Twenty Hours In April
Planning The Exit
The Day Before Due Date, April 06, 2017
Early in my pregnancy I’d asked the midwife how long they’d let me go overdue, thinking they’d just let nature take its course. I’d had a friend who’d gone 19 days over her due date, only to have a perfectly smooth and allegedly bloodless home water birth, and for some reason assumed this was the standard when you had a midwife; that inductions were largely unnecessary and if everything checked out, there was no reason not to wait until the baby decided to show up. For many people, this was the reason you chose a midwife over an OBGYN. I had watched the Business of Being Born, and had been scared off of medical intervention just like every other midwife-advocating pregnant woman before me. In conversation with a couple acquaintances a few months into my pregnancy, my husband casually mentioned we’d “probably do a home birth”, and I spit out my virgin vodka soda-lime. There was a lot of stuff I took from that documentary, but there was a certain level of hospital sterility I craved for my own birth experience. I also knew I wanted the option of drugs. In fact, I knew I'd get an epidural and talked about it loudly and often, in case my own internalized stigma about midwifery had any shred of truth; that they assumed I'd want to do any of it "naturally".
“Ten days,” She said, definitively. I was never concerned I’d go that long overdue, even though my mother had. She was induced with my older brother and had a horrible experience which ended in an Emergency C-section because as my mom put it, “it was a busy day at the hospital". She wasn't upset about it, but they had forgotten about her so when they checked her, her bladder was too full, so her experience ended in her waking up being told she’d had a son. The worst part, she said, was that she wasn't able to hold him for eight more hours due to hospital protocol at the time regarding C-section babies.
. . .
I had an uneventful pregnancy. I looked better than I ever had in my life. I carried it all out front. I was the kind of pregnant woman who was told I was doing a “good job” with my moderate weight gain, and despite understanding the kind intention, I was also the kind of pregnant woman who would smile and say thank you while silently ranting. I'm growing a fucking human brain inside my gut, but the real accomplishment is that my face doesn't look fat.
At my heaviest I was well over 200 lbs, gaining around 60 lbs. At one point, I found cellulite on my calves, and I didn't care. I felt like my body was doing everything perfectly, and I was more impressed by it than I ever had been in my life. My worst symptom was heartburn, and I admit that was terrible. It was excruciating, horrible, burpy, barfy heartburn that would seem to flare up especially bad anytime my husband had a hangover, almost as if I was hungover by proxy. In the beginning, I had some bad acne which bothered me only because it was at times painful, but vanity never seemed to creep into my psyche. How could I not be beautiful? My body was literally magical, performing this unbelievable task. I lamented the biological differences between men and women. Men ejaculate, end of story! I'd laugh, telling anyone who would listen. Every night, I would examine my belly in the mirror, every moment subconsciously touching it, lovingly. Most nights I'd fall asleep clutching it, my husband's arm draped across it, feeling the kicks and punches and hiccups inside me as we drifted off to sleep. In my case, for about half an hour before I got up to pee. I don't think I had any restful sleep from about five months pregnant until my baby was born, even if it was in very short increments by that time. In the end I was peeing so much and so uncomfortable laying down, I barely slept at all.
. . .
I was strangely, blindly convinced I’d go into labour naturally and that my body would just know what to do. I wasn’t the birth warrior type, I knew I wanted drugs. I didn't have a plan, but based on what my medical team prepared me for, I expected to labour at home, have what my midwife referred to as a “tylenol-wine bath”, which to a nine-month sober person with a penchant for drinking, sounded really fucking good. I'd wait until my contractions were consistent and strong, and then I'd call my midwife, who would come to me. Most importantly, I'd have my cervix repeatedly checked by only one person, or if it was a slow day at the midwifery, two people. And then when it was time, we would all go to the hospital, where my midwife would continue to be my primary nurse, and unless something went completely awry, she would deliver the baby. Aside from the epidural placement, I may not even see a doctor. A friend of mine gave birth about ten weeks before I did and she texted me throughout her labour. She told me she had been to the hospital twice only to be sent home after being checked by six different medical staff, that her body was already sore and she wasn’t even in active labour. “See?” I said to my husband as I relayed to him the story. “I have a midwife, so that won’t happen to me.”
