My unmedicated hospital birth story is not what I wanted it to be, but exactly what I should have expected.
Let’s go backwards a little. I found out I was pregnant on December 19, 2018. My period never showed, so I took the test. It takes about 3 minutes to show definitive results, so I peed on the stick, set it down, and before I could even wash my hands two pink lines appeared. I was still mentally preparing myself to see whatever result came to be, and there it was! I was pregnant. Dave and I were equal parts thrilled and terrified; we both wanted to have a baby, but neither of us could really wrap our minds around actually having a baby.
My pregnancy was relatively easy. The nausea during the first trimester was manageable, and while I felt pretty uncomfortable from day one I knew I had it pretty easy – all things considered. I was 32 weeks pregnant when the fun started. It was July, and the temps were hitting record highs. My feet and ankles began to resemble loaves of bread. It was comical at first – holy shit, my feet are balloons! – but then it got uncomfortable. My skin was hot and tight, I couldn’t wear socks, and the only shoes that fit me were heinous birkenstock-type sandals. I was suddenly carrying an extra 10lbs of swelling and water weight, and my blood pressure was creeping up every week. I looked and felt like a beached whale.
The weekend before I went in to labor was hectic. We were still making finishing touches on our second floor reno, and I had slowed to a snail’s pace. My energy was non-existent, but I knew how close we were to being done so we kept working. I had been having contractions inconsistently all weekend, but nothing worthy of timing. Sunday night we went to my nana’s birthday cookout at my aunt’s house and we all knew it would be the last gathering before baby. My due date was 3 days away, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t make it that long.
It’s go time!
I woke up on Monday morning in labor. I didn’t sleep well, and by 630am I knew the contractions were here to stay. Dave had left for work already so I laid in bed and timed them for a little while to see where I was at. They were about 10 minutes apart so I got up and started my day. I was planning on doing this un-medicated so I knew I had to keep myself busy to pass the time. My midwives wouldn’t even admit me to the hospital until I was 4cm dilated!
The day progressed pretty slowly. I cleaned the house one last time and made sure I had everything packed for the hospital… all before breakfast. I waited to even tell Dave I was in labor until later in the day, because my contractions were still so far apart. That afternoon I took a long shower, tried to nap unsuccessfully, and ultimately made one final craft for the nursery.
Dave came home from work and we went for a walk to help speed things up. My contractions were about 5 minutes apart by then and getting more painful. I made dinner for us, ate, and then it started to go downhill. The only time my contractions would speed up was when I was moving – which was the one thing I didn’t want to do. I knew if I kept moving, labor would progress and I could finally head to the hospital, but I had already been in early labor for 12 hours and I was tired. Ultimately, Dave walked laps around the house with me and we called my sister to come over and begin her puppy sitting duties.
We called the midwife around 930pm and told her what was going on, and she calmly said I wasn’t far enough along and to wait at least another hour before even calling her back. I was devastated because at this point I was really struggling to walk.
At 1130pm my contractions had been 3 minutes apart for a while, and I demanded we leave for the hospital. It was 30 minutes away, so we called the midwife and made our way over. I was completely convinced I’d be 6cm dialted and get admitted right away.
I was 3cm.
They let me leave my stuff in triage and told me to walk the halls and come back at 230am. Honestly, I was ready to crumple. I started feeling nauseous from the pain, I had been awake for almost 20 hours, and the contractions were excruciating. We wandered the halls of Yale for what felt like a lifetime, until I finally convinced Dave to let me sit for a while and began to doze off.
You know that euphoric feeling when you’re so tired and you finally get to close your eyes? I felt that… and then quickly got woken up by the familiar pain of a contraction. Over and over, I’d doze off and wake up crying.
I gave up on the idea that I’d ever feel comfort again, so we got up and slowly made our way back towards triage. Dave left me briefly to pee, and I threw up. I decided then that if I wasn’t dilated enough I would throw a fit and demand admittance anyway. Luckily, I was 4cm.
