Birth Story:Amelia Ann

After continuously telling myself over the past three years that I would sit down and write the story of Amelia’s birth so that when she’s old enough to care I can recount for her the torture that is child birth I’m finally doing it. I actually would sit down to write it and get distracted by the many things that parenthood entails thinking to myself; ‘it’s not like you’re going to forget any of it. Who would forget something that big and important?” Oh, maybe me?

With a little collaboration with the husband here is the story of Amelia’s birth.

Be warned, this is not an ‘envision the flower opening, take a deep breath, and push out new life’ kind of story. I guess I’m an over sharer.

On November 2, 2009 I was home by myself as Andy was away traveling for work. I cleaned house a bit and took a shower and that is when I realized I lost my mucus plug. Panic swept over me as I realized that I was actually going to push a baby out and that I was at home alone. I regained composure after reassuring myself that this was merely a step in the process, that I hadn’t even had contractions. I went on about my day, readying the house and the rest of my things for when the time came that I actually would be in labor. I went out and started raking the mountain of leaves that had fallen in our yard (slightly annoyed that Andy didn’t find it to be as important as I that it get done before the baby was born.) I had been raking for about 30 minutes when I felt a contraction. I dropped the rake and found my phone and called Andy. He was traveling back by car and he assured me they would hurry, but he wouldn’t be home until that evening. I went back to raking, a little excited at the thought of laboring for a bit then having Andy get here by the time I needed someone to be with me and then we would drive to the hospital and have our baby just as planned. Then I had another contraction. Terror. I called my sister Tracey and made her come out to stay with me until Andy got home. I raked until she got here about an hour later and didn’t have another contraction. I was a little disappointed since I had mentally prepared myself for it to be time and I had it all planned out perfectly, so I made her walk with me in hopes of bringing on another contraction. Nothing. Andy came home and Tracey left and night came without another contraction. I went to bed for another restless night’s sleep (inability to get comfortable at the end of the pregnancy coupled with insanely bad heartburn was the worst!)

I woke at 12 am and my stomach felt tight, but quckly relaxed. I started to get anxious. ‘Don’t look at the clock, it may not have even been a contraction. ’I have no such self-control. Later I woke again as my stomach tightened. A contraction! 2:30 am. ‘Stop looking at the clock!’ Five am another, this time I woke Andy. “Feel my stomach! This is like the third contraction!” I boasted.  He reminded me I should try to sleep if I was going to have a baby so I went back to bed. When we got up Andy called in to work and we spent the morning hanging out and cleaning. We both were getting a little anxious and the contractions weren’t coming and closer or stronger so we decided to venture out and do something to get our minds off of it for a while. We went over to Andy’s parent’s house and told them contractions had started and visited for a while. Later I made Andy take me to eat lunch at the Chinese buffet (a decision I would later regret)

We spent the day trying hard not to get too excited about what was to come and slowly the contractions started coming closer together.

It was around dinner time that I made myself eat a banana, not feeling hungry, but knowing I needed to eat something. The contractions were stronger but still spaced about 15 minutes apart. They weren’t unbearable however it didn’t do much for my appetite.

I started rocking on my exercise ball as we played Wii Bowling and waited. At around 9:00 we decided we should try to get some rest because the odds of it being a long night were pretty good. We turned off the lights and I laid on the loveseat and Andy on the couch and tried to rest. Andy had better luck than I as the contractions were getting stronger and closer together. They were about 10 minutes apart for well over an hour when I called the midwives to tell them I was in labor. They suggested I take a shower or bath and drink a glass of water and see if there was any change. They knew it was an hour drive to the hospital for us so we were instructed to call when the contractions were consistently 10 minutes apart, however they didn’t want us coming in too early and having to spend too much time laboring in the hospital. 

After a shower, cup of water, and moaning through contractions on the exercise ball in the bedroom while Andy rested I called the midwives again and woke Andy. It was 12 am and I was ready to go to the hospital. I was a ball of nerves and I was getting really uncomfortable.

We gathered our things and headed out, calling family along the way to let them know we were going. When we got to the hospital were taken to triage where the nurses assessed the progress and determined what would happen next. They gave me a gown to change into and instructed me to lay on the bed where I would be monitored for 20 minutes. Lying flat on my back for that 20 minutes was horrible. The contractions made me want to ball up and the nurse tried to check me to see if I was dilated twice, both times during contractions, only to say she couldn’t find my cervix and then that I wasn’t dilated at all. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because of the excruciating pain of this woman shoving her hand inside me while my body was bearing down against her and I wanted to cry because I knew if I wasn’t dilated that I was not going to be admitted and I was nowhere near the finish line.

