The birth story…and it is not for the squeamish!
On Wednesday, March 4, I had my 40-week check up. By that point I was 2 days over my “official” due date, and 4 days over my personal calculations. Ava and I went to Plattsburgh, where I had an ultrasound and a non-stress test, before seeing Dr. Dodge. Ultrasound was fine, though my fluid was low. NST was also fine. When I saw the doctor, he noted the low fluid, said that it was somewhat expected given that I was 40 weeks, and if I had not delivered by the following Monday, we should repeat the scan. Fine by me. Then he checked me, and I was 90% effaced and 3 cm. He said “I don’t think you will make it to Monday.” He stripped my membranes, apologized for the discomfort, and I said “it did not hurt like last time,” and he said “that means that you are getting there.”
Ava and I left, went out to lunch, where we ran into the midwife that had delivered Ava. As she does not practice in Plattsburgh, this was really weird. I took it as a sign. While we were there, I felt this sudden rush of fluid, and thought “maybe that was my water breaking.” But I had felt similar things before and it had not been my water breaking, so I basically ignored it, thinking that if it was my water, then more would follow. That afternoon I was increasingly uncomfortable, but nothing terrible. We all went to skating, and came home and went to bed. At 2:30 AM, Ava woke me up, and I realized that I was really uncomfortable. I dozed until 3:30, when I felt a few terrible contractions in my lower back. I got up and when I went to the bathroom, another gush of fluid. This time I was pretty sure it was amniotic fluid. I sort of waited around in the bedroom, trying to figure out if things were getting more intense or if I should go back to sleep. By 4 AM, I knew something was up. It felt like everything was one big contraction. I was unable to figure out when individual contractions started and ended, but I was not incapacitated or anything. I called my mother, told her to come over, and then waited a bit longer to wake Peter. By the time I did, I was definitely feeling awful. The contractions were still hard to differentiate, but something was most certainly brewing. My mother finally arrived, she took over at home, and we left for the hospital in her car. (Our cars were parked down the road—it may be a small town, but parking is almost as difficult as San Francisco. Taking my mother’s car alleviated a huge parking dilemma). I was very relieved to have left without the kids waking up.
I could not find my purse when we left, nor could I get my overnight bags because they were in the bedroom with the kids, so all I had were the clothes on my back, which were none too pretty. And I was wearing my slippers. We had not even left the village of Lake Placid (which is basically 1 street—Main Street) when I said “I have to throw up!” Peter screeched to a halt, I tumbled out of the car and stood there, vomiting on the sidewalk. It was not attractive. My slippers were now splattered, I had nothing to wipe myself off with, but boy did I feel better. Back in the car, off to Plattsburgh. Five minutes later, Peter realized that he did not have the charger for his phone. He asked if we could go back. I said fine, and we turned around. He retrieved the charger from his car, and off we went. Again. Turning out of the parking lot, his coffee cup tipped over and spilled cold coffee all over me. Basically I was sitting in a pool of coffee. He started insisting that we had to go get new pants for me, and I said “get me to the hospital.” So he got napkins for me and we started down the road again. Ten minutes later, I told him that he had to pull over, I had to throw up again. By that point, we were just past the spot where we had turned around to go get the charger. I threw up a little more, and we started to go again. 20 minutes after that, I had to throw up again. This time, I managed to simultaneously pee all over myself. Now I had vomit, coffee, and pee on my outfit. This routine of throwing up did not stop until we reached the hospital, where Peter got me a wheelchair and the ER nurses looked at me like I was an alien when he rolled me in. Peter said “can you take her to labor and delivery?” and I swear they just started at us. This had not been our experience the last time we were there, so it was terribly disconcerting to be treated with such nonchalance. We went up and then the nurses in L&D also looked at me like I was an apparition, and I said “please can I get in a bed?”
They showed me to my room, gave me a gown and I went into the bathroom where I promptly discarded my clothes, weighed myself per the nurse’s request and fell into the bed.
