WARNING: THIS IS LONG, BUT I WANTED TO MAKE SURE I DIDN'T LEAVE OUT ANY DETAILS. I HOPE TO SHARE IT WITH MY DAUGHTER SOME DAY.
I was blessed with a terrific pregnancy. At first, I had just enough morning sickness and exhaustion in the beginning to feel pregnant, but nothing debilitating. Then, I had great energy, felt wonderful exercising, had minimal aches and pains, no swelling and loved my growing belly.
I had fears about labor and delivery as I am sure every mother does. As I educated myself, my fear (aside from pain!) was that I would not “progress” and I’d be forced into a c-section. A friend of mine who is a nurse and has worked with my OB had told me that he was “quick with the knife.” I also worried that, since I am so "type A," I wouldn't allow my body to relax and to "open" naturally.
As my due date, February 7, drew near, I was convinced that I couldn’t possibly be close to going into labor. I still felt great, was still very active and had no signs that my body was getting ready. I was still walking two miles on most days and teaching fitness class (I taught my spin class two days before I went into labor; I would have taught my kickboxing class as well, but I finally got someone to cover it). Everyone was telling me I hadn’t dropped and I didn’t look like I was 40 weeks pregnant. Could have been nice things to hear, but I wanted a sign that my body was getting close to doing what it was meant to do.
My in-laws arrived from South Africa on Sunday, February 4. We had them over to watch the super bowl. With inducing labor in mind, I made a spicy chili. That night I went to bed tired from being on my feet, but still with no signs of labor. Then, on one of my multiple trips to the bathroom, something happened. Although it was dark (I didn’t bother to turn the lights on for those bathroom trips), I saw something colored on the toilet paper. (Yes, I am a t-p checker. A habit I acquired in early pregnancy.) I immediately turned on the light and it was confirmed: blood. I got back into bed and woke my husband, Alan, to share the news. We were both excited. I was so excited that I couldn’t get back to sleep. Could this mean that labor could start at any second? I went on-line and googled “bloody show.” A number of hits came up. Some sites said that bloody show could be the start of labor. But, others said it could happen as much as six weeks before labor began. While I didn’t get my hopes up, I definitely saw this as progress.
On Monday morning, after not much sleep, I went to prenatal yoga. I left the class telling them that I’d probably see them later in the week. I then showered up and met my in-laws for lunch and a movie. Alan and I went to dinner with them later in the evening. I started to feel a little crampy at dinner. But, I hadn’t noticed any blood since the morning. We left them at about 10pm and my mother-in-law looked at me as we got up and said “you still haven’t dropped yet.”
We got home and I immediately did not feel well. I was tired from having not slept well the night before. In addition to that, I started to feel menstrual-type cramps. I noticed that the cramps came in waves, kind of like a bell-shaped curve. Alan joined me in the bedroom, I was lying on my side and he was massaging my back. I felt uncomfortable, but together we waited for the contractions.
The cramps intensified, and I definitely felt a lot of pain and discomfort. But, the contractions as I imagined them never came. I never felt the contractions in my back, nor did I feel any tightening. I did, however, feel unbelievable pressure in my bowel, as if I had to go to the bathroom the entire time. As a result, I spent the majority of my labor on the toilet. Every other position – all fours, on my side – felt excruciatingly painful. I tried to lie down and relax between each contraction, but as soon as one started, I was up and back on the toilet. Alan asked me to tell him when I felt the "peak" of each contraction. That helped me focus in and recognize that each contraction would somehow end. Alan also tried other ways to comfort me (including taking a pillow and laying himself down on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet) and encouraged me to try other positions, but nothing worked.
