laugh that we needed to finish the chorus. I was so happy and so sad. Both feelings were as strong as the other.
Happy, because here we are! It took some trying but we are having a baby!
And sad, because here we are. These are the last kicks I will feel. This is the last time I will have one of my children tucked up so safe inside.
I have a suspicion that I was anemic with my daughter. Especially after learning I was VERY anemic with this baby. I worried how the delivery might go. The Doc prescribed transfusions and said everything should be fine. We’ll get to that later.
With this being the last little one I would deliver,
I had so many hopes for when we finally got to the hospital. Just as every mom does when she imagines herself finally arriving there. My previous deliveries had been induced and the Pitocin was too much for me. I ended up getting an Epidural both times. With my daughter, something happened with the Epidural that left me with a Spinal Headache and on-going back pain. I didn’t want to go through that again, and planned for a natural delivery. I had a strong feeling that this baby would come on his own, and held on to that with both hands.
One night, at 39 weeks, my water broke. The movies make it seem so dramatic and like such a common thing but the reality is that it isn’t. It didn’t feel like I’d had an accident, and nothing in particular brought it on. My legs were just suddenly very wet. I called the nurse-line at the hospital and confirmed that I was still leaking (ew). The nurse urged me to come in within the next 24 hours. I felt so anxious and so thrilled! We did it, he was coming on his own!
My mom came to take my kids for the day while I labored at home. I could tell that walking helped bring the contractions on and walked circles around my patio table. Finally, a little after noon, my husband and I decided it was time to go in and get checked.
After they called me back, the nurse did a swab and confirmed my water had broken. A doctor came in and declared, “Let’s have a baby today!”
There were smiles coming from all of the staff who helped me, and I had never been so ready to be in pain in my life.
When we got back to our room,
another doctor came in and explained that I was only 4-5 cm dilated. She wasn’t sure that my body would “get the rest of the way there” without a little help, given my water had broken so many hours prior. She suggested Pitocin and I immediately said no.
Actually, what I said was, “I don’t know if you’re trying to rush this or if you just need another bed. But I’d like to wait as long as we can before doing that”. I was still well within the 24-hour window of my water breaking, and my baby was doing fine on the monitor. I’d dealt with pushy doctors during my previous deliveries, and was determined to put my foot down this time. The last time.
The afternoon nurse was much more positive and said, “Would you like me to bring in an exercise ball? Or we have a peanut? You could also try walking in the hallway.”
My husband and I, arm in arm, walked up and down and up and down the delivery wing. With each step, I could feel my body working. I could hear another mom at her end stages and silently wished her well. My contractions were coming on stronger and stronger and I was so sure that the next time the nurse came, I’d be further along.
I yearned to have the experience of so many women before me- to join this club of people throughout time. Women who were birthing without medication, women who were birthing in the ways their bodies told them to. Women connected in this interwoven fabric that transformed into swaddling blankets. I wanted so badly to say, “I did this myself this time. My body did its job.”
The time had come.
We were closing in on 24 hours since my water broke. My partner stepped out to grab some food while I waited for the nurse. I was positive and almost giddy (if you can believe it) when she came in and checked my dilation.
She shook her head sadly and wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“It’s the same.”
One thing I should note is that I am not a big crier. I cry if I’m extraordinarily angry. I cry at commercials or Disney movies. Even then it’s only a few tears and I’m able to put that mental box away. But listen-
I laid in that bed and sobbed.
I can’t think of a time I had anguished so much before. It felt like the rug was taken out from under me and I was falling endlessly. I cried and could not find the will to stop myself. I felt so embarrassed and so defeated. So very, very defeated. My mind was heavy with terrible thoughts-
No. This was not the plan. What is wrong with me? I FELT the contractions. WHY can I not do this?? I tried the best I could. I welcomed the pain. If it didn’t work before, why would it suddenly work now? I am such an idiot..
The original doctor came back in and spoke again in a syrupy and almost patronizing voice. I lay, crying, staring up at the dingy tiled ceiling. I read the fall risk warning posted above my head. Her words floated and swirled above me-
“…increased risk of infection.”
“…don’t want to harm you or baby.”
“…isn’t what you wanted.”
The baby monitor whirred in the background just as it had been. My nurse stroked my arm. The doctor patted my knee and called me “Miss”. I hated that. My husband wasn’t back yet, and I had lost all will to put my feet anywhere.
Finally through tears, I said, “Okay.”
“I know you’ll just come back, so okay.”
The doctor promised me they’d use the lowest dosage of Pitocin and she was gone. Away to push some other mom into the next stage of her labor, I’m sure.
