Here's the birth story I posted on FB
The urge to push during birth is possibly the most overwhelming physiological sensation in existence. When doctors and nurses tell women in labor “don’t push!”, it’s like telling someone with food poisoning, “you can vomit, but do it week from Thursday”. So I pushed, heard a waterfall and saw my third son slip out into the world.
As I focused my vision and took in his glossy, pink, perfect body, reality hit me as I looked into the faces of the strangers who’d been there with me for my miracle. I knew not a soul. Tynan had come so fast, my husband, doula and doctor had all missed it.
I routinely bash those folks on the Discovery Channel classic “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. Sheepishly, I admit I’m a candidate for a new special called “I Didn’t Realize I Was in Labor.”
A few days earlier, I had commented to Tom that I thought I might be leaking amniotic fluid. I noticed when I slept, I would get up and my underpants would be a little wet. Those of you who have experienced some of the various indignities of pregnancy know it’s not unusual to leak urine, especially at the end of pregnancy. Since I stopped leaking when I stood up, I chalked it up to mildly peeing on myself (not realizing that little Ty’s head simply acted like a cork every time I stood up).
I went to the doctor Thursday morning and was pronounced two centimeters dialated, somewhat effaced, but with the baby still quite high nothing imminent appeared on the horizon. I continued with my plans for the day including straightening up for a house showing, watching Tom tear down the back fence, dinner out with the family and attending a neighborhood social committee meeting.
I woke up about 2 in the morning and just couldn’t get comfortable. I tried watching some Ashton Kutcher movie, a challenge in the best of circumstances, but was unable to stay focused. I went to the bathroom, noticed my jammies were definitely wet, and decided I should probably get it checked out. I told Tom to hang with the boys and that I’d call from the hospital.
As I drove myself (and it retrospect, perhaps not the wisest choice), I noticed I was having timeable contractions about every 4 minutes apart. As I neared the hospital, they seemed closer, but I thought I must be timing them wrong, because they really weren’t that bad, just notable.
I told the L&D staff, I just wanted to be sure everything was ok, and that while I had some attention getting contractions, I was sure they’d subside since my baby wasn’t due until next week. I had it written on the calendar. It said “Baby Due” May 14, not May 8.
I filled out the requisite paper work and chatted with the staff as the nurse put the monitor on me. She checked and was shocked to see I was 6 centimeters dialated, the baby’s head was low and engaged and that my contractions were now coming 1 ½ minutes apart. She looked at me and said “This is amazing. Were you this composed with your other babies?”
“Um, yes? I dunno, listen, I’m sorry, I have to make some calls here.” I called Tom to tell him it was show time, phoned my friend, Christie to watch the kids and called my doula, Pat to fill her in on the details. Since we weren’t exactly prepared, things weren’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. Unable to reach Christie, I called my next door neighbor who also didn’t answer. Then I called my Dad, but that call was interrupted by my neighbor calling back. Meanwhile, Tom was also trying to prepare things so that my Dad could take Tabor for his long awaited ear surgery scheduled for later that day. It was a flurry of activity, at some point the nurse insisted on putting an IV port in my hand even though I really didn’t think I’d need it (and I didn’t), when I noticed something strange.
“Excuse me? I’m feeling a lot of pressure, can you check me?” I asked, cell phone still in hand.
My nurse, still puzzled by this strange woman who’d casually strolled in at 3 in the morning, reached a gloved hand into my body and raised her eyebrows.
“You’re at nine.” And set about calling the doctor while the other nurses prepared the baby warmer.
It occurred to me that this was happening. It was happening now and despite all my plans and preparations, there was a real chance I’d be doing it alone. I made one last call to Tom.
“You better hurry”, I said.
And as I hung up, I realized that while I was worried my husband, doula and doctor might miss the birth, by not accepting the process, I might miss it too. A wave came over me and I heard a yelp, only to realize it was me. Almost immediately, I felt another huge wave and called for my nurse.
“GERALYN!” She had one of those great Southern names that lends itself well to dramatic shouts. She came back and told me I was complete. Suddenly, here came a man who introduced himself as Dr. Young, incongruously shaking my hand while settling between my splayed legs.
“Don’t push” they’d said as he put on his gloves, but I didn’t listen. I had denied this baby was coming for the past hour and I wasn’t about to deny it any longer. Four pushes later, Tynan Edward came into the world. I still can’t believe it. About three minutes later, Tom rushed into the room and met my eyes with relief, as if to say “I made it!”. Then his gaze shifted to the tiny baby perched on my chest, and the look on his face was nothing short of utter shock. About fifteen minute later, my doula came in fully prepared to help me through my labor only to see my eight pound baby boy being examined by the staff.
I also have to mention I had been attending hypnosis sessions with a professional counselor for several weeks prior to prepare for the birth. This is the only explanation I have for having what amounted to an almost completely painfree birth.
Of course Tom and I are sad he missed the actual birth, but it was completely unavoidable. Ty was ready to come at that exact moment for reasons only he knows.
This is not the birth story I had planned, but it really was never mine. It’s Ty’s story, and for that reason, I wouldn’t change a thing.
