We had been sitting around for weeks. I had had fantasies of the baby coming early – like before school ended so that I could miss some days of school. Then I thought the baby would come before the Raph’s mom, and things would be easy that way. Then when that plan didn’t pan out, I thought the baby was waiting for my mom. Then I hoped the baby would come by Thursday the 21st so that it would be a Gemini (I have lots of Gemini friends). But the baby didn’t cooperate so instead we sat around waiting – playing cards, eating, taking the moms out on adventures, walking, etc. Thursday afternoon we hiked to Kahena black sand beach which is about a half mile across uneven lava in each direction. We got there to find a busload of tourists gawking and giant rain clouds moving in. We left when the rain started and headed home to play some cards. Waiting had become our pastime.
Thursday night I woke up in the middle of the night and my belly was rock hard. It took me a second to realize – “oh I think this is a contraction.” It didn’t hurt or anything, but it got me a little excited because it was new. I told Raph the next day…”I think this baby is going to be born this weekend.” That night at dinner we all predicted when the baby would come. My mom said Saturday; Raph said the following Friday; I said Sunday; I forget what Ann said. (I won!)
On Friday night (June 22nd) I lay in bed, though I was wide awake. This was unusual for me because I’ve been going to bed really early since we’ve lived on solar power and even when I’m up later I wished I was asleep. I got up to go to the bathroom and had the sensation of squirting something out down there. I knew immediately that my water had broken and after a quick trip to the bathroom told Raph that we might have to go the hospital that night. Raph, the collected calm thinker that he is convinced me that perhaps we should wait until morning when I had gotten some sleep, and labor had had a chance to start.
After consulting the moms and my doula, we agreed to wait until morning and I headed to bed, with a towel between my legs. I really didn’t get much sleep. I was excited and nervous and all that stuff. Raph knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep so he convinced me to watch a movie (why Lethal Weapon 4 I’m not sure) and after that I got a few hours of sleep. At six I was up, packing the bags throwing all kinds of stuff in the car, not knowing what we’d really want or need. I called the doctor at 8:00 and learned that my doctor was not on call for the weekend and that I would have a different doctor. While I was initially disappointed, that turned out to be the best thing that could have happened.
We arrived at the hospital at about 10:00am. I was checked to be sure that indeed that the membranes had ruptured (they had indeed), had my cervical exam (I was only 1 cm dilated), and was put on the external fetal monitor to check on baby (he was fine and I was having contractions about 7 minutes apart). I was officially admitted and the waiting continued. We waited all day for labor to start (or pick up as the case may be). We wandered the hospital, walked up and down stairs (someone told us this would help with labor), watched a movie, stared at each other, etc. It was torture. I had to be on the monitor intermittently, but some of the nurses were nicer about that than others. Sitting in the uncomfortable bed on the monitor really wasn’t all that fun, but I really wanted to go to labor on my own. The doctor and I had agreed that if labor hadn’t begun in earnest on its own, then we would start the pitocin at midnight, as she wanted to see labor in action by morning. (There’s the 24-hour timeline you get after your water breaks.)
At about 10:00 pm I was trying to get some sleep, so that I could take a shower before we began the pitocin, which looked more and more necessary. Suddenly, the nice nurse that I’d had since 7 came in with a worried look on her face. She asked me to turn on my side because she said the baby’s heart rate had dropped. Other nurses came in. They put an oxygen mask on me and asked me to turn to the other side. They called the doctor. They seemed more and more frantic. They told Raph to pack up our stuff (implying we’d be having an emergency c-section). I was pretty calm. They asked me to turn over on my hands and knees. When I did that the baby’s heart rate slowly started to rise. The doctor showed up shortly thereafter. We watched the monitor for a long time; all the while I was on hands and knees, doing pelvic rocks, and wishing I could sit up.
