The Birth
of J.D.
We weren't ready. We
knew we weren't ready. There were chores we should have taken
care of to prepare for the birth, but we had
procrastinated. See, we expected our son to arrive late, rather
than
early (albeit only three days early). Not only that, but M
had an appointment
with her doctor the following afternoon, so she could hardly be in
"real labor." This is
not to say we weren't ready to meet our
son; but we weren't prepared to face the unknown journey of
the labor and
delivery, even armed (as we were) with the information and confidence
we had gained from our Bradley class. Fortunately, it turns out
that if God is ready, you don't necessarily have to be.
At about noon on Sunday, M
told me that she might be having a
contraction. She described it as something "poking on her
bladder." I immediately felt a rush of excitement, mixed with not
a little fear. However, I calmed myself with the thought that it
was probably just false labor. We had heard lots of stories of
first-time parents who turned the world upside down at the first hint
of a contraction, and then wound up having the baby a week later after
three more false labors. I was determined not to be one of those
parents. Of course, I forgot the stories we had heard of
first-time moms who experienced no false labor, and who gave birth very
quickly after the onset of contractions -- and some of those came from
couples in our Bradley class! In retrospect, I might have done
well to recall those stories. What I did was relay to M my
belief that it was probably false labor. She agreed, and we both
went on with our day.
The contractions didn't stop,
despite the fact that M was fairly
active all day. By nine o'clock Sunday evening, they were
occurring every fifteen to twenty minutes, and had grown in
intensity. M was still managing the contractions very well
using relaxation techniques she had practiced. At this point, we
called our homebirth midwife (whom we will refer to as "D") to give her
a heads-up. She
had told us previously that while she would not rush over to our house,
she would like to know if labor might be imminent so that she could
shift her schedule around as needed. When we got her on the
phone, she agreed that it was too early to tell if this was real labor,
but to keep her posted.
We went to bed. I
slept. Unfortunately, M discovered
that while she was able to drop off
between contractions (she generally falls asleep very quickly), the
pain was much worse if it awakened her than
if she was already awake and focused on relaxing. So, she went
into the other room, watched TV, and labored on the birthing
ball. I certainly appreciated the opportunity to get a few hours
of sleep. (In fact, I don't think I have gotten that much
continuous sleep from then til now.)
I awoke shortly after four in
the morning to the sound of the
shower. M told me she had been up all night with the
contractions. At this point, it began to sink into my thick skull
that this was it. I started to do my best
imitation of a Bradley coach, timing
the contractions, supplying M with food and drink, and pumping
and filling the inflatable pool we had purchased
to aid M in labor. It was more exertion than I was
prepared for (Did I mention that we weren't ready?), but I managed to
set up the pool.
The contractions were coming
every four to six minutes at this
point. M got into the pool, which enabled her to get
comfortable (relatively speaking) and relax during and between the
contractions. She was tired, but still fairly talkative at
times. I was able to set up the video camera and get some footage
of her laboring in the pool. (Nothing exciting, but might be
suitable for the archives one day.) We called D at some
point
during this period and gave her an update. She said she thought
we were doing fine, and to keep her posted. She made the offer to
come over to the house, which we declined.
At this point, I must break
away from the story to say something about D. She made it clear
from the outset that her presence at
our
house was entirely our decision.
She would make recommendations about when she thought she should be
there, but we could override them at any time. If we wanted her
there, she was there, and that was the end of the matter. So, D's
presence and absence during the labor was our call. My
reason for bringing this up will become clear as the tale unfolds.
M continued laboring
in the pool until the late morning, when
she asked me to call D and get her to come to the house. M wanted
an exam to check on her progress. D arrived
to a talkative M and told us right away that it was very rare
for a laboring mom who was dilated more than five to six centimeters to
be able to communicate this well. She then performed the exam and
reported the news: eighty percent effaced, minus one station, but only
three centimeters dilated. M had been having contractions
for about twenty-four hours at this point, so she was disappointed that
she had not progressed further. D told us that if she showed
up at the hospital in this condition, they would have sent her
home. Consequently, she recommended that she head home
herself. She said that the only reason she would stay would be to
help M relax through the contractions, but M was already
doing a terrific job. We agreed, D left, and we set in for
the long haul.
Or so we thought.
Very soon after D left, M's
labor picked up. The
contractions increased in intensity, which we had expected; but they
also changed, expanding to different areas of her pelvis. (Birthing
coaches take
note: This is an important sign. Miss it at your
peril.) We noticed some bloody show, so we called D, who
reassured us that the amount we were seeing did not pose a
problem. ("Want me to
come back
over?" "No, we're fine for now.") M found that she
could no longer labor in the tub, and that the only location that
offered any relief from the painful contractions was the toilet.
She was having a much harder time managing them, finding it impossible
to relax and breathe during the most intense portions.
