We arrived at the hospital just as the pale pink fingers of dawn were stretching into the starry black night. I was dizzy with excitement, frightened by the first hints of real pain in my contractions, and uncomfortably wet. For some reason, I had always assumed that when a woman’s water broke she gushed out a bunch of fluid all at once and then was pretty much done. Nope. I just kept leaking. Fortunately, that was my golden ticket into a birthing room. I can’t imagine the frustration of coming to the hospital with contractions and being sent home.
The nurses gave me a plastic bag for my amniotic-fluid-soaked clothes and dressed me in a double-wide backless hospital gown, a blue robe that clearly aspired to be a tent, shapeless blue socks and a pair of super high rise mesh granny panties. I hadn’t been dressed so comfortably in months. Of course, Chase felt obligated to take several pictures of my flattering ensemble to share with everyone on Facebook, but for once I didn’t mind at all. Everything was joyful that day.
I had two wonderful nurses who checked in every half hour to monitor Noah’s heart beat and see how my labor was progressing. I told them I wanted to try natural birthing methods for as long as I could handle the pain, and they cheered me through everything I tried. I realized pretty quickly that I was having back labor, which means that Noah was facing the wrong way and pressing uncomfortably into my lower spine, so I spent a lot of time rocking back and forth on my hands and knees to help him move into the correct position. I also walked the halls, bounced on a birthing ball, sat in a Jacuzzi bath, and just breathed through the pain.
Chase was heroic through the entire labor. He supported me when I walked, made sure I always had water and ice on hand, timed my contractions, constantly told me what a great job I was doing and how proud he was of me, and pressed on my lower back every time a contraction hit. The one time he was gone during a contraction, I nearly panicked. His touch and voice helped me deal with the pain more than anything else. A few days later, though, when I told him how much it helped when he pressed on my back, he just grunted and said, “You have no IDEA how much my arms hurt!” Men.
Six hours and four centimeters into labor, I decided I needed drugs. My nurses were helpful and encouraging and Chase was superman, but the back labor was starting to wear me down and the contractions were becoming so intense and frequent that I could never relax. For the first time since I arrived at the hospital, I was on the verge of tears. I asked for an epidural – now, please.
The anesthesiologist came in about twenty minutes later and told me that he was going to poke me with a needle, drill into my spine, poke me with an even bigger needle, stick a tube in me, and then – finally! – start dosing me with enough pain medication to reduce the pain of my contractions by about 90%. Yes, that sounds wonderful, I thought, just get on with it! Poor Chase tried to support me while avoiding the nauseating sight of a huge needle sticking out of my spine. Chase hates needles. The most excruciating part for me was being forced to sit perfectly still during a contraction. I barely noticed the needles.
The anesthesiologist finished, packed up and left. My nurse asked me to tell her when I was having my next contraction. I waited anxiously.
“Um, I THINK I’m having one now.” The nurse hooked up one of the monitors and confirmed that I was having a huge contraction. I smiled. This was awesome. Chase left to get a breath of air and call his parents to tell them that everything was going well.
Almost as soon as he stepped outside, trouble started. Noah’s heartbeat on the monitor was slowing way down. My nurses called in three more nurses and a doctor. They asked me to flip from side to side, then to get up on my hands and knees. I could barely feel my legs because of the epidural, and I just kept praying that they wouldn’t collapse under me before Noah’s heart rate returned to normal. Oh, please God, let my baby’s heart rate return to normal!
When Chase came back to the room after telling his parents that all was well, he saw me surrounded by doctors and nurses, on my hands and knees on the hospital bed, an oxygen mask on my face and tubes sticking out of me in all directions. And Noah’s heart rate was so slow. Chase was terrified.
After four or five impossibly long minutes, Noah’s heart rate started to pick up speed again, and everyone took a relieved breath. Noah was fine. They let me lie down again, and once I was sure Noah was really okay, I fell asleep.
