My Birth Story – Our First (Gabriel David)

The pregnancy, the birth, and the aftermath.

I’m going to be honest, before having my son, I wasn’t into birth stories. I didn’t need all the details, just a really brief, generalized version of how the baby came to be. Even when I was pregnant and preparing for the birthing process, I wasn’t super interested in reading how other people’s went because I knew that ALL were different. Each birth story is as unique as the child that came into the world during that time. And I was good with that. My birth was going to happen how it did, and it would be different that other people’s births.

Theeeen, I had a baby. It definitely was an intense and unique experience, and I suddenly was more interested in how other people’s went. My experience opened me up to all the others, including all the fine details, and I think that it’s all amazing. Our bodies are amazing, and our kids are amazing.

Birth stories aren’t for everyone. But, if you’re at the point in your life where you want to know more and can appreciate all the details, here’s my story.

The Pregnancy

I found out I was pregnant in the summer of 2016. The very first sign was a hungry-but-nauseous-but-not-hungry-for-anything feeling that doesn’t typically happen to me. The second sign was thirst. There were a couple days where I at least doubled my water consumption and still felt thirsty. I don’t ever remember feeling as thirsty as much as those couple days. After I was late for my period, I took a test, and viola! Positive. For some reason, people always want to know “if we were trying,” so I’ll include that in anticipation of some of you asking. Some people are very strict in their “trying” practices. We weren’t. We typically answer that we weren’t preventing, but we weren’t focusing on “trying” either. If it happened, great, if not, then it must not be time yet. We had been “not-trying-but-not-preventing” for about a year, and I honestly had just become okay with the thought of having a baby. Prior to that point, I was very content without a baby and really didn’t desire to have one.

The morning sickness:

I was so nauseous. From when I woke up to when I went to bed, I felt nauseous. I would dry heave occasionally, but never actually vomited (thank you, God). Still, focusing on not throwing up made working and living miserable. I also periodically got migraines, which are always difficult to deal with, but especially when pregnant. Months 6 and 7 I believe were the two months I felt more human, while 1-5 and 8-9 were filled with nausea. I am definitely grateful for those two months were the “I may vomit at any moment” feeling resided. The other 7 months were rough. I also dealt with a lot of fatigue. I was working full time as an occupational therapist in a school-based program for students with Autism. Toward the end, it was all I could do to get through work. As soon as I got home, I would lay down. My back ached from the weight of my belly, and I was just SO tired. I don’t remember when it started, but my body decided that my new bedtime was 7:30pm. Like clockwork, all of my energy would suddenly dissipate, and I’d have to go to bed. It was always 7:30.

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Cravings and aversions:

Besides water at the very beginning of pregnancy, the only thing I really craved during this pregnancy was grapefruit. I normally like grapefruit, but I really liked it while pregnant and would buy enough to have one every day. Mmm, delicious. Often when I was nauseous, which was most of the time, certain foods would sound better than others. Other foods would sound disgusting, but it all seemed to be random and depend on the day. One day chicken would be great, the next it would make me gag.

We had one extra ultrasound earlier on to check on the baby’s size due to my belly measuring smaller than average (despite me being smaller than average to start out, with a long torso). He was totally fine, growing well. Most people thought he was going to be small.

It’s a boy! We found out around 20 weeks that we were expecting a baby boy and decided on the name Gabriel David.

The due date from my doctor was April 27th, not factoring in my longer-than-average cycle. The due date based on my calculations was April 30th. My husband’s birthday is April 10th, my birthday is April 26th (yay for April birthdays).

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The Birth

Here comes baby! It was Tuesday, April 25th.

I started the day pretty worn out and called my doctor while at work. She had told me to give her a call when I felt I couldn’t work anymore, as my job is very physical (and requires us to be trained in physical restraints). The nurse I spoke to said I should wait for my appointment the next day, so I bumped it up to a morning slot that was available. I started having mild contractions at work, which didn’t go away. When I was driving home at 3:15pm, they started to intensify and become more regular. By 4:30pm they were consistent and I started timing them. My husband got home and helped and we called the on-call doctor sometime in the evening when my contractions were more consistently 90 seconds apart. We packed the car and drove to the hospital, which was about 40 minutes away. I believe it was around 8pm when I was admitted, and my contractions were really gearing up. I was moved to a maternity room and initially tried some therapy ball positions, but all seemed quite uncomfortable to me. I labored for a little while in the bed and would grip the rail with each painful contraction. Ouch. Since I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and I get quite hangry, I gratefully took the orange juice and graham crackers they offered, hoping they’d give me a little energy to help me though.

Then the already painful contractions took it up a notch. We decided that trying out the tub would be worth a shot, so I slowly stood up to try and make my way over the 3 whole feet it was to the bathroom. By this point, my contractions were so painful and squeezed my insides so violently that everything inside me was squeezed out. I involuntarily vomited and peed at the same time until my stomach and bladder had nothing left to squeeze out. Goodbye, graham crackers and orange juice. I tried the tub for several minutes, which wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but at least I was trying something to manage the pain. At some point I left the tub, donned my glamorous backless hospital gown, and made my way back to the hospital bed.

