Flashback: John's birth--Part 1

Warning: this post contains details typical of a good birth story, detailing birthing-related bodily fluids and the necessities of dealing with them. If that bothers you, you will be bothered by what you read here.

June 12, 2007

I woke up at the usual 5:30 for my third trip to the toilet of the night.  Would I be able to get back to sleep after this one?  I desperately hoped so.  When I got back into bed I noticed a familiar low backache.  Or did this feel a little different.  I thought it did, but didn’t think that was odd.  I had, after all, spent 2 ½ (or was it 3) hours the day before sitting in a straight backed wooden chair stuffing, sealing and stamping envelopes for $9/hour.  No wonder my back was sore.  I did go back to sleep.

When Charlie woke up around 6:30, I stayed in bed.  Jeremy got him up and brought him in to sit with us while we all became a bit more awake.  I lay dozing in bed until, inevitably, I felt I needed to pee again.  Why else would a pregnant woman ever want to get out of bed?  I glanced at the clock on my way into the bathroom.  7:10.

I sat on the toilet and did my thing, making sure to “triple void” to rid myself of as much urine as possible.  A completely empty bladder is best.  Then, before I could do anything else, I felt a tiny pop.  Not even a pop, more like a slipping and a large trickle of liquid came out.  And it wasn’t pee. 

“Uh-oh,” I said aloud.  And then came the gush. 

“What?” called my husband.

“My water just broke.”

“Really?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it.”

I cleaned myself up and went to find the paper with the midwife’s phone number on it.  But I think I called my mom first.  I called and warned Lola that I’d be needing her to take Charlie for me sometime, so be on alert.  I talked to Teresa, my midwife, at about 7:30.  She asked the typical questions (color, smell, gush or trickle) then told me to be sure to eat something and to keep her posted.  I told her I’d try to eat something.

Because normally, eating would be high on my list first thing in the morning.  But I couldn’t do it.  I tried to think of something that sounded good.  Nothing.  And I remembered the mid-labor barfing from my last delivery.  No food for me.

So I waited.  But what I was waiting for was not the diarrhea.  Uncomfortable stomach, indigestion in waves and, with each wave, another trip to the bathroom. 3, maybe 4 trips.  A little more amniotic fluid would be squeezed out each time. 

I called my midwife again.  It’s about 8am.

“I have a feeling things are going to move quickly,” I told her. 

“Are you having contractions?  How far apart are they?”

“I think so.  I haven’t been timing anything, but I just think things are happening.”

“Ok.  I’m heading to the birth center right now.  Try timing them for the next half hour and call me again.  Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Try to eat something.”

“Uh, I don’t think I can.”

“Ok.  Call me after you’ve timed your contractions for a while.”

But the thing is, I couldn’t time them.  Jeremy had gone out to the car with the carseat base to try to install it.  Charlie was bouncing around energetically—climbing onto the couch where I was sitting, when I could sit, on a towel—and babbling about seeing Lola and Kang-Kek (Charlie’s version of his cousin Clayton's name).  And I would look up at the clock when a contraction started and the time I saw there would not register.  Sure, I could tell you it was nearing 8:30 about now, but how many minutes had it been since I looked the last time?  And how many seconds were ticking by as I stared and rocked and moaned through another contraction?  No idea. 

I remember sitting there and turning to Charlie to tell him to be quiet.  I could not tolerate the simple, joyful nearly-two-year-old noises.  But the concept of quiet (then, as now) was lost on him.  Lola must come get him.  I called her and told her I had to have Charlie out of my hair.  She said she had to do a couple things before she could come, but it would be in the next 20 minutes or so.  Not soon enough.

I called Teresa again.

“I think I need to come in now.”

“Ok.  How far apart are the contractions?”

“I don’t know.  I couldn’t time them.  I just need to come in now.”

“Alright.  We’ll be here.  We’ll clear the mornings appointments.  Come whenever you’re ready.”

I headed to the bathroom again.  I was in there a while.  I was wearing an old teal-colored fun run t-shirt of my dad’s and off-white stretch-pant capris.  But this time, after I was done with the toilet, I looked down at my pants around my ankles and could not put them back on.  I stepped out of them and walked to the counter in the kitchen.  I grabbed the edge of the counter, leaned over it, and moaned.  Moaning and rocking.

There was a knock at the door.  Lola!  At last.  I went to the door in my t-shirt and underwear, opened it and stepped away without looking at who it was.  The breeze from outside called my attention to the cold sweat on my hot face.  Lola just stared.  It was about 8:55.  She came in and Jeremy soon followed.  They may have talked or exchanged glances, but I re-assumed my position at the counter as they gathered Charlie up.  They were about to leave, and I called.

“Diaper.  Wipes.  Cup.”

“Oh yeah,” said both Jeremy and Lola.

When they had gone, I looked at Jeremy.  “We gotta go.”  I was irritated.  How long did it take to put in a stupid carseat base?  He had finally finished with that, but we still had to pack some things to take with us to the birth center.  Rather, HE had to pack some things.  I could not.

He rushed around, semi-panicked, occasionally interrupting my “there is nothing else in the whole world except this intense feeling inside my body” state of mind to ask where something was or if I wanted to take the ----. I remember thinking “he needs to calm down.  Geesh.”

Finally, a few minutes after 9am, we were ready to walk out the door.  Oh yeah—pants and shoes, first.  And then, leaving the apartment meant the flight of cement steps down to the parking lot.  I could not do it.  But, I did it.

The car ride was long.  12 minutes?  15?  I closed my eyes for most of the trip, trying to estimate in my head where we were and then opening my eyes to see we were farther along than I had dared hope.  I had to have the window down a little for the air.  But the sunlight on that beautiful, clear, cool June morning was painful, despite all my pre-labor practice visualizing my sun-filled happy place.

I had to tell Jeremy how to get to the back parking lot of the birth center.  He was unsure where to go.  We got there, and I just sat in the car for a minute, even though I was uncomfortable.  Finally, I was ready for Jeremy to help me out of the car.  Teresa came out of the back door and took me by the arm.  I didn’t want to open my eyes.  As she led me up the half-flight of steps, I remember stopping halfway up and saying to her “I can’t do this.”

“You are doing it” was her simple answer.

We walked into the birthing room and Jeremy followed with the suitcase.  He seemed unsure of himself.  Frantic.  Rushed.  Someone noted the time when we arrived: 9:25am.

And it was all eyes on me.