Reflecting on Isaiah's Labor and Birth

It was July 4th. We started the day off with the city's best, a parade in downtown Kirkland. Strutting around in much too short blue jean shorts to beat the heat, we find ourselves people watching. As people start to disperse, we are unsure what to do with ourselves since baby Isaiah has decided to stay tight in my belly. Unsure what to do, we head out for a beautiful walk to enjoy the sunshine and the hustle and bustle of people all around. During this walk I annoyingly have to keep stopping and starting despite Paul jokingly says "keep up." I soon realize that these contractions really aren't subsiding. So we head home for a nice afternoon nap to get some rest before Paul's parents come over for some more festivities. Despite the surges I can rest and have no problem ignoring them for the rest of the afternoon.
Soon Marge and Cliff arrive with Kentucky Fried Chicken in hand.  Luckily it smells good because it will be my last meal for a while. As we wrap up dinner, about 7:30pm, I show off baby Isaiah's new room to Marge. As I'm talking I feel a gushing flowing down my leg and rush to the bathroom. Most definitely my water has just broke. This is both exciting and a bit confusing as we didn't know it meant Isaiah would have a 24 hour time limit to enter this world.
Anyways, it's about time for fireworks so we hustle to the roof top of our Waterview Condo to snuggle up and watch the fireworks from all over Seattle, a truly breathtaking site. Quite distracted, I didn't realize how the surges were progressing. We get back to our place and call the hospital. They suggest timing the surges and calling back. The timings were confusing and not your typical textbook timing. So we call back. They say get some rest and then come in if...so I try to sleep but roll over around 11:30 to Paul and say I think it's time.
So we pack our bags, so excited and neive to the events to come and how significantly our lives will change, for the better.
Arriving at the hospital they check us in immediately since my membranes had already released and they begin to track my baby's heart rate. Although I feel like everyone should be moving fast, as this is a big deal, they progress calmly and slowly. Paul's parents soon arrive in anticipation but I've already progressed to active labor and ask for some distance so I can focus on relaxing through the surges. I find myself really needing to close my eyes and retreat to cope. After trying walking around and sitting on the birthing ball, they offer to draw a bath. I jump on the offer right away since I'm progressing and the coping is becoming harder.
I remember being in that tub forever on hands and knees. Paul rubbing my back and the sweet, young black-haired nurse reminding me not to push. At one loint she looks at Paul and I and says with convictuon, "this. Is. Beautiful." I think she was reflecting on how aweskme Paul was, willing to love and support me dueing this. Ironically, Paul, bless his heart, realizes that this is where birth is disgusting. (This is one of the negatives I think he experienced that I'm hoping changes in our next experience.) From this point forward things are a big blur.
I know I get no rest from the surges. They always seem o be coming and never stopping. (What I later find out to be called "coupling" and most likely working really hard to move my baby from Sunnyside up.) I'm exhausted from no food or drink, this "coupling" and from unfortunately what is known as back labor. (I later find out this means Isaiah is Sunnyside up and pressing on my back. Something that could have been avoided by doing some exercises to rotate him early on.) Eventually I have to quite the tub as my legs are exhausted! Time at this point doesn't exist. I do wonder where the midwives is because I haven't seen her once since I checked in.
But time passes; somehow. Eventually I am asked to "push". (Looking back I'm not sure if I felt the urge to "push." I can't remember.) But I try anyways. On the third try I was told, "on your next try I'm going to lift your cervix up and over the babies head." So we give that a try. Immediately I hear thrm say we need to go. By that they mean surgery. The baby's heart rate has dropped. The hand scrubs to Paul, tell him to scrub and tell them they'll be back for him. They never do. I'm wheeled away on a cold, bare, steel table butt naked and terribly in pain at this point. For a girl who usually doesn't undress in front of people, this is an out of body experience. I'm wheeled down the hall naked, exposed and terribly exhausted, still having serious contractions. If I've ever felt so primitive it was now. We enter the room. Doctors are all around scrubbing up. A sweet, petite blonde comes to my side and introduces herself as Jennifer. She says she'll be doing my surgery and that they will need to give me anesthesia. As the mask goes on she asks me to tell her about something specific, I can't remember, but as I'm talking I drift asleep. I will later find out that from announcing surgery to Isaiah being born was 2 minutes flat. After all those hours of hard work, I would not see my baby born nor hear his first cry. In fact I wake up 45 minutes later to meet him for the first time jn a postpartum room. I will not remember this moment nor will I ever remember "meeting him for the first time. " I was still hugely affected by all the drugs they pumped in me at the last minute. For this I'm both grateful and saddened. Grateful I didn't have to feel the scalpel cut me open. Grateful I didn't have to endure them opening me up, moving my insides and taking my baby from me fully feeling the pain. But I'm saddened because it left me drowsy and incoherent for a good day. It left me weighing more when I left the hospital than when I checked in. Did it effect my baby? I will never know the difference. I would soon find that nursing would be a very difficult experience for the two of us.