. . .
We had spent several months planning my baby’s exit through my vagina. The whole thing became less of a frightening medical event and more of an inevitable physical ordeal, one that my body was prepared and built for. The midwives made it sound kinda fun. It became easy to get excited about it. Everything seemed so normal. I was instructed to buy a plastic bottle of olive oil to bring to the hospital for the purpose of perineum massage to help in the 'gentle birthing' of the baby's head. There might even be wine involved. The head midwife, Iwona, was intimately familiar with my insides. By the time I was forty weeks, she had felt her way to my baby’s head several times already. When she checked me at her office, we made jokes while she did it. I liked Iwona, but I thought Claire would make me feel more comfortable with what was happening to me. I often joked that it was easy to imagine Iwona “elbow deep” in placenta. She’s someone you’d want around if you gave birth in your living room and something went wrong. Claire is certainly just as capable, but I also thought she might try to say something to reassure me; that my feelings were important to her. Claire had a calming presence. Iwona is Polish. Luckily for me, but what ultimately ended up being meaningless, was that Claire had just finished her holidays, and she was able to be with me for the delivery.
Forty-One Weeks, Three Days
Between my almost daily stretch & sweeps and visiting the bathroom every thirty minutes, I’d become giddy with every cramp (which are a common side effect of having your cervix “stretched and swept”). One morning about a week after my due date and three stretch and sweeps, I found blood on the toilet paper, and I literally did a little dance. I had been feeling tightening for a couple weeks, random cramps and such, but nothing that seemed to go anywhere. Everything was already so tight in there that sudden movements felt like they could be ‘contractions’. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling, even though I had read about nothing else for months, taken a prenatal class, been educated by my midwives at every appointment, and listened to approximately one hundred birth stories on a podcast called The Birth Hour. Iwona seemed somewhat eager to schedule my induction. I wanted to protest, but more than that, I wanted to trust my medical team. I may have listened to one hundred episodes of The Birth Hour, but what the fuck do I know? I had dilated just over a centimetre in a week, and now my midwife was able to touch my baby's head. She spoke to him as she did it, trying to coax him out. "Hi baby! I am touching your head! Come on out now!" It seemed to me that if you can reach into my body and touch my baby's head, something has got to be happening, but apparently not enough so my induction was scheduled. While she explained the process, Iwona also told me to expect a pretty horrendous experience. "Women do not like to be induced," she said, as if this is news to me. "It's very uncomfortable, and you'll have to stay in bed the entire time." My heart sank. I knew what this meant. There was a chance my body could take to the induction well, but it could also go awry and I might need some more interventions. A "domino effect" of interventions is what the prenatal teacher mentioned in class. Induction could lead to distress, which could lead to suction, forceps, or emergency C-Section.
Fighting back tears, I said, "okay", and quietly wondered where my Tylenol Wine Bath would fit into this equation. Before my induction on Sunday, I'd have one more ultrasound (Thursday) to ensure everything was okay in there. I was excited to see the baby in some capacity, but was disappointed when I was told it didn't matter what the outcome of the ultrasound was. I'd be getting induced on Sunday, at the latest.
Adam and I attempted to make light of it by joking about our baby being born on Easter. "Jesus has risen!"
April 16th, 2017
Adam and I are at the hospital, and I am hooked up to two belly monitors. I quickly realize I am having contractions. Finally. The doctor arrives and she has very wide eyes and seems somewhat frantic, and I can’t tell if she’s frantic about my situation or frantic in general. She looks like a much less confident Dr. Erica Hahn from Grey’s Anatomy. CERVICAL CHECK! She discovers I am dilated to a 3. I am ecstatic, and expect her to tell me to go home and hop into my drug bath. Instead she tells me it looks like the baby’s heart rate isn’t dealing well with contractions. She tells me she wants to “speed things along”, so I'll be admitted. "You're going to have a baby!" She says, feigning excitement. I decide this is a strategic sentence to keep my focus on the baby.
