Things started well. Signs of labor began the night before. After walking the lake with Hadassah, I realized while playing Wingspan with Ryan that the contractions I'd had here and there for weeks were actually hurting and occurring while sitting down. That was new! It was 10 PM and I discovered I'd lost the mucus plug: a sure sign! But I knew I’d need sleep (past experience!) so made myself lie down at 11 PM. I slept fitfully before waking at 3 AM with more regular contractions. I got dressed, ate some, cleaned some, then did the Spinning Babies video at 5 AM to be relaxed and aligned. It felt great! I took a short walk, and by 6 AM contractions were hard and every few minutes. I texted friends and family, who congratulated me since it looked like I would have the baby ON his due date, July 18th! I called my midwife to come and then started to feel cold and shaky. Transition? Things were happening and seemed on track. By 9 AM I was dilated to an 8 and hoping my water would break as contractions were very painful and I even felt somewhat like pushing.
But no matter what we did, with all kinds of positions from squats to side
laying, walking, rebozo, resting, shower, toilet, birth ball, hands and knees, walking
the curb and more, nothing seemed to make progress. Sometimes contractions
would speed up and I'd feel cold and shaky again. Then things would slow down a
little. Pain was intense in my back most of the time, but a few times more in
front making me hope the baby had descended. Hot showers, warm rice packs, and
Ryan’s hands pressing on my lower back helped. But I got tired and discouraged
as labor went on ALL DAY. We even tried a coffee enema, as it had made Owen
descend and engage and be born quickly, but it had no effect. Three of my
labors had begun like this, the night before, but the babies had been born at 1
PM, 11 AM, and 11:45 AM respectively, so by late afternoon I wondered if Josiah
would ever come.
I had music playing. The songs reminded me to trust God, even when “the road
ahead is hard and you don’t know where to go.” “When trials come, no longer
fear, for in the pain our God draws near…” And it was true. I feel so close to
the Lord in labor, as I go through the intense sufferings, “knowing that
suffering produces perseverance... and hope does not disappoint.” I read and
prayed through my labor verses. When everything is so painful, reflecting on
what He suffered for us is a comfort. Being reminded that “these light and
momentary afflictions are preparing for us an eternal weight of glory.” Knowing
that “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion.” All things that
ultimately point to heaven, but a reminder that He is with us through the hard
moments here too.
And yet, as the day wore on and on, and I felt like I was wasting my midwife’s time (though she reassured me that I wasn’t), I grew discouraged. Why does my body always seem to have such trouble letting go of my babies?? My friends’ births seem to get easier and quicker the more they have. And each of my previous labors had gotten a few hours shorter each time. So why was this happening? It is hard to bear pain that intense that long and not feel depleted and done.
And then around 5 PM it seemed like dilation was regressing - no longer an 8,
more a 6. Cervix seemed thicker too. We encouraged the midwives to go have
supper and went for a walk. That produced terrible contractions and back spasms
so I could barely make it back home and inside. They had said my contractions
didn’t seem hard enough to really do much. Then why did they hurt SO much? And
yet, no lasting progress. Dilation was less than what it had been.
The midwives were gentle and encouraging. Birth takes time. But they had tried
pretty much everything. They could give me Benadryl to try to get sleep and
hope things picked up. My energy was definitely low, despite having eaten what
I could throughout the day – mostly popsicles and ice cream and a few bites of
“real” food. But there were some questions. We weren’t sure if my water had
broken – it may have leaked, in which case we didn’t want to be in labor too
long. And, since the head wouldn’t fully descend/engage, they wondered if it
could be due to a wrapped cord. If nothing else, the hospital could give me
Pitocin to kick things up a notch and perhaps get things moving. The doctor
that knew them and worked well with transfers was on call and willing to take
me if we went to the hospital. But they put no pressure and left it up to us,
which I so appreciate.
