Birth Story - Cole

As I try to figure out where to begin with Cole's birth story, I'm realizing how much I have forgotten. Perhaps that's a good thing (and probably the thing that enabled me to sign up for another baby), but it makes it hard to go back. Oh well, let's dive in. Ew. Maybe that's not the phrase I should begin a birth story with...

Cole was due October 5, 2008. Until about a week before his birth, I would have been happy being pregnant forever. I was feeling pretty good, and loved feeling him kick and move around. But then the uncomfortable ickiness of being nine months pregnant set in, and all of a sudden, labor didn't seem so bad - if only it meant an end to the CONSTANT need to go to the bathroom.

On Tuesday, October 7th, I drove to work as usual. I had started feeling contractions, but they were pretty far apart, so I figured I'd just go about my normal routine as long as possible. It was actually kind of fun to freak out my coworkers - I'll never forget the look on my assistant's face when I would have a contraction while trying to talk to her - half horror, half amusement.

Around 2:00pm, the contractions were becoming pretty regular, and I worried about driving home if I stayed much longer, so I went home. Bryce and I carefully timed the contractions, and when they were "the right" length, duration, and distance apart, we gleefully packed up the car and went to the hospital - sure that it would be soon.

In Labor and Delivery, they pronounced me dilated to a 1. I was puzzled. Bemused. Flummoxed. But the clock...the clock told me I was ready. The nurse gave me a shot of morphine and they sent us home. Unfortunately, while the morphine certainly made me feel like I was tripping, it didn't touch the pain. I still remember the ride home being a blur of dark, headlights, and pain. I tried to sleep that night, but that didn't really happen.

Wednesday, the 8th, I got up with renewed determination. I would kick these contractions butts! I would show those smarmy nurses who clearly thought I was a pansy. I held out until after lunch, proud of myself for walking around the block over and over and over again. Not wanting to be too excited, we went to my doctor's office to see where I was at. The doctor patted my hand and said, "Looks like you're making progress." I was so excited - was I at a 5? A 6? I waited with baited breath to hear the verdict. "You are dilated to about a 1.5!"

What the hell?

How? How was it possible that after 30 hours of consistent contractions I was at a 1.5? It took everything I had not to jump off the table and pummel the doctor with my fists. I think she saw the wildness in my eyes and hastily said, "Why don't you go to the park down the street and walk for a couple of hours? Come back and we'll see how you are doing." So, we walked. And walked some more. And I shot murderous glances at those non-pregnant people out enjoying their day. How dare they?! Didn't they know I was at a 1.5?

Back to the hospital we went, where I had indeed made progress. Just enough that they admitted me. (I think it was pity more than anything else.) They took pity on me again that night and gave me the epidural. I was so exhausted from the labor and not sleeping, I remember sleeping pretty well that night.

The next morning brought in a chipper nurse at about 8:00am, with the fabulous news that I was now dilated to an 8! "That baby should be here by noon!" she announced. Noon still seemed pretty far away, but it was concrete. We excitedly called our parents and encouraged them to come on down.

We were stupid.

Because it turns out Cole was hanging on to my innards with both hands and feet. I kind of picture him like a cat someone is trying to shove into a toilet - claws out and joints locked.

At about noon, I started pushing. I was going to push that baby out - and do it RIGHT NOW. I held the pushes longer and did them more frequently. After 3 hours - yes THREE HOURS of pushing, the doctor came in and said he was still pretty high up. She said that I could either have a c-section or push for another half an hour and see if I could get him low enough for forceps.

I did not go through the past 2 days to end up with a c-section. No how, no way.

So I pushed. And a half an hour later, we got the good news that the baby was low enough to get with forceps. Two pushes later, our beautiful boy was born. I still remember hearing a nurse say, "Oh - who has red hair?" They wrapped him up and placed him on my chest. I was so scared I would drop him, I couldn't stop shaking. Bryce held him while the doctor stitched me up...for another hour.

Turns out forceps do very bad things to you.

But we had made it. And having Cole started us out on the amazing, confusing, and wonderful ride that is parenting.

Would I have done it differently if I could go back? Maybe. But I like to think that the end result would be the same.  

And everyone knows you do NOT judge a woman in pain.