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Abbott's Natural Birth (Long, PIP)

Smile SteadySmile Steady
in Birth Stories

Short version: Abbott Graham was born 9 days early, completely natural.  I didn't even really feel the labor until I was already 8 cm dilated.  Crazy.

And here's the long version for those of you who have some time.  (Copied from my blog)

Let's see... I guess I should preface this by saying that I started getting Braxton Hicks around 28-29 weeks into the pregnancy.  At first they were pretty random- I'd get a few each day, and they were barely noticeable.  My belly would just get a little tight up top.

As the weeks passed, my contractions started to get less and less comfortable, and more and more frequent.  Sometimes I would have a little cramping with them, but because the increasing discomfort was spread across such a long time, I simply became accustomed to them.  In fact, I once mentioned that I was afraid I wouldn't know when the contractions became real because my "fake ones" kept getting worse.  I was always assured, "You'll know.  Trust us, you'll know."

Well... I'm here to tell you that I honestly do not know when those Braxton Hicks became "real contractions."  I'm guessing maybe early on Sunday morning, November 13th.  That's when I was awakened at around 3:30 a.m. with those blasted "fake" contractions.  They'd been coming every 5-8 minutes or so for about a week, and continued to do so until Abbott was born 5 days later. 

I had not been checked by my midwife yet at this point, and I probably wouldn't have been had I not asked, but something inside me said it was time.  Sure enough, as I mentioned in my blog post about latent labor, I was dilated to a 5 at my weekly appointment that Wednesday.  I left you all knowing that I was still 5cm dilated when I went back to Labor and Delivery that night.

That night I went home and got the best sleep I'd had in months.  My husband and I both got a solid 9 hours in... I don't think I even woke to go to the bathroom.  I think it was God's way of saying, "Rest up.  You've got a long day ahead of you."

The next morning, I noticed the contractions were still about 5 minutes apart, but I was having a bit more cramping with them.  Sometimes they hurt a little, but I was in no way being stopped in my tracks or unable to speak through them.  Still though, I was instructed to return to the hospital if they worsened in any way, and they had.

So we took our time getting ready that morning.  We swung by the grocery store to get some snacks, ate lunch, grabbed our overnight bags and headed back to the hospital.  Once there, I stopped by triage to let them know we were in the building (the nurse at the desk knew my name and was expecting me), but asked if we could walk around a bit to see if I could make my contractions pick up again (they'd almost stopped at this point).  My husband and I walked around that hospital complex for over an hour and got things back to 3-5 minutes apart, but I was still not in pain.  I met my midwife at the triage desk where we discussed the possibility of me going back home since things weren't painful at that point, but we decided we may as well check things down there once more just to be sure.  A few minutes later I was told I was dilated to 7cm.  7cm!

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 In triage. Hey big belly!

So yeah... we stayed this time. 

A few weeks earlier I had tested positive for Group B Strep, so I was required to have 2 doses of antibiotics administered at least 4 hours apart before giving birth.  My first dose was administered right away in triage, then I was instructed to take it easy for 4 hours so they could be sure to get in my second dose.  If I were to walk around, they feared I'd continue to progress, and I really needed that second dose of antibiotics first.

So we moved on in to my room, turned on some HGTV, and hung out for 4 hours.  I feared that my contractions had totally stopped at that point- I wasn't feeling anything.  In fact, I told my husband I kind of felt like we were playing a prank on everyone... there was no way I could be in real labor.  Dinnertime came around and we ordered some veggie quesadillas from the room service menu, all the while joking that we were totally taking advantage of this poor unknowing hospital staff.

Finally, 4 hours had passed.  I served my time.  I was given a second round of antibiotics and checked again for good measure.  I was then dilated to 8cm and 95% effaced.  My midwife told me I was free to roam the hospital to get things moving along again.  We were about to have a baby! 