I feel like I should mention here about what I like to call the time warp. I’m writing down everything as accurately as I remember, but there’s also this phenomenon that happens in hospitals where time kind of doesn’t exist. It was nighttime, but the lights were on, with nurses and doctors coming in and out frequently. That, combined with the “just-survive-the-next-minute” mindset probably warped my sense of time. There was a clock, but it was mostly irrelevant to me in the state I was in.

While I was pregnant, I read a quick article on the birthing process and how much time there actually was between contractions versus the amount of time in a contraction (on average), basically encouraging women to enjoy the reprieve where you can relax and breathe before the next contraction. At some point (again, the time warp), I realized I was not getting the chance to relax and breathe between contractions. As I breathed out with a lessening contraction, another would start. I mentioned this by saying something like, “aren’t I supposed to have a little break between these contractions?” A doctor told me that they were called “camel-back” contractions, where there’s no break in-between. Awesomeeeee. Also during this time, my husband pointed out my contractions on the nurses’ monitor screen, where you could see the intensity rise to the top of the given space, then level off at the top (because there wasn’t enough room for it to keep going). My contractions were “off the charts” (haha). This, combined with the constant camel-back contractions, was likely why I had frequent staff visitors come into my room, look at the monitor for awhile, then turn to me and tell me I was doing a great job. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything great, but looking back it feels somewhat validating that I was such a “unique” case.

I had some great nurses and doctors, and some interesting nurses and doctors. The nurse who initially checked me in told me to “pant like a dog” through my contractions. Another nurse told me to breathe deeply through my contractions. I had taken the birthing course through the hospital, which said breathe however you want to. That’s the method I went with, haha, but I initially appeased the nurses by doing whatever they said because I’m such a good patient. I had a quiet-talking doctor who reminded me of the girl on Pitch Perfect that you could never hear.

We waited for awhile without considering the epidural. (My “birthing plan” going into this was more like a philosophy. I wanted to start with the least amount of medical intervention necessary, then as things progressed, consider medical interventions that may be helpful). It was probably a few hours, but again, I was in survival mode while in a time warp. We got in the hospital room around 8 or 9pm, and I initially measured around 1.5cm in dilation when I first arrived. I believe it was about 1am-ish when I was re-checked. 2.5cm dilated. WHAT?! Honestly, I was hoping for like 8cm. I had only dilated one more centimeter, and at that point I was totally fine with opting for the epidural to try and get some “rest” since I knew it would be quite awhile to dilate to 10cm.

The anesthesiologist was great. He got right down to my level, squatting down by my bed so his face was in front of mine, and explained to me the process, making sure I was good with everything (all while I was also dealing with the off-the-charts-camel-back-contractions). He just talked over my writhing and “expressions of pain,” and I really appreciated it. Long story short (or shorter, hopefully), he placed the needle, but it went it slightly too far. I felt completely at peace with this, as I felt God was in control of the entire thing. He did some sensation testing and confirmed that it went in a little farther than he meant it to, which means it was called something else (I don’t remember the name, but he called it “the schiz-nit” (I edit it in my memory because I don’t swear, lol). Whatever this slightly-farther-than-an-epidural is called, it worked. I had, I think, about an hour of significantly lessened pain during my contractions (which I could still feel, but I didn’t have to grip the bed rail for dear life to try to make it through the contraction). I wish I had savored this time more, because it didn’t last. The needle moved slightly, and after more testing, it was determined that I now had an actual epidural. This did not work so great for me. While my legs were numb to the touch and I couldn’t feel cold sensations on my legs (I experimented with an ice cube because I was curious, haha), I could still feel each contraction with quite a bit of pain. People talk about getting epidurals so that they could sleep… that was definitely not my experience! There was no way I could sleep, even with increasing the meds. The anesthesiologist again was super awesome. He came in to the hospital room and set out all his pagers on the table in front of him while he just sat for awhile, just to monitor me for a little bit. He told my husband that he was really impressed with how engaged he was with me and the process. Apparently other husbands aren’t super supportive or attentive to their wives.

At some point in the night, quiet-talking doctor came to break my water to try to get things moving along a little more. Once, during a contraction, my husband said “Alicia, he’s trying to tell you something.” I looked at quiet-talking doctor and thought he should work on his voice volume, especially working with ladies in labor. But I just said “what?” because I’m a nice person and a great patient, and I watched his lips to try to figure out what he was saying. He said something about possibly feeling the urge to push, but don’t push yet.

Fast forward several more hours and we made it through the night. At around 7am I asked for more pain meds, but they thought that it would impede my ability to feel when pushing. I was measured at just about 10cm and they said I could try a push. Side note: with every contraction, I could feel baby’s head pressing hard into my sacrum. I believe this may be why I didn’t have an “urge” to push, but when I tried a push, it actually felt much better. So the pushing began.

A week or two prior, Dave had got me a card with a little keepsake attached that said “you are brave, brilliant, and oh so resilient.” I liked that phrase, and it stuck with me. Throughout this whole process, the labor and the pushing, I would repeat that over and over in my head, “you are brave, brilliant, and oh so resilient.” I really feel like it helped me keep going.

