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Etta Arrives! It was the third day of trying to induce labor and my baby was now two weeks overdue. The pitocin flowing into my veins was finally bringing on contractions strong enough to make birth today a possibility. My body shook violently, my teeth chattered uncontrollably, and breathing was a challenge. All I could do was lie curled up on my side in agony, surrounded by the doula, my husband, and the nurse. They took turns applying pressure to my lower back and rubbing my shoulders. I was oblivious, devoured by each contraction, exhausted in between. It felt as if someone was reaching inside me, gripping my tender innards and twisting and pulling the life out of me. I know that the doula and the nurse probably tried to coach me on my breathing, but it fell on deaf ears. My thoughts on "natural" childbirth? It seemed as feasible as putting your wet finger into an electrical outlet and saying, "I’m going to be perfectly still and not pull away when I get electrocuted." At 6:00pm, with the little energy that I had, I began screaming for an epidural. The nurse checked me and found that I was only 3 cm, but she called the anesthesiologist anyway. Luckily the doula didn’t try to convince me not to get the epidural, otherwise I would have bitten her like a rabid animal. My husband was fighting back tears, feeling powerless to help me as I was obviously suffering great pain. When the anesthesiologist arrived I was howling great guttural sounds that I had no idea I was capable of making. He went right to work and I concentrated as hard as I could on not moving during the delicate insertion of the needle and catheter into my spine. Once or twice he did something that felt like a lightening bolt running down my leg which made me jump, but he said it was supposed to, so I didn’t have to worry about having moved. By 6:30pm I was set, and the contractions took on a different quality. I could still feel them, but they registered only as vague rectal pressure. I was able to breathe, open my eyes, and even speak again! The nurse instructed me to rest and said that she’d be in once an hour to check me. I sent my husband off to dinner (he walked to a nearby Sushi bar) and the doula stayed with me while I rested. At 7:30pm I was checked and found to be 5 cm. The nurse inserted a catheter to empty my bladder. I was dreading the procedure, but it was just embarrassing and not physically uncomfortable, and the catheter was removed within a few minutes. My husband returned from dinner around 8:00 and the doula decided she wanted dinner, too, so she left. At 8:30 I was 6 cm. My husband settled into the recliner for a snooze while I continued resting on the bed. The lights were dim and Etta’s heartbeat played softly on the monitor. I drifted off to sleep. At 9:10pm I was jolted awake by a contraction that felt "different." No longer just rectal pressure, but still painless, I now felt the contractions through my cervix and forward toward my pubic bone. I knew my bladder was full again, but I also suspected that Etta’s head was moving down. I looked at the clock and contemplated calling the nurse. Instead, I began breathing deeply with the contractions, not because they hurt, but because it felt good to do so. My husband stirred, awakened by my audible breathing. Just then the nurse walked in, and I told her what I was feeling. As she was putting on her gloves in preparation for examining me, she said that perhaps the epidural was wearing off. I told her that I wasn’t experiencing pain, just more intense pressure. She took one look and rushed from the room to call the doctor. When the nurse returned she asked my husband when our doula would return as it looked like showtime. By 10:00pm my doctor arrived, sauntering into the room in a polo shirt and slacks. I teased him for his casual appearance, as I had never seen him out of his green scrubs, even at his office. The Pitocin was still flowing freely into my vein, but the contractions spaced out. I was instructed to bear down and push for the count of ten three times during each contraction. A large mirror on wheels was brought in so that I could see my progress, and with each push the top of Etta’s head appeared larger and larger. I thought that I had a long way to go because I’d heard that with a first baby you typically spend an hour or two pushing, but I must have pushed pretty impressively because the doctor ran from the room to get changed. Another nurse, 7 months pregnant herself, came in with the carts of equipment and supplies for the delivery. The doula returned from dinner and was startled to find that it was "time." My husband scrambled to set up the video camera on a tripod in the corner of the room while I sat back loading film in the camera and instructed one of the nurses how to use it. I was amazed at how calm and coherent I was. The doctor returned in scrubs and all assumed their positions. The doula supported my left leg, one nurse supported my right leg, my husband cradled my upper body, the doctor sat in the catcher’s position, and the other nurse moved about the room with the camera. The doctor said an episiotomy was necessary, but I think he wanted to do it just to speed things up. He made the cut and with the next contraction and one push, out popped Etta’s head. All I could say was "Oh my God, Oh my God!" I couldn’t believe how fast and effortlessly my baby was coming to me. The induction had been a long haul, but I kept thinking that the hard and tiring work was yet to come. The doctor instructed me to reach down with my hands to feel the baby as it left my body. I put my hands down, and then he guided my hands under her emerging armpits and told me to pull her on up to my breast. This was not planned, and yet it was the highlight of the birth for me. Etta was slippery with amniotic fluid and my blood, and her body was very warm. I can’t recall if there was an aroma or not. My senses of sight, touch, and sound were so overloaded that smell didn’t register. I always wondered if childbirth was a stinky business, but in my excitement I forgot to inhale to find out. We were all startled at Etta’s size. We had been expecting a large baby, and here she was long but very, very skinny. Her skin hung in deflated folds off her bony arms and legs. Her hands and feet were wrinkled, with spindly fingers and toes devoid of baby fat. Keeping her warm would be an issue. After about five minutes on my chest, Etta was taken to the corner of the room to be assessed. She weighed in at 6 pounds 12 ounces and was 21" long. Etta was rubbed down and returned to me tightly swaddled. The nurse offered to let me hold the baby naked, with warm blankets over her, but I thought Etta would feel more secure swaddled. Looking at Etta I could see immediately that she had my hair and ears, and my husband’s eyebrows, jaw line, and wrinkly forehead. The doctor stitched me up, the doula said farewell, my husband telephoned my mother who was anxious to come meet Etta, and I held my baby in a state of euphoria. The nursery nurse came in to give Etta a thorough exam and a bath and shampoo. My mother, or "Grammy" as she was now called, arrived for a quick visit and was ecstatic at meeting her first grandchild. Shortly after midnight we were readied to go to the mother-baby unit, where we would begin our life as a new family. |