******
I was floored and confused that things were already so
intense. My first contraction happened at about 9:30am—it was now barely lunch
time and it was already taking all my concentration and effort to get
successfully through each contraction (success, in my book, was maintaining
enough control to do the low moaning and not get high-pitched and freak out).
Also, all of a sudden there was barely any time between them. I knew
first-timers tend to have long labors, and I thought, how will I ever survive
days of this kind of intensity? What if this isn't even active labor yet, and
it turns out that I am just a big, fat wimp after all? Logically, I was having
a hard time believing that what I was feeling wasn't active labor, but all my
fears—of weakness and inadequacy and my body not working properly—surfaced, and
I doubted myself a lot. I knew that if we called the midwife she’d listen to my
sounds during a contraction and gauge where I was in the process, and I really
wanted to know.
So right before Becky showed up, we called the midwife (well,
Chris did). He gave her a brief update and then handed the phone to me. I
started trying to explain what the contractions were like but immediately
sensed one coming on and stopped talking so I could do my thing. She listened
to me, and when it was over she said with some surprise in her voice, “Oh,
Amy—you're in labor!”
Those words made everything brighter. It's kind of funny how
those sensations seemed almost unbearable when I thought they were pre-labor,
but totally doable once I knew it was active labor. From that point on, the
sequence of events is blurry for me. Lis arrived soon after our phone call, and
Becky arrived just before Lis. I remember Lis feeding me blueberries one at a
time. Those blueberries were like sweet nectar from the gods. I remember Becky and
Lis continually offering me sips of water and coconut water, and even though
sometimes I didn’t want it, I drank it. I’m actually surprised at how compliant
I was throughout labor—I thought I would have been more ornery and, well,
bitchy. (It’s possible Chris and Becky could speak more accurately to the bitch
factor, but nobody’s asking them.) I remember Chris behind me, always behind
me, letting me lean so hard on him, grip his arms, push into him.
It was uncharacteristically warm that day, and we had some
windows open—specifically, the ones that opened into a small courtyard that we
shared with about 12 other tenants in our building. Eventually, a woman in a
nearby apartment had had enough. “Close the window—we don’t want to hear that!”
she yelled. Lis, our sweet, soft-spoken midwife, called out softly as she
closed the nearest window, “She’s in labor!” and giggled a bit. I laughed too,
and had a few thoughts but no time to speak: 1) Lady, I WISH I were having sex
right now, 2) Doesn’t it seem peculiar at all to you that someone would be
having orgasms every few minutes for the past two hours? and 3) We have to move
immediately after the birth because there’s no way I can look any of these
people in the eye again.
I labored in many different positions, all at Lis’
suggestion. I sat backward on the toilet and leaned back a bit (on Chris, of
course), with my feet braced against the wall behind the toilet. That was more
challenging than standing up, and I started chanting during contractions, “I
can do it. I can do it.” This chant filled my mind so that there wasn’t room
for negative thoughts, helping me stay calm and relaxed.
Next I tried kneeling in front of an armchair and leaning on
the seat of the chair. That was the only position that gets a big, fat fail
from Amy. All kinds of fun stuff was leaking out of me at this point, so they
put a chux pad below me and my knees kept sliding on it. Also, strangely, I was
still wearing socks even though my underwear had long since disappeared, so my
feet couldn’t grip the floor like I needed them to. Because of all the sliding,
I was having to tense up my thigh muscles to hold myself in place, and I was
very upset about that. I knew I needed to be relaxed and loose; that was my primary
goal throughout labor. After I complained about it between a few contractions,
we moved to the bed.
I wanted Lis to check me to see how dilated I was, and when
she was done she said something like, “Okay good, you’re doing great.” The fact
that she didn’t give me a number discouraged me a little at the time; I assumed
it meant I wasn’t very far along. After the birth she explained that I was at
about five centimeters when she checked me, which was great, but she didn’t
want me to get hung up on a number. I appreciate her wisdom, since I think five
centimeters would have disappointed me. Also, believing that I still had a ways
to go actually strengthened my resolve to continue to give every contraction my
all.