After the baby’s heart rate had been stable for an hour, they started the pitocin, though with hesitation, afraid to stress the baby. The baby handled it fine, though, and I had the first contractions that were clearly discernible to me. They started the drip slowly, and I waited for the tough ones that I knew came with pitocin. But no. After a few hours, even those contractions that had come started to be farther and farther spaced from each other. I called in the nurse and asked her if should could turn up the pitocin, not wanting to wait any longer. It was a new nurse for me and she was condescending and mean. So I waited. I think that maybe the other nurse turned it up once or twice. The doctor came back at 6:00am and checked my cervix again. No progress. I was disappointed but not surprised. I didn’t feel like I had been working too hard. They turned up the pitocin and we waited some more. Contractions were now stronger and closer - 3-4 minutes apart – but I still didn’t feel like I was working too hard.
A new nurse came on at 7:00 am. She was mean too and she wore black scrubs, which outraged our hot hippie doula, Shannon. The mean nurse, Kate, asked me if I wanted her to up the pitocin since I wasn’t making much progress. “Yes,” I replied emphatically. So she did and soon we were in business. Almost immediately my contractions started to seem like real work. They hurt. They were coming about three minutes apart, some closer. Kate kept coming in and turning it up. I would panic when I saw her, afraid that she could turn it up again, which she did every time. I was hurting now. I couldn’t talk. I sometimes felt like I couldn’t breathe. Eventually I found the toilet. It felt good and relieved the back pain that I was having. I told Raph that when we have a house, I want that toilet. I knew the doctor was coming back between 12 and 1 so I sat on the toilet waiting. I fantasized about how far dilated I’d be after close to six hours of good contractions, with the final three hours being very tough.
At about 12:30 the doctor showed up. She checked me and broke my heart by telling me I wasn’t any farther dilated than I had been. I knew that meant I was having a c-section, and at that point I didn’t feel like I could have done things differently. I had waited. I had had a really nice doctor who let me try for as long as she felt it was safe to continue to wait. I had used the pitocin. The baby just wasn’t low enough. His head wasn’t pushing against the cervix, so even with heroic contractions, the cervix wasn’t opening. Still I cried. They tell you when you get a c-section that you didn’t fail, but it sure felt that way, and people react that way when you tell them. In fact, I don’t think that I’ve ever read a birth story other than from someone who had a c-section. Perhaps we feel we need to explain ourselves. In any case, I was upset, though resigned to what I knew now would be the course of action.
The C-section was pretty weird. The anesthesiologist was really great and really into his music. He’d get so excited about a Carol King song or an obscure Bob Dylan song. I was laid out with my arms out directly to my sides with a curtain in front of my face. I was calm and tried to be a detached as possible as they tugged on me and my legs oozed warmth from the spinal block. Raph sat next to my head and I could tell he was really nervous; he was quiet and seemed overwhelmed by the bright lights and loud voices. At one point the anesthesiologist asked him if he wanted to see what was happening. He looked over the curtain as they pulled Makili out. He said it was pretty scary - I looked like soup because my whole belly was covered with iodine and my insiders were just there, like chunks of vegetables and tofu.
As soon as the baby was out, I could hear the pediatrician oohing and aahing over how beautiful he was, how he had his mom’s auburn hair. The people in the room commented on how big he was (8 pounds) and what a screamer he was (I haven’t stopped hearing that since he was born.) Raph left me and went with the baby and soon came back with Makili to my head so I could see him. His little hands looked like they had soaked in the tub for a long time (like nine months) and I noticed the little white dots on his nose. They said this was like a rash or something. (My mom said that we were born with them on our cheeks, and she used to say we looked like little fawns.)
Soon Raph and the baby left to do the things they do to new babies – prod them, bathe them, weigh them, etc. I lay on the table listening to Patsy Kline, not knowing what to think. After a short period of shivers in the recovery room as the feeling crawled back into my body from my spine, I was taken back to my room to see my baby and Raph. I was glad to see them, to be done. I was glad to hold Makili, who already seemed too big to have been inside me, and seemed to know me better than I knew him. Raph seemed relieved to have me back, not looking like soup.