I told the nurse that I didn’t want that doctor back in my room.
It wasn’t her fault, I know that. She was only doing her job.
But her job made her the catalyst for my dream crashing so dramatically that I couldn’t bear looking at her any more. In that moment, I hated her.
Afterwards, everything happened far too quickly.
Once they started the Pitocin drip, my every 5-minute contractions transitioned almost immediately into every 1-minute contractions. It was too much. My body was struggling to keep up. I had abnormally severe pain with no time in between, and was getting tired fast. I was still anemic, and still weaker than normal. The doctor opted to lower the dosage further, but the damage was done.
I asked for an epidural out of fear. I knew if I didn’t get a break, I wouldn’t have the strength to push and I didn’t want to risk an emergency C-section. And so, with that, the last-man-standing in my birth plan was forced into desertion.
I cannot accurately describe how low I felt during what should have been a joyful time. The only real accuracy is to say I felt like an absolute failure.
They placed the epidural in a different spot to reduce the risk of a repeat Spinal Headache. Wherever they put it, I could not feel anything from the waist down. Typically, I can still feel pressure. I can feel my limbs move. But I couldn’t even feel them enough to move them of my own accord. So when the delivery doc came in and asked me, very brightly- “So, how do you want to do this?” My brain couldn’t formulate a response.
After having so many decisions forced away, I was on auto-pilot. I just wanted my baby. That was the only bright spot in all of this. One way or another, soon he would be in my arms.
Pushing time came
and I did my duty (no pun intended) and soon my last baby was born, gasping at the world. They placed him on my chest and I said, “I think there’s something wrong.”
“I don’t think he’s breathing right.”
A nurse was beside me, rubbing his back and soothing, “No, some babies need a minute to adjust, he sounds just fine.” But I knew something wasn’t right. I couldn’t stand her repeated placating.
And then, just as soon as he was in my arms, he was taken away again. His lungs were not filling with air the way they should’ve been. In short, he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
My last baby wasn’t fine.
I watched, feeling helpless and numb in my bed as they worked on him under the heat lamp. My husband took pictures and hovered over him as closely as he could. Someone came with a Panda bed and took him away.
As they wheeled him out the door, I yelled out- “Let me say goodbye! I didn’t get to say goodbye!” I wasn’t sure I’d see him again. My sweet baby. The last baby to neighbor my heart. After all of this, I just wanted to see my baby.
They brought him back. I held his hand through the panel just a moment before they took him away.
And I wept.
Our son, to our extreme fortune, only spent about a day and a half in the NICU. My husband, my new beautiful boy, and I packed our hospital bags and were on our way home to start life as a family of five. I’m so grateful to say he’s been healthy ever since.
Reflections:
There is a trauma in all of this that I can’t put my finger on. I can’t find a name that encompasses it all accurately. Revisiting that day brings all those emotions back to the surface- The defeat. The depression. The helplessness.
Logically, I know all that mattered in the end was that my little one came into this world as safely as possible. That his lungs did start working fully on their own. That I didn’t need a C-section and that my anemia didn’t cause scary complications.
And I am happy, when I think about it. I’m happy my last baby is finally here and healthy. I’m happy I am still here. The hole I felt before disappeared.
But our brains and our hearts don’t always communicate effectively.
Someday I’ll look back on this time with kinder eyes. My thoughts will more closely mimic my feelings. I’ll move forward.
It’s been four months now though, and that day still feels far off.
And that is okay.
If any of this resonates with you, please know-
- You are not a failure.
- There is nothing wrong with you.
- You made it through and made it mightier.
- We can’t control the weather, much less our labors.
- You are strong. So very, very strong.
Final Thoughts:
I’d like to clarify that this story was what I wanted for my last delivery. If you wanted a C-section or an Epidural from the get-go, I am in no way saying your experience was less. What I’ve shared was from my own perspective for my own desires regarding my final labor. There is enough hard to share when it comes to being in such a vulnerable state.
I’d also like to say that while I may not have had the natural birth I’d always dreamed of, I know that doesn’t make me any less of a woman. I had my children in the way I was supposed to, and that has to be enough. Whatever season you are in, the tie that binds us as moms is the simple fact that we have children. Nothing more.
If you have any comments or would like to share your own story, I’d love to read them below. Or, let me know if any of this resonated with you. I hope we can find strength in our truths together.
Check out the Home page for my most recent posts, and be sure to look in weekly for new content!
You can also find me on Instagram for daily mantras and quips on motherhood.
I wish us both peace today.
