My Atty Turning Eight and His Arrival Story: Part Two

Birth is in both ways a very singular and private experience that only the person going through the process can truly understand and yet, also a very universal and open journey that has been right of passage for mothers for as long as humans have existed.  A dichotomy of the highest order.  And, even to that point, one mother’s birth can be and usually is completely different from her next or her last.  I was about to experience the first of children’s births.  I came to Kaiser on the night of March 10th, shaky and inexperienced with only my hopes and wishes to buffet my internal struggle.  My day had been frightening and stressful, but I thought that I could turn that around and bring my baby with strength and peace.  That I did but, it was a far different time than I had intended and carried in with me.

We registered and then began the long walk down the cold, tiled hall to the elevators.  Trav carried our hospital bag, and my sweet father traversed the corridor next to me, entrusted with our diaper bag that held all for our newest arrival.  Wrapped around my arms to keep me warm, to stop the nervous shaking was the blanket my mother had made me long, long ago.  It was my only real piece of her, and it did, in a way, what she used to do for me.  I could imagine that, when I nestled myself into the threadbare folds, that it was her arms cradling me.  That is was her warm, soft body.  I have rarely ever been without it when in need of comfort.  I knew that it could have been ruined in this night, but I knew I would need her and her love with me to do what I was about to do.

We were ushered in to a little, more than slightly sterile room that would be our nest for the next 24 hours.  The process was to begin as soon as were we settled.   At this point, my water had not broken and there were no signs of it in my body and so, my options were slim.  The ideal of a natural birth was slowly slipping away.  I timidly asked if there were any other options that might be the precursor to beginning Pitocin.  To my relief and joy the answer was yes! I was told that I could try a Foley Bulb.  This was a catheter that would be inserted and once placed the small balloon on the end would be inflated.  Then it would be pulled very slowly through with the hope that the bulb would manually dilate and push my system to being the process of labor.  Let’s be clear, it certainly did not sound like fun by any means, but it was an option that wasn’t medicinal and untested as I was, I gave the go ahead.   The doctor placed the uncomfortable catheter, and it was taped to my leg, ready to do its job.  Afterwards, Trav and I readied ourselves for what little sleep was going to be possible before real labor began.  And yet, sleep was not in the cards, at least not for me.

I tossed and turned all night.  Yes, the nerves and anticipation were certainly part of the prevention of my slumber but what was really keeping me awake was the bulb.  I was told that it would probably cause my body to cramp and that it might be a bit uncomfortable, but this was far beyond.  Every time I moved it tugged.  Every trip to bathroom was fraught with difficulty and pain.  I was brought to tears with frustration.  On top of that, as anyone who has been in the hospital overnight knows, you are never truly allowed to sleep.  Every few hours you are visited by nurses want to take vitals and measurements and give medicine.  This was met by the usual ire but every time I was visited, I had that small hope that they would check me and finally take the balloon out.  That was all I wanted, but it was a hollow hope. Not once did they even ask about the status.  So, all night I suffered and regretting my dedication to natural birth.

With the morning came new nurses, new doctor, and a new shift in the plan. To my great relief, at my own request, the Foley bulb was finally removed. And as the doctor took it out, I was told that it had pulled through long ago and should have been removed equally as long ago. My frustration with this proclamation was palpable. But that stage was over, and it was onto the next. Unfortunately, my experience with the Foley Bulb had done very little to jump start my natural labor. And so, I was faced with the fact that that dream would need adaption. It was decided that, much to my chagrin, that we would begin the first course of Pitocin at the end of the morning. We reached out to our family, updating them with the day’s plan. We even were visited by Gamma with a whole selection of fruit and breakfast. I’m sure there were many wonderful things, but I most remember the most delicious green grapes. I know I didn’t eat much, but those grapes were the epitome of perfection.

We spent our morning and early afternoon waiting.  Oh yes, we were “preparing” for the process to begin but it felt like so much waiting.   And so much irony in that my less that lovely doctor’s proclamation that my baby might not make it if we didn’t rush to the hospital the day before.  Then, finally, around 1pm (see, so much waiting) the drip was placed and attached.  This was it, finally, THIS was it.  Except, it wasn’t.  There was more waiting. We turned on “Freaks and Geeks” and resigned ourselves to more waiting.

For those readers who haven’t been through birth, when one goes into labor the hormone oxytocin controls the ebbs and flows of the contractions.  Naturally, when you are in labor, your contractions come and go and even when you are in hard labor, you will experience a contraction and then have a period of rest before the next contraction begins.  Now as the process of labor progresses, that rest period will become shorter and shorter, but it is still there.  This is not the case with Pitocin.  Because this is pumped into your blood with no rhythm, there is no break.  Labor hits you like a ton of bricks and just keeps hitting.  During my mother-in-law’s second labor to bring Haleryn into the world, she refused to come out of the bathroom so that she didn’t have to have the Pitocin turned back on. And, in like kind, I was also completely blindsided by the ferocity of a labor driven by Pitocin.

Two hours passed by without much incident and with little to show with my first round of the meds, the doctor decided on a stronger drip.  And was it ever!  From very little indication of labor, my body skyrocketed with throes of labor.  What had been manageable and slightly uncomfortable was now this side of panic inducing and all consuming.  I struggled to keep control of myself, trying to find a way to cope.  Absolutely nothing offered any relief from the relentless tangle of knots my body felt like it was tied in.  The best I could do was gingerly perch on the edge of the bed, bury my head in Trav’s chest and moan. 

I rocked and shook there in that position for what seemed like hours.   I was completely lost to the terror of no end to my nausea inducing pain. Finally, when it seemed like my body was to disintegrate into the ether, I made the decision.  The decision I had so, so wanted to avoid.  Every shred of hope for the birth of my dreams floated away with the one sentence,

“I need medicine.”

Continued tomorrow in PART THREE.