Two very short hours later, the nurses told me that I was 10 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced. It was time to start pushing.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew this was the part that I had been working toward through all of the contractions, but it had arrived much sooner than I was expecting. I had been though six weeks of birthing classes and watched lots of horrifying videos of women giving birth, but I suddenly realized that I had no idea how to push my baby out. The fact that I could barely feel my contractions through the epidural was suddenly very scary.
Fortunately, my nurses coached me through exactly what I needed to do, and it even seemed to be working! After three or four big pushes, they told me they could see the top of my baby’s head. They asked if Chase would like to see, and he got the first glimpse of our son’s thick, dark hair. Chase had insisted throughout the pregnancy that he would never look below my waist during the delivery, but he couldn’t help but watch from that point on.
Then the nurses asked me if I would like a mirror so I could watch, too. I hesitated for a second. After watching dozens of gory birthing videos in child birth classes, I had thought birthing mirrors were the worst idea ever. But now…
“Yes, I would like a mirror. Thanks.”
So, despite our best intentions, Chase and I both witnessed the full birth of our son. Far from being horrifying, it was actually very motivating to see Noah’s head poke out a little bit further each time I pushed. And it was mind blowing to actually catch a glimpse of the invisible little person I had been carrying around in my womb for nine months.
Some time during all of the pushing, one of the nurses called in the doctor. I thought it was very funny that he arrived at the same time I was scheduled to visit him for my weekly prenatal checkup. He was only mildly amused when I pointed this out to him.
The doctor did a quick routine check up, then felt all around my distended belly for a few seconds and declared, “About seven pounds four ounces.”
“Sounds like a good size,” I said. Chase nodded. Then the doctor sat down at my nether regions and we really got to work.
At this point, even the epidural could barely numb the pain of delivery. The “ring of fire” is no exaggeration. In fact, I don’t think it fully conveys the searing pain of a baby’s head trying to push its way through an area that once felt too small for a tampon. I was so eager to push through this agony that the doctor actually had to tell me to slow down and not push quite so hard. I was shaking and drenched in sweat. Then, just when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, Noah’s head pushed through, and his little body slid out easily after it. I collapsed back on the bed. It was done.
One of the nurses mercifully moved the mirror at this point so I didn’t have to watch the aftermath of the birth. The other toweled Noah off, put some drops in his eyes, wrapped him in a swaddling blanket and laid him on my chest.
“Hi, Noah,” I whispered, folding him securely in my arms. He looked up at me with huge, dark eyes, and in that moment I realized I loved him more than I ever thought was possible. He was so beautiful he took my breath away. I had been fully prepared for an ugly, lovable little dwarf with wrinkly red skin and a bald head. Noah had thick, soft hair, porcelain skin, beautiful eyes, a delicate little mouth and an adorable little nose that was slightly squished to one side from the delivery. The doctor assured us that his nose would straighten out over the next few days. And, sure enough, he weighed exactly seven pounds four ounces.
Chase leaned over and kissed me, then kissed our baby boy’s tiny little head. We could barely speak, but we couldn’t stop smiling at each other. We had a son, and he was perfect.
After a few routine shots and measurements, the rest of the family was invited in to meet Noah. Chase was the first one to hold him after me, and the look of love and awe as he gazed into his son’s tiny face brought tears to my eyes. Then the grandparents and aunt and uncle each had their turn with the little newcomer. Noah is the first grandchild on both sides, so it was a significant moment for everyone. The only people missing were Chase’s mom, who was flying back from visiting her family is Massachusetts, and my brother, who was at college in Pennsylvania. Chase’s dad, who had protested loudly all along that he wasn’t old enough to be a grandpa, melted when he held his little grandson. “Wow, he sure is cute,” he said – several times. After my mom got him, I wasn’t sure she was ever going to give him back to me.
Then the men left to get dinner and a beer for the new dad, and my mom and sister stayed to help watch Noah while I got some much needed rest. Before I closed my eyes, I lifted up a prayer of thanks to God for my healthy baby boy, my wonderful husband, and our loving and supportive families. It hadn’t been an easy day, or a particularly glamorous one, but it had definitely been the best day of my life.
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