(forgive my changing tenses from the first part of the story. Bad writer! Bad!)
E arrives, and I don't remember it, which means my attention must have been focused on the, erm, contractions. She must have asked me where it was hurting -- "Low in front, and a tightness in the middle of the back," I say, somewhat in wonderment that it wasn't back labor. It still feels like heavy period cramps, with a deep node of tension above my sacrum. Not pain exactly, but the anchor point for the energy of the contractions. E presses gently on two points near the spot, and the tension releases. "Acupressure," she tells me. Two things impress me: the effectiveness of a gentle, pointed touch on that powerful sensation, and the fact that I actually don't want a bulldozer pushing on the spot. Because I am not having back labor! Woohoo!
E suggests the shower while she and Sean got the room and the birth pool ready. "Does it adjust?" she asks. No, but it hits just the right spot once I'm in. Also it is decorated with bath crayon renderings of cyclops, but I am largely oblivious. It's the middle of the night and I'm glad; I have hours of hot water before the building shower rush starts to siphon it away. Clearly, of course, I am still in pretty early labor; I have it together enough to change the water temperature between contractions. I start to overheat and get out, remembering to use my own towel, and to dry off thoroughly; I'm aware that I'm naked, and cover up with the towel to walk back to the bedroom. The tub is set up and filling, the bed is made up with layers of plastic and old sheets. "Good idea to put the chux pads under the sheets," I think to say to Sean and E. One of them tells me they're towels taped down. E, watch in hand, wants me to tell her when I'm having a contraction.
"Now," I say, and there it is. The tight feeling begins to recede, and I announce that one's over. I do a few more like that, leaning on the dresser. "Don't forget to call the midwives! They want an update!" I instruct in between contractions. As though anybody could possibly neglect to do so.
E, observing, casts a sideways glance at me and smiles a little. "I think you're just reporting the peaks," she says. "Not the whole thing." And she's right: I've been saying the contraction is over as soon as things feel tolerable again, which means they're both longer and more frequent than we thought. Or than I would admit to. Either way, I'm getting back in the shower. Somebody calls J, the midwife on call.
E hangs out in the bathroom while I stand in the shower, and somehow she knows before I realize it that the locus of tension has moved. I have to bend over in the shower for the water to hit the spot; it's getting harder to manage the water temperature too. I turn to face the water, but good luck getting a shower spray to hit the underside of a pregnant belly. "J's here," E says, "but don't get out yet, she's still setting up." I think I start to make a little noise at this point: a long low groan, that old-cow sound I remember making from Sophia's birth. It feels satisfying but not urgent, making that sound. I'm ready for J to check me. I let myself think I'm dilated to a five; that seems possible.
This time when I get out of the shower, Ellen has to dry me off, and I don't care that I'm naked. The labor demands all my attention during contractions, but in between I feel like myself, aware, conscious of the need to rest and get ready for the next one. I feel strong, in control, like I'm pacing myself. J's almost ready, and as soon as the next contraction (done leaning on the dresser, long low sound) is over, I flop onto the bed and assume the position readily.
"And you are...at eight!" J proclaims. "You can get in the pool if you want to."
Eight? I'm overjoyed. I even laugh as I jump into the pool, which feels wonderful even though the water's not quite high enough yet. Eight!
"Dude," I say to the room. "This is a piece of cake." J tells me later she's worried that the other midwife won't believe I'm that far along, since I'm not making much noise, and I'm still in happy spirits. After a contraction, agreeably spent hanging over the edge of the pool, Sean asks me if there's anything he can do.
"Next time," I tell him, "use a condom." Damn right, I think. Making jokes. At eight! I rock.
Not long after that, everything disappears in a labor haze, and I focus on getting the rest of the way there. I hear Sophia wake up -- it's six a.m.! -- and her sweet little chirpy voice fills the apartment. She comes to visit me, pets my head, wipes my face with a washcloth. I try to talk to her between contractions, but during all I can do is make that noise. Loud now.
The contractions are hard now, and I have to do two things to get through. The first is to sing the Shema in my head: it's just the right length if I pace it slow. By the time I get to ehad, I feel okay. The second is to groan exactly five times, and I count on my fingers: one to start, two three four are hard, five is the last one and it's over. Adonai...ehad.
People bring me drinks. "Bucket," I say, and promptly throw up into it, untroubled. It'll move the baby down, I think. But when Sophia touches my hair during a contraction, I growl at her, and she cries; Sean takes her to the neighbor's apartment, where she'll stay until we leave. I feel awful but I can't do anything about it. Shema Yisrael...two three four...that one went past five a little bit. Hmm. But I won't give a contraction more than five groans, so I have to make them longer. Adonai...ehad.
K, the other midwife, is here, and I don't remember her getting in. Heart tones have been good, 120s, 130s, and I'm so glad; whatever else is going on, the baby is okay. So I don't worry about the baby, at all, for the rest of the labor. Myself, on the other hand...
I start to shake. I throw up again. "Do you need more hot water?" somebody asks. "NO!" I shout. "NOT COLD!" I know it's transition shakes. "Is it gonna fit?" I demand of J. "Is it gonna fit?" I don't feel like the baby is where she needs to be.
