The Day My Life Changed: Birth Story

Let me start by giving you a little bit of a back story. Around 25 weeks gestation, I started feeling like I was leaking fluid on and off. Every once in awhile, I’d be lying on the couch, doing nothing (no coughing, sneezing, laughing) and I would just feel some water in my pants out of nowhere. It was enough to make me go in and see my OBGYN. When I went in, she reassured me that I was most likely just urinating myself but sent me to have an ultrasound done to asses my fluid levels. All came back normal; I was in fact just urinating myself that time… sexy, I know.

Now on to the birth.

Mandatory Belly Pic

On the way to my OB appointment

It started on Wednesday November 7th, 2018. I was just two days shy of 37 weeks. I woke up that morning, squeezed into anything that still fit me, grabbed a granola bar and headed to my OBGYN for what was about to become my weekly check-ups. They always took my vitals first and then the baby’s heart rate. Mine were normal. It was while the NP student and the nurse were measuring the baby’s heart rate that I noticed them glance at one another quickly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a paranoid person, or because I’m also in medicine, but I knew something wasn’t right. Instantly, I felt my heart picking up speed by the second. I looked at them and asked, “what’s wrong?” The NP student quickly replied, “it’s nothing to worry about, but the baby’s heart rate is slower than it normally is. It’s 112 instead of his average values of 136 and above.” She again repeated not to worry and told me that the doctor would be in shortly to re-check it.

When the doctor came in, after what felt like hours, she told me that she would feel best if I went to the hospital to have them assess my amniotic fluid levels with an ultrasound. Again, she repeated, “do not worry.”

What did I do? I freaking worried. I called my mom the second I got into my car and started hysterically crying. It wasn’t one of those cries where you’re still able to drive. It was that cry where you literally can’t see a centimeter in front of you because your tears are flooding your eyeballs so quickly that they can’t even clear. I knew that it was going to be okay, but I literally couldn’t stop. Eventually I did. It was then that I called my husband. I didn’t want him to know how freaked out I was. I just told him to meet me at home, and that we had to go to the hospital to check on the fluid levels.

We headed to the hospital. There we went through the registration process and were brought up to Labor and Delivery for some further fetal monitoring. They hooked me up to the monitor for about an hour before they brought me into an ultrasound room. I know that the ultrasound techs are not supposed to tell you the findingsbecause they have to wait for a physician to review them (even though they know exactly what they’re looking at). But I could tell by my technician’s face that the levels were low. The doctor wasn’t too worried about it and sent me home with strict orders to drink a TON of water. I was then to return the following day around the same time for a re-check. Mind you, I was already drinking an excessive amount of water compared to my normal, non-pregnant self, and my child had taken up residence on my bladder for the last 3 months, resulting in my peeing every 15 minutes. So, to say I was thrilled about these instructions would be a lie. But I was a good patient, and I listened. I drank more water that night than I have in my whole life. I basically slept in the bathroom on the toilet.

I woke up the next day and I had a feeling that this would be my last day being pregnant. I can’t explain it, but I just knew it. So, what was I going to do my last day of being at my largest? Decorate my house for Christmas, of course. Why? Because I am nuts and I was completely determined to bring my child home to a holiday-themed home. When I finished, I ran to Wendy’s for a spicy chicken sandwich, because if this was really it, I was going to enjoy my last fast food indulgence before pregnancy was over. I packed the rest of my hospital bag and called my husband to come home from work. I was ready to head to the hospital.

The second scan showed my fluid levels to be even lower. I waited to hear from my OB to see what the next step would be, but here’s the real kicker… after our consult the previous day she left for a two-week vacation out of the country. My husband and I joked about this scenario when we saw the movie “Knocked Up;” we literally laughed and said that this would be something that would happen to us. As much as I joked about it, I really feared that would happen to me. So, I thought I prepared enough for it when choosing my OB. The first question I asked her was, “do you have any vacation time off around my due date?” Her answer was, “no, I never take a vacation.” Moral of the story: meet other OBs within your primary OB’s practice. Now I know for next time.