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Time to get serious


So I put my clothes back on and we hit the hallways... and the stairs... and the atrium... and the skywalks.  We had to have put in at least 5 miles over the next 4 hours.  And I definitely kept contracting.  Sometimes they were pretty strong, but never enough to stop me.  I never had my breath taken away, and I was always able to talk to my husband about how strong they were as they were occurring. 

Around 10:30 p.m. I was getting some hot flashes and bouts of nausea with the contractions, but they were still completely manageable.  My Bradley instructor stopped by for a couple of hours while this was going on, and it was at this time she said she noticed my facial expressions changing a little during the contractions.  Apparently I looked like I was getting a lot more serious.

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The nausea continued to rise, so we decided to forgo the walking and bounce around on my birthing ball for a while instead.  As I watched the same episodes of House Hunters we'd seen hours earlier, I realized those veggie quesadillas were probably not the best idea.  I was feeling pretty crappy.  Since 4 more hours had passed, I needed a 3rd dose of antibiotics, and climbing into the hospital bed for that IV again was miserable.  I wanted to be up and moving around.  Laying on my back was like torture, and I remember asking my husband several times if the drip was almost finished.  If my baby's health wasn't the motivation for receiving the antibiotics, I would have seriously considered ripping the whole IV out of my arm.  The moment that drip stopped, I had the Mr. go grab a nurse to remove it.

I was checked again, and after walking for 4 hours and finally starting to feel pretty uncomfortable, I was shocked to hear that I was still only dilated to an 8.  No progress.  :(   This was when some options were presented to me.  I knew that if I allowed my midwife to break my water, I'd likely have this kid in the next couple of hours.  I even joked about possibly making it to the Twilight premier at midnight (ha!).

On the other hand, I knew that my body was doing what it needed to do, and even though I wasn't physically showing signs of progression, I was emotionally showing all the beginning signs of transition (hot flashes, nausea, wanting to rip out the IV, etc.).  And breaking my water would just be an unnecessary intervention, which was exactly what I was trying to avoid.  I was at a crossroads.

Break my water or wait and see?  It was after 11 p.m. and I knew that waiting would make for an awfully long night...

Ultimately, I decided to wait it out.  My body was doing an amazing job throughout this process, and I knew it was built for childbirth.  Me and the baby were both doing very well, and I just didn't feel comfortable pushing it before the baby was ready.  I informed my midwife of my decision and I think she was relieved.  She knew how strongly I felt about wanting as natural a childbirth as possible, and I think she was glad to hear me stick to my original plan.

Plus, I told her I thought it would be really cool to have a baby born in the caul (born inside the sac, without the water ever breaking).  We talked about her son who actually WAS born in the caul, and how it is supposedly a sign of greatness or leadership. 

As we were discussing this, my contractions were really picking up.  I was still feeling pretty sick through them, and I now had some significant lower back pain.  Then my legs started shaking from the rush of hormones.

My midwife noticed these changes and asked if I'd like to hop in the tub to relieve some of my pain.  I knew it would feel good, but my legs began shaking more and more, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it to the bathroom.  They were shaking so violently that it would've been comical had I not been in so much pain.  I think this is also where the apologies started.

I was definitely in transition, and apparently my alter ego is extremely apologetic.  I began apologizing about everything... including how badly my legs were shaking.  I remember being kind of embarrassed about it.

It was then, just minutes after we discussed the options, that I felt my biggest contraction yet.  My legs went berserk and it felt like my back was breaking.  Then I felt Abbott wind his little leg up and kick as hard as he could.  Then came the gush.  And no, it did not feel like I wet my pants.  It felt like someone dumped a full bucket of warm water in my lap.  I guess he didn't want to be born in the caul after all.

My water breaking is the last thing I clearly remember.  Everything changed at that point, and I was entirely focused on dealing with my now severe pains and delivering the baby.  Oh, and trying to keep my legs steady.  The rest of the story is what I remember pieced together with what my husband told me happened.

I sat on the bed for several minutes, trying to get a grip on the pain.  The veggie quesadillas decided to make a comeback as well, and I was now vomiting through every contraction, while my legs just about danced me off the bed.  In between contractions, I was apologizing for being such a gross mess.  Who apologizes during labor?  This girl. 

