The Birth (part 1)

When the real labor contractions started, I recognized them right away. They were strange and intense and took over my life. I labored in our room for what must have been several hours, leaning on the bed, sitting on my birth ball, kneeling on all fours on a yoga mat, squatting on a yoga block, doing deep squats on the floor while leaning on the birth ball ... I was glad I had brought all of my yoga tools and breathing techniques, but eventually, none of them were working for me. The Mister applied a heated pad to my lower back, and that helped a bit, but after awhile I couldn't feel it anymore, nor could I hold a conversation between contractions. Our doula was ready to help with positioning and pain remedies, but all I wanted to do was go inside myself and focus as each wave hit. Eventually, someone (a nurse? our doula? things were getting fuzzy at this point) suggested that I labor in the tub.This was the first of many times I thought "Really? Already? I'm that far along?" combined with "Hey, I'm going to labor in the tub! I'm in labor! It's really happening!" and then another contraction would hit and I'd go to that inside dark place where communication was simply not an available option.

The birthing tubs at the hospital were large and wonderful, but I had to walk down the hall to get there, dragging my good buddy Stanley the IV trolley with me (they pushed Pit into my veins continuously until after the baby was born). It wasn't far to walk, but I had at least one contraction on my way there. I vaguely remember the Mister holding me up as I breathed through it. By the time I climbed into the tub and sank down in the water, I'd lost all sense of modesty. It was just me in my birthday suit, the tubes that attached me to Stanley, and my ever-present elastic girdle, and I really didn't care who walked in and saw me in that state. Many people say that transition is the hardest part of labor, but for me the worst part was the hours that I was in the tub.

Time got really funky. It felt like each contraction took forever, but time as a whole passed quickly (for me, that is -- the Mister assures me that it was passing excruciatingly slow for him). The contractions were big and not so much painful as just ... wrong. Intellectually, I knew my body was doing what it was supposed to do, but in the moment, it felt like I was very very sick, and that whatever power was pushing through me was a dark force, one that could kill me if I didn't stay strong.The world was very blurry and it didn't feel like the waves of sick feeling would ever stop. The lights were dimmed and it was quiet. I knelt in a wide-legged stance, with my lower arms leaning on the tub wall, and as each surge hit, I would put my head down on my arms and vocalize my way through it. Our doula acted as a coach, watching the monitors and telling me where I was in the contraction, reminding me to keep my voice in the low range (my yoga teacher had emphasized this too; high tight screaming tenses the body and the cervix; moans in the lower register help move things along). The Mister used a plastic pitcher to pour warm water over my lower back until the contraction eased. Over and over again, for hours.

It's hard to describe exactly what I was feeling, but it didn't register as "pain." Which may be why I kept refusing myself an epidural -- not that anyone around me was offering! They'd all read my birth plan, which was quite clear on this point. I didn't want meds for a variety of reasons -- primary of which was the idea of someone poking needles in my spine, ugh -- but any time I thought "gosh, it sure would be nice if this feeling would stop," the "feeling" didn't feel like pain, so I couldn't see how a pain medication would help. Plus, the idea of someone handling my body was completely abhorrent. I didn't even want the Mister or our doula touching me. I wanted their company, but I couldn't face interaction with anyone -- particularly not medical personnel. I just wanted to be in my dark cave and get through this. Towards the end of the tub time, the waves came one after another, with little time to rest in between. By then, if someone had tried to stick a needle in me, I would have punched them in the nose. Hard. With both fists and maybe a kick thrown in for good measure. So it was probably best that no one was offering.

I had loaded my iPod with lots of music that I thought I might want to labor by, but somehow I never made the time to put it into a playlist. So when the Mister asked me what I wanted to listen to in the first (relatively) easy hours, I said Norah Jones. And then I became too inwardly focused to choose anything else, so the Mister kept playing poor Norah again and again and again. Three albums worth, multiple times. Then, suddenly, while I was in the tub, Dolly Parton appeared as a guest in a song. Breaking the silent rhythm we had going, our doula said "Is that Dolly Parton?" The Mister said "Yes, I think it is." To which I replied "Get rid of her!" Not sure what I was thinking (I actually like Dolly quite a bit), but for some reason I didn't want her in the middle of this birth. So there was no more music. Which was just as well, because things got pretty busy after that.

Comments

[luna]

this reminds me of being present at K's birth of J -- we had the tub but never even got to fill it, an ipod filled with music that we never listened to, candles we never burned, etc.

btw, I can't believe you have the time to write at all!