The birth story I couldn't write then
I had pretty much thought I had lost my chance to be a mom. I had just not felt I was good enough, too scarred from the issues of my own childhood and ran from serious relationships that might lead to a good thing. Until finally one caught up with me at 38, a sweet and gentle man. Ok, I found him on the internet, but only by chance one afternoon while browsing and answered an ad I liked just for fun. Many letters later we met and it was like we knew each other for years. And then my body said it was time-your last chance, and suddenly I was pregnant. It was scary, and then totally wonderful.
The pregnancy was totally wonderful and easy, not what you would expect at 39. We were living on Whidbey Island in an A frame cabin in the trees with a view to the water and mountains. I was travelling for work each week but took extra care with my diet. While pregnant I flew back and forth between Southern Cal, Victoria and Kansas City for work. I was in Victoria on September 11, I was terrified being away from my husband and eager to be on our quiet island and hopped the first ferry I could home. Then on Christmas night, after a lovely dinner, we lay down in our loft and I noticed some low back pain. Dh started doing some reiki and then massage when suddenly there was a pop and a gush. After excitedly running around it became evident that nothing more was happening, so after a call to the midwife, we lay down to sleep. For the next few days we kept trying to get things moving every way we heard about-walking, moxibustion and acupuncture, about the only thing that would get things moving a little was nipple stim, but that grew painful after awhile. We read the studies, we felt comfortable that not doing vag exams, watching my temp, being home, we were safe to go about 4 days. But the 4th day was Saturday, and rural docs don't like coming in on weekends for inductions if they don't have to. And the consulting doc was not so thrilled waiting either, my AFI was on the low end of normal. The first thing the nurse wanted to do when we came in for the AFI was to check my cervix, this was day 2 after pretty much zero labor. No, we want to go another day, an exam was pointless. "But we use a sterile glove". I stared at her for the stupidity of the statement, especially to a nurse. I should have said "Do you sterilize everything on the way up, too?". That should have been a clue things may not go so well.
We chose Island Hospital, even though it was an hour from home up the island, because we knew the only OB at the closer hospital where I used to work, a very small place. That OB then was a nice woman with very old fashioned and outdated practices, not my first choice. We didn't want to go off island if we didn't have to because then our midwife could not join us, being the only midwife on that end of the island and having patients near their dates. Island was larger, with more OB's and FP docs, and our midwife was working on obtaining privileges there so had some rapport with the docs. She did not yet know the nurses, however, and as a nurse, I can say for certain nursing made all the difference to make my experience far worse than it ever needed to be.
We made a feeble attempt, staying up all night walking the lovely garden at Cynthia Jaffe's birth center, trying to get labor going, hard when you have a deadline looming. By morning we had to concede defeat, it was our 3rd day, we were tired. We drove up to the hospital and checked in before our midwife, joining us in support and hoping to facilitate the transfer. As the nurse began the admission I asked her to wait to start the Pit when my midwife joined us. She snapped that "she does not have privileges here". I was taken aback, but being a small place we were stuck. Very quickly things started moving, and again with the low back pain. But still, rocking on the birthing ball with husband doing pressure, I was ok. But my nurse snapped again "If you are having trouble now, you are never going to make it all the way, I have barely turned it up.". And so I gave in. I knew I was tired and thought I wouldn't be able to make it through to the long end, since I was 1 cm when we started, and agreed to the damn epidural. They quickly put it in, bolused me and the baby had a decel in his heart rate. Yes, one. They put me in Trendelenberg (head down), and it came right back up-just a vagal response to the drop in BP. But my young OB, right out of residency, was eager to do a Csection. I knew then it was silly, but I had no more fight in me. And you know what I had progressed to in that short time on the Pit? 5 cm. IF she had checked me before the epidural I would have felt fine to keep going, it hadn't hurt that bad, I just felt like I had miles to go. That nurse most certainly caused my Csection, more so than the nervous young doc.