But the show must go on.

And so, the process started. They admitted me. And to my surprise, I stayed calm. Around 5pm, they administered Cervidil to start the dilation process. And then we waited. My mom and mother-in-law came so that I wasn’t alone while I sent my husband home with the same checklist I had given him months ago of things to do before the baby arrived… you know: hang the shelves, move the bookshelf, make sure the changing station is secure… the essentials. Before he came back, I made him stop for a Whopper at Burger King. By now, you’re probably wondering if I have some kind of fast food addiction. I swear I do not. I don’t know why I felt the need to eat it twice the day I went into labor. I had not even had these cravings often during pregnancy; maybe once or twice during the first trimester when I couldn’t stomach anything but carbs. I know what else you’re probably thinking: why the hell would you eat this before you’re about to have a lot of pushing to do. Well to my surprise, my on-call OBGYN told me not to worry about going NPO (nothing by mouth) yet, and that, rest assured, she would give me a laxative with ample time to clear everything out before the big finale. I should note that she also thought we had at least until Saturday morning. It was Thursday night when they started the induction process, and it was my first baby, so they figured my dilation would take at least 24 hours. Well guess who changed shifts before they put in the order for the laxative? My on-call OBGYN… Spoiler alert - I did NOT shit myself during labor. I thought I was going to. I thought I actually did, and it was in fact the only question I kept asking my mom during the entirety of my active labor.

Everything set up for Baby Anthony’s arrival.

When I tell you that cervical dilation checks were the worst part of my labor, I’m not kidding you. I’ve never had so many people so close and so far up my vagina. My contractions were surprisingly tolerable - that is - until they were not. These waves started around 1am... and holy shit, they came in like a wrecking ball. I looked at my husband after my 4th or 5th round of trying to be a badass and said, “get me the f*#king epidural and no one gets hurt.” Well you know what takes extra long? … The paperwork for you to get a freaking epidural.

By the time this guy came and gave me the epidural, my contractions distracted me from the fact that there was about to be a needle in my spine. My fear for this was unwarranted, because no matter how scared I was at that point, it didn’t matter. He could have put that sucker in my eyeball if he wanted to. It’s pretty amazing how quickly that stuff works. After that, I was golden. No more leg control, no more urine control, and best of all, no more contraction pain. (Note to all future mamas: Don’t be a badass. Take the epidural whenever you want, and enjoy it.)

Me enjoying but also definitely not enjoying my medication cocktail. Note the incredible angle at which this photo was taken (thank you husband for accentuating all my chins)

After that, one of the nurses came in and offered me a cocktail of meds to help me sleep. She said I didn’t have to worry about being loopy for the actual pushing part, that it would just feel like I had a glass of wine and it will wearoff fairly quickly. If you know me… then you know I love a good glass of wine. I hadn’t had any in 9 months. So, what did I say? “SIGN ME UP FOR TWO.” Well, she was about halfway through my syringe of meds when I felt it hit me like 3 BOTTLES of wine. I said, “ma’am, that’s enough.”By now, I was laughing uncontrollably. I waited for her to leave before I looked at my husband and said, “I am trashed.” Did I sleep? No. Did I hallucinate that my entire hospital room was made out of Legos that were melting away? Yes. I sat there and waited for this damn drug to wear off. My best friend warned me not to take anything, but I clearly did not listen. Yes, Kristina, you were right. I was wrong. Needless to say, I will not be taking the cocktail next time.

The hours dragged on and the nurses came in every half hour or so to rotate my lifeless legs for me to speed up the dilation process. After every few nurses and every few rotations, I would whisper, “did I shit myself yet?” I had no idea what was going on below my waist. Every once in a while, I would feel warm, and I would push that button and ask, “it happened this time, didn’t it?” I was being THAT patient, the one pushing the button. Why didn’t I just have my husband check, you ask? Well, I wanted to keep some kind of hope for our future sex life. I should probably let you know that I made it EXTREMELY clear that my husband was not to look below my shoulders during labor. He was not to peek, or even gaze his face in that direction, or we would divorce. Super reasonable.

