For those that are merely interested in the short version/stats, here you go!
After 4 girls, our first SON was born on 9/8/09 (darn, missed 9/9/09, which would have just been really really cool since my last baby was a 7/7/07 baby!) weighing in at 9lbs 1oz, approximately 17" long (that's probably a short estimate, since he didn't particularly want to stretch out and let me get a "real" measurement!). He had a 15.5" head circumference and a 16" chest circumference, a nuchal hand/arm, and he was asynclitic. Again, I refer you to the title of my birth story..."Never Give Up, Never Surrender!"
********************This birth story will contain some graphic descriptions, some references to sexual abuse/rape survivor triggers, coping mechanisms, and healing in the broader sense of all of that.*********************************************
I hope at least most of you will recognize the quote from the movie Galaxy Quest from the '90s that was a spoof on many of the SciFi movies out there. For those that aren't familiar with the quote, the lead character, played by Tim Allen, has that as his "tag line" so to speak. Tim Allen plays an actor who was best known for being the captain in a SciFi show. Funny movie...if you haven't seen it, I recommend it ;)
At any rate, what does any of this have to do with a birth story? I'll tell you!
I woke up Monday morning 9/7/09 having intermittent contractions that just were irritating me beyond belief. I had not had any prodromal labor up to that point (we had some extenuating family circumstances that kept me focused on getting through those before I had the baby...I suspect this kept the prodromalling at bay!), and I was pleased to think that my prodromal labor was finally beginning (I wouldn't be pregnant forever!). Generally, I prodromal labor for a VERY long time (weeks on end!), and I gestate long (3 of my 5 babies gestated past 42 weeks), so I just assumed that that was what was going on. Monday was a very normal day for us. Fed the kids lunch, all that good stuff. Told some friends that I was finally prodromalling, and I was pretty excited to finally get things moving.
Paul (my dh) got home from work around 6pm, and contractions got a lot more frequent. Still short, not seeming to do a whole lot, but I was exhausted, so I laid down on the couch while Paul made dinner (yay dh!). I told him if I fell asleep, he should just save me some food, but let me sleep, figuring I'd be up late with contractions and not sleeping well, so I wanted the rest. I never did fall asleep, but the contractions began to change a little bit. Still, didn't think much of anything.
We ate dinner around 7, got the kids ready for bed and into bed around 9pm. Contracted still throughout the next hour or so while we tried to figure out how likely Paul was to have to go to work the next day, and so we chatted until about 10, when he went to bed. Between 10 and 11, contractions REALLY started rolling. I was seriously growling and yelling through the contractions, feeling some seriously intense pain in my hips, particularly my left hip, during contractions, but nothing between contractions.
I realized at this point in time that this was going to be a torturous number of weeks if this was indeed nothing more than prodromal labor, and I lost it. I burst into tears, cried a little bit through some contractions, roared through some contractions, and ultimately woke Paul back up b/c I needed some support.
Nothing was providing any relief whatsoever. I sat on the toilet, knelt, rocked, stood, reclined, lunges, sat on the ball, you name it, I tried it. The least amount of torture was provided, shockingly enough, by assuming "the position" on the couch. I had pillows propped up in the corner, and I leaned back against them, just simply trying to get into some position that I might have a chance to sleep in between contractions and help make the remaining weeks bearable. It was probably about 12am at this time, maybe closer to 1am.
Paul sat at the end of the couch quietly, apparently stewing over not being able to go to bed and having to get up early to go to work in the morning (yes, we still thought he was going to work!), just watching my body work, doing whatever I told him to do (rub here, bring me something to drink, reassure me, etc). At some point he noticed changes in the appearance of my vaginal area that are tell-tale signs that baby is actually coming soon (c'mon, he's done this now 4 times, he's gotten pretty good at gauging that one!), and we spent probably 30 minutes or so with him gently asking me if I wanted to birth on the couch or go to the bed (the bed already had the waterproof mattress pad on it, the couch was unprotected except for a few towels!).
Between about 12am when I started reclining on the couch and 3am, I began to dissociate between contractions. I simply checked out, left my body, separated my brain from what was going on within my body. The only times I "came back" was to discuss with Paul the logistics of transfering, the fear of baby being too big to come out (I had had a dream very early on in my pg that I was growing a baby that weighed 11.5lbs...my brother had very similar proportions at birth to my son, and big with those proportions did concern me, since I have a history of having small babies) had me thinking a transfer would be a good idea. However, the logistics of waking 4 sleeping children so that Paul could drive me to the hospital with those torturous contractions became, to me, more scary than the prospect of baby not coming out. So, away I went, back into my dissociative state, nearly sleeping in between contractions just to escape from it all.
I discovered an odd trick that alleviated a little bit of the hip pain...putting my fingers into that hip and pressing down. However, at some point, I needed to start pushing (I do not remember when this was!), and I leaned over towards my right side (still reclined on pillows on the bed), and I pulled my left knee up with my hands, pressing my knee into my hands hard enough to bruise both the side of my index finger and my knee. At this point, pushing was the only thing that took away any of the pain.
