Oliver's birth, part III

In the final week or two leading up to Oliver's birth, I had to do quite a bit of spiritual warfare. Especially when the evening hours struck, the kids were in bed, Daniel was out at meetings, and the hustle and bustle of the day was over, I would just have these random thoughts pop into my head that I knew weren't from God:

"Your body's too worn out to do this again."

"I bet your scar doesn't hold up this time."

"You've driven to Watertown how many times in the past few months and you'll probably end up with a c-section anyway."

"How many more times do you think you can do this anyway?"

I've not had those thoughts before at any time during any pregnancy. It was strange that they were coming at the tail end of such a great pregnancy and after two successful VBACs.

Now, at about 10:45pm on December 16th, as I was in the throes of labor, they were flooding me. Hard. I think the mental and spiritual battle was harder than the physical one.

I got up to use the bathroom. One agonizing contraction on the way there. One while there. And then when I went to return to the bed, another one.

I couldn't even stand through it. I was on my hands and knees in the bathroom.

And I was thinking, "I'm 6cm and in this condition? I'm never gonna make it!"

I barely made it next to the hospital bed before another contraction hit. I flopped onto all fours again, desperate to get into a position that helped me stay ahead of the waves of pain. My IV popped open and blood was spurting everywhere. I was tangled in cords. I'm sure I was a sight to behold.

I remember wailing, "Camilla's never going to want to have a baby after seeing this!"

The nurse got the IV mess cleaned up. I was helped into the bed. I laid back for a bit, though I generally don't like to labor in that position. I was pretty worn out. The belts and cords and blood pressure cuff were really starting to bug me.

Dr. Barrett told me after the delivery that he would love to hear my thoughts about an induced labor versus a natural one sometime. I've thought about that since then.

I wouldn't say that pitocin necessarily hurts more, but the hard part of it seemed to be the unyielding nature of the contractions it produced. From 7pm until Oliver's birth, contractions were 2-3 minutes part without fail. No natural pauses. No peeks and no valleys. Just wave after relentless wave.

In hindsight, maybe I should have asked to be taken off the pitocin since my body had obviously taken over.

But then again, perhaps the pitocin was in part the reason I was already (and unknown to me) on the verge of meeting my new baby!