I get out, unwillingly, for a check. Complete, anterior lip. That sounds familiar. I don't like it. Of everything that happened during Sophia's birth, pushing past that anterior lip while a midwife held it out of the way was the most horrible, painful, traumatizing thing: to have to participate willingly in something that felt like torture, but was necessary. It's okay to push, they tell me. But I don't feel like it.
I try anyway: squatting, lying flat, finally with somebody holding the lip back, and it's awful. Everyone is full of encouragement, direction, positive reinforcement, but something isn't right -- it's like pushing against air. It's like pushing against something I don't have a grip on. K exhorts me to "Try to poop! Go ahead! Push it out like you're pooping! It's okay!" And for the life of me, I'm trying! But I can't get my body behind it. I can't get organized to push.
I'm starting to really resent these contractions.
Oh, good heavens. The suspense!
Posted by: Tine | January 21, 2009 at 12:33 PM
I love a good birth story when I already know the ending. And you do seem to have such good stories!
Posted by: Melinda | January 21, 2009 at 12:36 PM
These posts make me wish I would have taken more time to write my kids' birth stories, which basically consist of "And then I pushed and the baby came out and it was, like, really awesome and I'll never forget it ever. The End."
Looking forward to the next installment!
Posted by: Superlagirl | January 21, 2009 at 01:28 PM
I love your use of the word 'organized'.
During labor, I told my husband that I was having trouble getting myself organized between contractions and he looked at me like I had two heads.
For me, it was so hard to process the contraction I'd just had and prepare for how I was going to handle the next one. Yes, I was mentally disorganized.
Posted by: Lee | January 21, 2009 at 02:10 PM
Thank you for the frequent updates - with the new baby demands, I am impressed. But dying to hear the rest.
Best wishes!
Posted by: Sarah | January 21, 2009 at 04:44 PM
Thanks for the update.
Posted by: Donna | January 21, 2009 at 07:16 PM
I'm going to google images in search of a good lip picture, as I don't think I'm picturing it correctly.
As always, love when you start writing a really good story we can sink our teeth into.
Posted by: Sadie | January 21, 2009 at 07:54 PM
I'm going to google images in search of a good lip picture, as I don't think I'm picturing it correctly.
As always, love when you start writing a really good story we can sink our teeth into.
Posted by: Sadie | January 21, 2009 at 07:57 PM
Oh, dear...
http://www.who.int/reproductive-health/impac/Images_P/fig55speculumdb.gif
Is it this of which you speak? Because I just reflexively jammed my thighs together upon viewing that image!
Posted by: Sadie | January 21, 2009 at 08:01 PM
OH! So exciting!
Cannot wait to hear the rest, and dude, the placenta pic, you look AMAZING and like, is that a baby your holding!!?!!?!
Congratulations!
Posted by: Erin | January 21, 2009 at 08:05 PM
Sadie, that picture is unnecessarily horrifying! A little bit of cervix is left undilated and kind of stuck in front of the pubic bone, because either the baby's not in a great position or because its head needs to mold more. One way to deal with a lip is to insert a finger or two and hold it back so the head can slip under -- no metal implements necessary!
Although I have another maneuver for decreasing an anterior lip, about which you will read in the next installment...
Posted by: Joanna Leery Polyp | January 21, 2009 at 08:51 PM
Wow... just wow, as usual. Your stories make me think that I've had it easy, really really easy, both times.
and kinda sad, very very sad, because they both could have been home births but weren't (and probably couldn't really have been if my insurance didn't cover them, I don't know about that...).
Can't wait to hear the rest!
Posted by: Lilian | January 22, 2009 at 12:02 AM
all this foreshadowing is killing me!
Posted by: sonyala | January 22, 2009 at 12:49 AM
You do amazing birth stories! I can't wait for the next part. Also, I want to know more about your sling in the placenta pic :)
Posted by: wavybrains | January 22, 2009 at 02:53 AM
I'm arriving a little late at the party here, but CONGRATULATIONS!!!! I can't wait to read the rest of the birth story.
Posted by: Sara | January 22, 2009 at 06:14 AM
Yikes. Thank freakin' goodness that I felt the urge to poop and got my guy out quickly. I don't think I could haven't dealt with that pain. You're amazing!! And I don't even know how it turns out?! Ha.
Posted by: Adventures in Hypochondria | January 22, 2009 at 10:36 AM
Ahrgh! The suspense! It's good, though. Leaving me in the midst of "not being organized to push" reminds me of my own labor...
Again, thoroughly amazed that you're coherent enough to write such a detailed & enthralling account.
Excited for the next installment!
Posted by: Robin | January 22, 2009 at 11:56 AM
RE: the unnecessarily horrifying: GOOD to know, Jo!
Posted by: Sadie | January 22, 2009 at 02:44 PM
You sang the shema to yourself . . . I'm going to cry. It reminds me, we sang it to Steven when he was 2.5 and going in for tubes/tonsils/adnoids surgery.
(don't know why I'm so freaking late reading this!!)
Posted by: Meira | August 19, 2009 at 10:37 PM