At that point, I couldn’t imagine sleeping with the pain,
and I didn’t want to wait another day if intervention had to be done anyway. It
seemed worth checking to see if water had broken (they could test fluid at the
hospital) and even getting an ultrasound if needed to check on the cord. Plus,
they wouldn’t immediately admit us – we could get checked and then still go
home if that seemed best. I was so low emotionally, though, I pretty much
expected that I might get a c-section, a fear I always had in going to a
hospital, since my babies tended to be so big. But I was so tired of the pain
that I thought “at least the baby would be out and this would stop.” So, better
safe than sorry, we threw a few things in bags, packed for the kids to stay
overnight with the grandparents they’d been with all day, and headed to the
van. Thankfully my contractions were at somewhat of a lull so I could handle a
car ride with a warm rice back behind and in front. I’d gotten smart and made
two rice packs this time, so I could have one while another was microwaved, or
even have both at once.
As we drove, though, I still couldn’t believe we were going
to the hospital. I’d had four home births. I’d hardly even had a hospital bag
packed, as transferring at never happened before. Why oh why was it happening
this time, when I had tried so hard to do everything right? But we talked
through things and agreed we hadn’t done anything differently than before. And
even though I wondered why, I clung to the fact that God was in control.
Everyone we encountered as we checked in to the hospital was
very kind. Due to Covid protocol, I was only allowed one support person in the
initial room, so my midwife came first, to give answers the nurse would have.
That nurse immediately put me at ease, telling me I could do what I wanted,
didn’t need to stay in bed, etc. Instead of the condemnation I expected to hear
or feel for having tried a homebirth and needing to transfer, they were
encouraging and understanding. After monitoring contractions for a while (which
was interesting to me, as I’d never had them monitored on a screen before!),
she asked if she could check dilation. When she did, she said I was definitely
an 8 though had a lip (which midwives had felt too). But instead of a hard
cervix, she said the rest was just melting away as she felt it. Head was at a 0
position too – ready to go!
I was astonished. The midwife and nurse talked about how
sometimes this seems to happen, the car ride just helps moves things along or
something. But in the car contractions had SLOWED – I’d only had a couple on
the 15 minute drive, and they hadn’t been that intense. Maybe it was the rest
I’d needed though. Who knows? I was just grateful that nothing was wrong. The
nurse said she’d felt the head and didn’t feel a wrapped cord, so no worries
there. And, she said the fluid test indicated the water had broken.
My midwife left so Ryan could come to me, and we tried to
determine whether to stay, or go back home. The nurse said I was so far along,
the baby could be born on the side of I-565 if we left, though I didn’t see
that happening, given that the pushing stage always takes at least 30 minutes
for me if not more! But I was still a little afraid of getting home and labor
stalling or reversing again, and then needing to go back to the hospital. Once
the baby was born and I was stuck in the hospital room and missing the comforts
of home, I wished I had just trusted and gone home. But in the moment, I didn’t
want to mess up what seemed to be working. And as soon as we decided we’d be
admitted and started walking down the hallway to the labor and delivery room,
things started kicking into high gear. Had it just been my discouragement
preventing things from happening? Now that I knew everything was ok, things
were working? Who knows.
I remember the hallway was lined with beautiful photos of
newborns. I got to see them up close because it seemed every few minutes I had
to stop walking because the contractions hurt so much. At this point the rice
packs had cooled and I felt I had no way to manage the pain. I started getting
so cold and shaky that by the time I got to the room and they asked if I wanted
to change into the hospital gown, I couldn’t imagine taking off my robe, and
declined.
The time in that room passed in a blur of pain. It was
probably 8:30 PM or so, but I had no consciousness of time. I went from place
to place trying to get comfortable. Squatting while holding on to a counter,
one nurse came over and started doing all the things they do, getting the fetal
monitor attached (I had no clue they had to use SAND PAPER on the skin to get
it to stick -ouch!) and sticking an IV point in my arm, another ouch. But
compared to the intense, back breaking pain, they were minor annoyances.
I moved over to the couch, and tried to lean against the
back of it as I labored, but it didn’t feel much better. I tried the bed, and
had the same annoyance of the fetal monitor being pressed into my belly when I
leaned over. Somewhere in there they gave me a stack of papers to sign, which I
tried to do between contractions. The doctor appeared at one point, and leaned
in to say hello, as I was facing the back of the bed at the time. I tried to
smile amidst the blur of pain – she really was a kind doctor and I was grateful
she was the one on call. But I was barely conscious of anything. I was thankful
the doctor and nurse just hung in the background letting me labor, while Ryan
pressed on my back and supported me and my midwife stayed close by and
suggested things here and there. At one point she asked if I wanted a squat bar
brought for the bed, and that sounded like a good idea. I also asked Ryan to
turn the labor music playlist back on.