Peter insisted that they call IV therapy, which is what I asked him to do, but he described the sticking of my veins when I was in for the last hospital stay in front of the poor nurse that had caused me so much pain, unbeknownst to him. But IV therapy came, and they started me on fluids. Almost immediately I started to feel better. For some reason, during the last few weeks of the pregnancy, I just could not stay hydrated. No matter how much water I drank. I was really put through the wringer with this one. Anyway, the next shift started, and they tested me to see if my water had broken. It had. So now I had 24 hours to get into “active labor” – this is described as being 4 cm dilated. At the moment I was still 3 cm and 90% effaced. And then we all spent the rest of the day staring at one another. I was not in labor, nor was I not not in labor. I did have these patterns of contractions that are described as an “irritable uterus,” which does nothing for dilating you. My room had no window, so I dozed periodically throughout the day. I was starving, but only on clear liquids, and lunch was broth, an orange popsicle, and jello. The popsicle was the best thing I had ever tasted. I could not really take the other stuff. I had been put on IV antibiotics shortly after they had determined that my water was broken, since I was strep B positive, and that had resulted in a terrible metallic taste in my mouth. Having worked in drug safety, I remember thinking, “huh…this is an AE (adverse event)!” No one seemed to be at all concerned about that element of the event, but I desperately tried to initiate a conversation about it. However, later that afternoon, they brought me my second dose and hooked me up, and within a few minutes, I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I assumed it was a problem with the IV and looked at my arm, only to realize that the pain was higher than the IV, and tracing a pretty distinct path up my arm—a path that I assumed was my vein. It was a burning sensation, and despite my immediate concern, I also thought “wow! another AE!” Then I hit the call button. When they responded, I said “um, there is a strong burning sensation in my arm…” and they said they would be right there. Apparently this is also common, and it was described to me as a result of the first IV having “primed” the vein (ie damaging it), and the second causing the burning sensation (because the tissue was damaged, and being further damaged). The antibiotics were described as “hell on veins.” But when I asked if it was an allergic type reaction, she said no. It did not inspire a lot of confidence, but she flushed it and let it go in very slowly. I asked for another popsicle, and then shortly thereafter, around 4 PM, I started to feel crappy again. Sure enough, I puked. This time I had a basin.
The nausea only got worse over the next few hours, and then my irritable uterus got its act together and finally started to labor. From about 7 PM to 11 PM things just got more intense, on a steady upward slope, and then suddenly, around 11:30, something shifted and the pain went into my back and seemed to be nonstop. I recognized the pain from the contractions that I had with Carter, and they were contractions that really made you feel like pushing, and I know that is what got me in trouble with him. Suddenly I was scared. This probably did not help. But they were so intense and I really did not want to end up not progressing like I had with him. (Because the urge to push had been so strong with him, I had just pushed, but since his head was not engaged, all it did was get my cervix to swell and pretty much block his exit route). I definitely panicked. I called in Kim, and she checked me. I was 4 cm dilated. That was when I begged for some sort of pain medicine. She offered me nubain to go in my IV. I said yes, not wanting the epidural. Not smart. Nubain is a narcotic. Narcotics and Erin are a very very poor combination. If I can avoid them, I do. As soon as that nubain hit, I became high as a kite, but all of my pain receptors were plenty alert. So now I was unable to think straight, but had no relief from the contractions. Then I became that woman yelling for the epidural.
The anesthesiologist was quick, to the point, efficient, and pretty soon I had an epidural. Despite feeling like it took forever, I was sound asleep within probably 15 minutes. Three and a half hours later they woke me up and checked me. Apparently I was fully dilated and effaced and it was time to push. I looked at them like they were nuts. Push? How??? I had no feeling in my legs. Kim assured me that I could do it, and they got me ready. Peter was on one side, a nurse was on the other, and Kim was in front of me, and sure enough, I could feel the contractions, and push I did. Now, I know this may sound crazy, but with Ava, I was unable to push effectively because I kept using my leg muscles—I could not isolate them out of the picture. This time, I could not even summon them, so I was much better at the effort. Soon everyone started yelling that they could see the head. Kim had me reach down, and I felt her head, an unbelievable experience. Then, Kim told me to look down, and I was able to see the top of her head crowning. The whole time, Peter was in a state of astonishment. I remember that from Ava’s birth, but it is pretty neat to witness your husband reduced to near speechlessness—the intensity of the moment was very memorable. I think I remember him saying “oh, wow.” And then Kim had me push really hard, and she said “reach down and take her!” And I pulled little Anna out and up onto my chest and there she was—everyone was rubbing her and suctioning her and she was squeaking and then finally she started to really cry. At some point Peter cut the cord and said that it was really tough, and then they took her to the warmer and did everything they do. They brought her back to me, and she instantly nursed. I was floored by how she latched on, and realized that she might be giving Ava a run for her money as The Nursing Champion of the World. At some point I delivered the placenta, but I don’t remember that, and I know I had no tears, so no stitches. The next few hours are a blur. I assume I slept, but I cannot remember. All I know is that I could not have asked for a better experience, and I am so grateful for the chance to have a VBAC.