Soon a nurse arrives and hooks me up to an IV. I’m taken by how gentle the nurses are. They have a distinct way of doing everything, every one of them reminds me of a beloved aunt. They perform cervical checks slowly and with empathy. They announce everything they are doing. So far, everyone I’ve met with has been female.
I get to the delivery room and find I have two nurses at my side. One of them is training new at this hospital, though she is an experienced L&D nurse. They are both young and funny. Less beloved aunt, more like a distant cousin whose company you've always enjoyed, still familial and able to laugh at your dirty jokes, but polite; not sharing any jokes themselves. I like them both immediately. I recognize one of them from the hospital online guided tour. I think her name is Vanessa. The newer nurse, Angel, seems drug happy, which makes me happy. They ask me if I have any plans for pain relief. I tell them an epidural. They seem relieved that I know I want an epidural. Vanessa tells me that I should get one sooner than later, because there’s only one anaesthetist on call and there are a lot surgeries tonight. I have hopes of spending time labouring in the bath, but Angel tells me I’ll be confined to the bed because they need to monitor the baby’s heart rate. I decide that if I’m stuck in a bed, I might as well not feel my legs. I choose to take her advice, and they put a call in. I take one final pee in the bathroom attached to my IV pole. Angel hooks me back up to my monitors, two belts on my belly, and I can hear two sets of heartbeats. Mine, and the baby’s. What seems like every five minutes, an alarm goes off. She explains this is almost never a bad thing, just that the monitor has shifted and fallen out of place. I ponder how accurate these monitors could be if they mess up every five minutes. She attaches a blood pressure cuff, which inflates every 30 minutes.
I am feeling regular tightening. I guess these are contractions. I am not in much pain. This is nothing compared to those stabbing vag kicks I've been enduring for months. Still, I am surprised by how calm I still am. I start texting people that I’ve ordered an epidural without feeling any pain. The new OB comes in and she explains that they’ve hooked me up to a small release of Pitocin, also known as "The Pit", presumably because of how much it fucking sucks. It's a drug that makes the body have contractions. It sucks because the contractions are generally more painful than they would be in regular labour, because your body isn't generating them, this drug is. They’re going to break my water around midnight in hopes that will get my labour going more strongly. I am happy they are keen on using less of The Pit, if possible. I’ve heard horrible things about The Pit.
The anaesthetist shows up and they prepare me for the epidural. I wasn’t nervous about it until Angel tells me it’s going to feel “like a bee-sting inside my spine”. She also tells me that it “won’t really hurt”, but she’s gripping my shoulder very hard. She tells Adam to also grip my shoulder. I am staring at his chest. It sorta does feel like a bee-sting inside my spine, but I will still describe it as no big deal. I am surprised by the amount of tape on my back. It covers my entire back! I am glad, because I don’t want that tube in my spine going anywhere. I am suddenly cold. And now I am shaking. Angel tells me they have a drug for that.
The monitor goes off and Angel is suddenly yelling me to flip onto my side. I do it slowly, because I am fourteen months pregnant. “QUICKLY!” she snaps. I meet Adam’s glance as I am flipped around and I don’t leave it. Angel slaps an oxygen mask on my face, a glove on her hand and covers her fingers in lube. CERVICAL CHECK! I have no idea why she’s doing this, just that it seems to be a bit of an emergency. Angel has me lay on my left side for ten minutes. She returns to her regular calm self and explains that sometimes the baby’s heart rate can plummet after an epidural placement, but it was all fine now.I remember learning about this in prenatal class, and I am glad I did.
I am still surprised by how calm I am.
I have to pee. I press the call button, because I can’t feel my legs. A new nurse walks in and tells me Vanessa’s sleeping and she’s going to place my catheter. Fuck, I forgot about the pee catheter. I have been dreading this part more than childbirth itself. She does it, and while It isn’t pleasant, it wasn't as terrible as I expected. The new nurse says, “ Wow. You have a LOT of pee in there.” I realize that the pee catheter is directly attached to a pee bag, which is hanging off the edge of the bed. I am worried someone is going to step on it, or trip on it and rip my catheter out. I am now attached to many things, it’s hard to keep track. I hear Vanessa in the hallway talking on the phone to my midwife, Claire. I am impressed they are keeping her in the loop. They tell me she can be by my side, but so far this is pretty boring and I imagine Claire has other shit to do.
