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!
I love hearing birth stories! You definitely put in some work for that sweet little girl! I am so impressed you didn't get that epidural! My birth plan went out the window in a matter of minutes as well, I know how frustrating that can be. But it is definitely a big job getting these little ones into the world!
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