This is already long, so I’ll try to summarize. I had one great, experienced nurse, one great and engaged student nurse, and one really, really beginner student nurse, plus my husband. They held my legs, I worked on pushing with every camel-back contraction. They kept telling me I could rest if I needed to, but the contractions just kept coming one after the other, so it wasn’t really resting anyway. With each push, I brought my chin to my chest and bore downward, and I felt baby’s head pressing hard into my sacrum. I fatigued but kept going, pushing literally as hard as I could and then some. They suspect he was “sunny side up” for awhile. I tried a kneeling/squatting position for a little bit, yes, while on the epidural. It didn’t feel like it did that much, but it may have helped him turn over. After 3 hours, I started to think about just getting the baby out and wondered when we talked about surgery. However, doctors started coming in, which meant baby must be almost there. The doctors were super positive and encouraging, which I was glad for because I had hardly anything left. I felt bad that I couldn’t reciprocate the positivity because I was so frustrated, tired, and still in pain. I kept going despite my exhaustion and at 10:49am on my birthday, April 26th, Gabriel David was born and placed on my chest. He cried, but settled when he was placed on me. I felt relief from the contractions, finally, and looked at my new son, who looked larger than I expected. Born at 8 pounds 9 ounces, he was a solid kid. And, I’m a small person. Just to help paint the picture, I was a size 0 prior to being pregnant, so my hips were rather narrow to begin with. I’m just rather surprised that he fit, though he was stuck for awhile.

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The Aftermath

The next day was fine. I was managing the aftermath and stitches from a 2nd degree tear pretty well. You know how when you workout really hard one day, the next day can be okay, but two days later you feel EVERYTHING? Yeah, that’s what happened to me. Two days after, my body was wrecked. Remember how each time I pushed I brought my chin to my chest? Like doing really intense crunches for as hard as you can for over three hours without taking a break? Yeah, that cause some really significant issues with my neck and spine, which basically felt like intense whiplash. It took a little while to figure that out because it was kind of abstract. When I would sit up, I wouldn’t necessarily feel all the pain from my neck/spine, but I would become super nauseous and feel like I may pass out. My body was also super protective of my neck (my body didn’t want me to turn my head). I’m getting ahead of myself though. One more important detail.

We packed up our things and the baby and signed the discharge paperwork. I was feeling kind of sick, but was SO ready to go home. A volunteer pushed me to a little waiting area while Dave went to get the car with Gabe. A combination of slight motion sickness from the waves in the floor while being pushed in a wheelchair, plus the really, really warm, humid/stuffy air of the waiting area made be feel terrible. (Also, my spine being in an upright position making me nauseous, which I didn’t know about specifically at the time). The nice people in the waiting area did not have medical experience, so had no idea what to do when I told them I didn’t feel well. A lady sent by God himself held ice on my neck, and a lady security officer agreed with me that it was really warm in the room. I feel like if I had been pushed outside, it all would have been okay, but I ended up being admitted to the maternity emergency department. After laying down more, sending Dave to get food since we had missed lunch time, talking with the doctor, a couple more hours had gone by. I really, really wanted to go home. My sister-in-law came to help us manage getting me and baby to the car without another incident (ha). The drive home was terrible, which would be followed by a week of incredible pain from overextending my spine/neck during the birthing process. I had to nurse in a side-lying position. Ibuprofen seemed to help the most, not the more intense med that I had been prescribed in the emergency room just in case I needed it to help manage the pain. (I took it once and felt it only really helped for about 20 minutes, so felt it wasn’t worth it to continue).

It was a really hard first week. I’m so grateful that my husband was off of work, and that we had a meal train of dinners coming every-other day. (Now, whenever I can, I sign up for Meal Trains for people coming home from the hospital, because it was SUCH a helpful thing for us). My parents would visit often and pick us up random things we needed as well. Dave had to take Gabe to two appointments without me because I couldn’t sit up or stand up for more than a few seconds at a time (I could basically make it to the bathroom and back to bed, if I hurried).

After about 5 days at home, I was feeling better enough to be able to make it to the chiropractor. About 2 days after that, I was able to sit up a little more and felt that my neck and spine were on the mend. I was finally able to nurse while sitting up. A few days later, I felt like I was getting sick. It wasn’t a virus, it was mastitis. Lovely. I discovered I had to be really conscious about trying to keep my milk ducts clear. I had one more bout with mastitis later on. (Side notes: finding a pump that worked well for me, the correct breast pump flange size, and taking sunflower lecithin really helped. My son had trouble nursing from one side, and a breast shield ended up helping immensely with that).

The start to motherhood was challenging, but I was soon healed up and functioning in an upright position as usual. Gabe was actually a pretty good sleeper right from day one, woohoo! For about a year, especially after standing or walking for a significant amount of time, I could still feel the soreness on my sacrum where Gabe’s head pushed for so long. I’m happy to say that’s gone now.

That’s where I’ll end my birth story. It was most definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through physically, but it’s true what they say, that it’s all worth it. I hope you found my story interesting, or enlightening, or encouraging.

-Alicia