Vanessa and Angel are back and they are almost aggressively telling me I need to get some rest. I hear my heart beat. My baby’s heartbeat. And random beeps from the machines. A nurse comes in every 10 or so minutes to check the computer and adjust the monitors. My blood pressure cuff inflates, beeps, then deflates. I don’t sleep. Adam does, a little bit, on a little fold out chair. They give us each a heated blanket. I tell Vanessa I might throw up. She gives me a little plastic container, and I do. I proceed to throw up every hour. Often, Adam will empty my puke bucket. I am so thirsty, but water makes me sick. I take the tiniest sips, but I throw it right back up. I tell Adam I need to fart. I do, and he describes the sound as “if the entire world collectively sighed in relief”.
April 17, 2017
It is 1:30am and the on-call OB arrives to break my water. CERVICAL CHECK! I feel no pain, just a gush of fluids. They also place a different kind of monitor—a more accurate one— one attached to the baby’s head inside my body. Another tube. They clean me up, but my entire lower half is still covered in lube. I have blue pads all over my bed and fluid and blood is leaking out of me. I feel disgusting, but can’t really move. I ask Adam to wipe fluid off my leg, which he does. The night nurse, Jo-Anne comes in. I can tell I like her, but then she sets up the delivery tools and names each one. “Scissors, Sutures…” I want to ask her to stop, but I don’t. Adam plays the Cocteau Twins, and then Sam Cooke. I only remember Sam Cooke. Jo-Anne seems to like it. I throw up.
It is 3am and I am feeling lots of pain and tell Jo-Anne I would like more drugs. The official term is called, a “top up”. I get a top up at 3:16. Then again at 9:27. In the midst of all this, they start and stop The Pit depending on how the baby is dealing with contractions. There’s a shift change. I meet my new nurse, Janet. She tells me she loves my midwife and even though there’s a transfer of care she’s going to let her “coach me”. I act grateful, but I don’t care. I throw up.
I meet the first male doctor of the day, who they call Dr. B. CERVICAL CHECK! He says hi with his fingers inside of me. The nurses explain what he is doing, but I don’t give a shit. I feel like a piece of meat. He takes his fingers out and examines them, “lots of bloody show,” he says. They tell me they’re considering a C-section c/o “irregular fetal heart rate”, but they’d like to take me off The Pit and and see how my body does on it’s own. I ask them how long they plan to wait before they make that decision. Dr. B uses words like, “catastrophic” but his voice is really calm and I stop listening. I decide I would be okay with C-section. I just want to be done with this. I throw up. Janet tries to make me feel better by saying women “puke out their babies all the time”. She means the pressure from the heaving pushes the baby down, she clarifies. I am puking up blood now. I imagine myself puking up my baby, and choking on his body, and then I die.
. . .
We are waiting. Our Bluetooth speaker dies. My contractions get stronger, and I keep wondering what the epidural is doing. I think I ask Janet to check me. CERVICAL CHECK! She says I am a 7. I throw up. They want to crank The Pit to get me to a 10. Janet tells me they can do something for the pain but not the pressure. I have no idea what is what so i tell her to give me more. CERVICAL CHECK! BARF. CERVICAL CHECK! BARF. CERVICAL CHECK! until I am finally at a “high 9”. At this point, she can already see my baby’s head. I think about the bloody mess she is looking at, and am amazed she is so calm.
She tells me she thinks I can do this. I don't need a C-section. On some level I feel lucky she has campaigned for me when I didn't ask her to, but a C section sounds pretty good right now. I think she is disappointed in my reaction.
