Birth story, Part I
On the Tuesday before my due date (Friday, July 21), I had my last official prenatal ob gyn appointment, at which my doctor checked me out and said she would “strip my membranes” if I was at all dilated. She examined me, said I was 2 centimeters dilated, and did the membrane-stripping. This, she predicted, would help stimulate labor within 24 to 48 hours. I was quite astonished and chipper about this. I had been assuming I would be late, since I’d heard it was so common with first babies. I left the hospital feeling very excited.
Nothing happened for about 24 hours. But then, sometime in the afternoon on Wednesday, I started feeling some mild contractions and I lost the (apologies to the squeamish) mucous plug. I had read that this could happen weeks before actual labor started, but instinctively I felt things were in motion. As the day went on, I felt the contractions more regularly and a little more strongly. By about 5 in the evening, I was quite sure I was in early labor. I felt just like the ridiculous facial expression in the Kaiser pamphlet: happy, with neatly arranged bangs. But I tried to keep the deranged woman without bangs in mind as I went through the early period of the experience. Anyway-—I could still eat a little something, I did some bills, I cleaned my house up a bit, I finished packing my hospital bag, etc. Then, somewhat later, Mark and I started timing the contractions. They came ten minutes apart for a long time and were only somewhat painful. But they got increasingly painful, and longer in duration, and we started calling the hospital asking for advice. They were clear that there was no point in coming in until the contractions were 3-5 minutes apart, and about 60 seconds long, for an hour. They suggested walking around the apartment to help the labor progress, and so I did that—-lots of walking, and also the different poses with my birth ball that I’d learned in my classes. It did seem that the more I moved, the more the contractions came.
At about 3:30 Thursday morning, we went to the hospital. I was getting tired and the pain wasn’t so delightful anymore. The contractions were coming 5 minutes apart, more or less consistently, but I noticed that when I had to sit still (in the car) they were less frequent, and this discouraged me. I really did not want to get to the hospital only to be sent home. We arrived at the ER, where they insisted on wheel-chairing me up to Labor and Delivery, a fact I found ironic given that the second I arrived, they told me to get up and start pacing the hallways. (This was after they examined me and said I was still only at 2 cm—truly discouraging after all the contractions I’d been having). The nurse suggested I walk for two straight hours in the halls, and said he’d check me again at that point to see if I’d made “progress.” I hate the way this word is used in the discourse of childbirth. You feel like such a failure when you are told you have made “no progress.”
So we walked for two hours in the halls. This was much harder than it sounds. I was feeling exhausted and also nauseated. The hallways were also damned repetitive. Back and forth, back and forth we went, coming to loathe the sight of the same couches and gurneys and ugly paintings on the walls. When contractions hit, we would stop and I leaned on Mark till they went away. The pain was getting so bad that there was really no position to be in, sitting, standing, or leaning, that helped in the least. It was odd, too, to see strangers walking by while I was having the contractions. They probably knew exactly what was happening, and there would be this polite averting of the eyes as they passed us.
Finally, the nausea got the better of me and I went back to my room and threw up. I was beginning to think pregnancy had been a very bad idea. I knew this part would be painful, but I hadn’t quite taken in how terrible the combined effects of pain, exhaustion, and nausea would be. I felt like I was running out of steam and was still only in early labor. They examined me again and said I was pretty much at the same dilation as before. So, they told me to walk for two more hours. I can’t begin to tell you how discouraging this felt, but we started walking again. At this point, the night shift rolled over to the morning shift, a new nurse was assigned to me, and she stopped me in the hallways and told me to go back to the room and take a hot shower, as maybe this would help relax me and help me dilate. I was so relieved not to be walking anymore that I was willing to try this, even though I thought sitting down would not progress the labor. The nurse gave me a stool and I sat in the shower for a long time. It was blissful, but I threw up again as soon as I got out.
The nurses examined me again and I was at 3 cm this time, the minimum for admission to the hospital. I was terrified that they were going to send me home, but two doctors came in and told me they’d decided to admit me. This was around 8:30 in the morning. So they had me fill out a bunch of paperwork and sent me to a labor and delivery room.