The contractions still not what I imagined, and thinking we’d have a long day ahead of us, Alan and I tried to go to sleep. We lay in the dark, him spooning me, until I had to jump back up and head to the bathroom. Some of the contractions were really close together, but all in all they were hard to time since it wasn’t entirely clear when one ended and the next one began. I started to have less and less relief in between them. At 1:45AM I told Alan we should call Rachel, our doula. “But, it is the middle of the night” Alan said. I encouraged him to call her, explaining that she is used to it and that we should let her know what was going on. Alan called, and Rachel confirmed that it sounded like labor. We told her we’d keep her posted.
It didn’t seem like the contractions were very long, but in between they never fully went away. And, the pressure in my bum got worse and worse. I had thought about doing an enema (I had bought one on the theory that it would help my labor along), but I was too scared to upset my stomach any more at this point. Alan and I had talked about getting in the shower, but I was too afraid to leave the toilet. I tried sitting backwards on a chair with Alan massaging me. This felt good in between contractions, but I couldn’t bear it for very long, especially once another contraction came.
At 3:45 AM, I told Alan that we needed to call Rachel. He hesitated a little (can you tell we were in denial?), but called her and she said she’d be over soon. At 4:30 AM there was a knock on the door, and Alan let Rachel in.
As soon as I could get off the toilet, Rachel checked my dilation. (Rachel happens to be a home birth midwife, which was definitely one of the benefits to using her as a doula.) She checked in the dark (at this point, I was very sensitive to light and we had all the lights off in the bedroom and bathroom). I was surprised when she said I was a good 4 centimeters dilated. In fact, I really didn’t believe her at the time. However, I felt some reassurance that I was making progress.
I resumed my position on the toilet. Rachel was a big comfort, reminding me to keep my face soft so I wouldn’t tense up too much. At this point, I was definitely in a zone. I was in my own world, very chilled out, almost as if I had been sedated, but dealing with the pain through closed eyes and open head. However, I did feel the sensations of pain and discomfort and could see why people used drugs to deal with labor. I remember thinking that if I had to endure 12 more hours of this, for sure I would need an epidural.
At 5 something, I suggested that we should get ready to go to the hospital. I told Rachel that I didn’t know how we would get there since I couldn’t leave my bathroom. She assured me that we’d figure it out. Alan gathered some odds and ends (at Alan’s insistence, our bags had been packed for weeks) and went downstairs to hail a cab. He called up to let us know that he had one. Rachel helped me off the toilet, I put on a coat and we headed out the door. I had a terrible contraction at the elevator – the first one I had to endure standing up. When we got to the lobby I confided in Rachel that I may go to the bathroom in my pants. She said that it was okay. (I never did go to the bathroom; little did I know that I was already feeling the urge to push.)
The trip to the hospital was not as bad as I thought it would be. The three of us sat together in the back of the taxi. I breathed through the contractions as they came. In retrospect, I realize that I was bearing down during each one.
We got to the hospital pretty quickly – no traffic, even in Manhattan, at 5:45 in the morning. We stopped at the security desk and I had a contraction holding on to the podium. The security guard decided he did not need us to show ID. They offered me a wheel chair, but I declined. I felt I could walk, I didn’t want to have to wait for someone to bring a wheelchair and, even more so, I feared what it would feel like to sit down.
We got up to labor and delivery; I was having contractions all along the way. I felt very subdued the whole time, like I was in a trance. All of the doctors and nurses were by the nurse’s station. I held on to the counter, and my husband asked for some assistance. One of the nurses asked if she could help us. My husband responded “I would like to admit my wife.” The nurse asked “What is wrong with her?” My husband responded “She is in labor.” The nurses and a resident, who looked like she was 10 years old, asked us a couple of questions: Was this our first baby? Who was my doctor?” etc. The nurses were incredibly rude, as if they didn’t believe I was actually in labor. The resident said she would first check me in triage before I could be admitted.
