As
long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mommy and have lots of babies. Growing
up, I practiced mothering on my two brothers, my two cousins, and my multitude
of dolls. I baby-sat almost every weekend for a decade and loved every minute
of these opportunities to fine tune my diaper changing and bottle warming
skills. At 22, I learned that I would be able to use this expertise in April of
2001 on a sweet baby of my own. I was both terrified and absolutely thrilled.
During the nine months of my
pregnancy, I prepared for the arrival of our first addition. As would later
become my tradition with every pregnancy, I watched A Baby Story every weekday. I read What to Expect While You’re Expecting until I was so frightened by
the possibilities of what could go wrong that Clay took the book away from me
and hid it until after our baby was born. I washed loads of baby clothes in
Dreft, painted bookshelves, and organized and reorganized the beautiful nursery
that Clay and I decorated in stars and moons.
In December, Clay and I went to the
OB/GYN for our baby’s five month sonogram. As the ultrasound tech scanned our
baby’s body, we learned that we were going to have a little boy. Knowing we had
a son on the way made the idea of parenting a lot more real.
At 6:00 am Monday, April 2nd, I awoke briefly to
cramping feelings in my back. As they were not too uncomfortable, I went back
to sleep until 10:00. At this time, I awoke and put in a recorded tape of Survivor. Snuggling with my husband, we watched the reality show while I
experienced continued contractions. Shortly after the show began, I felt my
baby make a big turn, perhaps moving his head in the necessary position for
exiting. At that point, the contractions moved from my back to my abdomen.
As I was still six days from my due
date and this was my first child, I was uncertain if these contractions were
truly labor or a false alarm. Clay began timing them at 10:23, and we noticed
that while they were not spaced perfectly apart, they were consistently coming.
I called my mom to let her know what was happening, and she agreed to go with
Clay and me to my previously scheduled doctor visit that afternoon.
Hoping that we could speed labor
along, my husband and I decided to take a walk. We dressed in shorts and
t-shirts, and then I slowly waddled up my street with him, holding his hand.
Every two to three minutes I had to pause for a contraction. I was surprised at
how close together they were, having expected them to start far apart like all
the books, Lamaze instructors, and doctors had said they would.
After finishing our mile long walk, I
went back to our house to shower. My grandmother had since learned that I was
in labor and was convinced that if I took a shower that I might very well have
the baby in the bathtub. Instead of letting me relax in the shower, she stood
her ground in the bathroom and talked to me while I shampooed, conditioned, and
shaved my legs. There was no privacy as I readied myself for my OB/GYN
appointment.
At 3:00, nine hours after my first
contraction, I went in for my scheduled doctor visit with Clay and my mother. I
was nervous in the waiting room and even more anxious in the exam room. While I
waited alone for the doctor to enter the room, my contractions continued, and I
lay down to ease them. They were not very painful yet, but they were nothing I
could ignore.
The doctor examined me and determined
that I was a “loose” one centimeter, 25 percent effaced, and probably in labor.
All I could think was nine hours of contractions and only one centimeter? This
mama was not happy.
After the doctor’s visit, Mom, Clay,
and I went to Chick-Fil-A. I ate soup and French fries, feeling annoyance and
contractions throughout our meal. I knew my baby was on his way, but I had no
idea how long it would be before he arrived.
When we got home, Clay and I went for
another walk. Again, I experienced a contraction every two to three minutes,
but their intensity wasn’t strong enough to even justify a call to the doctor. My contractions continued throughout the
afternoon and into the evening.
At dinner time, we went next door to
my mom’s house. My mother had made my favorite vegetable soup, which I ate not
knowing that this would be my last meal for the next 26 hours. Clay talked on
the phone to a friend while we were there, giving him the details of my labor.
As my contractions continued, so did my frustration with Clay being on the
phone. After I snapped at him, he quickly hung up, and we headed back to our
home.
Throughout the day, my contractions had
slowly increased in intensity but not significantly. Nevertheless, I was exhausted from the day’s
emotions and 18 hours of labor. I crawled into bed at midnight and slept until my bladder woke me up
at 3:30 AM. Initially, I
thought my water may have broken, but this being my first baby I wasn’t sure.
21 and ½ hours of contractions though prompted Clay and me to ready ourselves
for the hospital whether it was my water or my bladder that had broken.
After making this decision, I called
my mom to give her the update. She said that she would get ready and shortly be
over. Clay called his parents, and they made plans to meet us later in the
morning at the hospital.