At around 11:30am, my favorite labor and delivery nurse, the one that happened to be the NP student from the office who caught Anthony’s heart rate at his low point (which triggered this whole early labor) walked in for the normal rotation of my legs and cervical check. By this point, so many different nurses had gotten to know my cervix that it didn’t faze me anymore. That and the epidural made it a breeze. Before she checked she asked me if I wanted another dose of my epidural (I forgot to mention that they now insert a port into your back that allows for future dosing without having to poke you again - AAAMAZING). I told her I was still pretty numb and didn’t want to be too numb for pushing purposes so I would have an idea of how I was doing. I feared not being able to feel anything and then not knowing if I was actually pushing. Luckily that was my final answer because as soon as she checked me, she looked up and said, “good, because there’s no time. He’s ready to come out. Let me run and call the doctor and tell him to come here instead of the other hospital where someone else is in labor, too”…UMMMM, yes, PLEASE do that.

So, I looked at my husband and said, “here we go, call the moms.” My mom was already in the waiting room. She knew I would be calling her at some point to come in and be my right-hand woman.

Well, here was something I didn’t know before I had Anthony. Labor and delivery nurses literally do ALL the work. My favorite nurse came back, explained to me how to push, and had me do the first few rounds. My husband finally asked, “is the doctor going to be coming in?” She replied, “yeah, when the baby’s head is almost out, he should be outside shortly.” That’s when I processed what she said. “HE.” First of all, I’ve never, ever gone to a male gynecologist. I don’t know why, it just wasn’t for me, and here I am, about to push a child out of my vagina for my big debut. (Remember, on top of this, I am still under the impression that I’m going to shit myself.) But again, the show must go on. And so it did. In walks this 6’5” male, with a beard down past his chin, and he sits down right in front of my widespread legs. “Are you ready?” he asked. Well, I didn’t really have a choice at this point, did I?

Here’s a picture for you: my husband’s to my left (behind my shoulders, as instructed), my mom’s on my right patting my forehead with a cold washcloth, and there are about three nurses and a male doctor with front row seats. One of the nurses looks up at me and asks, “do you mind if two male nurses come in and observe?” Honestly, I’m all about people learning – I was a PA student once,too. But I had to draw the line somewhere. “Umm, not today. Thank you.”

There we were, in the home stretch, with about 3 pushes to go and I could feel my epidural wearing off; the baby’s head was right there, and the doctor looks up at my husband and asks, “so, you like fishing?”… FOCUS PEOPLE. My husband, being the guy he is, says, “oh yeah, love fishing, just about to buy a new boat.” Enough. Reality sets in. Now the doctor asks, “dad, you want to come check this out?” By this point, I threw in the towel. I looked at my husband and said, “just go, I don’t care, get the baby out”. And so he went and watched. And honestly, I’m glad he did, because he said it was the most amazing experience he’s ever had.

The feeling that overcomes your body when you hear your baby’s first cry is indescribable. The moment you make skin-to-skin contact with your newborn, is irreplaceable. My labor was, honestly, NOT BAD, so I really cannot complain. I hope that when we have a second one, I can get this lucky again. But I guarantee that even the woman who had the worst, most painful, most terrifying labor, will say that it was 100 percent worth it the second that baby was placed in her arms.

Fun Fact: If you have a vaginal delivery, you don’t just leave with a goodie bag of diapers for your baby, but you yourself get a matching pair of adult diapers. They also come with amazingly sexy mesh underwear.

I’m going to end by saying this: Labor and Delivery nurses are INCREDIBLE. They are the stars of the show. I don’t think I could ever thank them enough. I sent them all a huge gift basket when I was discharged. In the future, I am going to make a mental note to bring something with me for them because they deserve it. They deserve so much more credit than they get.