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Sometime in the sixth month, I painted our bedroom pumpkin, but only gave it one coat because it was so bright with the one. I painted it that way because the winters in Oregon were oppressively rainy and dark. Portland is situated between two mountain ranges; rain clouds barely passed from the Pacific over the first range before being forced to dump their rain in the valley in order to pass over the second range, so it truly rains nine months out of the year. Our bedroom faced the East, so even through the daily clouds residual sunshine lit the room every morning enough to highlight the orange paint, making even that long pregnant winter bright and happy. On April 23rd, we woke at six a.m. I awoke to an internal snap. Suddenly I was peeing the bed. I sat up groggily and the liquid stopped, just as suddenly though, it was pouring out again.
I nudged Bryan awake, “Honey, my water just broke.”
“No way,” he mumbled, “okay.”
Something I never understood, no matter how realistic the movie or book may be about pregnancy, the drama of a birth is almost always overdone. There is rarely any rush, there is rarely any excitement; couples are in labor from 12 to 36 hours the first birth. Babies do not enter in a hurry, certainly not with the first birth because they are effectively the Lewis and Clark of the birth canal. A woman’s body changes dramatically after the first birth, and that voyage of a first born is a slow process. So in this truly real telling, I will say that neither of us were in any hurry. We hadn’t packed anything, because the packing only took us fifteen minutes that morning. We both showered, with my amniotic fluid flowing out slowly and intermittently.
Standing in front of Bryan, the flow started again and I laughed. “It feels like I am peeing while talking to you!” Bryan smiled politely and continued brushing his teeth. The little nuances of my pregnancy had been the often-bothersome music to his ears these last ten months. I explained and exclaimed every ache, twinge, pain and movement of my pregnancy to him. His polite nods and uncomfortable expressions were part of a dance we had enjoyed for some time. I am pretty sure this peeing description was just more icing on his over-informed cake; he would be grateful for it’s termination in the short 36 hours that my labor was to span.
We made the obligatory phone calls while driving to the hospital, and after checking in and ascertaining that my labor had indeed begun, we had thus started our first labor day. Learning that the food was free until I got two centimeters dilated, I ordered a feast for us to enjoy, and we listened to music, watched television and walked the hospital campus for hours. My family arrived soon after, my mother and sister were my familial support system, and the day passed us by without even the slightest pain on my part. They had my belly hooked up to the monitors, two seatbelt style disks were placed on my beach ball-sized tummy, and we could all see the contractions and the baby’s heartbeat. Around six p.m., we were so bored that we agreed to induction.
At 6:20, I was in pain, a lot of pain. Induction is no joke; suddenly the strength of my contractions had doubled. At first it was exciting, but the novelty wore off quickly and I was annoyed at the intense overwhelming pain that radiated throughout my body from my uterus. The squeezing of the uterine walls feels very much like a cramp, but it cramps so hard that your legs start to cramp and your soul tries to crawl out of your body. I tried walking around the hospital unit, but walking did nothing to separate myself from my body; and my body hurt so badly. I would have just enough time to recover from the pain before it would start again, and you can feel it coming. I don’t really understand how, but I knew when another contraction was coming and the anticipation was like whiplash in a car accident; I would brace myself and tense up, making the pain feel ultimately worse. They would only last thirty seconds or so, but the time passed so slowly. My good humor faded, my patience and excitement were gone. The sweet nurse whom I had befriended during my earlier boredom went home with the shift change, and before me stood a newbee who would never get to know the nice person I really was. It took every ounce of self-control that I had to keep from screaming at this poor girl.
The new nurses always get the night shifts, and induction usually takes over during the night because insurance companies are pushing the patients to give birth already so they aren’t paying for more time in a hospital then absolutely necessary. These shifts are the most difficult, doctors are harder to reach, patients are tired and in pain, and the nurses are inexperienced.
I had given up walking by this point and demanded she check my cervix. The news was not good; I was only one centimeter dialated. Again, since it was my first birth, my body was responding slowly, not entirely sure how to go about getting this baby out. My cervix had never opened before, why should it do so willingly? Those who had given birth in a hospital know that epidurals are not given until you are two centimeters dilated. It was after midnight, and though the six hours had passed quickly, every minute was an eternity. All I wanted at this point was the drugs.
“I don’t care how dilated I am, call Dr. Bauer and get me an epidural.” I demanded.
She backed out of the room, “I’ll call her now.”
As she disappeared I looked over at my mother and cried, “She’s lying to me! She isn’t going to talk to her; she is just trying to make me wait longer!!”
“Shhh, honey she is just doing her job, I will go make sure she calls, why don’t you take a hot shower?”
