We went to church. During Sunday school I was casually looking at my watch when I would have a contraction and noticed that they were pretty consistently five minutes apart. They still were not killing me, but they were definitely different than the contractions I had been having over the previous weeks.
During the sermon something changed. The pains were still only 4-5 minutes apart, but they were much stronger. I even had to get up and walk to the restroom just to see if that would help. After three weeks of wondering if "this is it" I knew that walking or changing position would not stop true labor contractions. Thankfully, my trip to the bathroom did nothing to disrupt the rhythm and intensity of the pains. I was starting to believe that it was time.
We immediately went home and fed the older two children lunch. I was not hungry, just jittery. Thankfully my sister was in town -- she lives in California -- and I called her to let her know that we were probably going to the hospital at some point during the day. I was trying to remain patient and wait for the pains to become unbearable before going. I definitely did not want to get there and have the nurses give me their skeptical speech about me not being in labor. I was the pregnant overachiever -- I wanted an A+ in pain when I arrived at the hospital this time.
My mom wasn't feeling well but agreed to come down to help with caring for the older two. She, my sister and brother-in-law all arrived at around 3:30pm or so. By that point I was convinced that we needed to start thinking about going soon. The hospital is a good 30-minute drive away and I didn't trust myself to know when I would be in danger of delivering on the side of the road.
Interjection here. . . my first delivery was initiated by my water breaking so I had to go to the hospital immediately. My second child was essentially induced after I was admitted to the hospital and my contractions stopped. I have never progressed past early labor without medical intervention in the form of pitocin. I didn't know what "real" contractions felt like, because as soon as I was put on pitocin I was also given an epidural.
I had decided that this time I wanted to feel labor. I really don't know where the crazy idea came from, but I was determined to labor without pain medication. I think there was a certain amount of desire for bragging rights, there was a genuine curiosity, and there was a bit of a challenge to myself to see if I could endure. I also wanted to feel what God had designed in a woman's body that allowed the miracle of childbirth.
When we finally got to the hospital around 5pm I was still having regular, strong contractions, but I could definitely still talk through the pain. The nurse who began working me up seemed skeptical. Being the overachiever that I was, I assured her that this had to be the real thing. I begged her to let me walk around. I told her that my dr. assured me that if I made it to the hospital in a nice pattern, that she would definitely "help" me along if need be. I was stating my case that I was not leaving without a baby (I had been to the hospital once before only to be sent home).
She checked me and called me a 3.5 cm and 90% effaced. After monitoring me and the baby for 30 minutes she called my dr. who instructed her to let me walk around. Jonathan and I began walking at around 6pm or so. . . and that really began to speed things along. The nurse said that my dr. was going to come to the hospital after finishing dinner to check me herself (love my dr.). Again, the overachiever in me was determined to be nicely progressed by the time she arrived.
The contractions were definitely getting stronger to where I was having to stop and lean on the wall during the height of the peak. I could still talk through them. After about an hour of walking, the nurse checked me and said I was a good 4-4.5cm and 100% effaced -- progress! If this was a test I was getting an A for sure :).
By the time my dr. arrived at around 8pm and my water was broken, the pain was beginning to turn a corner. I was stuck in the bed being monitored and as soon as I could I wanted to walk again. This time, I had to lean on my husband and even bite his shirt at the peak of the pain. . . I was moaning. There was a Christmas tree at the end of the hallway, and I liked to go there for the peak. I could hide behind the tree and have a little privacy for my pain. There was also an alcove at the other end of the hallway. We would walk between these two points, making sure to arrive at one or the other before the pain hit. I have no idea how far apart the contractions were then. I just know that I was starting to get very, very uncomfortable.
Because my moaning was getting louder and more frequent, the nurse asked to check me. She wanted to update my dr. who had gone next door to her office to catch up on paperwork. She checked me and I was at 6cm. I was starting to lose control during the pain at this point. The nurse kept telling me to relax and be her "wet noodle." I felt like I really could not relax anymore or control myself during the contractions. I asked her what it would take to get an epidural. She let me know that she'd have to start an IV, etc and that it might be too late by the time she did all of that. She suggested trying the jacuzzi tub to help me relax.
Jacuzzi tub + transition contractions = BAD COMBO. As soon as I got in the tub transition hit. I know it was transition because I started screaming at this point and the pains were one right on top of the other. In the moment I was blaming the tub for the heightened intensity, and I had only been in there a couple of minutes when I told Jonathan to get me out of there NOW. He let them know that the jacuzzi wasn't working and that I wanted the epidural.
When I got out she began starting an IV when the other nurse suggested checking my cervix again first. This was a total of 5 minutes or so after the last check. She checked me and I was 9cm! Eek. Luckily, they had already called my dr. when I started screaming. She was there within a few minutes, putting on her suit. This was at around 10:20pm.
This is when it gets really funny. I was completely out of control. My soft-spoken dr. kept reassuring me that it was going to be over soon, I kept saying that I couldn't do it anymore. I was screaming, grabbing my husband, cursing (gasp!), begging for help. . . completely humiliating behavior. They kept telling me to push, and I kept saying that I couldn't. The pain was too much to push through. I had always read that pushing would be a relief, but I disagree. I couldn't focus my energy because I was so focused on the intensity of the pain.
Finally, one nurse pulled up some handles for me to grab onto, and once I grabbed those the baby was out in a flash. I think I may have pushed for 10 minutes. The famous "ring of fire" was NOTHING compared to those late contractions. They were like a chainsaw cutting me in two from side-to-side.
There is no really good way to describe the relief when the baby comes out. Well, actually, the really amazing relief is when the afterbirth is delivered. It's like you can breathe again!
I don't know if I would go through childbirth naturally again. The recovery wasn't that much better for me this time, and the humiliation was pretty bad. In the end no matter what, you get a beautiful sweet baby to bring home. That's what is really important.
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