The birth!

"Do not remember the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."
Isaiah 43:18 – 19

When I found out that I was expecting my second child, my daughter, I was filled with excitement and anticipation. "For this child I prayed," was not only Hannah’s sentiment in 1 Samuel, but mine also. It was not long into my pregnancy though before fears of the birth began to assault me. With my precious son who is and whose name means "gift from God", I had a very difficult labor and delivery with a rather critical midwife which left me feeling defeated and incapable, despite giving birth to an almost 10 pound baby without a c-section. Early in my second pregnancy I refused to look at books about labor and birth or to even think about it. My mom, having been at my first child’s birth and knowing my fears, shared the above verse with me from Isaiah. It is what she had been praying for me, and while the original intent had nothing to do with labor or birth, she felt God was giving it to her and me as a promise regarding this second child’s birth. Toward the end of my third trimester, realizing that labor and delivery were not optional and could no longer be ignored, I claimed these verses as I began re-educating myself, hoping that things would go differently this time.

One of my goals with my second child was to have a natural birth. I had planned a natural birth with my son as well, but circumstances beyond my control meant that in order for my husband to be present, I had to be induced. I believed that many of the complications that arose were part of a line of falling dominoes begun by the decision to utilize Pitocin; therefore, I wanted to avoid it this time around. Since my son was so large, at 37 weeks I had an ultrasound to determine my daughter’s size. I was relieved to hear that she was only estimated at 7 pounds, 7 ounces. With the warning that she would likely gain 1 ½ - 3 more pounds before my due date, I was still confident that she would be smaller than my son was.

At 39 weeks when my midwife checked me, I was dialated to 3 cm streching to 4 and 50% effaced. My midwife confirmed that the strange feelings I had been having were likely real contractions, and that I wouldn’t likely make it to my due date, October 24. We let our moms know and my mother-in-law came to town to watch my son when the big day happened. She arrived, hubby lightened his work schedule, and we waited. Those strange pangs which I thought were contractions continued for a full week. I felt a bit like the boy who cried wolf if I mentioned them, yet found myself frequently timing them only to discover that they would start, be regular, then stop.

My due date came and went with no baby. The next day I had an appointment to see my midwife. Hubby headed to work, and I almost went to the appointment alone; however, since there was a great quilt shop nearby I convinced my mother-in-law and son to come with me with plans to stop at the quilt shop on the way home.

When I saw Klara, I discovered that I was at 4 cm easily streching to 5 (halfway!) and still 50% effaced. At first we planned to just keep waiting, sure that the big day would be any day now. The nurse hooked me up to a monitor just to be sure everything was okay with the baby & placenta since I was now past my due date. At first everything looked great. The monitor confirmed that the strange pangs I had been having for a week or more were indeed real contractions. Many I felt, but some I did not. The monitor also showed something that surprised me – the contractions were regular and 4 –5 minutes apart. I was technically in labor, although the contractions were not strong and obviously were not accomplishing a whole lot very quickly since they had been going on for so long. The nurse left the room, and I watched the monitor for a while noticing the regular patterns – at first. Then as I watched, my baby’s heartrate dropped and became rather irregular. When Klara came into the room, she looked at the first part of the printed out strip and commented that it looked good. Then she came to the part where baby’s heart-rate dropped, and Klara made some concerned sounds. She checked my heartrate to see if somehow the machine was picking up me instead of baby, but mine was nowhere close to what it was recording. Again we waited while we watched the monitor. Klara left the room to consult with another midwife and with her supervising doctor. They both confirmed what she thought and what I feared. It appeared that the placenta was beginning to age poorly and might not sustain the baby. I was already in labor, but things needed to be speeded along. Klara, knowing my fears and desires for this birth, returned and gently dropped the bomb. For the baby’s sake, I needed to augment my labor with pitocin and the breaking of my water to ensure that I had the baby that day. The hospital was right next door, and she wanted me to check in right away.
All kinds of doubts and fears began to threaten my mind. Then I remembered a conversation I had recently had during my Bible study where I had shared the blessing of a Scripture memory song CD I listened to in order to conquer anxiety when hubby left for a war deployment. One of the ladies in my Bible study, knowing that I was afraid of the birth, asked me which song I would sing in my head to keep me from being anxious when the time came. Remembering this, I began to sing in my mind, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition present your requests to God. And the peace of God which transcends understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." As I sang it in my head, God’s Word truly began to calm my fears. I knew that I had to do what was best for my baby, and that if there was any chance of danger to her, it would be worth being induced to keep her safe.
While Klara filled out paperwork, I called my husband, then went to the waiting room to tell my mother-in-law. I was so grateful that she was along, and I would not have to make the walk to the hospital next door by myself. I called my mom so she could come, then checked into the hospital, singing in my head the whole time. Knowing my first experience and fears, Klara recommended that I request an epidural before they broke my water so that I would be more comfortable. I debated this for a long time since I wanted to experience a natural birth, but since I was going on Pitocin and wanted to be sure this birth was not a repeat of my first, I agreed. There is a somewhat amusing story related to the epidural, but I’ll save that for another post.

