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And now for your reading pleasure, I have written a tale that takes us back to July...

Jennifer's Birth Story

Introduction written by Brian Martin

When Jenn showed me the story she had written about her labor experience, it prompted me to write one from my perspective (it will be coming soon). Her story captures the incidents and emotions of the day from a first time mother’s point of view. It’s wonderfully written, and a pleasure to read. But don’t take my word for it; here is what others had to say:

Edie Bradford – United Daily Press – “It’s wonderfully written and a pleasure to read.”

Leonard Ziegler – Tallahassee Temple Tabloid – “I love a happy ending, great narrative.”

Marcia Mahoney – Middletown Publishers – “A tale with humor and a positive message. It made me want to go get pregnant right now!”

Part I

Honestly, I’m not quite sure how you’re supposed to start a birth story. I imagine it should start with a proper warning to all first-time pregnant women or women expecting to become pregnant. Not this one. My birth story is mild, very mind indeed compared to the hundreds of horror stories that I heard throughout my pregnancy. For some reason women love to spread the joy, or terror as it were in my case, to any expecting woman they know. For many of them, I have to think that they believe it’s just a rite of passage, a passing of the torch, putting the fear of God (literally) into those who are fortunate enough to be within earshot. Thankfully I’ll have a happy ending for all my friends and co-workers. For my story is the best birth story I’ve ever heard. And I’m blessed to be able to tell it to you…

It was the middle of July, 2008 and I had a baby cooking… still. The doctor had projected our due date to be on or around July 14th and, well, it was July 17th when I said to my doctor (at our regularly scheduled weekly appointment), “Please tell me to meet you at the hospital in 15 minutes, that I’m ready to deliver anytime now.” To which he replied, “No, not today, but maybe tomorrow if you’d like to have an induction.”

I have to preface the next few thoughts with the recollection that I had been determined, no, dogged about the fact that I did not want to be induced. It was one of my ‘resolutions’. These were, to me, clear-cut no-nos for my birth. I wanted my delivery to be exactly as I envisioned, with no significant alterations to the plan. However, when you lay there, feet in stirrups, four days overdue, baby getting bigger every second, no significant progress on your own, in Florida – in the middle of the summer, thinking about your options and your doctor says, “If you choose to, we can get this baby out tomorrow”, the thought, “F-I-N-A-L-L-Y some relief” floats through your mind and you wonder… “Would it be so terrible?”

The alarm went off at 3:45 am on July 18, 2008. The doctor’s office had given us a yellow sheet of paper with the instructions to call the hospital at 4:00 am for further direction regarding the induction. I dialed the number and was told to arrive at 5:00 am to process my check-in paperwork. The two of us stood there, looking at each other. I don’t think either of us gave it this much thought, but we were indeed going to have a baby that day! I decided to take a shower before gathering the last of my must-haves for the hospital. We’d packed so many bags that we’d had to shuffle them around and now we had dedicated “birthing bags” and “recovery bags”. I threw some clothes on, we fed the animals, checked the nursery one last time (perfection!), I slipped my feet into my comfortable Crocs and we were out the door.

Fifteen minutes and a stop at McDonald’s later, we arrived at the hospital. Processing the necessary paperwork, adding me to their system, and paying our hospital co-pay didn’t take long at all. Before I knew it, we were being escorted through the hospital to Labor and Delivery. Brian and I were both quite familiar with this floor. We’d completed our birthing class, which included a tour of the floor, several weeks earlier. Finally we arrived at the nurse’s station and introduced ourselves.

Our delivery room was nice. We had, of course, seen these rooms during our tour, but I’d always wondered which one would be ours on delivery day. It seemed odd to finally know where Finnegan was going to be born. This was it! We would meet our firstborn, our son today. The uneasiness and fear of this day that I had carried for so long seemed to temporarily subside because of all the excitement. I was instructed to change into hospital gowns, the nurse left for a few minutes and when she returned we started filling out more paperwork. Eighty-seven signatures later and we were finally done. That’s when the really fun stuff began!