The urge to push during birth is possibly the most overwhelming physiological sensation in existence. When doctors and nurses tell women in labor “don’t push!”, it’s like telling someone with food poisoning, “you can vomit, but do it week from Thursday”. So I pushed, heard a waterfall and saw my third son slip out into the world.
As I focused my vision and took in his glossy, pink, perfect body, reality hit me as I looked into the faces of the strangers who’d been there with me for my miracle. I knew not a soul. Tynan had come so fast, my husband, doula and doctor had all missed it.
I routinely bash those folks on the Discovery Channel classic “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. Sheepishly, I admit I’m a candidate for a new special called “I Didn’t Realize I Was in Labor.”
A few days earlier, I had commented to Tom that I thought I might be leaking amniotic fluid. I noticed when I slept, I would get up and my underpants would be a little wet. Those of you who have experienced some of the various indignities of pregnancy know it’s not unusual to leak urine, especially at the end of pregnancy. Since I stopped leaking when I stood up, I chalked it up to mildly peeing on myself (not realizing that little Ty’s head simply acted like a cork every time I stood up).
I went to the doctor Thursday morning and was pronounced two centimeters dialated, somewhat effaced, but with the baby still quite high nothing imminent appeared on the horizon. I continued with my plans for the day including straightening up for a house showing, watching Tom tear down the back fence, dinner out with the family and attending a neighborhood social committee meeting.
I woke up about 2 in the morning and just couldn’t get comfortable. I tried watching some Ashton Kutcher movie, a challenge in the best of circumstances, but was unable to stay focused. I went to the bathroom, noticed my jammies were definitely wet, and decided I should probably get it checked out. I told Tom to hang with the boys and that I’d call from the hospital.
As I drove myself (and it retrospect, perhaps not the wisest choice), I noticed I was having timeable contractions about every 4 minutes apart. As I neared the hospital, they seemed closer, but I thought I must be timing them wrong, because they really weren’t that bad, just notable.
I told the L&D staff, I just wanted to be sure everything was ok, and that while I had some attention getting contractions, I was sure they’d subside since my baby wasn’t due until next week. I had it written on the calendar. It said “Baby Due” May 14, not May 8.
I filled out the requisite paper work and chatted with the staff as the nurse put the monitor on me. She checked and was shocked to see I was 6 centimeters dialated, the baby’s head was low and engaged and that my contractions were now coming 1 ½ minutes apart. She looked at me and said “This is amazing. Were you this composed with your other babies?”
“Um, yes? I dunno, listen, I’m sorry, I have to make some calls here.” I called Tom to tell him it was show time, phoned my friend, Christie to watch the kids and called my doula, Pat to fill her in on the details. Since we weren’t exactly prepared, things weren’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. Unable to reach Christie, I called my next door neighbor who also didn’t answer. Then I called my Dad, but that call was interrupted by my neighbor calling back. Meanwhile, Tom was also trying to prepare things so that my Dad could take Tabor for his long awaited ear surgery scheduled for later that day. It was a flurry of activity, at some point the nurse insisted on putting an IV port in my hand even though I really didn’t think I’d need it (and I didn’t), when I noticed something strange.
“Excuse me? I’m feeling a lot of pressure, can you check me?” I asked, cell phone still in hand.
My nurse, still puzzled by this strange woman who’d casually strolled in at 3 in the morning, reached a gloved hand into my body and raised her eyebrows.
“You’re at nine.” And set about calling the doctor while the other nurses prepared the baby warmer.
It occurred to me that this was happening. It was happening now and despite all my plans and preparations, there was a real chance I’d be doing it alone. I made one last call to Tom.
“You better hurry”, I said.
And as I hung up, I realized that while I was worried my husband, doula and doctor might miss the birth, by not accepting the process, I might miss it too. A wave came over me and I heard a yelp, only to realize it was me. Almost immediately, I felt another huge wave and called for my nurse.
“GERALYN!” She had one of those great Southern names that lends itself well to dramatic shouts. She came back and told me I was complete. Suddenly, here came a man who introduced himself as Dr. Young, incongruously shaking my hand while settling between my splayed legs.
“Don’t push” they’d said as he put on his gloves, but I didn’t listen. I had denied this baby was coming for the past hour and I wasn’t about to deny it any longer. Four pushes later, Tynan Edward came into the world. I still can’t believe it. About three minutes later, Tom rushed into the room and met my eyes with relief, as if to say “I made it!”. Then his gaze shifted to the tiny baby perched on my chest, and the look on his face was nothing short of utter shock. About fifteen minute later, my doula came in fully prepared to help me through my labor only to see my eight pound baby boy being examined by the staff.
I also have to mention I had been attending hypnosis sessions with a professional counselor for several weeks prior to prepare for the birth. This is the only explanation I have for having what amounted to an almost completely painfree birth.
Of course Tom and I are sad he missed the actual birth, but it was completely unavoidable. Ty was ready to come at that exact moment for reasons only he knows.
This is not the birth story I had planned, but it really was never mine. It’s Ty’s story, and for that reason, I wouldn’t change a thing.
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