I was sent back into the bathroom to dress back into my clothes and that is when the Chinese buffet came back to haunt me. While two nurses were waiting outside the door to collect a urine sample from me and give me instructions I was overcome by my need to poop. I had heard it was common to have diarrhea when you are in labor as part of your body preparing and the insane amount of cramping that is contractions, I had no idea it would be so bad. It was like dying of food poisoning bad.

After too much time had gone by I was finally able to exit the bathroom and face the nurses, well not face them so much as hand them my cup and bury myself into Andy, wishing I could melt away. They determined that despite the large quantities of water I had been consuming all day I was dehydrated. They gave me a cup of water to drink before I left and called the midwives to inform them I was not being admitted. The nurse returned with a pill and told me to take it and sent me on my way.

I was so upset as we walked back out of the hospital. It was about 2 am now. If it was this bad and I hadn’t made any progress how was I going to do this? How was I supposed to go home and rest if I couldn’t even sit still for the 20 minutes I was being monitored? Knowing I wasn’t up for the hour drive home we went to my sister’s house who was only about 10 minutes from the hospital. Inside their small house I laid awkwardly on the couch with Andy as my mom and sister slept on the futon beside us. I laid their too exhausted to move and too uncomfortable to sleep, moaning through contractions with a full audience.

In the morning the house was in full swing early as my brother in law was getting ready for work and my nephew for daycare. Everyone was anxious because I was in labor and they had listened to me all night. I spent the little bit of awake time there on the exercise ball sipping water only to have even a little sip lead to vomiting. The second time I couldn’t take it anymore. I called the midwives and this time talked to someone different and told her what I had been experiencing. She asked if I thought I could make it in for an appointment so she could check me and not a nurse, but I knew I couldn’t. She told me to go back in to the hospital and she would try to hurry down there so she could check me. I didn’t have any such luck, however the shift change brought fresh faces and a friendlier atmosphere. After suffering through another go on the monitor a nurse came into check me. She was sympathetic as she told me I was only at a 2. But she would see what she could do for me.  About that time the midwife came in and she also checked me and decided I was far enough along to be checked in.

As she escorted me up to the labor and delivery room she told me that she wanted to get me on an IV to help with the dehydration that was being made worse by the diarrhea and vomiting. She also suggested that I do a round of the IV meds so the pain from the contractions would subside and I would be able to rest up a little from the long time I had already spent in labor. My birth plan was no pain meds and laboring in the tub as pain relief so we compromised and decided on just the IV and then the tub.

I got to the room and had the nicest nurse that got me a ball to rock on and started filling the tub after she started my IV. After about five minutes and a couple bad contractions I gave in and got the meds. The catch to using the meds is that I would have to remain in bed which meant no tub. I thought of how disappointed I was with myself  as I laid in bed and listened to the tub drain.

About that time my sisters, mom, and mother in law arrived and sat with me as I labored. After talking with the midwife I realized that the pill that I took the night before was an anti-anxiety medicine that made me completely out of it. I felt like I was in a fog. The lack of food didn’t help, but eating was out of the question, at least for the time being. I kept talking about the banana I ate and how long ago it had been. (It’s strange thing things I remember talking about! Things like the banana and singing the song from the Wonder Pets “what’s gonna work? Team work!”)

After what felt like a lifetime the medicine started wearing off and the nurse started filling the tub again. Just a quick check to see my progress and a trip to the bathroom and I would be able to climb into the tub and relax. That was until I actually got checked and walked to the bathroom and about died as the contractions came on strong after the hours of being dulled. I was so tired and uncomfortable and all I wanted to do was climb in bed. I laid there holding Andy’s hand, humming through contractions as the new line dripped with more meds and the tub drained again. I was less disappointed now, mostly because I was just so tired.

As the second (and final round allowed) of meds began to wear off the midwife decided that I would have to be given Pitocin because I was not progressing, most likely because I had been in labor so long and my body was too tired. Instead of my uterus fully contracting, top to bottom as it should, she thought it was only partly contracting so there wasn’t enough pressure to fully dilate.

At this point she could have told me I needed to walk on a bed of nail and jump through a fiery ring and I would have done it, anything to get beyond where I was.

This was it. The real deal. The mother of all contractions brought on by the very unfriendly Pitocin. Oh and did I mention that the pain meds were done? After hours of contractions dulled by medicine I was experiencing the worst ones, one on top of the other. I clutched Andy’s hand and made him breathe aloud for me to hear because it was the only way I could breathe through these contractions. How can it get any worse?? I cannot take this!

