Charles' birth story

This birth story would not be complete unless it began at 34w, even though the birth itself began more than six weeks later…

Having returned from a nine week hiatus from doctor visits, my return to the medical professionals assigned to care for baby and I through the process brought back to reality exactly how “managed” the process of bringing life into the world has become. I certainly don’t fault my doctor – I think she’s fabulous, in fact. However, I did respectfully disagree with her assertion that baby needed to be delivered within weeks 38-39 for the “best possible outcome” due to my diabetes. And so the weekly discussions began about premature extraction of this beloved babe, but bi-weekly testing ensuring that baby was still comfortable eased my mind and I knew that baby would come when baby was ready if we only let him.

At 37w, my first exam showed a small amount of dilation (1.5) and the doctor who did the exam swept my membranes, with my knowledge and consent, in an effort to get things moving. He said that he predicted that baby would arrive within four days. Thankfully, he was very wrong, as the events that followed would have been much harder for all of us had his assertion been correct.

A few days later, after no progress towards labor, we began hearing stirrings and rumblings of a hurricane headed to the Gulf Coast. Living in the heart of “Katrina Country” people were rationally nervous about the potential impact of this storm. I was informed that Keesler AFB would close the hospital and Mother/Baby Unit without advance warning if a determination was made that the storm was headed that direction, and was advised to evacuate somewhere that had a Labor and Delivery department at their hospital. Gee, thanks for that, at nearly 38w pregnant, I’d never have thought of that without the suggestion of the hospital administration.

So, after a few phone calls and much soul searching, and consultation with family, I made the decision to drive up to Massachusetts and have baby surrounded by family who would be able to support us, as well as H and K during my hospital stay. I found a hospital that allowed VBACs (Vaginal birth after cesarean section) and an OB practice who would agree to take on a high risk patient (diabetes and “advanced maternal age”) at 38w pregnant, who was evacuating from a potential hurricane.

And so we began our journey north from Mississippi to Massachusetts, with grandma-to-be along for the drive (and doing most of the driving), with my biggest fears being going into labor in West Virginia (don’t know why I was having nightmares about this unlikely possibility since WV is about 30 minutes of the 23 hour drive) and secondary would have been going into labor at all on the drive.

We arrived safely in MA and I met with a very engaging and encouraging doctor who felt there was no rush to have the baby, knowing my history and medical issues. I returned to bi-weekly Non stress tests (NSTs) and Biophysical Profiles (BPPs) and began the anxious baby-watching sessions. 39w came and went, as did the 40w mark, at which time even this doctor began to feel that it would be a good idea for baby to arrive sooner rather than later, and he set an induction date of Wednesday, September 17th. I was slightly heartbroken at the thought, but also ready to meet our new baby, and after a stressful few weeks, ready to be done, if baby was ready to arrive.

I really didn’t want to be induced. Monday night, my father-in-law and I took a ride in his truck down a bumpy road that he is convinced precipitated the arrival of Frank, baby’s daddy, 34 years before, and went to the drugstore in town to pick up castor oil to choke down to induce the onset of labor. By this point, I was pretty much willing to try anything other than doctor-induced labor.

That night, the kids and I snuggled in and I told them that if they woke up and I wasn’t there, that perhaps I had to go to the doctor to have baby, but that grandma or grandpa would be there to help take care of them or comfort them if they were scared. We all went to sleep before 10:00, a rarity these days, and neither of them woke for a while. I woke up around midnight feeling crampy. I thought it was, perhaps, the side effects of the castor oil, and headed to the bathroom since, well, castor oil is found in the laxative section, if you know what I mean.

For the next two hours I debated whether castor oil really was the most stupid thing I had ever tried, or if I was in labor. When I started having contractions that I couldn’t walk or talk through, I determined it was the latter, and realized that in all of our discussions about baby, hospitals, labor and so on, we had never really discussed the logistics of going into labor – who would drive to the hospital, how I would wake people up, etc.