Even though we had pre-admitted up the wazoo, my husband had to go downstairs to fill out some paper work. My doula came with me to triage. The nurse handed me a gown and told me to change in the bathroom. Excited to again see a toilet, I asked her if I could sit on it. She rudely responded “Of course you can, this is a hospital.” Excuse me; I didn’t know if someone else had just been in there and if they had had time to clean it. Rachel helped me into the gown and the 10 year old resident (who, by the way was incredibly lovely and had a wonderful bedside manner) had me lay down so she could check my dilation. Although I was calm and quiet, it was really hard to sit still through the contractions, and lying down was not comfortable for me. The resident looked at me and said “You are 10 centimeters dilated and fully effaced; I don’t think your doctor is going to make it.”
From that moment on, the hospital staff kicked it into high gear and everyone couldn’t have been nicer to me. They immediately got me to a labor room and the nurse in there said to me: “I don’t think there is any point in your having an epidural at this point.” I agreed with her. She hooked me up to a monitor and, without my asking, she said I could stand during the monitoring. The standing didn’t last long, since I felt uncomfortable and I was moving too much during the contractions for the baby to be monitored. I got on the bed and held on to the side railing for dear life. My husband returned and we filled him in on how far along I was. Good thing he had decided to call our parents and siblings on his way back upstairs.
I continued to have trouble staying still during the contractions. The doctor was not sure if the baby’s heart rate was decelerating during the contractions, or if the monitor kept slipping. They pulled it tighter around my middle, which was uncomfortable. The resident called for the attending and they suggested that they break my water; the baby’s head was down low and they thought it could all happen quickly. Apparently, my OB had called in and asked them to hold off so that he could be there for the delivery. My husband and doula quickly nixed that approach. Before the resident broke my water, I could feel it bulging during the contractions. At one point, I felt like I was blowing balloons through my vagina – no joke. An interesting sensation which didn’t hurt.
The resident broke my water and brought a mirror over to show me how low the head was. I could see a little mop of dark hair, but was still in disbelief at how low the baby was – I felt no pain down there, just the pressure in my bowel. She moved the mirror away, and I’m glad she did. I had thought about watching the birth, but I think I would have found having the mirror there distracting.
My husband took one leg, my doula the other, the resident stood directly before me and the nurses around her. It was still dark outside, but there were spot lights coming down on me. They all cheered me on. I have to admit, I felt like a rock star! I pushed when I felt like it, engaging my core muscles and holding my breath bearing down as I had heard you are supposed to. The resident massaged my perineum. I took my time in between each push, and I think I could have actually pushed harder, but I didn’t want to tire myself out; I thought it would be a long haul and that my OB might still make it. I had pushed for 5 rounds of contractions, approximately 20 minutes, when they told me to hold back and then give another small push. I felt a sensation, but not the famed “ring of fire” that I had feared. Next think I know, the resident put the baby on my chest, as if she was palming a basketball. My baby was born on February 6 (the day before my due date) at 6:58AM, less than one hour after we arrived at the hospital, weighing 6lbs, 12 ounces and 20 inches long. My OB never did make it to the delivery, but walked in to deliver my placenta!!
Alan watched the entire thing. He wasn't squirmish at all, but was rather in awe of the whole thing. Both he and my doula described the look on my face when the baby was put on my chest as pure shock. Until that moment, I really didn’t believe what went down. It all happened so fast, I wasn’t prepared to actually meet my baby at that moment.
My baby was indeed a girl, as I had sensed, but I was surprised at how much she looked like Alan!! For some reason, both of us had assumed she would look like me. I didn’t recognize her as I thought I would. But, since then we have gotten better acquainted and my heart fills every time I look at her: she is indeed mine.
I didn’t expect my birth experience to be so beautiful or so empowering. When most people hear how Shayna's delivery went, they credit the fact that I worked out and stayed fit throughout my entire pregnancy. While I'm sure that it helped, I know that it was Shayna herself that did the hard work during labor. She was in a great position and was ready to meet the world. As for managing the "pain," I think the key was that I somehow stayed calm and always left room for it to get worse. My recovery has been almost instantaneous. I had one minor tear, but I haven't even needed pain relief and a couple of days later I felt completely normal. I have a new respect for my body and my capabilities, and most of all for the miracle of my daughter.