We went on this way for
nearly three hours. M became less
communicative, but she still managed to talk a bit between and, in some
cases, during the contractions. I took this to mean that we had
not yet gotten close to the transition stage. Also, though the
frequency of the contractions had increased, they still weren't "right
on top of each other," as M still had a minute or two between
contractions. We spoke to D once or twice more during this
period, but we again declined her offer to return to the house.
At this point, things got
very interesting very quickly. We heard a
pop, and we realized that M's water
had broken.
We also noticed a bit more blood, some of which had come down her
leg. I got D on the phone to inform her, and (finally) to
get
her back over to the house. Right about this point, M
reported in a very frightened voice that she "felt something down
there, and it didn't feel like hair." She thought maybe it was
his little bottom. I was afraid of a prolapsed cord. I
reported this to D, who was just beginning her trek back to our
house. Before she could respond, M reported a burning,
splitting sensation in the area of her urethra. She moved the
skin in that area aside, and out
popped our son's head!
My reaction was mixed: Relief
(oh good, it's not the cord), surprise
(he's not supposed to be here yet), terror (Holy God in
Heaven, I'm going to have to
deliver this baby).
Once the reality of the situation hit
me, it seemed that there were
two courses open to me: panic, or set about getting this thing
done. I
chose both. Having D on the phone was quite a comfort for
both of us, but it wasn't much compared to what we were facing. I
can't remember if I said a prayer at this point. I hope I did,
but in retrospect, it seems clear that God was there.
The first thing D told
me to do was to get M off the toilet
and onto the bed. We hadn't prepared the bed to make it
goop-proof (I think I mentioned that we weren't ready), so I
improvised. I stripped the coverings off a large portion of the
mattress and put a big pad down. Then came the task of getting M
to cross the short distance to the bed. Bear in mind
that the head was
already delivered.
When I told her what we were about to do, M exclaimed, "I
can't!" D heard her and said, "Tell her she can." I
think I said, "D says you can." She could, and did, make it
to the bed. Getting her into a reclining position was tricky
given her condition, and I don't remember how we managed it exactly,
but we did that, too.
At this point, D said to
me, "Now, we're going to take it easy on
the next contraction." My response was, "No we're not. We're
going to have a baby," because at that moment, the contraction hit, and
our son slooshed out onto the
pad. (I confess that I did not have my hands there ready to catch
him. Fortunately, he didn't have far to fall.) I had the
presence of mind to pick him up and put him on M's chest.
One of the benefits of natural childbirth is that the baby comes out
squirming and squawking, and J.D. was no exception. I held the
phone up to him so that D could hear, and she reported that he
sounded great.
Thank
you, God. We did
it. He's here.
I'm a little fuzzy on just
what transpired in the next few minutes. At some point, D
and I hung up. I remember that M
wanted to hear "You Are Good," a favorite worship song of ours, so I
set up the computer to play it. I remember raising my hands
towards Heaven and praying a prayer of thanks. I must have
snapped a couple of stills, because I have the pictures, and I was the
only one there who could have done it.
M tells me that I
prayed that I would not have to deliver the
placenta. I was hoping D would arrive before it did.
She didn't. What happened was, M reported that she had to
urinate. I recall saying, "No, you don't," rather sternly.
But her sensation turned out to be another
contraction, followed by another sloosh,
followed by the afterbirth. The pad had contained the birth
fairly well, but it was no match for the biological deluge that arrived
after it. I won't go into too many details; let's just say that
the bed was inadequately protected, and the floor wasn't protected at
all. Yecch.
About
this point, D arrived, surveyed the situation, and declared that
we
had done well. Mom and baby were fine.
In retrospect, it's easy to
blame D for not being there on time,
but the events that transpired were far from clearcut. For one
thing, M went from three centimeters to how-do-you-do in about
three hours. For a first-time mom, this is all but unheard
of.
Also, there were signs we were waiting for, like M losing the
ability to communicate, that never happened (or at least, not in a
manner that I was able to recognize). I never observed anything
that I could identify as the "transition" phase of labor, though
clearly it transpired. Perhaps most significantly, I never heard
M report an overwhelming urge to push. Her body pushed the
baby out (no question about that), but she never consciously aided
it. (I wonder now how much easier it might have been if she had
pushed with those later contractions.) I said earlier that M was
"communicating," but I think I mistook "talking" for
actual communication. She was never irrational or crazy (yet
another sign that never manifested), but she wasn't able to tell me
everything that was going on. When all is said and done, the only
rational person present at the labor was me, so the decisions that were
made were mostly mine. I goofed. Thank God for His grace
and blessing, because it all worked out OK.
Another benefit of natural
childbirth is that mom generally feels great
after the delivery. M was alert, chatting, and making
phone
calls to friends and family. Thus began the telling of the story
of our son's birth, which is considerably less stressful than the
experience itself. I shudder when I consider all the things that
could have gone wrong (it's a long list), but none did. We were
in no way ready to face what happened, but we didn't have to do it
alone. Thankfully, the Lord was ready, so we didn't have to be.