Read Part One here.
Okay! So I left you all hanging at midnight, with everyone in my house (Levi, Owen, Grace, Melanie, Mom, Dad, Isaac, and myself) more or less asleep, except I think my mom, who stayed up all night. I got about a half-hour's nap in before contractions started to speed up again. At maybe 1:15am (the times are a little fuzzy from here on out, but close enough), I got back in the birth tub. I forgot to mention earlier, but any time I was slung over the edge of the tub, Isaac was sitting on a stool behind me, keeping pressure on my back. It was a long, cold, wet night for him! (I also added a picture to the first post, if you want to go back and see.)
Anyway, with the increased contractions came an increased urge to push. Those of you who have read my previous birth stories know that this is my biggest challenge in labor: not pushing before it's time. Grace came back into the room around 2, maybe 2:30am and said I was welcome to try if I wanted, but I could tell that it just wasn't quite right and kept trying to avoid it. She went downstairs to get Isaac a snack, which of course is when I suddenly couldn't stop myself from pushing and managed to do so with such force that my water broke. I've never had it break like that before -- such an explosion! Contractions intensified after that, as they are wont to do, but still -- and I know I keep saying this, but I don't know how else to explain it -- I just knew that they weren't being effective.
I was still hanging over the edge of the tub, so Grace had me lie back into Isaac (still wet and cold and now shaking with adrenaline on the stool behind me) so she could see what was happening, so to speak. I was at 8 centimeters, but baby's head still hadn't really engaged in my pelvis at all. She stationed Melanie by my side to keep a continuous watch on baby's heartbeat, which was doing relatively okay between contractions (which were still a good 2-3 minutes apart) but dropping quite low during them.
It was maybe 3:15am when we heard the words we'd most dreaded: "I'm going to have to transport you." Pushing wasn't accomplishing anything, and Grace just didn't see any way I'd be able to get the baby out before something bad happened [My blood pressure went even higher and I had a seizure? He lost too much oxygen or his heartbeat dropped too low? I'm not even sure what all the risks were.]. She wavered for a few minutes -- to call an ambulance and take me straight to Good Sam (the closest hospital), or call my back-up OB and make the trek out to Bethesda North, where he delivers? In the end, I know she called both but I don't remember in which order, and she disappeared for a minute to have my parents (still awake and downstairs, remember!) turn on the porch light and be prepared to direct the paramedics upstairs.
Still writhing in the tub, I was alternating between pushing as hard as I could and breathing as much as I could, both of which were becoming quite tiring. My first two boys were out in less than 10 minutes of pretty controlled pushes, so my first thought was that this whole "transport" thing was ridiculous. Surely I'd have a baby any minute! Not only that, but how exactly did she expect me to get out of the tub, down the stairs, into a vehicle, etc. in my current condition? And my third thought, which I voiced aloud: "what happens now?" Ever-so-calmly, Grace explained that if the back-up OB arrived in time, he might be able to do a forceps delivery, at which he apparently excels. The jostling of an ambulance ride might jiggle the baby around enough to get him in the right place. Most likely, I'd have an emergency c-section.
In about the time it took to have those three thoughts and ask one question, my bedroom turned into a scene from a movie. I could see the ambulance's lights flashing through my window blinds, and in seconds there were three paramedics tromping their way up the stairs. (Thoughts at this point: there's an ambulance here and the boys are missing it! How sad! Oh, men tromping up the stairs, do NOT wake up my children . . . . The mere fact that I was having coherent thoughts tells me just how far from being able to give birth I was, physically. I was also very aware of my dad in the house, listening to his daughter wailing.)
But I kept pushing away, because I knew not what else to do, until told otherwise. James the EMT knelt at my bedside, filling out paperwork as Grace and Isaac supplied the answers, all the while Melanie still quietly stating baby's heart rate every minute or so, and Grace still working to get my cervix out of the way. I'll never know what changed, but suddenly I could feel the baby in the right place. I told Grace so; she reminded me that he wasn't low enough or coming fast enough and turned back to the EMT.
So I pushed again, and told her again, more insistently this time: "No really. I can FEEL him." [For the record, she was not ignoring me. She was doing her job when the miraculous happened!] She glanced again, confirmed my suspicions, and said something very Grace-like, like, "Yes! Go!" I watched baby's head emerge, but stopped after that because I'd been hearing her say the word "cord" often, and I wasn't sure if that meant she needed to unwrap his neck or something. Everything paused for a few moments, but nobody was doing anything, so I (very politely) asked if I could push again. Again, the "oh, yes, yes!" and a few agonizing seconds later, there he was, in the water before me.