Claire, my midwife shows up. She asks me how I am doing. I say, “good, you?” she shakes her head and rephrases her question, “are you throwing up?” I tell her yes. She tells me to stop drinking water. I tell her how thirsty I am, and that I bought this waterbottle with a built-in straw specifically for labour. How am I supposed to perform the most important physical task of my life this parched? I am so thirsty, I feel like I may die. They give me ice chips, and now I really feel like I’m in labour. Janet pours the cup of chips into my mouth with expert precision. When Adam attempts this, they fall all over my face. It is a welcome distraction.
I tell Claire I feel like I'm going to take a massive shit. She seems excited. "That's good! That's the baby's head pushing your colon", or bowel, or some other digestive thing in there, I don't remember.
Claire and Janet step into the hallway. My contractions are getting stronger and I can't move around with them. I am stuck on my left side, where I have been for the last six hours. Adam reminds me to breathe deeply, and I am surprised it helps. I keep telling myself the contractions max out at thirty seconds, and just when I think I can't bear it anymore, it ends. But then it starts again. I contemplate asking adam to look down to see if he sees anything, it feels like the baby, or something, is going to fall out. I hear Janet and Claire giggling. I look at Adam and without saying anything, he knows the laughter is enraging me. I ask him to press the Call button, and he asks if I'm sure. I try to say yes, but all I can muster is a seething glare.
CERVICAL CHECK! The bed has stirrups, which my feet are now in. It also has handles that have popped out the side, and I've been instructed to hold onto them. Claire tells me they're going to teach me how to push. I find myself wondering why I never learned this before. She explains that as soon as I feel a contraction, I'll put my chin to my chest, take a deep breath, and push, like I am pushing out that enormous shit I was talking about. I tell her I would never dream of pushing that hard while having a bowel movement. A contraction comes. I push, but I forget where my chin and my chest are. Janet and Claire are telling me I need to push harder. This is absurd. It feels like nothing is happening. Another contraction comes and I seem to push better this time. Midway, I take a breath and push again. Janet seems excited and says "Good girl!" But then the excitement comes to a halt. She tells me to stop pushing, and shares a glance with Claire. Slightly frowning, she says "If you need help, Dr. B is right down the hall." I ask her what "help" means. She sort of winces and quietly says "Forceps". Before I say anything, she continues, "He's been using them for forty years. He's very skilled. Your baby will be totally fine." I tell her I'm more worried about my vagina. She doesn't seem to hear me and says Dr. B is ten minutes away, he just went to his office. "I told him not to go far". I start measuring ten minute distances in my head. The walk from my house downtown, the regular TTC schedule, lacing my boots at 14 months pregnant. In the meantime she says not to push. I muster a laugh. Claire tells me I can do "little pushes" to relieve pressure. This sort of helps, but not really.
Dr. B shows up. Janet puts gloves on his hands. He seems excited. It's his time to shine. He says he's going to place the forceps. Even though I've been in labour for 20 hours, I think, "Already?" Claire tells me that when forceps are used there are usually a few more hands on deck, including a paediatrician. But I should be able to hold my baby as soon as he comes out. She asks if I'm alright with a couple more nurses coming into observe, and I think she used the words "slow day". I tell her I don't care, what's a few more? Then i wonder if she's strategically being casual about it for my sake, that there is actually a need for all these extra hands. I decide I can't worry about it. Here we go. I hope my crotch is numb. Dr. B places the forceps, they are cold, and I expect this to be more gentle. Actually, I expected to feel nothing. Who cares if my legs are numb if my vagina isn't? He is pushing and wedging so hard, but I don't feel much pain. It is still extraordinarily uncomfortable, how will I ever describe this? I decide I need to cover my face with my vomit stained facecloth. While this is happening, the nurses remove the catheter and the baby's head monitor. The straps come off my belly. I still have my IV and my blood pressure cuff. Dr. B explains that when I feel a contraction, I will tell them and then start to push. Almost immediately I am hit with a contraction and Dr. B and I go to work. The facecloth is still over my eyes, I think I am moaning. I can't describe what my lower half is experiencing. There is so much force, Is this why we call them 'forceps'? I wonder if anything will come out with the baby, like some intestines or a kidney. Does the doctor have one leg up on the bed? It feels like it. I think I can hear him moaning or is that just me? It seems like Dr. B is working really hard. Like he's trying to wedge a boulder out of a tree with a tire iron. I hear Claire tell Adam, "She's okay". But am I? I feel...stuck. I hear Dr. B say "That's as far as it's going to stretch." Then I hear the sound of metal clinking followed by scissors cutting construction paper. I know what's happening. I can feel it, it feels so sharp. I think my awareness is making it worse. He's giving me a fucking episiotomy. Oh my god. I can't believe this is happening. I have a fucking midwife, for fuck's sake. Where's the olive oil? Claire promised a perineum massage! A GENTLE BIRTHING OF THE BABY'S HEAD. My facecloth falls off, Adam replaces it. He's still cutting? Oh my God. Is there anything left? I feel a very minuscule release of pressure and then Adam says, "The head is out". I expected this to be more relieving. It's not over? Another contraction hits me, and I feel more pressure. Am I pushing? This is the shoulders, isn't this part supposed to be easier? It's worse, its definitely worse. No, I can't do this. I'm done. I am still safe under my vomit cloth.