I began to plead for the epidural. Andy would talk me down, assuring me I was doing good. Breathing, humming, rocking, hand squeezing. It was all I could do. After being checked for what seemed like the millionth time the midwife announced she could break my water to help with progress. I was totally on board at this point. I already gave up on the tub, the no pain meds, and I had to use Pitocin-I’d say the birth plan was long out the window.

She showed me the long crochet hook looking thing before she reached in with it then woosh! Just like that she was making a wardrobe change as my water flooded the end of the bed, which she happened to be sitting on.  I didn’t care. All I could think about was getting this over with. As the contractions continued to build, the midwife alternated heat compresses and stretching with lubricant to prepare for the birth- if we’d ever get there.

Just when I thought the contractions were serious business it happened. Transition phase. I knew it without being told because it was just as the books described. Intense would be a huge understatement. I was at the end of a really long, horrible contraction that I was proud of myself for remembering to breathe through and just getting ready to take a good deep breath to prepare for the next when it didn’t end, but rather intensified all over again. OH. MY. GOD.

I can’t do it. I can’t do it. The terrible suffocating feeling of not being able to catch my breath is too much. I want the epidural. Talked down again, I know I don’t. It’s just so bad. It starts again. It doesn’t want to stop. I don’t even want to have a baby anymore. I quit. It’s not that simple.

Finally I got to push. It felt so good to actually feel like I was doing something to help this along.  Contraction comes, deep breath, bear down. Keep going. Over and over and this was just to help get fully dilated.

I felt like I never could get on top of my pushes until I got to take a second breath and continue pushing, no stopping. I don’t know that the gravity of what was happening hit me until it did. One big push down and holy shit the burning ring of fire! They weren’t lying. I wouldn’t have been able to describe it any other way. That meant it’s happening.

My sister started taking pictures. (Some people think it’s weird, but I really am obsessed with births and I wanted to see it.) They had Andy lean down to see the head.

It felt like I pushed for a lifetime. It was like that saying; “one step forward and two steps back.” Or so it seemed. I informed Andy that he was not to ever tell me if I pooped while I was pushing. (The guy could never be interrogated because I only asked twice when he caved and told me I did. And then I was mad at him for telling me.) Pushing, pushing., pushing.

Finally after a big push I heard them say, “There she is. Stop pushing.”

Are you kidding me? There is a head, a large head, hanging out of my vagina and it hurts like hell and you want me to stop pushing and leave it there?! After a moment I was told to push and like that she was here. At 4:01pm November 4, 2009 our 7 pound 19 inch baby girl, Amelia Ann Lynch, was here. My brave/squeamish husband cut the umbilical cord and they handed me this tiny little person.

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She looked right at me as I talked to her. I remember saying to her, “that was rough, huh?” I can’t imagine what it was like on the inside. You were so cozy and warm and then you get squished into a tiny little opening for roughly 36 hours and finally you shoot out into a world you never knew existed. She came out perfect and no worse for the wear. She was very clean for just being born.

It only took a few minutes for me to realize that she was here but I was in serious pain. On her way out her shoulder dropped resulting in a second degree tear.  It took an eternity to get stitched up. Long enough that the horrible shot that they gave me in my already sensitive and worn out vagina started wearing off before she was done and I could actually feel the stich she was running.

Once I was cleaned up I was escorted to the bathroom where with the assistance of a nurse I was finally allowed to use the bathroom. Clearly I had already begun to forget the pain of what just happened because in that moment I may have said that was the worst pain I had experienced.

I was so thankful that it was policy to be wheeled to the recovery room because I don’t think I could have stood that long, let alone walked. Andy and I held our sweet baby girl and introduced her to friends and family, one of which was kind enough to bring me a fat chipotle burrito to eat.

We had to stay 2 nights in the hospital because of the amount of blood I lost and the amount of swelling in my feet and legs. I was so anxious to get home and just be a family but in order to be released my blood pressure had to come down. The midwife came in as my blood pressure was being taken by the nurse and she began to talk to me about the labor and delivery. My blood pressure skyrocketed. The nurse laughed and told us she wouldn’t chart that one, but come back later to check it because it was low enough to leave earlier and just needed to be checked once more before I had the okay to go. Clearly it was a traumatic experience.  After a little wait we were cleared and on a warm Friday, November 5, 2009 we got to bring Amelia home.

Now here we are three years later and I can hardly believe how much time has gone by. I am so proud of this little person and who she is becoming. I am so thankful that I get to see her every day and watch as she grows. She is always full of energy and she’s so funny. As she’s getting older she is becoming even more independent and a little sassy. I wouldn’t change one thing about her.

Happy birthday Amelia. Mommy and Daddy love you very much!