I'm so grateful for the advice of a friend who mentioned if the hospital had a nursery send the baby there for the night. Don't feel guilty. You thr rest to heal. You will have plenty of time to take care of baby at hime. Plenty!" To this day I'm so grateful I followed their advice. I was able to get rest and bless the nurses hwarts, they would bring my baby to me each time he needed me and they would help me attempt to nurse. We did good for the most part but he wasn't latching nor was I able to get my milk flowing. (This would pose a problem the first weeks at home.)
They let me stay at the hospital for two days getting some rest, following my pain levels from surgery, helping me pee for tjr first time and allowing visitors. Paul, absolutely exhausted was able to get out for a bit to find some refreshment jn the real world. Many friends and family came to meet baby boy although I still wasn't alert and definitely felt like a blown up hippo. But it was exciting to show off our new addition. He was a lot of work and we were so happy to have him with us. So grateful we both stayed safe.
The days at home were hard, to say the least. My incision was causing a lot of pain. Nursing was difficult. We tried a syringe, tubing, a false nipple, pumping...pretty much everything under the sun. The pediatrician was concerned because he was slightly jaundiced. So on day 1 we headed to the doctor for a blood pick and some testing. Without my consent, the pediatrician stuck a bottle in his mouth with formula. I was devastated but only for a moment. The boy sucked that milk down faster than I could count to one. It was obvious he had been starving. So it began, we added supplementing with formula to our routine but I was determined to continue nursing as so many mommies had expressed it to be so wonderful, a timr of bonding you'll never forget.
The days all blurred together from lack or sleep and my routine of nursing, pumping, bottle feeding, taking meds, then repeat. Sleep was in there somewhere. The pain meds helped tremendously but then began to cause severe digestion problems. I called nurses asking and pleading with them what to do. None would give me any answers that offered relief. (I later realized that I need to help myself and listen to what my body needs not listen to stupid nurses who have no idea the pain I'm in.) I won't go into details, I'll leave it at that, but my recovery was horrid and painful.
I never planned for a ceasaren. I heard having a changing table was not necessary because you can use the floor. I never thought I wouldn't be able to sit on the floor. I never thought I wouldn't be able to carry my own baby's car seat, that I wouldn't be able to drive to our appointments together. We live in a day where you are encouraged to wear your baby, to hold them close. How how I wanted to do that. Never did I think that I wouldn't be physically able to sling him across my chest nor let him rest on my belly while nursing. The recovery made me start to hate how everything ended with a ceasaren for it was robbing me of the joyful life I always imagined with a newborn. Most mom's love their snuggly newborns. I, however, loved him but was saddened by the pain of taking care of him, that I couldn't do it.
Birthing was painful. It was long. It was scary being taken from Paul, knocked out and cut open. I'm saddened that I didn't get to see Isaiah born nor remember meeting him for the first time. I'm saddened that my first days, weeks, months and even years with him were debilitating. And although it wasn't his fault, he was healthy right, was I holding on to bitterness against him for "wrecking" my body? All I know is what happened hapoened. There is nothing I can do to change it. I would say it was a negative experience. And having my beloved father die 7 months postpartum and dealing with seeing him as I mich as I could didn't help the situation. All in all it was a very difficult few years. Emotionally and physically I was hurting. It would spurn me in a spiritual qwest that would change my life. Now with the approaching birth of baby Audrey, I'm having to face these fears because yes things might go south again but this time I want to do all that I can. I don't want to be dependent. I want a positive experience. I don't want to just get through it. I want to experience it fully and leave with a positive experience.
Instead of uniformed and unknowing I want to be knowledgeable. Instead of submissive I want to be powerful. Instead of being a passive onlooker I want to be involved. Instead of conforming, ford thinking. Instead of recnciled, easily led and vulnerable I want to be fullfilled, directing, and trusting. Instead of helpless, vacillating, threatened, embarrassed and resigned I want to be self-sufficient, decisive, confident, assertive, and satisfied. I'm confident Audrey will arrive safely. I need to grow in confidence that I can arrive safely through this process, healed and empowered.