I will forever regret that nobody thought to take a picture of the two paramedics standing in my doorway, one kneeling at the bed, halted mid-motion in their transport preparations. There's just no way I can type for you the level of incredulity in the room when I lifted my newborn out of the water, who just about three minutes earlier had been too high in my pelvis even to be engaged in labor. I knew that it might take up to thirty seconds for him to respond to the air, but he coughed almost immediately and snuggled into me for warmth.
I don't entirely remember what all happened in the few minutes after that. James finished up his paperwork, sheepishly holding out a paper to Isaac with a request for him to sign that he'd "refused transport." Two of the paramedics, both guys probably about my age, had never seen a birth before, and my mom told me later that one of them was in tears on his way out the door. What a story their fire-department buddies got that night. :) Grace and Melanie got me into bed, Isaac finally got into dry clothes and stopped shaking, Silas turned the most beautiful shade of pink, I pushed out the placenta (which I'd never wanted to see before, but Grace spent so much time examining it that I got curious), and then all was blissfully still for a while. Grace had warned me that, compared to a hospital birth, the hour post-birth at home would feel anticlimactic; given the especially intense circumstances, she was especially right!
So what actually happened? Silas's cord was slung over one shoulder and back through his legs, effectively providing him with a bungee cord that kept bouncing him back up. Each time I pushed, the cord got pinched, cutting off his oxygen and slowing his heart rate. The cord was still over his shoulder when he emerged, so I don't suppose anyone will know for sure why he finally dropped -- except, of course, that I am surrounded by people of faith who know that God controls all circumstances (particularly the two downstairs in my living room, who weren't even supposed to be in the house but were up all night praying).
Silas weighed in at 8 pounds, 14 ounces, just shy of 22.5 inches long (and I don't even have stitches!). He was born in an inflatable tub in my bedroom, and my older children slept through the whole thing just down the hall. Levi adores his newest brother (though not always as gently as we'd like), and Owen waves "hi baby!" as he circles the living room on his bike. I sat in my living room this evening, surveying the new landscape, and thought . . . this is incredible.
Okay! So I left you all hanging at midnight, with everyone in my house (Levi, Owen, Grace, Melanie, Mom, Dad, Isaac, and myself) more or less asleep, except I think my mom, who stayed up all night. I got about a half-hour's nap in before contractions started to speed up again. At maybe 1:15am (the times are a little fuzzy from here on out, but close enough), I got back in the birth tub. I forgot to mention earlier, but any time I was slung over the edge of the tub, Isaac was sitting on a stool behind me, keeping pressure on my back. It was a long, cold, wet night for him! (I also added a picture to the first post, if you want to go back and see.)
Anyway, with the increased contractions came an increased urge to push. Those of you who have read my previous birth stories know that this is my biggest challenge in labor: not pushing before it's time. Grace came back into the room around 2, maybe 2:30am and said I was welcome to try if I wanted, but I could tell that it just wasn't quite right and kept trying to avoid it. She went downstairs to get Isaac a snack, which of course is when I suddenly couldn't stop myself from pushing and managed to do so with such force that my water broke. I've never had it break like that before -- such an explosion! Contractions intensified after that, as they are wont to do, but still -- and I know I keep saying this, but I don't know how else to explain it -- I just knew that they weren't being effective.
I was still hanging over the edge of the tub, so Grace had me lie back into Isaac (still wet and cold and now shaking with adrenaline on the stool behind me) so she could see what was happening, so to speak. I was at 8 centimeters, but baby's head still hadn't really engaged in my pelvis at all. She stationed Melanie by my side to keep a continuous watch on baby's heartbeat, which was doing relatively okay between contractions (which were still a good 2-3 minutes apart) but dropping quite low during them.
It was maybe 3:15am when we heard the words we'd most dreaded: "I'm going to have to transport you." Pushing wasn't accomplishing anything, and Grace just didn't see any way I'd be able to get the baby out before something bad happened [My blood pressure went even higher and I had a seizure? He lost too much oxygen or his heartbeat dropped too low? I'm not even sure what all the risks were.]. She wavered for a few minutes -- to call an ambulance and take me straight to Good Sam (the closest hospital), or call my back-up OB and make the trek out to Bethesda North, where he delivers? In the end, I know she called both but I don't remember in which order, and she disappeared for a minute to have my parents (still awake and downstairs, remember!) turn on the porch light and be prepared to direct the paramedics upstairs.
