Owen's Birth Story (Part 2)

(Be sure to read Part 1...)
I am very fuzzy on the events and details after this point, so most of this information comes from Josh and my doula recounting it to me.

Around 12:30 Josh was awakened to the sound of me panting.  The nurses came into the room because their monitor showed that I was suddenly having very strong contractions.  These contractions continued every 2 minutes for 5 hours. I know that at one point (or possibly many points) I told Josh I wanted a C-section, that I didn't care if we missed it, just tell them to take the baby out!  Thankfully, the next person who showed up was a nurse with narcotics.  That allowed me to sleep between the contractions and wake up only to breathe through the peak of each contraction.

By 4:30 a.m. I was dilated to 6 1/2 centimeters, and Josh called the doula to come to the hospital.  (If I hadn't been doped up and asleep between contractions, I would have asked for her sooner!)

By 5:30 I was 10 centimeters and pushing.  I remember this part better because the narcotics had started to wear off.  I remember a friend telling me when I was pregnant that pushing is the easy part of a natural labor because you can finally do something about the pain.  I found that to be true for me as well.  I asked the doctor to let me push only when I felt the urge (during a contraction).  I also really tried to lay on my side because I was much more comfortable than I was on my back.  But being on my side caused the baby's heart rate to dip, so I had to stay on my back.  So then I told them that I wanted to sit up on the birthing ball.  I'm pretty sure everyone in the room laughed at me, realizing that the baby was already so low I wouldn't be sitting on anything.  And after every push, Josh kept sticking this blasted oxygen mask on my face! (The doctor told him to because the baby's heart rate dipped a little after each contraction.)  It's funny to me now to realize how silly I was being, but at that moment I felt like no one would let me do anything I wanted.

My OB was not available when I delivered Owen, which turned out to be a great thing.  The doctor who delivered Owen was a woman from West Africa who apparently believes in "tough love".  Josh said he felt like he was in a football huddle being yelled at by the coach!  I wouldn't have thought that would be very effective or appreciated during labor, but it worked surprisingly well for me.

At 7:00, a new shift of nurses came in.  One particular nurse wouldn't let me push when I felt the urge.  Instead, she told me to count to 5 when I felt the urge, then push.  This allowed to contraction to reach its full intensity before I started pushing, so I wasn't wasting energy when the urge to push wasn't as strong.  I'm very grateful for that instruction, as it really helped my pushes be more effective.

At 8:02 a.m. Owen was born!  He had passed meconium, so he was taken to the side for deeper suctioning. He was proclaimed 8 lbs. 7 ozs, 20.5 inches, and an APGAR score of 10!

I had an amazingly easy recovery; Owen and I developed a (very) strong and (still) enduring nursing relationship; and the last year has been the greatest year of our lives!

Owen's Birth Story

As hard as it is for me to believe, this little fella will be a year old tomorrow!  In commemoration of his (almost) birthday, I'm sharing with you today the story of his labor and arrival.  (Before you read any further, please take a moment to read this.  It is a necessary preface to Owen's birth story.)

If "birth stories" really aren't your thing, here's the summary: I had a fast labor that resulted in a big baby who has changed our lives forever.

For those of you with a little more time and interest, here you go:

September 16, 2012 was a Sunday.  I was extremely pregnant.  (A week past my due date according to the doctor; two weeks past according to my calculations.)  As I mentioned previously, I had become a bit of a recluse by this point in the process.  I wasn't sleeping well due to heartburn, a baby on my bladder, and general 41-weeks-pregnant-discomfort.  I had been up earlier that morning, but had gone back to bed for a few hours.  At around 11:00 a.m., I crawled out of bed to start the day and was suddenly very suspicious that my water had broken.  Josh was in the kitchen, and I remember saying to him, "Um...it's possible that my water just broke."

He recommended a call to my doula, who agreed that it was a strong possibility.  We decided to give it a few hours to see if I continued to leak amniotic fluid and/or whether contractions started.  The former happened and the latter did not.  I became increasingly convinced that my water was broken, but was concerned that I didn't seem to be "in labor".

A passionate conversation ensued between me and Josh regarding whether or not we should go to the hospital.  I wanted to stay home as long as possible, knowing that once I arrived at the hospital with "ruptured membranes" (broken water) I would be "on the clock" to have the baby in 24 hours.  

(Perhaps this wouldn't have been as much a concern in "normal" circumstances, but if you know me well, you know that "normal" and my health rarely go together.  Because of an autoimmune condition I have that causes my blood pressure to typically be low and unstable, I was told by my cardiologist early in my pregnancy that an epidural would not be an option for me during labor.  Thankfully, I had several months to prepare myself for a natural delivery.  

I resisted going to the hospital with ruptured membranes but not having contractions because I was afraid they would induce me.  Inductions tend to be cause much stronger contractions than a natural labor would, which is why women who are induced very frequently ask for an epidural... which wasn't an option for me... hence my resistance to going to the hospital.)