The rest of the story is one of total contrast. With my son’s birth I was in extreme pain which I don’t remember ever letting up between contractions. I don’t remember even feeling the epidural, except for the relief. The most painful part of my daughter’s birth was getting the epidural. With my son’s birth, I had to focus on getting through it almost the whole time. With my daughter’s, I was able to enjoy conversation with my husband and mother until I was almost complete. With my son, labor on the Pitocin lasted 17 hours. With my daughter, it lasted 6. With my son I remember being so thirsty that the ice chips only exacerbated my thirst. With my daughter, I had a mug full of ice-chips which I controlled and never got too thirsty. With my son, I pushed for 3 hours, then the doctor attempted a vacuum delivery before finally getting my son out with forecepts. With my daughter I pushed through 3 contractions, and she was born. Most importantly with my son, my midwife was frustrated and afraid that I would end up in a c-section. She expressed this by yelling at and criticizing me, and kicking all my support team (husband, doula, and moms) out of the room. With my daughter, my midwife was so encouraging, telling me what a great job I was doing and assuring me that I could do this. My support team (husband and mom) stayed right by my side the whole time. With my son, my midwife claimed I had given up and wasn’t pushing right. With my daughter my midwife had to tell me to ease up on the pushing or she would come out too fast! With my son I tore both my cervix and perineum badly. I bled so much that I had to be packed tight with cotton to stop the bleeding and almost required a transfusion. With my daughter, my midwife used oils and massage to help stretch the perineum, and I only lightly tore. My mom had offered to bank blood for me in case I needed it, but we chose not to as an act of faith that I wouldn’t need it, and sure enough, I didn’t. With my son, the room was filled with tension and political strife during delivery. With my daughter at one point during pushing, we were all laughing, causing me to comment that if I wasn’t careful I would laugh my daughter out instead of pushing her out. With both kiddos the epidural lost some effectiveness as they dropped lower. With my son this was not fixed, partly to allow me to know when to push and to help me push more effectively. With my daughter, the anesthesiologist quickly returned to boost its effectiveness. I was able to breath through the discomfort and pain until the epidural kicked back in. My son was 9 pounds, 11 ounces, had his umbilical chord around his neck, and his head crooked. My daughter was 8 pounds, her umbilical chord was clear of her neck, and her head was straight.

There were a couple similairities. Both my son and my daughter were induced. Both were posterior. Both kids were born vaginally. Both were attended by midwives supervised by doctors (although different practices). Both were born in hospitals, although different ones.

Since returning home, the differences have continued to be marked. With my son, I could hardly move and rejoiced in the progress when I was able to lift my leg normally over the side of the tub instead of penguin hopping over the side. With my daughter, I was not only able to shower normally, but even get down on the floor and play with my son. After my son’s birth, I had to pack for a five month business trip and move when he was two weeks old. Hubby had to leave while we were still in the hospital, and we didn’t see him for two weeks. With my daughter, hubby was able to be by my side the whole time, and while there has been talk of career change and possible moves in the future, we are able to push off the interviews and not make any decisions let alone pack and move until she is a bit older. I must say though, in all fairness, my son was a much better nighttime sleeper at this point.

By far, God did fulfill the promise mom believed he gave me in Isaiah 43. As I made a point to try not to focus on the former things, God did a whole new thing in my daughter’s birth, making it so much easier. I am so grateful for that. At the same time, I am grateful that things went as they did with my son’s. You see, when he was 3 weeks old, he got sick, and on his 4 week birthday, he had life-saving surgery. I truly believe that the care we received for that far excelled the care we would have received had we waited for him to come naturally, and he had been born and gotten sick here in our home state. I have a friend whose son had the same problem and had it fixed here, and while the surgery was successful, her experience and ours in another state differ as greatly as my two kids birth stories, with my son’s surgery being a far superior experience. Also if my first birth had been as easy as the second, I might have taken pride in my abilities to do it on my own and looked down on women who had more difficult births. I hope this is not true, but I can see how it easily could have been. Because my first birth was so difficult, I can feel much more empathy for other women who experience difficult births.

Finally, while I think things could have been handled much more kindly and professionally on the part of my first midwife, she did make sure that my son was born vaginally, not by caesarian section. With most other practices, I am sure he would have been born by c-section, making it difficult to have a vaginal birth with my daughter. So despite her lack of professionalism, the first midwife paved the way for my much easier, second birth experience by ensuring a vaginal birth.

All in all, when I look at my two children, despite the dramatic differences in their births, I praise God for both of them. They are indeed a testimony to the truths found in Psalm 139: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are WONDERFUL! I know that full well."