Once I dry heaved every last thing I had in me, I got my midwife's approval to climb into the tub.  My husband went to go warm up the water and fill the tub, and he said he turned around to find me schlepping my way into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes and amniotic fluid in my wake.  Apparently I'd had about enough of that stupid hospital bed, and I charged my way into the bathroom.  I sat down to use the restroom before climbing in the tub, and noticed I was feeling the need to push through my contractions.

My husband freaked out when I told him this and pulled the emergency cord.  In rushed the nurse to see what was going on.  She checked me right there on the toilet, and announced I was a 9 and close to a 10, but the baby was still a ways up there.  She instructed us to call her back in when my need to push didn't stop between contractions. 

This was good enough for me, so I climbed into the still empty tub.  Since laying on my back was so painful, I stayed up on my knees and leaned against the back of the tub while my husband sprayed warm water on the small of my back.  It was just the two of us in the room at this point, and I found myself bearing down and pushing through each of my contractions.  I couldn't help it.  Not pushing was physically impossible for me.  And of course, I apologized for that.

Once I realized I was actually pushing during my contractions, I had my turn to freak out and asked my husband to pull the emergency cord again.  Back in rushed the nurse, and my husband tried to tell her what was going on.  She asked me something about pushing, but I wasn't sure how to answer her, so I just stared blankly at her for what seemed like a solid 5 minutes while she and my husband patiently waited.  I remember wanting to answer her, but I couldn't make any words come out of my mouth.  She then said something to my husband about trying to get me back to the bed sometime soon.

My midwife came in a few minutes later to see if there was anything I needed.  I asked for some ice water... then apologized for wanting her to go get it for me.  Silly.  She then suggested some other positions to help relieve the pain.  I tried a few, but nothing felt better than being on my knees.  So I stayed and continued to push. 

The next part is kind of a blur for me, but somehow the nurse and midwife were both back in the room and getting the table set up for delivery.  Before I knew it I was back in the bed- only this time it was moved into a chair-like position and I resumed my position on my knees, almost as though I were kneeling to pray, with my arms up on the back of the bed.  According to my husband, I got to the bed once again by abruptly deciding I was finished with the tub and dripping my way back to the room.  Funny, I didn't apologize for the mess I was making! 

Here I was really able to bear down and push.  I remember being embarrassed and apologizing for the noise I made while I pushed.  Apparently I hadn't lost my sense of humor.  I think I also may have cried at this point... the emotion combined with that pain was just too intense.  After 3 hard pushes, my midwife told me I could reach down and feel my baby's head if I wanted.  I couldn't move my arms (they were supporting me, and I was too in the zone), but I told my husband he could feel if he wanted.  He did. 

I was told I could then give a series of small pushes if I wanted until the next contraction.  I did, and as the next wave came on I heard my midwife instruct my husband to reach down between my legs.  I bore down to push, and as he reached down I heard the most incredible little scream and watched my baby boy fall into my husband's hands.  It was surreal, and I experienced immediate relief.  They helped me onto my back and my husband placed our baby boy on my belly, where he remained until the cord stopped pulsing.  Then my husband cut the cord and returned to take in the beauty of our son with me.

I think I really pushed (on the hospital bed) for a total of 14 minutes.

It might have been the most amazing moment of my life, and I get emotional remembering it all over again.

We did it.  We did it exactly the way we hoped, completely medication and intervention free, and I am still in awe of the way my body handled and processed the pain.  I know not every birth goes so smoothly, and I feel truly blessed with the way things turned out.

I'm also SO proud of my husband and the way he helped me through the process.  There were so many moments where it was just the two of us, and I know there's no way I could have done it without him.  He is my hero.

Abbott is my prize.

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And no, "You don't get a medal for going natural," (you have no idea how many times that line was smarted off to me during my pregnancy), but that face makes every grueling moment of it worthwhile.  I would do it again in a heartbeat for that little boy of mine.

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