Josh is definitely the more cautious one in our marriage, so the thought of just hanging around our apartment knowing that the arrival of our child was imminent was utterly absurd to him.  By 3:00 p.m. we had compromised that we would drive near the hospital, but not to it.  

Our final moment at home before Owen's arrival

(In NYC, particularly Manhattan, private rooms in a hospital are very expensive and rarely available.  A woman would deliver her baby in a {private, of course} delivery room, then be transferred to a shared room in the maternity ward {2 to a room for C-sections, 4 to a room for vaginal delivery}.  This also means that spouses aren't allowed to stay the night, but are considered "visitors" who can only be present during specified hours.

I know, I know... hospitals aren't hotels; this is how our mothers and grandmothers gave birth and recovered; conditions are far worse in other parts of the world.... I know.  But I'm grateful that I had another option, and I took it without hesitation.  Because we still owned a car at that time, I chose a hospital out of the city on Long Island, which had just opened a brand new Women's Center a few months prior with all private rooms!  Without a doubt, one of the best decisions I ever made.  They were amazing, for more reasons than I can detail here.  But seriously, if you're in NYC and pregnant, I highly recommend Long Island Jewish Hospital.)

So we drove out of the city to a park right beside the hospital, and I began walking laps in an attempt to bring on contractions.  I even tried to run "stadiums" on the steps to the kiddie slide until I smacked my head on the bar at the top, and Josh told me to stick to laps and lunges.

It began to get dark, I wasn't having any consistent or strong contractions, and we were hungry.  We again compromised that we would go to the hospital, but not up to the fourth floor to be admitted.  So we grabbed some dinner in the food court, Josh sat in the lobby and worked on his computer, and I walked laps around him.  The hospital security guards and concierge were amused, but I reassured myself that they had certainly witnessed similar scenarios before.

By 10:00 p.m., I was tired but not in labor.  We decided to head up to the Labor and Delivery floor, hoping to at least rest before the doctors tried to intervene.  Our hopes were granted!  The doctor confirmed that my water had indeed broken.  The monitor showed I was contracting, but not strong enough that I could feel it.  So we were ushered to a room, made comfortable in our beds, and told to try to get some sleep.  No one ever said anything to us about induction, Pitocin, or a 24-hour window.  I'm so grateful for that!  The resident who confirmed my water was broken came back in after reading my chart to say, "Um... you do know that you can't have an epidural, right?" Ha!  Yes, I know, and thank you for being sure I knew.  What a surprise that would have been!

We did receive a visit from the nurse anesthetist who informed me that the anesthesiologist for that evening had read my chart and was unwilling to administer spinal anesthesia under any circumstance.  While we knew it wasn't an option for my labor, we had also been told by the cardiologist that a spinal block would be acceptable in the event I needed a C-section.  (If my blood pressure dipped a little then, it would be alright since I wouldn't be trying to push a baby out.)  But this nurse was telling us that this particular doctor didn't think that was wise, meaning I would need to be put under general anesthesia, meaning Josh would not be allowed in the operating room, meaning neither of us would witness the birth of our son.

To type that all out now brings tears to my eyes, but in the moment I was able to remain calm about the situation.  I remember thinking, "Well, it's after 11:00 now.  Shift change is at 7:00 a.m., and my cardiologist's office opens at 8:00.  If I need a C-section, it won't be until after shift change.  Maybe the new anesthesiologist will be okay with a spinal block.  Or I can just call the cardiologist to talk to him."

So I told Josh that we should get some sleep while we could, and we both nodded off....

{Well, this has gotten lengthier than I imagined.  I'll post the conclusion tomorrow!}

When the Doctor Said "Oops!"

(And the award for the most overdue blog post ever goes to... this one!  

Sorry for the very long delay.  Be sure to read Part One and Part Two.)

We had been trying to conceive a child for over a year, including six months on fertility drugs.  The week after Thanksgiving 2011, I returned to the fertility clinic for a final appointment to close the case. Josh and I were two weeks away from moving to NYC, where we would immediately begin the process to become foster parents.

I don't remember everything about that trip to the doctor's office, but I do remember one conversation vividly.  The doctor came into the exam room and quickly began reviewing my chart: this is the last visit; you're moving to NYC next month; just finished 6 months on Clomid.  He flipped through the last six months of notes: all test results have been normal; you have a few other health conditions for which you are taking medications; "Have any of the medications changed since your first visit here?"  

"No."

Doc: "Hmm.  What's Voltaren?"

"It's an anti-inflammatory drug I take for arthritis." (**See note at the end.)

Doc: "Is it an NSAID (Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drug)?"

"I don't know."

Doc: "Well, NSAID's can prevent pregnancy.... But I'm sure we checked on all that the first time you were here..... I'm going to go double check if Voltaren is an NSAID, just to be sure.  You go to the lab for blood work.  I'll meet you there."

The lab work confirmed that I was (still) not pregnant.  A few minutes later the doctor appeared, head hung and shoulders slumped.  "Traci, I'm really very sorry.  We messed up.  Voltaren is an NSAID, and is most likely the reason you're not pregnant.  We should have caught that, and so should your rheumatologist, OBGYN, primary care doctor, and pharmacist.  We all messed up.

