maki's birth story

I began writing Maki's birth story as a journal entry back in December. I wanted to share it here on my blog to mark my little man turning one year old this past Monday. Happy Birthday Maki!

I've been thinking about Maki's birth story a lot lately. I think I am ready to write the experience. I've been avoiding writing it for so long because I just didn't want to think about it. For me, it was just one undesirable change after another. It's hard to make sense of such negative feelings surrounding what should have been one of the best and happiest days of my life. I feel so guilty to say that it wasn't. It feels like a slight against my son, but it isn't meant to be that. Of course my son is the most perfect love I have ever felt. And I am truly blessed to have him come to me a happy, healthy baby. But his birthday just was not a good day for me. After a seemingly perfect pregnancy, to end-up on an operating table, cut open--ugh... I don't even know how to finish that sentence. It just hurts. 

We went for our weekly appointment with Ali, our midwife Friday April 26th. I was two days overdue according to the April 24th due date that we had been basing my progress on--so 40 weeks 2 days. I felt fine, and didn't really expect any news or progress, as my husband and I held to the idea that the baby would come closer to the due date that lined up with conception, not size. So some time in the first week of May. After taking my blood pressure, Ali informed me that my pressure was concerningly* high and I'd need to go to the lab to have blood drawn and analyzed that same day. We did. Although I was alarmed, I still felt fine and felt like this was just Ali being cautious as her profession often requires of her. But there was a tiny bit of confusion/worry because I felt like Ali was a lot more worried/concerned than she let on. But I wanted to keep positive and besides, the statistics were on my side. I'd eaten healthy and took care of myself during my entire pregnancy. I was seeing a midwife who out of thirty odd homebirths had only had to transport to the hospital four times. Surely I wouldn't be added to that list. Wrong. 

When the labs came back indicative of pre-eclampsia, I was told we needed to pack up and head to the hospital. This was Saturday morning. Ali and Erin, her assistant, came over to break the news to us. That's kind of the point where I turned off. At that point our plan, everything we had been looking forward to, the pre-laboring at home, the homebirth, privacy, intimacy, it was all gone. I turned off--for me uncertainty became reality. Now that we were going to the hospital, anything could happen. When I say, "I turned off," what I mean is I resolved myself to accept what would be necessary, and push the "should have beens" aside. Just don't think about. Of course the rational, logical side of me was still on, but I truly checked out of the experience emotionally. 

When we got the hospital we learned that we were going to induce labor using Cervidil, a cervical suppository that would allow for me to move around and labor freely. However, since we were dealing with my blood pressure being elevated, that really wasn't the case. I spent most of the time laboring in bed. Because, even though standing, moving and changing positions felt better and made labor easier for me, it sent my blood pressure through the roof, so I basically needed to remain lying down. We did three rounds of Cervidil, with very minimal effect. I was contracting, my cervix was effacing, however it was not dilating...pretty much at all. Ali and Erin met us at the hospital and were there for support in a doula capacity. A few hours into labor, I guess it was the middle of the night some time (labor having started at 2:30PM) Ali suggested I try the birthing pool. I had looked forward to laboring in a pool, but in reality, the reality I found myself in, it was a cold, uncomfortable, unpleasant fail! I just wasn't happy, so I wasn't excited about it. I was in pain and tired. And although the water was warm, I was just cold and wanted to curl up in my warm bed underneath the blankets. Not to mention, when I did get out of the tub, after about an hour, my blood pressure was through the roof. Not a good move. 

After getting out of the pool, I labored in bed all through the night. No sleep, no progress. When Doctor B. came the next morning, he suggested breaking my water to perhaps help bring the baby down. I felt like we were just going down the disaster check list. Everything that I did not want to happen was happening to me. It seemed like I was on a sure course to a C-Section. but I still held out hope that the induction would end in a vaginal birth. So we agreed to break my water. Well that didn't "work" either. Our next and last option was to try Pitocin. After  twenty hours of induced labor, exhausted doesn't begin to describe how I felt. I was through! But I still wanted to deliver vaginally, so I agreed to the Pitocin and gave-in to the epidural. I wanted to get some rest and recharge so I would be able to push and deliver when the time came. 

Well after the epidural, I was able to sleep and rest through Pitocin induced contractions. I felt better, but I felt defeated inside. Still, I held out hope for the chance to deliver vaginally. Only every time the doctor came in for a check, there was no progress being made. In the span of twenty-four hours I had dilated only four centimeters, three of which were pretty much stretched by the doctor during his checks. The baby was beginning to get a cone-head from trying to squeeze through too small of an opening--my window of time had pretty much expired. The baby needed to come out. I would be having a C-Section. 

From the time it was decided that I'd have a C-Section to the time I held my little guy in my arms all felt like a matter of ten minutes. It was quick. Done. Over. "Here's your baby." 

Despite all that did and did not happen over the previous twenty-four hours, holding the being that had lived and grew inside of me the past ten months meant everything. It didn't matter how he got to me. I wouldn't hold that against him. What mattered was that I was finally looking into his little face...as he was peeing in mine.


*I make up words all the time. You get the point.