There's a baby on my chest, and Claire removes the facecloth. He is hot and slimy and surprisingly not that bloody. Adam says 'Oh my god", as if he forgets a baby is the whole point of this. I think I forgot too. I can feel the umbilical cord. I can't see his face, and he isn't crying. And then he is. I look at the parts of him I can see. Dry, wrinkly hands, where did all this hair come from? Adam points out a birthmark on his belly. Janet says, "aw, he's special!' Claire asks Adam if he wants to cut the cord. He does. "Wow!" He says, "That's thick. Like a garden hose."
I can't believe they just ripped a human from my body. I can't believe I just went through that. But I know it's not over, so i can't relax. I hear Dr. B tell Adam the baby is perfect. He is scraped up but he will be fine. Claire takes the baby across the room to get him checked out by the waiting pediatrician. Adam joins her and eventually comes back to tell me the baby has some nerve damage and can't open his right eye and his mouth droops on that side. "He's okay though?" I ask him. Adam is smiling. "They think the paralysis will go away, but if it doesn't, who fucking cares, right? He's alive. We'll get him an eye patch."
Claire comes over and tells me the placenta is next, but "no bones" so it shouldn't hurt. Its just me and Dr. B. Adam, the paediatrician and the nurses are all surrounding the baby on the scale on the other side of the room.
Dr. B tugs on the cord and I feel the placenta slither out and hear it land in the metal pan he's holding at the end of the bed. I'm not exactly sure what I expected, and surely my judgement is skewed, but at this point, I will describe the placenta delivery as feeling "good". Dr. B gives it a puzzled look and walks it over to the nurses to show them. One of them takes a tool and stabs it a few times. "It's just a clot," she says, reassuring the doctor. I am also reassured. Janet comes over to join Dr. B with some supplies and says "sutures?" I have been dreading this part the most. Dr. B says, 'Relax, let your legs go floppy'. Until this point everything he has said to me has been calming. But now, everything in me is telling me to protect myself from sharp objects near my vagina and my legs are involuntarily closing. I know there's no way around this, but I am scared. They give me an injection to freeze the area. The needle feels like it's in my butt hole. When I say this out loud, Janet gives me a look which undeniably confirms that yes, it is in my butt hole. It hurts, but compared to what I just went through, it just feels infuriating. Dr. B places a few sutures and I can feel it. I yell for Adam to come over to me. He does and tells me I can squeeze his hand as hard as I need to. I am glad he's beside me, but this is so hard. This is harder than labour, harder than forceps birth. I remember in our conversations about labour and delivery before I went through this, Adam made a point of saying the pain involved is a natural pain, a necessary pain with purpose. Its not pain like, say, someone sawing your arm off. And he was totally right. Labour, even chemically induced labour, is nothing like having your arm sawed off. It feels familiar in a way, like all the nasty, crampy periods and horrible hangover poops in your life prepared you for this very moment. Episiotomy and sutures in the perineum is more akin to having your arm sawed off, I would think.