I think it was soon after – or maybe just before – they
installed the bar that the rest of my water broke. Suddenly there was a huge
gush and liquid everywhere. I was all wet and icky, but things were happening
too fast to do much about that. Finally, progress! The huge gush of water is
what usually brings on the baby, and this was no exception. I started feeling
like pushing for real!
I used the squat bar and it seemed to take a while, but I
don’t think it was much longer than 30 minutes, if that, before the head was
almost out, with that ring of fire feeling. And I heard Audry Assad’s song “I
shall not want” playing:
“From the need to be understood
And from a need to be accepted
From the fear of being lonely
Deliver me O God
Deliver me O God
And I shall not want, no, I
shall not want
When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want
From the fear of serving others
Oh, and from the fear of death or trial
And from the fear of humility
Deliver me O God
Yes, deliver me O God
And I shall not want, no, I
shall not want
When I taste Your goodness I shall not want…”
My mind latched on to the
repetition and prayed “yes, deliver me, O God!” And it also helped me let go in
a way. This hospital birth was not what I’d chosen. I felt I’d let others down
(silly me, but I felt it!) in taking all day of my midwife’s time, when it was
“supposed” to be a quick and easy 5th birth. I felt I’d let my
husband down in planning for a home birth only to end up in a hospital, and
paying for a home birth only to have to pay for the hospital too. Not that he
thought that – but I knew it added extra stress. And I felt embarrassed. So
many friends knew I’d done homebirth, and expressed wonder and admiration,
saying they could “never do that!” And I’d smile and say it wasn’t for
everyone, but that I felt safer and more comfortable at home. And here I was,
having transferred to a hospital, for what turned out to be no real issue. I wished
I’d been strong enough to stay a few more hours at home!! I didn’t know how I
would explain to others why I’d ended up at the hospital. But. “From the
need to be understood, and from a need to be accepted… Deliver me O God.”
And once again, though for many
times that day it seemed like it would never happen, God delivered me. The head
came through, and they told me to go slow and ease the body out. The sensation
of that little body slipping out is one of the most incredible things. They
brought Josiah Immanuel up and I couldn’t stop exclaiming “you’re here, baby,
you’re finally here!” The wonder of finally getting to know my baby is pretty
amazing. The pain all of a sudden ends and the rush of happy endorphins flood
in. Everyone exclaimed over his big hands and feet and lots of dark hair.
His heart rate was lower than
they wanted, so they encouraged me to rub him and talk to him. When that didn’t
get it up, they asked if they could take him to stimulate him. Ryan said they
laid him under some bright lights, and he immediately became more awake and
cried and his heart rate went up nicely. After that they gave him to Ryan for
some skin-to-skin with him while I delivered the placenta. Thankfully it came
pretty easily with little pain.
Then I wanted to know, what day was it? Was it still the 18th? After all that, did he actually come on his due date? I was pleased to learn it was just before 10 PM, so he did get a due date birthday after all. 😊 After nursing – which he took to pretty quickly and did for quite a while! – they weighed and measured him. 21 inches long (typical of all my babies) and 9 lbs 3 oz! After the last three were 10 lbs or just over, he seemed small to me, but big to all of the nurses, lol!
Now that he was here, I began missing home. We were tired – I’d only slept 2-3 hours the night before, and it was midnight before I got transferred to my room to sleep. Ryan offered to stay, but when we saw that I was on a twin mattress and the only thing he could sleep on was a narrow, slippery leather couch, I told him he should go home to sleep. Yes, I would miss him, but we had four other children he’d be caring for come morning. My parents and sister were having them spend the night, but they would probably want them back home the next day.