I was blessed with a terrific pregnancy. At first, I had just enough morning sickness and exhaustion in the beginning to feel pregnant, but nothing debilitating. Then, I had great energy, felt wonderful exercising, had minimal aches and pains, no swelling and loved my growing belly.
I had fears about labor and delivery as I am sure every mother does. As I educated myself, my fear (aside from pain!) was that I would not “progress” and I’d be forced into a c-section. A friend of mine who is a nurse and has worked with my OB had told me that he was “quick with the knife.” I also worried that, since I am so "type A," I wouldn't allow my body to relax and to "open" naturally.
As my due date, February 7, drew near, I was convinced that I couldn’t possibly be close to going into labor. I still felt great, was still very active and had no signs that my body was getting ready. I was still walking two miles on most days and teaching fitness class (I taught my spin class two days before I went into labor; I would have taught my kickboxing class as well, but I finally got someone to cover it). Everyone was telling me I hadn’t dropped and I didn’t look like I was 40 weeks pregnant. Could have been nice things to hear, but I wanted a sign that my body was getting close to doing what it was meant to do.
My in-laws arrived from South Africa on Sunday, February 4. We had them over to watch the super bowl. With inducing labor in mind, I made a spicy chili. That night I went to bed tired from being on my feet, but still with no signs of labor. Then, on one of my multiple trips to the bathroom, something happened. Although it was dark (I didn’t bother to turn the lights on for those bathroom trips), I saw something colored on the toilet paper. (Yes, I am a t-p checker. A habit I acquired in early pregnancy.) I immediately turned on the light and it was confirmed: blood. I got back into bed and woke my husband, Alan, to share the news. We were both excited. I was so excited that I couldn’t get back to sleep. Could this mean that labor could start at any second? I went on-line and googled “bloody show.” A number of hits came up. Some sites said that bloody show could be the start of labor. But, others said it could happen as much as six weeks before labor began. While I didn’t get my hopes up, I definitely saw this as progress.
On Monday morning, after not much sleep, I went to prenatal yoga. I left the class telling them that I’d probably see them later in the week. I then showered up and met my in-laws for lunch and a movie. Alan and I went to dinner with them later in the evening. I started to feel a little crampy at dinner. But, I hadn’t noticed any blood since the morning. We left them at about 10pm and my mother-in-law looked at me as we got up and said “you still haven’t dropped yet.”
We got home and I immediately did not feel well. I was tired from having not slept well the night before. In addition to that, I started to feel menstrual-type cramps. I noticed that the cramps came in waves, kind of like a bell-shaped curve. Alan joined me in the bedroom, I was lying on my side and he was massaging my back. I felt uncomfortable, but together we waited for the contractions.
The cramps intensified, and I definitely felt a lot of pain and discomfort. But, the contractions as I imagined them never came. I never felt the contractions in my back, nor did I feel any tightening. I did, however, feel unbelievable pressure in my bowel, as if I had to go to the bathroom the entire time. As a result, I spent the majority of my labor on the toilet. Every other position – all fours, on my side – felt excruciatingly painful. I tried to lie down and relax between each contraction, but as soon as one started, I was up and back on the toilet. Alan asked me to tell him when I felt the "peak" of each contraction. That helped me focus in and recognize that each contraction would somehow end. Alan also tried other ways to comfort me (including taking a pillow and laying himself down on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet) and encouraged me to try other positions, but nothing worked.
The contractions still not what I imagined, and thinking we’d have a long day ahead of us, Alan and I tried to go to sleep. We lay in the dark, him spooning me, until I had to jump back up and head to the bathroom. Some of the contractions were really close together, but all in all they were hard to time since it wasn’t entirely clear when one ended and the next one began. I started to have less and less relief in between them. At 1:45AM I told Alan we should call Rachel, our doula. “But, it is the middle of the night” Alan said. I encouraged him to call her, explaining that she is used to it and that we should let her know what was going on. Alan called, and Rachel confirmed that it sounded like labor. We told her we’d keep her posted.