I
waddled to the shower and again readied myself. As I sat in my rocking chair
and curled my hair, I wondered when my baby was going to make his appearance. A
few minutes later, my mom knocked on the door, and we all piled in our car. I
was determined that I would not come back home without my baby.
On the way to the hospital, Clay
mentioned that he was hungry. He stopped at the Quik Trip that we passed and
went inside to buy powered doughnuts. I was annoyed.
At 5:00 AM, we arrived at the hospital, a long 23 hours after
my first contraction. I was assigned a triage room, and after I changed into a
gown, a nurse checked me. She determined that my water had not broken
(apparently it had just been my bladder) and that I was still at one
centimeter. I was so disappointed. However, the nurse could see that my contractions
were painful, so she instructed me to walk the maternity floor for an hour to
see if I could further my dilation. And so began the hour of hell.
Around and around the floor, my mom,
Clay, and I walked. Each time a contraction gripped me, I had to stop and cling
to Clay. The more I walked the stronger the contractions became. At one point,
I claimed to have to use the bathroom and just went into the waiting room
restroom to escape having to walk. I was stunned by how horrible the pain was
and was ready to run away if there had been any way for me to do so.
Reluctantly, I left the bathroom after ten minutes to continue the most painful
walk of my 23 years.
Because my contractions had developed
a steady pattern, I would experience one every time I passed the triage
station. The nurses witnessed my being able to neither walk nor talk through
the pain. I thought nothing of that at the time, but their seeing my physical
distress while walking apparently convinced them that I was not experiencing
false labor.
When the hour was up, I returned to my
triage room. Walking even one extra step was not an option to me. I was
immediately checked by a triage nurse. She stated that I was still a “loose
one,” but she also said that I was now 80% effaced and my cervix was soft. She
also explained that because my contractions were clearly regular that I was in
labor and here to stay. I was so grateful that a medical person finally
believed that I was in labor, something that I had known since my first
contraction 24 hours earlier. Briefly, my in-laws came in the triage room, and
Clay explained that I was being admitted and that their grandson was on his
way.
Because I was not eligible for an
epidural yet, the nurse offered me a narcotic shot. After having experienced
such horrible contractions while walking, I gladly accepted her offer. She gave
me the shot in my right hip, and I could feel the medicine’s impact almost
immediately. The nurse forbid me to try to walk to my labor and delivery room,
even though I had just been doing laps around the hospital floor. In the words
of my nurse, “You’re drunk, and you’re not walking anywhere.” Without argument,
I sat down in my wheel chair and rode to my new room.
The narcotic shot was not what I
expected. The nurse had told me that that it would “take the edge off” my
contractions. However, my pain did not diminish but my ability to stay awake
did. Instead of being able to try to relax as the intensity of each contraction
built, I would wake at the peak of each one, groggy and terrified of the
inescapable pain. I would fuss at my husband to hold my hand as I tried to
endure the pain and then would promptly shove him away, so I could go back to
sleep as soon as the contraction was over. This cycle continued for ten hours.
The frustration of being unable to relieve my interminable exhaustion or pain was
the most difficult part of my labor for Clay.
Throughout the morning and afternoon,
many parents, in-laws, siblings, and friends were in and out of my room. This
long stretch of labor was painful and hazy to me, especially after I received a
second narcotic shot. I remember waking to see my mother-in-law in a rocking chair,
my husband eating Taco Bell (which he was forbidden to ever bring into a labor
and delivery room again), and my baby brother and little sister in law telling
me how they had snuck away from the waiting room to play on the elevator and
had gotten in trouble.
Brandi, my best friend from high
school was at the hospital and didn’t want to miss her opportunity to video the
birth. She asked the doctor if she could go to class without missing it. The
doctor said, “You could drive to Tennessee
and back and this baby still won’t be here.” She went to class and made it back
with hours to spare.
At 3:00, the labor and delivery nurse
checked me. After 33 hours of contractions, I was finally deemed to be four
centimeters. I was equally grateful to learn that my body was progressing and
that I was ready for my epidural. However, I had to endure another hour of
contractions before the anesthesiologist arrived at 4:00 to give me the relief
I so desperately wanted.
As the nurse and anesthesiologist set
up my room and readied me for the procedure, I became nervous. My mom told me,
“Don’t worry. As soon as you get the epidural, you won’t feel any more pain.
The hard part will be over.” I clung to what she said and was later relieved
when her comforting words proved to be true.
