Blaise's Birth: Part 9

Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.
Part 4 is here.
Part 5 is here.
Part 6 is here.
Part 7 is here.
Part 8 is here.

I'm on the birthing ball, I think, for about an hour, starting at 3:30am.  During that time, my nurse Ros takes a fifteen-minute break, and another nurse named Courtney comes in to hang out with us while Ros is eating.  She tells me that Ros has given orders not to let her miss anything important - she wants to cut out of her break and come back if I get close to my birth.  In my heightened, exhausted state, I'm touched by this.

Courtney is friendly and talkative, and although during contractions I have to check out, I can still hold a conversation.  We make small talk and she's encouraging, mentioning how well I am doing.  I'm grateful for the encouragement.

While Courtney is in the room we talk about my doing the birth drug-free and I tell her that although I know I can do it, there will inevitably be a point in my labor when I second-guess my decision.  Immediately, an extra-strong contraction hits and I laugh ruefully as it peaks and passes.  This is that moment, I tell them.  This is the moment when I'm wishing I'd opted for an epidural.

I know transition is arriving, and I'm becoming too tired to sit upright on the ball during my contractions.  My body needs more support.

During my labor with Camilla I spent transition in a recliner-style rocking chair that was in the room, and there's a similar chair in this room.  I want to move into it.

I tell Bryan and - because there's no nurse in the room - he moves some pads from the bed to the chair so I can sit in it, pulling a hard-backed chair nearby for himself.

Despite the prediction of the resident in triage, my water still hasn't broken.  I'm expecting that any time.

The transition contractions start to come just as I expected they would, just as they did last time.  They're usually in pairs, with little time to rest in between.  They seem long to me and I have Bryan time one: it lasts three minutes.  That's an unusually lengthy one; most of them are only lasting a minute and a half or so.  But what they lack in length they make up for in strength.

I have lost my zen now.  I'm not panicking because I know I must not.  I'm not vocalizing because it doesn't help me.  But am I not calm either.  My insides churn after each contraction because I know another one is coming.

This is the hardest part of labor for me.  It was last time, it will be so this time as well.  This is the part where the pain is so all-encompassing that when I am inside it, time nearly ceases to exist.  With each earlier contraction I had the consolation that it would soon be over, but with these I am so overwhelmed that I cannot believe it.  Each one has the potential to last three minutes.  From inside that pain, there is little difference between three minutes and eternity.

I weather them the only way I know how: rocking in the chair to feel the cold floor on the bottoms of my bare feet, gripping the arms of the chair to send the tension somewhere, anywhere, so that I can keep the rest of my body relaxed.  I have to fight the pain by refusing to let it conquer me.  If I tense, I will no longer be able to cope.

Ros comes back into the room and I tell her that I think I am getting close.  She goes to wake the midwife.

When Elaine comes in the room, bleary-eyed but cheerful, I'm overcome by self-doubt.  What if I've just woken her for nothing?  During my labor with Camilla I went through six hours of fairly painful contractions and failed to progress at all.  Those contractions were nothing like these, but anything could happen, right?

I laugh shakily, self-consciously, as I tell Elaine I'd like her to check me.  Throughout this labor I've been confident in my instincts but I am suddenly uncertain of myself.

"If I'm still at five centimeters, I'm getting an epidural."  I try to make it sound like a joke, but I'm quite serious.

Because what I'm really saying, of course, is, "I'm tired of this.  I'm ready to be done." 

Ros assures me that there's no way I'm still at five centimeters.  Elaine smiles too as she pulls on her gloves.  She seems to hear the meaning of my words rather than the words themselves.

"Don't worry," she says.  "I'll check you.  And if you're at nine, we'll break your water and have this baby."

Part 10 is here.

Comments

[Diane]

So far, your story is sounding so much like my birth with Isla. I labored in the tub, and I askedd them to check me. They said I was still at a 5, so I was DONE. Said I wanted the epidural. Got in bed so they could give me the IV fluids. Midwife checked me about a half hour later ... I was at an 8! It renewed my confidence that I could do it. The tub stalled my progress so much. Within the hour, she was born.

Thank you for sharing this story! You do know how to keep me on the edge of my seat.

[Amy F]

Oh man! What a place to stop. Thanks so much for writing this out :)

[Betsy]

I've really enjoyed reading your labor story because it gives me confidence that my first experience wasn't actually all that strange, and with #2 due in a few months, I need that reassurance. I didn't realize that other people also had unpredictably spaced contractions lasting up to 3 minutes sometimes and not so long for others. I let them give me pitocin b/c they seemed sure that my body wasn't quite up to the task, even though I steadily progressing just fine. Thanks for restoring my confidence in my body! :)

[Jamie]

Noooooo, come back! I can't shake this image of you all battered and weary. I mean, obviously it was all right in the end but please hurry back with the details.

[Caroline]

You can't end there! Arwen!

I love the picture of you and the kidlets, by the way. Too cute.

[Jen]

I'm really enjoying this story. I can't wait for the next installment.

[Elsha]

I love reading birth stories. I can't wait for more!