I looked imploringly at Bryan, and he went to change into his bathing suit. For thirty minutes we stood in the shower, and he held me upright while pouring hot water on my lower back while I cried. The pain was horrible at this point. The hot water offered moments of relief before the pain figured out how to up the ante. I pleaded the nurse for a hot bath. An hour later she had the bath ready because they had to sanitize the damn thing and then fill it up. I had never been so angry, and still I held my emotions so as not to kill my poor nurse. I could see how irrational I was feeling, and tried my best not to take it out of the only complete stranger in the room. Instead I screamed at Bryan. Not anything specific, I just vented towards him what I wished I could do to the stick-framed bitch who wouldn’t give me the drugs I wanted.
Once in the bath, they had filled it with water so hot that I imagined my body overheating and killing my poor baby, so we were out in less then fifteen minutes and my anger had peaked. Struggling down the hallway, naked but for the flimsy gown that I couldn’t tie properly I ordered the string bean to get me my epidural. Even after she checked me again and told me I hadn’t progressed, I told her that she would never get me to agree to any pictocin (the drug that makes labor HAPPEN) until I got the epidural. The fear of course is that if you give the woman an epidural too early, her labor will stop. But we cut a deal, they could speed it up in conjunction with pain control.
Up until this point, I had never wanted any drugs. I thought I could do it, you see. And after enduring active labor for ten hours, at four a.m. I was given reprieve. As the epidural seeped into my spine, I drifted off to sleep.
Nine hours later I awoke to find my mother, sister, and boyfriend sleeping around me. They looked terribly uncomfortable, whereas I was feeling no pain. I couldn’t feel anything really; my legs were cemented to the bed. I looked over at the monitor and saw the contractions were racing along, long and powerful; I peered down at my belly and wondered how I could have ever done this for so long. But I was feeling refreshed, excited, and hungry. The room started to stir, and gradually they everyone woke and surrounded me, ready to greet our baby girl. The nurse came in again (they had visited me throughout the night, but I had paid them little mind) and checked my progress. Laughing, one of the nurses turned on the spotlight. There is a spotlight right on your crotch in birthing rooms, and it was effective. My face was shadowed by my belly but my vagina was fully lit, a homing beacon for the doctor in case she couldn’t find my birth canal naturally. Curious about her laughter I looked down to see her pushing a standing mirror into place.
“Take a look.” She said. As my vagina came into view she told me to bear down.
Suddenly I could see her head! It was right there, she was in my birth canal resting, waiting!! We all exclaimed and my heart fluttered with anticipation.
“We’ll call the doctor and have you start pushing as soon as she arrives.” The nurse said.
Everyone in the room began talking at once. I felt giddy, and while it seems odd to admit, I kept reaching down to stroke the top of her head. It was so soft, like the finest leather around. Just as suddenly, my room filled with nurses, my original nurse whom I had bonded with was there, as well as a few apprentices. I didn’t mind the company, I didn’t care about all the eyes at all, I was about to meet my daughter!
We had to wait for half an hour before the doctor arrived. She sat down, pulled on the gloves and as my next contraction began she asked me to push. With my mom holding my left leg back, and Bryan on my right, I bore down. It took thirty minutes, and with every push it felt like she would never get out. I just wanted them to reach in a grab her, but as you might imagine there wasn’t any room for anything else. No one but me was going to get her out. I pushed until I popped blood vessels in both eyes, and with a final slither, she was out. The tears came immediately; as my body erupted with oxytocin, they placed my little girl on my chest. I looked down at her, crying as smiling, she was the only quiet one in the room. We stared at each other and everyone cheered and crowded around. Wrapping her in a blanket, I allowed them to quickly clean her up and then they handed her back to me quickly.
She was beautiful! Her eyes were open for a few minutes before she shut them tight from the light. Her skin was so soft, and she folded up into a little package when swaddled; her head and hands were all that peeked out at me. That day is a blur, with family and friends. I ate a feast of sushi that night, something I had sorely missed while pregnant. We allowed the nurses to take her away for a few hours while we slept because sleeping with the newborns is forbidden in a hospital. But all night we kept her, taking turns holding and watching her sleep. She spent most of the night curled up in the middle of my hospital bed, while I spooned around her, afraid to disturb her or worse yet, fall asleep and forget she was there. So I just watched her, all night, and caressed her beautiful skin.
We stayed another day after that, making sure we were both well rested before venturing home. As they wheeled me out to my car, I held her proudly, like a homecoming queen on a float waving to the crowds. I wanted everyone to see her, marvel at her innocence and possibility. I felt so proud and happy, I was in love.
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Posted by barbeec on 2008-08-01 16:12:54 | Rating: | Views: 43
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Wow, great writing!!! However, I don't think I ever want to have children!!
What a wonderful story. I hope you save it and give it to your daughter when she is older!
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Posted by KarKar
on 2008-08-01 16:58:06
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