It didn’t seem like the contractions were very long, but in between they never fully went away. And, the pressure in my bum got worse and worse. I had thought about doing an enema (I had bought one on the theory that it would help my labor along), but I was too scared to upset my stomach any more at this point. Alan and I had talked about getting in the shower, but I was too afraid to leave the toilet. I tried sitting backwards on a chair with Alan massaging me. This felt good in between contractions, but I couldn’t bear it for very long, especially once another contraction came.
At 3:45 AM, I told Alan that we needed to call Rachel. He hesitated a little (can you tell we were in denial?), but called her and she said she’d be over soon. At 4:30 AM there was a knock on the door, and Alan let Rachel in.
As soon as I could get off the toilet, Rachel checked my dilation. (Rachel happens to be a home birth midwife, which was definitely one of the benefits to using her as a doula.) She checked in the dark (at this point, I was very sensitive to light and we had all the lights off in the bedroom and bathroom). I was surprised when she said I was a good 4 centimeters dilated. In fact, I really didn’t believe her at the time. However, I felt some reassurance that I was making progress.
I resumed my position on the toilet. Rachel was a big comfort, reminding me to keep my face soft so I wouldn’t tense up too much. At this point, I was definitely in a zone. I was in my own world, very chilled out, almost as if I had been sedated, but dealing with the pain through closed eyes and open head. However, I did feel the sensations of pain and discomfort and could see why people used drugs to deal with labor. I remember thinking that if I had to endure 12 more hours of this, for sure I would need an epidural.
At 5 something, I suggested that we should get ready to go to the hospital. I told Rachel that I didn’t know how we would get there since I couldn’t leave my bathroom. She assured me that we’d figure it out. Alan gathered some odds and ends (at Alan’s insistence, our bags had been packed for weeks) and went downstairs to hail a cab. He called up to let us know that he had one. Rachel helped me off the toilet, I put on a coat and we headed out the door. I had a terrible contraction at the elevator – the first one I had to endure standing up. When we got to the lobby I confided in Rachel that I may go to the bathroom in my pants. She said that it was okay. (I never did go to the bathroom; little did I know that I was already feeling the urge to push.)
The trip to the hospital was not as bad as I thought it would be. The three of us sat together in the back of the taxi. I breathed through the contractions as they came. In retrospect, I realize that I was bearing down during each one.
We got to the hospital pretty quickly – no traffic, even in Manhattan, at 5:45 in the morning. We stopped at the security desk and I had a contraction holding on to the podium. The security guard decided he did not need us to show ID. They offered me a wheel chair, but I declined. I felt I could walk, I didn’t want to have to wait for someone to bring a wheelchair and, even more so, I feared what it would feel like to sit down.
We got up to labor and delivery; I was having contractions all along the way. I felt very subdued the whole time, like I was in a trance. All of the doctors and nurses were by the nurse’s station. I held on to the counter, and my husband asked for some assistance. One of the nurses asked if she could help us. My husband responded “I would like to admit my wife.” The nurse asked “What is wrong with her?” My husband responded “She is in labor.” The nurses and a resident, who looked like she was 10 years old, asked us a couple of questions: Was this our first baby? Who was my doctor?” etc. The nurses were incredibly rude, as if they didn’t believe I was actually in labor. The resident said she would first check me in triage before I could be admitted.
Even though we had pre-admitted up the wazoo, my husband had to go downstairs to fill out some paper work. My doula came with me to triage. The nurse handed me a gown and told me to change in the bathroom. Excited to again see a toilet, I asked her if I could sit on it. She rudely responded “Of course you can, this is a hospital.” Excuse me; I didn’t know if someone else had just been in there and if they had had time to clean it. Rachel helped me into the gown and the 10 year old resident (who, by the way was incredibly lovely and had a wonderful bedside manner) had me lay down so she could check my dilation. Although I was calm and quiet, it was really hard to sit still through the contractions, and lying down was not comfortable for me. The resident looked at me and said “You are 10 centimeters dilated and fully effaced; I don’t think your doctor is going to make it.”