The nurses were attentive and
thoughtful. Too attentive it seemed, as they came to check vitals every few
hours and woke me up! I knew it was just protocol, and I didn’t sleep much
anyway, between the sounds of the hospital and the new environment. I was used
to the midwives checking things out thoroughly and then going home, letting me
enjoy a good sleep in my own bed. Here I endeavored to fill out the form of
when the baby nursed and pooped, missing Ryan who always changed those first
diapers, and calling the nurse if I had to get out of bed to use the bathroom,
per their instructions. After not having any of these regulations with my other
births it seemed over the top, though I do understand their need to make sure all
was well. And while everyone was so kind, I just wanted to go home, and
expressed as much the next day.
My parents came up after Ryan left with Adam, since there was a limit of two adults at a time, and they were there when the pediatrician came. The question of whether we could be discharged mostly came down to the fact that I hadn’t had a strep B test. Since a midwife doesn’t do cervical checks at prenatal visits unless particularly requested, it’s something I happily passed on. So, while the pediatrician kind of berated me for not getting it done, since the strep B test isn’t invasive “and the doctor is checking down there anyway,” it isn’t the same with a midwife. And while my midwife said she had cautioned me that in a hospital transfer they would want it to be done (with previous babies - I don’t think we even talked about it this time), I thought it was just a matter of whether or not I was given antibiotics in labor, not that I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the hospital for 48 hours following the birth! The doctor had asked me if I wanted the antibiotics when she showed up in labor, but I was in such a blur of pain I just said “no thanks” and didn’t realize (or wasn’t told) that it would affect my stay. If I’d gotten them it wouldn’t have been enough time to make a difference anyway, so I didn’t understand why it was such an issue. I knew there was a risk, and the pediatrician told me she’d seen babies take a turn for the worse with strep b. But it was a risk I was willing to take, especially as I looked up the risk factors and met none of them, and saw that even if I had strep B (which wasn’t likely) there was only a 1 % chance of the baby getting it during delivery. But, protocol is protocol.
So, it was another night, and maybe two if we followed the 48 hour rule exactly. That was disappointing. I hadn’t packed for a long stay, and hadn’t packed the bag coherently to have enough clothes or things like vitamins. We said goodbye to the kids, thankful my parents were willing to keep them yet another night. But we missed home. We talked about just checking out against medical advice – we weren’t prisoners, were we? – but I also didn’t want to make trouble for my midwife or the doctor that delivered me, since everyone had been so nice. I didn’t want others having to transfer in being viewed with suspicion about not following the rules. But at 3 AM that night as I had hardly slept between nurse visits and Josiah nursing, I had an awful, pounding migraine and could only cry, wishing my husband was with me and could massage my aching, tense neck and that I was home in my own bed. The nurse was kind and gave me motrin after the Tylenol didn’t work, and that thankfully took the pain away. But after another long day in the hospital, I was so very thankful to be released to go home at 6 PM – a few hours before the 48 hour rule, but the pediatrician begrudgingly agreed it would be ok. I still think I could have taken Josiah’s temp at home and monitored him, as that’s all they really did, but what’s done is done and all in all, I am glad there were no other complications!
So while this birth didn’t go as
planned, maybe God had a purpose in it all. I have more empathy for other women
and understanding of the hospital protocols. It isn’t as scary as I
thought it would be - but I also thankfully had a very understanding doctor who
is pro-midwives. And maybe God wanted to teach me more humility and trust in
Him. I know more than ever that I am not in control when it comes to birth.
Pain in childbirth was part of the curse of the fall after all, so should I be
surprised that it is long and hard? And while I try so hard to be “good” at the
things I care about, I can’t control this. I just can’t seem to get “good” at
this childbirth thing. But I am so thankful for the children God has given, and
that in the end I didn’t have any big complications or interventions to recover
from.
And Josiah Immanuel is a darling. His name means “God heals and restores” and “God with us.” A wonderful reminder of the goodness of our God. The middle name we had changed to Immanuel a week before he was born, as Ryan was reminded of the presence of God through Psalm 73. It’s also the middle name of both of my Grandpas and my oldest brother, so it’s special to carry on the family tradition. We pray that Josiah will be someone who stands for truth and is zealous for the ways of the Lord like King Josiah in the Bible, and that he follows God like the Godly men in my family who share his middle name.