Receiving the epidural was nerve
wracking. As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed with a pillow in my lap, I
tightly gripped the hands of my nurse. She encouraged me to stay curled up like
a ball so that the needle could be easily inserted into my spine. However,
staying relaxed and in this uncomfortable position while being hit with a
contraction was almost impossible. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was patient
and able to place my epidural between contractions. The procedure was quickly
finished. More importantly, the contractions I experienced while I received my
epidural were the last ones I felt during this labor. My mother was right. The
pain was over.
After receiving my epidural, I was happier
and willing to interact with my visitors between my drug induced naps. My
family and friends periodically came in to talk to me. However, I was still
very tired because of the narcotics and slept the majority of the evening,
waking periodically to scratch my face or my chest. Itchiness proved to be a
side effect of the medication in the epidural, but I hid that information from
the nurses as I did not want them to turn it off. I much preferred itchiness
over pain.
Not long after getting my epidural, my
body began to relax and my contractions grew less frequent. My nurse followed
my doctor’s orders and added Pitocin to my IV to help reregulate my
contractions. In less than four hours after this medicine was administered, I went
from four to ten centimeters. I was ready to push but unfortunately the medical
staff was not.
Not surprisingly, multiple women were
in labor at the same time I was. Because
of them, I had to wait until other women delivered before my midwife or nurse
could prepare my room and me for my son’s delivery. During this time, I started shaking. My
exhaustion and nerves were reaching their peak. I was ready for this long labor
to be over and to meet my baby. Testiness began to overwhelm me before I even
began to push.
At about 7:45, I was finally prepped
and ready. My labor and delivery nurse sat on the end of my bed and instructed
me when to breathe, when to push, and when to relax. Clay and my mom stood on
either side of me while Brandi stood back and to the left of the bed with a
video camera. Through my narcotic haze, I began pushing. It was awkward. It was
difficult. It was also extremely embarrassing to be that exposed to so many
people in my room.
I pushed and was encouraged. I pushed
and was cheered on. This cycle continued and still I had no baby after an hour
had passed. The nurse coached me to try long pushes while holding my breath.
Still no baby. The midwife told me to try short pushes with every other
contraction. Still no baby. My frustration could not be contained as I told
everyone in the room to be quiet and threatened to kick my mother out of the
room if she made one more joke. This exhausted mama was about to lose it.
Because my laboring was taking so
long, my midwife and nurse could not stay in my room the entire time. They
began checking on other mothers, leaving me in the room with just Clay, my mom,
and Brandi. Despite their absence, I continued my pushes with each contraction
and finally saw my son’s head begin to emerge. I was so completely ready to be
finished with this labor that I was unconcerned if there was any medical staff
in the room to deliver my son or not. I kept pushing.
The nurse returned and immediately summoned
the midwife who was surprised by my obvious progress when she reentered my
room. As she quickly slipped on her gloves and delivery garb, she told me to
relax and not to push. I was aggravated and just wanted this delivery to be over.
After what seemed like an eternity to me, my midwife instructed me to push with
my next contraction.
With Clay and my mother each holding
one of my legs, I pushed with every ounce of strength I had remaining. Slowly
and through several more contractions, my baby finally made his entrance with a
great rush of amniotic fluid that sprayed all over his daddy’s arm. I was
overwhelmed at the sweet sight of him.
After 39 ½ very long hours of labor
and an hour and twenty minutes of pushing, Bryan McLain entered my world at 7
pounds 4 ounces and 20 inches long. God blessed his father and me with a strong,
healthy, incredible son that captured my heart from the moment I first looked
at him, forever changing me from daughter, sister, and wife to mom. I am so eternally
grateful that God chose me to be McLain’s mother and cannot imagine my life
without him.
~Shared by Ashley B.
Before infertility, I knew exactly what type of birth I wanted and had everything planned out. After infertility and going through a high risk pregnancy, I just wanted a healthy baby and didn't care how she got here.
At the time, I was thinking they were wasting a set up! I spent this time explaining to my husband that I would push about 2 hours since I had an epidural and this was my first baby. The next contraction came, and I actually pushed for real, and she just came out- in that one single contraction!! Total pushing time was maybe 90 seconds. The doctor opened Kate's legs and asked my husband to announce the gender. He was so stunned by the quick birth, and he was so convinced that she had been a boy that he just stood there stammering. Later on, he said I kept looking for the penis and didn't see one, so I wondered if there was someone wrong with the baby!! I finally took over and looked and announced. It was a girl!!