I met the pediatrician, a cold, distant woman who said nothing when I was I had been a neonatal nurse and just wanted the Apgars called out immediately and then have him brought to me if he is fine. That didn't happen, I saw his ankle as he was rushed out-his Apgars I learned later were 9 and 9, perfect. I was crying a bit as we prepared for the surgery (because I had been bullied into something I knew I did not need) and my midwife, thankfully allowed in, whispered that they were about to give Versed "because they thought I was upset". I yanked on my anesthetist and said "DO NOT medicate me for their discomfort, I am fine, NO Versed." No one had even come to ask if I was ok-this was not a rushed procedure either, remember, only 1 decel. But it was late Fri afternoon. So my son came out fine, the same nasty nurse rushed him out "I have to give his meds within one hour, it is the law!" (no, it is not) My husband was sent with him, by my midwife. And right in front of my husband said nurse exams my son and exclaims "he looks a little Down's!". I am so thankful I had told Jerry stories of how many babies came in from rural hospitals misdiagnosed as possible Down's due to things like lines on the hand-something that I have on one side, almost a "simian" crease. However, you must have both sides to mean possibly anything, and it must be a complete line, mine is not, nor was my son's. So my husband thankfully knew she was an idiot, and he did not tell me until much later or I would have torn into her myself, as he knew.
But there were a few good moments. Despite being in a shared OR/Recovery, which sometimes means babes have to stay out for infection reasons, they had a long one which meant we could be on the opposite end of the hall and I could nurse my babe right there. He was so beautiful, took to it immediately. I believe it was right there and then that both Jerry and I decided that he looked like a Conor Glenn-although it had been one of several names on our list.
We were then given the world's noisiest postpartum room, with jet-like fans that cycled on just as you fell to sleep-and we had not slept much in 4 nights. One tired moment I attempted to place my son in a football hold to nurse, but my epidural had not worn off and I had no strength to shift him there, and husband was finally asleep. So I rang for help to place him. The nurse sticks a glove on, jams 2 fingers in his mouth and pronounces his suck poor and says she is going for lactation-leaving me still with a babe not where I want him. A few minutes later a lactation nurse comes in with massive papers and a teaching plan. Remember, I haven't slept yet and the babe is now nursing. I tell her I really do not need her, I am a nurse, I have a midwife who will be coming to my home and he is doing fine, we are just both tired. She pronounces that I "must" meet with her before I can be discharged and leaves. I fume and fume, and an hour later say ok, just let her come in, I can't sleep anyway, thinking to just get it over. After some nurses asking questions about why my midwife "let me wait so long to come in" (uh, no, please do your lit review, I did), I realize that there is probably an urban myth going that I am from some far off island, have had no prenatal care, and so on. I must have said a thousand times I was a former NICU nurse, but the listening in general was nonexistent.
We did get transferred to another room at last to sleep, but that happens to be a med-surg bed and there they come in every 4 hours to check you, turning on all the lights. The RN does this and the CNA, on different schedules. I blow my top at last and ask them to stop around 1am, leave us until the am where we WILL be going home. And although it is too soon to take my staples out, I go home that morning with rushed "teaching" by my nursing staff. Please, I used to do that myself. I was a bit sorry later when I realized that I would have to wait longer than I would want to get those damn staples out, due to the holidays, and on the small island I didn't have nurse friends who could get their hands on a staple remover kit or I would have taken them out myself. Every time I hear the idea of a Csection being somehow "easier", I feel the pain of those staples pulling on my swollen skin, recovery was no fun but at least it was in our own home at last.
I can't believe it has been 10 years from that day, 10 fun years. Our lives changed so much, but I am so thankful for all of it. And yes, I am still pissed at that nurse, but ever so grateful that I had a wonderful midwife that avoided it being so much worse, my weekly visits with her were such a joy, I looked forward to every one. I even think fondly of one of the last ones, just after a snowfall, where our car slid off the road gently on the way to her clinic a whole mile from our house. We were fine, but I felt like a whale climbing up and out from the ditch and we laughed all the 5 minute walk to her place. Minutes later a local who dropped by towed us out, island life, there is someone always there to help. Just like the wonderful meals from the Waldorf families at my husband's school, we had such a sweet community to help us learn to be a family. I am so grateful for that beginning, so many treasured memories.