From that moment on, the hospital staff kicked it into high gear and everyone couldn’t have been nicer to me. They immediately got me to a labor room and the nurse in there said to me: “I don’t think there is any point in your having an epidural at this point.” I agreed with her. She hooked me up to a monitor and, without my asking, she said I could stand during the monitoring. The standing didn’t last long, since I felt uncomfortable and I was moving too much during the contractions for the baby to be monitored. I got on the bed and held on to the side railing for dear life. My husband returned and we filled him in on how far along I was. Good thing he had decided to call our parents and siblings on his way back upstairs.
I continued to have trouble staying still during the contractions. The doctor was not sure if the baby’s heart rate was decelerating during the contractions, or if the monitor kept slipping. They pulled it tighter around my middle, which was uncomfortable. The resident called for the attending and they suggested that they break my water; the baby’s head was down low and they thought it could all happen quickly. Apparently, my OB had called in and asked them to hold off so that he could be there for the delivery. My husband and doula quickly nixed that approach. Before the resident broke my water, I could feel it bulging during the contractions. At one point, I felt like I was blowing balloons through my vagina – no joke. An interesting sensation which didn’t hurt.
The resident broke my water and brought a mirror over to show me how low the head was. I could see a little mop of dark hair, but was still in disbelief at how low the baby was – I felt no pain down there, just the pressure in my bowel. She moved the mirror away, and I’m glad she did. I had thought about watching the birth, but I think I would have found having the mirror there distracting.
My husband took one leg, my doula the other, the resident stood directly before me and the nurses around her. It was still dark outside, but there were spot lights coming down on me. They all cheered me on. I have to admit, I felt like a rock star! I pushed when I felt like it, engaging my core muscles and holding my breath bearing down as I had heard you are supposed to. The resident massaged my perineum. I took my time in between each push, and I think I could have actually pushed harder, but I didn’t want to tire myself out; I thought it would be a long haul and that my OB might still make it. I had pushed for 5 rounds of contractions, approximately 20 minutes, when they told me to hold back and then give another small push. I felt a sensation, but not the famed “ring of fire” that I had feared. Next think I know, the resident put the baby on my chest, as if she was palming a basketball. My baby was born on February 6 (the day before my due date) at 6:58AM, less than one hour after we arrived at the hospital, weighing 6lbs, 12 ounces and 20 inches long. My OB never did make it to the delivery, but walked in to deliver my placenta!!
Alan watched the entire thing. He wasn't squirmish at all, but was rather in awe of the whole thing. Both he and my doula described the look on my face when the baby was put on my chest as pure shock. Until that moment, I really didn’t believe what went down. It all happened so fast, I wasn’t prepared to actually meet my baby at that moment.
My baby was indeed a girl, as I had sensed, but I was surprised at how much she looked like Alan!! For some reason, both of us had assumed she would look like me. I didn’t recognize her as I thought I would. But, since then we have gotten better acquainted and my heart fills every time I look at her: she is indeed mine.
I didn’t expect my birth experience to be so beautiful or so empowering. When most people hear how Shayna's delivery went, they credit the fact that I worked out and stayed fit throughout my entire pregnancy. While I'm sure that it helped, I know that it was Shayna herself that did the hard work during labor. She was in a great position and was ready to meet the world. As for managing the "pain," I think the key was that I somehow stayed calm and always left room for it to get worse. My recovery has been almost instantaneous. I had one minor tear, but I haven't even needed pain relief and a couple of days later I felt completely normal. I have a new respect for my body and my capabilities, and most of all for the miracle of my daughter.
