It was bright and clear and very, very cold. Single digit temperatures. The freshly fallen snow from the weekend storm was breathtakingly beautiful. Everything looked pristine and sparkly.
As we neared the hospital, I told Daniel I felt like I was being led to the slaughterhouse. Which was perhaps a bit on the dramatic side, but, well, labor does feel a bit like dying, in my experience.
The next hour or two after arriving were rather anti-climactic.
"I'm here to have a baby."
It sounds like ordering a cheeseburger, but, boy, are the implications huge!
Paperwork. Getting settled. Doctor checking in to make a plan. Recommending that I get started with pitocin because he wanted to see my contractions (which I was having-- but that's nothing out of the ordinary for the last several weeks of pregnancy for me) get into a regular pattern before rupturing my membranes. I wondered if I should just skip the pitocin part (I later received a message from a nurse-friend recommending I just go ahead with the rupturing-- oops), but I appreciated his interest in not getting me on the clock too soon, so I agreed.
My mom and sister Camilla joined us, which I was so thankful for. They were ready to stick it out with me, and that was such a comfort.
From about noon until 6:30pm they kept increasing the pitocin every half an hour. The contractions were patterning and at one point started to ache a bit, but overall it just felt like bad menstrual cramps. As the day wore on, I found myself thinking I should just have them rupture my membranes so we could get things over with. I knew they weren't about to let me go home since Baby had officially reached his/her "expiration date" and I didn't relish the thought of laboring through the night.
The nurse I had was warm and friendly and was such a great sport about all the things I was declining in advance for the baby. So far, that aspect of this delivery was my best hospital experience yet.
It was relaxed in the room. I knew that what I was feeling wasn't it, and I wasn't about to get myself antsy pretending or hoping it was. Daniel played some Brian Regan and we listened to part of an online sermon. I closed my eyes. Daniel ran out and got food for himself, Mom, and Camilla; I was on a clear liquid diet from the moment I arrived, but I didn't care since I usually lose my appetite just thinking about impending labor.
A little before 7pm, the doctor came in and checked me. I hadn't made much progress (maybe 1cm more dilated than when I came in?), but I was certainly having regular contractions. I didn't have to ask; he decided to rupture my membranes and see how things might go from there.
Almost immediately, the contractions changed. Now I was in labor. Bit by bit, the contractions increased in intensity. There was no turning back now.
Of course, the downside in all of this was that I was hooked up to pitocin. That wouldn't have been so bad except that the use of pitocin in a VBAC scenario generally means continual monitoring, and the portable monitors at the hospital weren't really working according to the nurse.
Despite being chained to the monitor, I changed positions fairly frequently as things picked up. The new nurse (who had taken over at 7pm) was wonderful. She brought in a birth ball, which I sat on for a short time. I knelt on the upright hospital bed and rested my arms on the top, which seemed to be particularly effective. The rocking chair was brought over so I could sit there for a while. And thanks to the steady drip of the IV fluids, I was forced to make the increasingly difficult trek to the bathroom on a regular basis!
A couple hours after having my membranes ruptured, the contractions were really starting to take it out of me. The combination of labor progressing and the relentless nature of pitocin-induced contractions was hard.
Daniel played music for me. I sang some favorite hymns and choruses during contractions, and Mom, Camilla, and Daniel would sing where I left off when the contraction was too much for me to keep singing through. The nurse commented a few times on how much she liked the songs, and then when Dr. Barrett came in at around 10:30pm he told me I had a good voice. That was rather comical to me since I knew it couldn't possibly sound good by then, and I later told Daniel that I thought it was doctor speak for, "I'm really glad you're singing instead of screaming."
At about 10:45pm, after watching me through a few contractions, Dr. Barrett decided to check me. I could tell he was hesitant. He doesn't like to do any/many checks once the membranes have been ruptured (good for him), but ultimately decided to see where things were at.
6cm dilated, 100% effaced, baby at -1.
I was heartbroken. The contractions were really quite intense and that was it?
I should mention that heading into this labor I was as anxious about keeping it together mentally and emotionally as I've ever been. I'd had a great deal of fear and apprehension that I just wouldn't be able to do it one more time. I had prayed and I had asked for prayer, and I knew people were cheering for me, but that was the moment when those fears washed over me and the human frailty in me was convinced they were all being justified right before my eyes.
I told Daniel I needed an epidural, something I've never wanted and something I've never actually asked for before. I just didn't know how I could keep going.
Everyone reminded me, "You don't want that, Brietta. You've told us you don't want that."
"But I do!" I cried. "I can't keep doing this for hours!"
Dr. Barrett smiled warmly at me. "Labor usually goes very fast from this point."
Easy for him to say, I thought. It took me 5 hours to go from 6cm to 10cm with Elliot.
Daniel reminded me of how no two births are alike. I should know, since as slowly as things had progressed with Elliot, they had flown by with Claire, but I also didn't want to set myself up for disappointment.
All I could think was that it had been less than 4 hours of active labor and I was already feeling done in.
"Jesus, help me!"
I prayed so much. I prayed out loud perhaps more this labor than any other. The negative confessions were overtaking me and I couldn't think of any way to combat them other than praying and singing. And I knew that if I was going to make it, it wouldn't be because of any strength of my own.
Wow...I am really feeling you here. I am sorry your labor was hard, but also it's good to know a veteran like yourself has those feelings and thoughts even when you're so committed to the natural way:) I think maybe pitocin labors are just the worst...this is my only experience having to be induced both times. Can't wait to read the triumphant finish! Spoiler...I know it's worth it;-)
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