"You essentially get a reset button on Clomid, since the last six months you took Clomid you were also taking Voltaren.  Stop taking Voltaren immediately.  I'm writing you a prescription for another month of Clomid, but I suspect you probably don't even need it."

I remember driving home completely dumbfounded.  I vacillated from angry at the oversight to grateful for the answer... Grateful for renewed hope in the possibility of conceiving to angry that my "plan" of moving forward with foster care was getting hijacked.

Josh was home when I got there, and I unloaded all the information, along with all my emotions about it.  He was rock steady.  "This is great news, Traci.  Be grateful for the answers we have, and trust God's sovereignty over the mistakes of others." 

I stopped taking Voltaren that day.  Two weeks later I was pregnant.

Also of note: The arthritis for which I was taking Voltaren went into remission while I was pregnant (which is pretty common of autoimmune diseases.)  And it has stayed in remission for the last 10.5 months since I gave birth (which is not so common).  Amazingly, my other prominent autoimmune disorder (dysautonomia) also went into remission during pregnancy and has yet to return!

**Note regarding arthritis:  In June of 2010, my toes suddenly swelled to an incredibly painful size.  A podiatrist diagnosed it as "sausage toes" (I kid you not.) and gave me a steroid injection.  A few weeks later my fingers also began to swell.  I remembered reading somewhere about Psoriatic Arthritis, an autoimmune disorder which causes joints to swell, especially in the hands and feet.  The topic of the article caught my attention because of its relationship to the skin affliction Psoriasis, which I had experienced a very mild case of since Jr. High.  

I began seeing a rheumatologist.  We tried multiple drugs over the course of a year, without much relief.  Most nights I was awakened from my sleep with painful throbbing in my fingers.  Walking in the mornings could be excruciating, so much so that I asked the rheumatologist for a handicapped parking tag.  Some days I couldn't grasp a pen or pencil to write a note.  Other days the first few steps I took out of bed each morning caused me to yelp in pain.  And other glorious days I experienced no swelling or pain at all.  Voltaren was the only drug that eventually gave me moderate relief.

The Truth about Owen's Birth

"I gave birth to an eight-and-a-half pound baby without an epidural."


The above statement is true, but so are the following statements:

If any other option had existed, I would have taken it.  I hated every minute of it.  When no one but my husband was in the room, I begged for a Cesarean.  Labor was harder than I thought it would be, and I'm pretty sure I don't ever want to do it again.

(But in the same breath... Owen was more worth it than I can explain.  It's been six months, and I still can't believe that I did that.  At least once a week, I look at Josh and say, "Remember when I gave birth?  That's pretty crazy, huh?"

I'm still wrapping my mind around the details of how it all unfolded and processing my emotions from that day.  "Owen's Birth Story" is a draft at this point- a draft that will hopefully be published this week, seeing as he is 6 months old today and all.)

So this is an unorganized blog post that is really lacking clarity at this point.  But here's what I need to say:

I gave birth to an eight-and-a-half pound baby without an epidural... solely by the grace of God.  Truly.  And not in the sense that "God's grace empowered me to do it."  I wasn't empowered.  I was at my absolute weakest.  It was the grace of God that my body just did what it was supposed to do for once in my life.

I read a lot (A LOT) to prepare myself for a natural labor and delivery.  One of the most helpful things I read was an article that compared labor, medicated or not, to white-water rafting.  Having braved the rapids a few times, that comparison resonated with me.  The analogy illustrated that a woman in labor doesn't control the course of labor any more than a rafter controls the currents of the river.  In both cases though, there are ample tools one may implement to help in navigating the turbulence.  A wise rafter may enlist the knowledge of a guide or map, the support of a team, the security of a helmet and life vest, and the help of an oar.

Being a bit of a "Resource Hoarder," I wanted as many tools as I could gather in my arsenal for labor.  We hired an amazing doula early in my pregnancy.  As mentioned earlier, I spent an insane number of hours reading books, blogs, and articles about labor and delivery.  Josh lovingly read books and articles to prepare himself to be my partner in this process.  I thoroughly investigated hospitals and doctors before making a decision about where to deliver. We took TWO birthing classes (one with our doula and one with the hospital).  We toured the hospital.  We watched the videos.  We practiced positions, breathing, and massage.  I exercised sparsely to prepare my body for labor.  (Josh jokingly -but accurately- claims that I exercised more in the few days leading up to Owen's arrival than I did in the entire 5 years he's known me.)

But did it even make a difference?  I'm not convinced.

I could list for you more than a handful of friends who have recently delivered their babies via C-section.  They were in better physical health than me.  They had determined to deliver naturally.  They carefully chose their doctor, read all the same books, took all the same classes, had the same plan.  But I had a natural delivery, and they had C-sections.

Why? I don't know.

But it reminds me to thank God again for His kindness toward me, and it knocks the wind right out of my prideful sails.