Marlo, Part of Janet, and me.
Dr. B is still stitching. This is taking forever. He keeps saying, "just a few more" through pleas to keep my legs "floppy". At some point, he leans back and says "Darling, when your house burns down, you have to carefully rebuild the foundation" . I think I laugh, but only because I am in shock, and I don't want to hurt his feelings. I feel the sutures in my butt. These ones really hurt. Janet must notice my wincing or my screaming, because she says "Yeah unfortunately we can't do much for the pain in that area." I'm done. I can't take this anymore. Adam can raise the baby, right? Just fucking kill me, please. I don't want to see him yet. Am I going to die? Not one more stitch. Claire comes over with the baby and I can see his face. He is beaten up, a huge scratch down his forehead, over his eye. Stitch. Tiny cuts and dents all over. Stitch. Stitch. His right eye is starting to open. Stitch. Claire instructs Adam to put his hand over the baby since I'm still writhing around, seemingly disinterested in anything but my lower half. Stitch. I am glad to have him on me, especially because I've heard this can help with the pain. It doesn't. Stitch. I hear Dr. B say 'five more minutes". And I cannot believe it. I thought this would take five minutes total. It takes forty-five. I'm actually going to die. Dr. B is removing his gloves and says, "Okay, you're done. Even if you needed one more, I wouldn't do it!" I say, "I don't though, right?"
First hold
Adam sends a picture of the naked baby on the scale to our families. 7lbs, 12 oz. 20". All of his brothers text back something complimenting the size of the baby's penis.
I am so glad this is over. I almost forget the pain I was just in. Claire asks if I want some juice, or a Gatorade and tells me I won't puke anymore. While she's talking to me she finds a hooked needle with green thread attached to it. It looks like there's skin in it too. She holds it up inspect it, scrunching up her face. I am in literal shock, so I don't react. "What the--" she says, while placing it in the yellow plastic SHARPS bin on the wall. The baby starts rooting for my breast, and Claire helps him latch to my right side. Perfect. He won't latch to the left side, but she reminds me his face probably still hurts. He has scrapes and bruises all over, on places I didnt even know you could bruise, like his earlobe. I feel bad for him. Like his injuries are my fault. I consider this guilt a sign that I am already mothering properly.
My parents have called five times. Adam forgot to include my mother in the initial group text. They're on their way to the hospital, about two hours away. I call them back. I haven't cried yet, but I start to when I begin explaining what happened, and how beaten up we both are. I am compelled to talk about how destroyed my vagina is. I can't stop talking about it. "FORTY FIVE MINUTES!' I say, referring to the suturing. Its like I know I can get away with anything, so I say, "Dad," making sure I have his attention, "my vagina is fucking destroyed." OK, he says.
I can't believe we survived this.
A few hours ago he was inside of me and now he is right here, breathing air. It's staggered and phlegmy, but Claire tells us this is normal, even if it does sound like he's going to choke on his own saliva.
I am literally high with relief that it is all over. That he is here and I'm still alive. I am not pregnant anymore. I'm not entirely sure my body will still function properly, but I don't care. I can't believe we have a baby; it really wasn't just pizza in there.
Shift change. A nurse comes and says, "Congratulations, I heard it was a good one!" I smile and say "Well, we all survived!" while pondering our differing perspectives of the word good. Neither of us are wrong. It was a good one; we all survived.
. . .
We name him Marlo. I feel like I've known him forever.
Notes:
This essay took me over a year to write. It isn't perfect but am posting it now basically to relieve myself from the compulsion to keep editing it. I wrote it for myself and for Marlo, to remember as much as I can about the experience of his birth.
I loved my experience with my midwives and the nurses at the hospital, and hope my candor comes across as lovingly as it was intended.
I wrote more about pregnancy and childbirth in the 6th issue of The Four Poets, which you can read here. My book 'I Should Be Sleeping: Contour Drawings Inspired by New Motherhood', can be purchased here.