I hate needles! I think I always have. I turned my head as she initiated the search for a vein in my wrist. I remember thinking to myself that I had assumed the IV would go in on the top of my hand. I feared this wrist placement was going to feel more awkward than I had anticipated. A few seconds later and I had my IV. I remember the first bag of liquid was cool but after that I don’t remember feeling it anymore. Two fetal monitors were placed on my abdomen – one that allowed us to hear Finnegan’s heartbeat and the other to keep track of any contractions. Hearing his heartbeat was nice. It was the first time we’d heard it and it sounded like a galloping horse.

The thing that surprised me and still stands out the most when I remember that day is how difficult it was to go to the bathroom! My bed was literally five feet from the toilet. Yet wires, chords and IV lines kept me from moving that short distance without a huge production. Brian helped, but oh my goodness was it a pain in the butt! I knew that as long as they kept pumping me full of fluids, this would continue. Each time a bag would empty, the nurse would add another. It was an infinite cycle of irritation. Other than that though, I felt good. I tried to relax, knowing that as soon as my doctor made his rounds, I would be in actual labor.

Around 8:30 am the doctor came. He ordered the Pitocin, checked for progress and in the middle of telling me that he would be breaking my water, he did. A rush of warmth filled the bed. It wasn’t as disgusting as I had anticipated but I was also fortunate enough to know it was coming. (I still fear a future child will leave me quivering and wet in the corner of Target’s shoe department.) Now I was wet AND scared. Not only was I in the hospital, with IVs and monitors strapped to me, but my bag of water had just been broken and soon contractions would begin. I feared the absolute worst! What had I done? I was laying there thinking about my no-turning-back-now situation when the doctor asked if I wanted an epidural…

Here we go again with my ‘resolutions’. I had preached the entire pregnancy about how I wanted a totally natural childbirth and how awful it would be if I were forced to succumb to any type of anesthesia. I had argued with women who preached about how wonderful their epidurals were and had honestly not even paid attention to that part of our childbirth class. I knew it wouldn’t happen during my labor and I had confidence in my body and the natural ability to birth a child.

Blah blah blah!

The next time I had to go to the bathroom, this time dragging multiple monitors, an IV stand, AND wearing soaking wet socks, I agreed to the epidural. It wasn’t the contractions that finally wore me down. It was the gross factor. Go ahead – roll your eyes. I admit it.

Just before the doctor left, he reminded me, “If you want it, it could take up to an hour for the anesthesiologist to arrive, so request it now.” I requested the epidural and within minutes a man in a white coat arrived, pushing a cart. I’m here to tell you that it is indeed true what they say about anesthesiologists. At least it was for the one who came to my delivery room. He had absolutely no personality, unless you consider smug arrogance qualities of a good bedside manner. I was terrified! The thought of a needle being inserted into my spinal column (or really REALLY close to it) was disturbing enough without the added worry that this guy was too consumed with himself to pay attention to his job.

As he handed me a stack of papers to sign, he clicked a switch on the bottom of my bed and I began to rise toward the ceiling. I finished skimming the documents, signing my life away again and remember mentioning to Brian something about dental work and its supposed interference with an epidural. I still don’t know how that relates. Anyway, there I was, high in the sky and he’s telling me to sit up and lean forward. As I frown at Brian, who’s standing there ready to catch me if I fall off the bed, I mumble something about where am I possibly going to lean to? I had a giant basketball under my gown for God’s sake! We struggle to get the birthing ball under my arms and I do my best at bending over. The next thing I know, the doctor is wiping my back with something cold and asking me to remain completely still. Here it comes…

It was absolutely the oddest sensation in the world. The only thing I can relate it to is the time I tried touching the prongs of my Easy Bake Oven plug with the tips in the socket. I felt a shock and then warmth all at once in one single location on my back. The shock then traveled up my spine for just a quick second and then nothing but cold. His grand finale – surgical tape. I kid you not when I say that I was still taking tape off my body twelve weeks after Finnegan’s birth. The tape ran from the point of entry (way down low) all the way up to my shoulder. I guess he didn’t want me calling him back to say the line had come out. Actually neither of us wanted that. Just before he packed up and left, he handed me my very own magical button. It looked like a doorbell with a nice big red button in the center. I don’t remember ever putting it down, but I suppose I probably did sometime later that day. I didn’t feel my legs again until 9:00 that night.