Still writhing in the tub, I was alternating between pushing as hard as I could and breathing as much as I could, both of which were becoming quite tiring. My first two boys were out in less than 10 minutes of pretty controlled pushes, so my first thought was that this whole "transport" thing was ridiculous. Surely I'd have a baby any minute! Not only that, but how exactly did she expect me to get out of the tub, down the stairs, into a vehicle, etc. in my current condition? And my third thought, which I voiced aloud: "what happens now?" Ever-so-calmly, Grace explained that if the back-up OB arrived in time, he might be able to do a forceps delivery, at which he apparently excels. The jostling of an ambulance ride might jiggle the baby around enough to get him in the right place. Most likely, I'd have an emergency c-section.
In about the time it took to have those three thoughts and ask one question, my bedroom turned into a scene from a movie. I could see the ambulance's lights flashing through my window blinds, and in seconds there were three paramedics tromping their way up the stairs. (Thoughts at this point: there's an ambulance here and the boys are missing it! How sad! Oh, men tromping up the stairs, do NOT wake up my children . . . . The mere fact that I was having coherent thoughts tells me just how far from being able to give birth I was, physically. I was also very aware of my dad in the house, listening to his daughter wailing.)
But I kept pushing away, because I knew not what else to do, until told otherwise. James the EMT knelt at my bedside, filling out paperwork as Grace and Isaac supplied the answers, all the while Melanie still quietly stating baby's heart rate every minute or so, and Grace still working to get my cervix out of the way. I'll never know what changed, but suddenly I could feel the baby in the right place. I told Grace so; she reminded me that he wasn't low enough or coming fast enough and turned back to the EMT.
So I pushed again, and told her again, more insistently this time: "No really. I can FEEL him." [For the record, she was not ignoring me. She was doing her job when the miraculous happened!] She glanced again, confirmed my suspicions, and said something very Grace-like, like, "Yes! Go!" I watched baby's head emerge, but stopped after that because I'd been hearing her say the word "cord" often, and I wasn't sure if that meant she needed to unwrap his neck or something. Everything paused for a few moments, but nobody was doing anything, so I (very politely) asked if I could push again. Again, the "oh, yes, yes!" and a few agonizing seconds later, there he was, in the water before me.
I will forever regret that nobody thought to take a picture of the two paramedics standing in my doorway, one kneeling at the bed, halted mid-motion in their transport preparations. There's just no way I can type for you the level of incredulity in the room when I lifted my newborn out of the water, who just about three minutes earlier had been too high in my pelvis even to be engaged in labor. I knew that it might take up to thirty seconds for him to respond to the air, but he coughed almost immediately and snuggled into me for warmth.
I don't entirely remember what all happened in the few minutes after that. James finished up his paperwork, sheepishly holding out a paper to Isaac with a request for him to sign that he'd "refused transport." Two of the paramedics, both guys probably about my age, had never seen a birth before, and my mom told me later that one of them was in tears on his way out the door. What a story their fire-department buddies got that night. :) Grace and Melanie got me into bed, Isaac finally got into dry clothes and stopped shaking, Silas turned the most beautiful shade of pink, I pushed out the placenta (which I'd never wanted to see before, but Grace spent so much time examining it that I got curious), and then all was blissfully still for a while. Grace had warned me that, compared to a hospital birth, the hour post-birth at home would feel anticlimactic; given the especially intense circumstances, she was especially right!
So what actually happened? Silas's cord was slung over one shoulder and back through his legs, effectively providing him with a bungee cord that kept bouncing him back up. Each time I pushed, the cord got pinched, cutting off his oxygen and slowing his heart rate. The cord was still over his shoulder when he emerged, so I don't suppose anyone will know for sure why he finally dropped -- except, of course, that I am surrounded by people of faith who know that God controls all circumstances (particularly the two downstairs in my living room, who weren't even supposed to be in the house but were up all night praying).
Silas weighed in at 8 pounds, 14 ounces, just shy of 22.5 inches long (and I don't even have stitches!). He was born in an inflatable tub in my bedroom, and my older children slept through the whole thing just down the hall. Levi adores his newest brother (though not always as gently as we'd like), and Owen waves "hi baby!" as he circles the living room on his bike. I sat in my living room this evening, surveying the new landscape, and thought . . . this is incredible.
Silas James
June 10, 2012, 3:44am
8lbs, 14oz -- 22.5"
What a crazy, intense, and amazing birth! You did such a great job! :D I'm glad things turned out so well!
ReplyDeleteRachel Maher
Wow- what a story...I was on the edge of my seat!
ReplyDeleteIt IS incredible! Every birth is miraculous, but this one is especially dramatic. So glad you avoided transport, and that you and Silas got to sleep in your own bed that first night (that's my very favorite part of birthing at home). Praising God with you, Gould family, for this amazing start to Silas's life.
ReplyDeleteI love having this "story" to read again and again. It captures the miraculous that I continue to savor. Love, Mom
ReplyDelete