Nothing happened for about 24 hours. But then, sometime in the afternoon on Wednesday, I started feeling some mild contractions and I lost the (apologies to the squeamish) mucous plug. I had read that this could happen weeks before actual labor started, but instinctively I felt things were in motion. As the day went on, I felt the contractions more regularly and a little more strongly. By about 5 in the evening, I was quite sure I was in early labor. I felt just like the ridiculous facial expression in the Kaiser pamphlet: happy, with neatly arranged bangs. But I tried to keep the deranged woman without bangs in mind as I went through the early period of the experience. Anyway-—I could still eat a little something, I did some bills, I cleaned my house up a bit, I finished packing my hospital bag, etc. Then, somewhat later, Mark and I started timing the contractions. They came ten minutes apart for a long time and were only somewhat painful. But they got increasingly painful, and longer in duration, and we started calling the hospital asking for advice. They were clear that there was no point in coming in until the contractions were 3-5 minutes apart, and about 60 seconds long, for an hour. They suggested walking around the apartment to help the labor progress, and so I did that—-lots of walking, and also the different poses with my birth ball that I’d learned in my classes. It did seem that the more I moved, the more the contractions came.
At about 3:30 Thursday morning, we went to the hospital. I was getting tired and the pain wasn’t so delightful anymore. The contractions were coming 5 minutes apart, more or less consistently, but I noticed that when I had to sit still (in the car) they were less frequent, and this discouraged me. I really did not want to get to the hospital only to be sent home. We arrived at the ER, where they insisted on wheel-chairing me up to Labor and Delivery, a fact I found ironic given that the second I arrived, they told me to get up and start pacing the hallways. (This was after they examined me and said I was still only at 2 cm—truly discouraging after all the contractions I’d been having). The nurse suggested I walk for two straight hours in the halls, and said he’d check me again at that point to see if I’d made “progress.” I hate the way this word is used in the discourse of childbirth. You feel like such a failure when you are told you have made “no progress.”
So we walked for two hours in the halls. This was much harder than it sounds. I was feeling exhausted and also nauseated. The hallways were also damned repetitive. Back and forth, back and forth we went, coming to loathe the sight of the same couches and gurneys and ugly paintings on the walls. When contractions hit, we would stop and I leaned on Mark till they went away. The pain was getting so bad that there was really no position to be in, sitting, standing, or leaning, that helped in the least. It was odd, too, to see strangers walking by while I was having the contractions. They probably knew exactly what was happening, and there would be this polite averting of the eyes as they passed us.
Finally, the nausea got the better of me and I went back to my room and threw up. I was beginning to think pregnancy had been a very bad idea. I knew this part would be painful, but I hadn’t quite taken in how terrible the combined effects of pain, exhaustion, and nausea would be. I felt like I was running out of steam and was still only in early labor. They examined me again and said I was pretty much at the same dilation as before. So, they told me to walk for two more hours. I can’t begin to tell you how discouraging this felt, but we started walking again. At this point, the night shift rolled over to the morning shift, a new nurse was assigned to me, and she stopped me in the hallways and told me to go back to the room and take a hot shower, as maybe this would help relax me and help me dilate. I was so relieved not to be walking anymore that I was willing to try this, even though I thought sitting down would not progress the labor. The nurse gave me a stool and I sat in the shower for a long time. It was blissful, but I threw up again as soon as I got out.
The nurses examined me again and I was at 3 cm this time, the minimum for admission to the hospital. I was terrified that they were going to send me home, but two doctors came in and told me they’d decided to admit me. This was around 8:30 in the morning. So they had me fill out a bunch of paperwork and sent me to a labor and delivery room.
posted by Sarah Goss at 11:52 AM
7 Comments:
Didn't know you were supposed to "walk it off" or otherwise stay active during contractions--new to me! I can understand the monotony of it, that's why people watch TV at the gym!
Yeah, that's something that I learned in my childbirth classes that I wouldn't have guessed. I always pictured the pregnant woman lying down on her back, but it turns out that is the worst thing she can do. They have you walking, squatting, leaning, pretty much doing anything but sitting or lying. It makes sense, in terms of helping the baby down the birth canal, but adds to the exhaustion factor that is accumulating. Sigh.
Oh, honey, why did they strip your membranes?
Y'know, I just learned that stripping of the membranes is not something everyone thinks is a good idea. At the time, the way it was presented to me, I thought it was just standard practice, not something I would have a choice about. Now it seems it's a bit more controversial than I thought. I trust my doctor and am not sure it did anything bad to me, but I'd be curious to hear what the arguments against it are.
Er, well, my understanding is that it'll start labor and stuff--but done only when you're late. IMHO, I think they, uh, chose poorly. NOT YOUR FAULT.
yeah, that makes sense (stripping the membranes when you are late)... hmmm. the procedure seems to have gotten me started early, if anything. (oh no! pleeeease go back to sleep so mama can finish her blogging :-)
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