After Lis checked me, I labored on the bed, on my side with
my knees drawn up. Chris knelt by the bed so that his face was near mine, and I
held onto his hands. If I didn’t have his hands, I completely freaked out. Since
she didn’t know how long my labor would be, Lis wisely wanted me to conserve my
energy. She encouraged me to relax my whole body, including my face and hands,
and I tapped into all my relaxation and visualization practices to do it. It
was so hard. She also encouraged me to lower the decibel level of my
vocalizations and to try not to chant. I knew vocalizing was really working for
me so I didn’t stop completely, but I did my absolute best to be quieter. I
hope the neighbors appreciated the brief respite before the pushing began.
While on the bed, I felt my whole body bear down during a
contraction. I told Lis I was pushing a little bit. She gave me some pointers
on pushing effectively, and I’m sure they helped, but what I remember most is
that my body was leading and I was following. After a bit, a pattern emerged:
For a few contractions, my body would bear down very forcefully, and I
accompanied it with all the strength I could muster, and then there would be
one milder contraction. I learned to bear down only as forcefully as my body
led me to; otherwise I felt I was wasting energy. It seemed like when my body
and I worked in conjunction, the push was exponentially more effective.
I wasn’t really a fan of lying on the bed, so Lis suggested using
the birth stool she had brought, but as soon as I sat on it I knew it wasn’t
right for me. They moved it out of the way and I got into a deep squat there on
the floor next to our bed. Wow—once I was in that squat the bearing down was
WAY more powerful. Squatting opened up my pelvis and gave gravity a chance to
help out. The contractions were now more difficult to endure, but I also felt
that they were more effective, so I was glad.
It’s weird—I know the contractions were very painful and that
during each one the pain and pressure seemed like the full amount I could
possibly endure, but it’s hard to remember what the pain actually felt like.
What I do remember is that the contractions were like a huge wave barreling
through me, and I knew my part was to give in to the pressure by relaxing my
pelvic floor and squatting deeply, and to bear down with everything in me. At
this point, my sounds were guttural and very loud, and I saw my mouth as a
little pressure valve that, when opened, made the pressure of the pushing
bearable. Every so often Lis would encourage me to put more energy toward
pushing and less toward vocalizing, and I would try, but my God. The force
never felt like more than I could endure, but it came right up to the line
every time.
When he crowned, Lis asked me to try not to push during the
next contraction and to try to pant instead. I did as she asked, and I was surprised
that I was able to do it. I remember feeling pretty proud of myself for having
that kind of control. I think she asked me to do that for a few contractions,
and then I felt his head leave my body. It seemed like my whole body was
relieved, and I had no contraction immediately afterward.
Now that his head was out, Lis wanted me to push his body out
ASAP. These things need to happen one right after the other. But there was no
contraction, so I did nothing. I had only ever pushed when my body was already
bearing down, so pushing outside of a contraction did not compute. I remember
looking at her, wanting to obey but not understanding physically how to do
that. Unfortunately, at the same time she was also telling me to put some
distance between my butt and the floor to make room for his body. This also did
not compute—the deep squat was the perfect birthing position for me, so why
would I move? Also, logistically I couldn’t figure out how to raise my butt
while remaining open to let his body through. I tried, but my pelvic floor
tightened, and I knew that wasn’t good. Time was ticking, and Lis got very
stern. I could tell it was important, but I didn’t know how to manufacture a
push, and I couldn’t figure out how to get out of the squat. Since I wasn’t
acting fast enough, Lis started telling Chris to lift me a bit. Finally, with
Chris holding me up by my armpits, I pushed with all my might, no contraction—and
his body shot out, slippery and heavy, just like I knew it would from the two
births I had witnessed.
Lis laid him on the floor at my feet. He was purple and red,
and he wasn’t breathing. I think she told us to talk to him. She used a little
air pumping thing, but that didn’t work, so she covered his mouth and nose with
her mouth and blew, and that did the trick. Finally, he cried. He was out, and
he was alive and I was alive: mission accomplished.
******
I’m working on part three—the awful tear, the scary
breathing, the two trips to the hospital, the breastfeeding blunders—but that’s
the hardest stuff to write about. We are all fine now, but there is still so
much from that time that’s painful to remember. Things I’m angry about, things
I regret. That’s how I know I need to write it down, and little by little I’m chipping away at
the whole mess.
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