The pregnancy was totally wonderful and easy, not what you would expect at 39. We were living on Whidbey Island in an A frame cabin in the trees with a view to the water and mountains. I was travelling for work each week but took extra care with my diet. While pregnant I flew back and forth between Southern Cal, Victoria and Kansas City for work. I was in Victoria on September 11, I was terrified being away from my husband and eager to be on our quiet island and hopped the first ferry I could home. Then on Christmas night, after a lovely dinner, we lay down in our loft and I noticed some low back pain. Dh started doing some reiki and then massage when suddenly there was a pop and a gush. After excitedly running around it became evident that nothing more was happening, so after a call to the midwife, we lay down to sleep. For the next few days we kept trying to get things moving every way we heard about-walking, moxibustion and acupuncture, about the only thing that would get things moving a little was nipple stim, but that grew painful after awhile. We read the studies, we felt comfortable that not doing vag exams, watching my temp, being home, we were safe to go about 4 days. But the 4th day was Saturday, and rural docs don't like coming in on weekends for inductions if they don't have to. And the consulting doc was not so thrilled waiting either, my AFI was on the low end of normal. The first thing the nurse wanted to do when we came in for the AFI was to check my cervix, this was day 2 after pretty much zero labor. No, we want to go another day, an exam was pointless. "But we use a sterile glove". I stared at her for the stupidity of the statement, especially to a nurse. I should have said "Do you sterilize everything on the way up, too?". That should have been a clue things may not go so well.
We chose Island Hospital, even though it was an hour from home up the island, because we knew the only OB at the closer hospital where I used to work, a very small place. That OB then was a nice woman with very old fashioned and outdated practices, not my first choice. We didn't want to go off island if we didn't have to because then our midwife could not join us, being the only midwife on that end of the island and having patients near their dates. Island was larger, with more OB's and FP docs, and our midwife was working on obtaining privileges there so had some rapport with the docs. She did not yet know the nurses, however, and as a nurse, I can say for certain nursing made all the difference to make my experience far worse than it ever needed to be.
We made a feeble attempt, staying up all night walking the lovely garden at Cynthia Jaffe's birth center, trying to get labor going, hard when you have a deadline looming. By morning we had to concede defeat, it was our 3rd day, we were tired. We drove up to the hospital and checked in before our midwife, joining us in support and hoping to facilitate the transfer. As the nurse began the admission I asked her to wait to start the Pit when my midwife joined us. She snapped that "she does not have privileges here". I was taken aback, but being a small place we were stuck. Very quickly things started moving, and again with the low back pain. But still, rocking on the birthing ball with husband doing pressure, I was ok. But my nurse snapped again "If you are having trouble now, you are never going to make it all the way, I have barely turned it up.". And so I gave in. I knew I was tired and thought I wouldn't be able to make it through to the long end, since I was 1 cm when we started, and agreed to the damn epidural. They quickly put it in, bolused me and the baby had a decel in his heart rate. Yes, one. They put me in Trendelenberg (head down), and it came right back up-just a vagal response to the drop in BP. But my young OB, right out of residency, was eager to do a Csection. I knew then it was silly, but I had no more fight in me. And you know what I had progressed to in that short time on the Pit? 5 cm. IF she had checked me before the epidural I would have felt fine to keep going, it hadn't hurt that bad, I just felt like I had miles to go. That nurse most certainly caused my Csection, more so than the nervous young doc.