Yes, I really thought a c/s sounded better than what I was going through!
At one point, apparently around 3am, I got REALLY excited...I could feel that bulging low down in my vagina that told me that baby was very near! Hooray!! It was almost over!!! There was this constant building of pressure, stronger and stronger, until
(my next paraphrase from Galaxy Quest):
"I felt like I was being turned inside out. And then it EXPLODED!"
My water bag literally EXPLODED across the bed, like a water balloon cannon or something! And, yes, that thought did go through my mind when it happened. Not even Paul believed me when I told him that!
And, just like that, my dissociation ended, and I was back "with it" in the land of the birthing. I sent Paul out to the car to get our birth kit (yes, it was in the car...we had been in Atlanta the week before and had to take it with us, and we had no rush to bring it back in the house), while I pushed through some contractions while he was outside (2? Maybe?). I was pissed, though, that after that explosion, that pressure went away. Translation: baby was not imminent, or so I thought.
Getting more pissed, I asked Paul what he could see. He mumbled something that sounded slightly encouraging, but it wasn't, "I see HAIR!" so I was still annoyed...and I don't remember what it was he said to me.
A couple more contractions, and I finally felt his head RIGHT THERE. I had to pause to breathe, felt him slip back just a hair, and said, "Oh, no you DON'T!" and brought him back down again, flat-out refusing to allow retreat!
A small "pop!" and RELIEF!!! HIS HEAD WAS OUT...oh, wait, what the heck is that sensation?! All of a sudden Paul tells me he had a nuchal hand, and he was using said hand to punch his way out basically. And, what I thought was shoulders turning but felt kinda funny was his arm coming out like that.
And then, another contraction, and FINALLY, my baby boy was HERE!!
He looked very full, and very short...I expected him to be either heavy and long, or short and skinny, but not short and heavy. His cheeks were incredible (still are!).
Not 5 minutes after he was out, though, I felt heaviness again in my vagina, another urge to push (I haven't had a pushing urge with any others at this point...), and a very large placenta plopped out onto the bed. Paul later told me that his cord was not pulsing when he came out, which shocked Paul. However, since the baby cried and breathed at birth, we were not overly concerned about it, just watched his breathing closely for a while and whatnot.
Behind the placenta came some moderate gushes of blood and some additional significant clots. Feeling a little shaky, Paul brought me some food (I had had blood sugar crash issues with my last birth), and I sat there and ate some raspberries and then a PBJ sandwich before ever getting up to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I had another large clot plop into the toilet as well as some additional blood behind it, and then the blood radically slowed down. While I was in the bathroom, Paul quickly took care of the bed so I could get back in it and rest with the baby. I kept eating (more raspberries and a second PBJ sandwich), and then the baby and I took a nap. The blood flow continued to be minor at that point, the baby was breathing well, and we were all exhausted.
Now 3 hours away from being 5 days old, he's gorgeous. His face had been a bit swollen in some odd places, and the swelling is going down. There was some bruising on his face as well, and that has largely gone away. There is still a bit of bruising on one of his ears. He has a slightly tight shoulder that we're massaging out, trying to encourage him to turn to that side a bit more, etc, and he has a slightly clubbed foot that will likely resolve on its own without further intervention. He had almost no molding, other than some of the swelling in his face. The molding on his head was very slight.
Samuel Malachi was a bruiser all right...15.5" head, 16" chest, nuchal hand, and no molding. He's bruised, I'm bruised, and I'm sore. He's nursing well at this point, and we're getting along nicely. His big sisters ADORE him (anyone who has seen my pics on my FB can tell you that!), and he is one blessed little guy.
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Being able to recognize the abuse triggers and dissociative behavior I had during his birth has been incredible for me as far as healing is concerned. It showed me that adaptive behaviors, like dissociation, can actually be helpful. I might not remember every last little detail of every single sensation, but I don't believe it is necessary for healing. His birth was difficult...I said "torturous" several times (on purpose!). I wouldn't wish that birth on anyone. That said, I'd go back and do it all over again to have my Samuel. In a heartbeat. Healing doesn't always leave scars, but healing of the deepest wounds almost always does. Birth is a fundamentally sexual event. It is impossible to separate sex and birth, and when there are sexual scars, there are going to be impacts that resonate in ways unimaginable.
There was a definite distance between me and my Samuel in the first 48hours or so after his birth. A time when I was doing little more than going through the motions. Having identified the dissociative behavior, recognizing the trauma of his birth, and accepting that yes, it really was that bad, but I survived, and so did he helped bridge that gap. He continually reaches out to me...clearly preferring mom even over dad, although he seems to adore his daddy as well. His reaching out to me reminded me that it's not just about me...there's far more to it than just me, my preferences, and my birth experience. The distance is closing, and he is all my baby again.