22 hours later…
They admitted me and Dave immediately drew me the hottest bath I could tolerate. I waddled my half naked body in to the tub and instantly felt better. The water kind of shifted my weight enough to relieve some pressure, and the scalding hot water almost helped me relax. I think it was approaching 4am at this point. Dave and I were both delirious, and wondering how much longer this was going to be. We discussed pain management options with the midwife and I decided I would try nitrous. The only problem was in order to get hooked up to it, I had to leave the tub and get monitored for 20 minutes to make sure the baby and I were ok still. I decided to hang out in the tub a little longer.
Around 5am I had a contraction that made me feel like I had to push. Like, it was not an option. My midwife suggested I get out of the tub and begin the monitoring so I could get the nitrous going. It took almost 45 minutes to get out of the tub, because every time I would get up, I’d have an intense contraction and retreat back into the warm water. I was terrified of the 20 minutes out of the tub and before the nitrous because there would be nothing to distract me from the pain.
I got checked again and I was almost at 8cm, but my water hadn’t broken and the baby was hung up on the edge on my cervix. The midwife gave me 2 options: I can wait and see how things progress for a little while longer and maybe the baby would get in a better position, or she could manually move the baby off the edge of my cervix which would allow me to finish dilating and start pushing.
I went with option 2.
That shit HURT. But it worked. I was told to lay on my side with a peanut ball between my legs to help get the baby in a better position before I could push, and honestly I think that was the worst part. I finally had the nitrous at my disposal, but I was so far in to my labor that I couldn’t use it while I was having contractions because it would “relax” me too much and I needed to practice pushing. So I huffed that shit in between contractions like my life depended on it, but it didn’t do much.
The midwife did one final check on me and I was 9cm dilated. She told the nurse to grab the knitting needle to break my water (not actually a knitting needle, but basically) but my water broke on its own moments before she used it. She then informed me that it was 8am.
Shift Change.
So although I was now ready to push, I had to WAIT until the next midwife could start her shift and get brought up to speed. She said it shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes, but all I could hear was “don’t push”.
One eternity later, my new midwife came in and it was show time. I started pushing for realzies at 830am and it took a few contractions to get in a groove. She encouraged me to give 3 good pushes per contraction but I was MOTIVATED and would try for at least 4.
“Not pregnant me would have been MORTIFIED.”
Let me pause briefly and set the scene here. Before I went in to labor I imagined in great detail what labor would look like. I bought a comfy night shirt to wear that resembled a giant button down – long enough to cover the bump, buttons to make nursing easy, and cute enough for photos afterward. Essential oils were packed to relax me, nice slippers to pace in, a cute headband to keep the hair out of my face, and made a playlist for ~good vibes~. I pictured myself breathing deeply through the pain and asked Dave to think of a bunch of really fun moments we’ve shared to take my mind off everything.
Here’s what actually happened: I wore a sports bra in to the tub that eventually got soaked. When I got out of the tub the midwife peeled it off me because I was shivering which left me fully naked. I stayed fully naked for the remainder of my labor, Dave and I did not reminisce over happy memories; no essential oils, headbands, or cute pajamas were removed from my suitcase, the slippers didn’t even fit my fat ass feet, and I’d say my volume was at an 8 during contractions. Not pregnant me would have been MORTIFIED.
Back to the pushing: it was… an experience. I pushed for a total of 90 long minutes and felt every single second of it. My nurse was such a good cheerleader, my midwife kept it super real with me, and Dave was keeping me sane. Once the baby’s head came out they realized she was wearing the cord like a damn crossbody bag, and I had to wait for them to unwrap her before I pushed again so I didn’t hurt her or myself. One good push later and they plopped her on my chest!
Let me tell you: that was a crazy moment. 27 hours of labor and in a split second it was over, the pain was 100% gone, and I was holding my daughter. She let out a little cry and in that moment it all made perfect sense. Of course it was you! My little rib kicker, all squishy and perfect with a full head of jet black hair. Of course it was you.
I looked over at Dave and he was sobbing. It was the greatest moment of my life.
Darby Floyd, born August 27th, 2019 at 9:58am. 7lbs 11oz, 20″ long.
Need to know more? I got you.
My breastfeeding nightmare, part one // part two