I met the pediatrician, a cold, distant woman who said nothing when I was I had been a neonatal nurse and just wanted the Apgars called out immediately and then have him brought to me if he is fine. That didn't happen, I saw his ankle as he was rushed out-his Apgars I learned later were 9 and 9, perfect. I was crying a bit as we prepared for the surgery (because I had been bullied into something I knew I did not need) and my midwife, thankfully allowed in, whispered that they were about to give Versed "because they thought I was upset". I yanked on my anesthetist and said "DO NOT medicate me for their discomfort, I am fine, NO Versed." No one had even come to ask if I was ok-this was not a rushed procedure either, remember, only 1 decel. But it was late Fri afternoon. So my son came out fine, the same nasty nurse rushed him out "I have to give his meds within one hour, it is the law!" (no, it is not) My husband was sent with him, by my midwife. And right in front of my husband said nurse exams my son and exclaims "he looks a little Down's!". I am so thankful I had told Jerry stories of how many babies came in from rural hospitals misdiagnosed as possible Down's due to things like lines on the hand-something that I have on one side, almost a "simian" crease. However, you must have both sides to mean possibly anything, and it must be a complete line, mine is not, nor was my son's. So my husband thankfully knew she was an idiot, and he did not tell me until much later or I would have torn into her myself, as he knew.
But there were a few good moments. Despite being in a shared OR/Recovery, which sometimes means babes have to stay out for infection reasons, they had a long one which meant we could be on the opposite end of the hall and I could nurse my babe right there. He was so beautiful, took to it immediately. I believe it was right there and then that both Jerry and I decided that he looked like a Conor Glenn-although it had been one of several names on our list.
We were then given the world's noisiest postpartum room, with jet-like fans that cycled on just as you fell to sleep-and we had not slept much in 4 nights. One tired moment I attempted to place my son in a football hold to nurse, but my epidural had not worn off and I had no strength to shift him there, and husband was finally asleep. So I rang for help to place him. The nurse sticks a glove on, jams 2 fingers in his mouth and pronounces his suck poor and says she is going for lactation-leaving me still with a babe not where I want him. A few minutes later a lactation nurse comes in with massive papers and a teaching plan. Remember, I haven't slept yet and the babe is now nursing. I tell her I really do not need her, I am a nurse, I have a midwife who will be coming to my home and he is doing fine, we are just both tired. She pronounces that I "must" meet with her before I can be discharged and leaves. I fume and fume, and an hour later say ok, just let her come in, I can't sleep anyway, thinking to just get it over. After some nurses asking questions about why my midwife "let me wait so long to come in" (uh, no, please do your lit review, I did), I realize that there is probably an urban myth going that I am from some far off island, have had no prenatal care, and so on. I must have said a thousand times I was a former NICU nurse, but the listening in general was nonexistent.
We did get transferred to another room at last to sleep, but that happens to be a med-surg bed and there they come in every 4 hours to check you, turning on all the lights. The RN does this and the CNA, on different schedules. I blow my top at last and ask them to stop around 1am, leave us until the am where we WILL be going home. And although it is too soon to take my staples out, I go home that morning with rushed "teaching" by my nursing staff. Please, I used to do that myself. I was a bit sorry later when I realized that I would have to wait longer than I would want to get those damn staples out, due to the holidays, and on the small island I didn't have nurse friends who could get their hands on a staple remover kit or I would have taken them out myself. Every time I hear the idea of a Csection being somehow "easier", I feel the pain of those staples pulling on my swollen skin, recovery was no fun but at least it was in our own home at last.
I can't believe it has been 10 years from that day, 10 fun years. Our lives changed so much, but I am so thankful for all of it. And yes, I am still pissed at that nurse, but ever so grateful that I had a wonderful midwife that avoided it being so much worse, my weekly visits with her were such a joy, I looked forward to every one. I even think fondly of one of the last ones, just after a snowfall, where our car slid off the road gently on the way to her clinic a whole mile from our house. We were fine, but I felt like a whale climbing up and out from the ditch and we laughed all the 5 minute walk to her place. Minutes later a local who dropped by towed us out, island life, there is someone always there to help. Just like the wonderful meals from the Waldorf families at my husband's school, we had such a sweet community to help us learn to be a family. I am so grateful for that beginning, so many treasured memories.