The stairs at the in-laws are steep and narrow, and I really didn’t think I could make it up them between contractions (did I wait too long?). So, I turned on the light to the stairs outside of their bedroom and “knocked” on the wooden stairs, calling up to them. After a few minutes, my mother-in law came down and I told her I was calling the doctor on-call and that I thought we needed to take a drive to Pittsfield. The doctor on call was surprisingly alert for 2:15 a.m., an occupational hazard, I suppose and I lied and said the contractions were regular (they weren’t) and only a minute or two apart (they were).

And so we left for the hospital, making the 45 minute journey in about 25 minutes thanks largely to no traffic and a driver who kept asking, “Are you sure we don’t want to call an ambulance to meet us?” (God Bless her!) We checked in at about 2:45 a.m. and were rushed up to the Mother/Baby unit. By 3:00 I was “safely” ensconced in a hospital bed with fairly strong and regular contractions. Dilated to 5, I knew I wasn’t leaving without a baby and even then, it wouldn’t be that morning, but rather a day or so later when we were finally able to leave. I also knew we wouldn’t be keeping that induction appointment.

By the time I was dilated to about 7, 4:30 a.m. or so, I asked for some stadol, a lovely narcotic I was familiar with from Henry’s birth. Once I had that in my system, it was easier to relax through each resting period between contractions, and I was almost able to sleep in little 30-45 second bits (my “naps”). By the time 5:00 rolled around, I was starting to wonder why on earth people actually attempted labor when it was so much “easier” and less painful to have the baby extracted through c-section. By 5:15 I was annoyed that there weren’t better drugs available to laboring mothers. By 5:25, all I wanted to do was curl up on my side and take a nap. I mentioned it to the nurse, and she said, “go ahead and try.” As soon as I curled my legs up next to me to “sleep,” I felt baby shift and begin to arrive and I knew that my much desired nap would have to wait a bit longer.

Doc came in and after a few pushes, he told me to ease up or I’d tear, but by this point, all I wanted to do was push. I got baby’s head out, and doc wanted me to push, but I was between contractions on a short “nap” and refused for all of 15 seconds or so until the next few contractions and baby was out! Just before baby was born, I remembered to ask that no one tell me boy or girl, as Frank had always done this, and I didn’t want anyone else to do it. Instead, they gave me baby, pretty much right away and I held our little man, definitely a boy, while grandma cut the cord and they wiped him down a bit. Charles was born at 5:39 a.m. on September 16th.

I was able to nurse him, and snuggle him before he was taken for “just a minute” to get weighed and such. I asked why it couldn’t be done in the room and was very annoyed and concerned when they took him. I had a bad feeling, which I should have listened to. They gave Charles his first bath without me there, and I didn’t get to help or take pictures or anything. They also gave him a vitamin K shot, without my permission or knowledge and put unnecessary eye ointment in, again without asking me. All-in-all they had him for nearly two hours, all the while I kept asking where he was and why he was still not back. I didn’t know how much he weighed or how long he was, so while I made a few phone calls, I had no real news other than that he was a beautiful and perfect little man and that he was here.

When the nurse brought him back, she said she had gotten “busy” which was not a good enough explanation in my opinion, but alone and tired it was a little hard to work up my usual backbone to argue and besides, it had already been done so at this point it would be merely howling at the moon.

Grandma brought the kids to meet their new brother early that afternoon, and although they wanted to see me, I think they were pretty indifferent to the little bundle of brother in my arms. They much preferred the sticker books and crayons that the nurse gave them.

Just after noon, we moved into a different room and settled in. No internet access and a hospital policy of 48 hours if you don’t have visiting nurses benefits within your insurance policy made for a long stay, but they took pretty good care of us, although they were annoyed that I didn’t “need” any pain medications or other assistance (drug pushers!). I explained that I had stayed in the hospital a shorter period of time for my c-section and that I was very low maintenance, but all the same we were glad to leave on Thursday morning.