Happy birthday to Miles! In honor of his first birthday, here is the story of his birth. {If birth stories are not your thing, please stop reading.}
The story of Miles' birth actually begins with Grant, who was born via c-section in May 2009. When I became pregnant with Miles, I wanted to try for a
VBAC. Although VBACs are encouraged by the American Council of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, they are still uncommon, in part because the risk of uterine rupture {which is very, very small} unnerves some doctors. So while my doctors were generally supportive, they were not exactly encouraging about my chances. In fact, numerous times during the pregnancy, they encouraged me to go ahead and schedule the c-section just in case.{I said no thanks.}
My previous c-section meant that my doctors would not induce me because inducing increases the risk of rupture.So at 41 weeks, I was waiting patiently {OK, not patiently at all} to go into labor on my own. At my 41-week OB appointment that week, my doctor scheduled me for an ultrasound and a nonstress
test. Both showed Miles was healthy, though big. The ultrasound technician
predicted he would be 10 pounds! This scared me. And my window for a VBAC was closing. 42 weeks was as
far as she would let my pregnancy go, and my doctor made me schedule a c-section for the
following Monday, Aug. 15, if I didn’t go into labor on my own. No one was optimistic: I was not dilated at all, and large babies often lead to c-sections.
At the
appointment, my doctor also mistakenly revealed Miles' gender to me. Just like with Grant, we had been waiting until the birth to find out our second baby's gender. After waiting 9 months and looking forward to the surprise at the birth, I was beyond upset {made worse by hormones and being 41 weeks pregnant}, and left the appointment sobbing.
On Wednesday, Aug. 10, I was feeling defeated. I was 10 days
past my due date and very much wanted to avoid another c-section.That week I did everything I could to get labor going
naturally: ate spicy food, walked several
miles each day, bounced on an exercise ball, etc. That morning, I visited an acupuncturist, and left feeling relaxed, if nothing else. That evening, I went to
prenatal yoga, where everyone seemed so optimistic and excited about their
births. I felt like a VBAC just wasn’t going to happen for me, and I
went home feeling depressed.
At home, I sobbed to Kent that my body wasn’t
working. As I bawled, I felt a contraction. I didn't think much of it because I’d had so many false starts in the
previous weeks. I showered and got ready for bed.
I was still feeling the occasional contraction. Tired and weepy, I got into bed
and tried to sleep, but the contractions were strong enough that I felt like I
needed to get up and walk around. About a week before, I’d had
similar contractions, walked around for a bit and then gone back to bed when
they’d finally died down. I went downstairs and walked laps around the kitchen island.
The walking
helped, but the contractions were intense enough that I had to stop and slowly
rock my hips back and forth at the contraction’s peak. I did this for an hour
before I started to time the contractions. They were 3 to 5 minutes apart. I was in no
hurry to get to the hospital, so I decided to pace for another hour to see if
they became more intense or went away like they had the week before. At about 3
a.m., I woke up Kent and told him to call his mom just in case this was the real thing. After she arrived, Kent made her a bed in the basement and encouraged her to sleep so I could pace around on the first level. Between 4 and 6 a.m., the contractions became less intense and
farther apart. But they did continue. And for the first time, I allowed myself
to believe that this was the real thing.
I tried to sleep a bit sitting up on the couch, but was too
uncomfortable–and excited–to sleep. I read birth stories online, meditated
and tried to enjoy the moment {sounds strange, I know}. At
around 6, I decided to make breakfast so I'd have energy and stamina for
the day ahead. The rest of
the house got up at around 7. The contractions were weaker than they had been
and only about 6 to 7 minutes apart, so I knew it wouldn't be time to go to
the hospital for awhile. I took a long shower because the heat felt good on my
back, and then decided to clean the bathrooms since guests would be coming after the baby's birth.
Kent walked in as I was scrubbing a toilet and
probably thought I had lost it. He took my cue, though, and mowed the lawn
while Peggy watched Grant. Lindsay, Grady and Hudson came by to help entertain Grant and pass the time with me. At 11 a.m., we sent Peggy out to
pick up lunch. While she was gone, the contractions became significantly more
intense. I found I needed to stop what I was doing, put my head down and really
focus on breathing through them. They were coming closer together, about 4
minutes apart. I felt less excited and more serious. I told Kent to get ready
because I wanted to go to the hospital when Peggy returned. I quickly ate a sandwich before telling Kent it was time to go.
I
had about three contractions on the car ride, gripping the sides of my seat, my
eyes closed. We got to the hospital around 12:30 p.m. I had at least one
contraction while checking into Labor and Delivery. When I got to my room, a
nurse came into the room with a burst of energy. “Madelaine! I’m so happy to
see you! Do you remember me?” It was Jean, a nurse I’d had three weeks
previously when I was admitted with a high fever and low fetal movement. Jean
had had a VBAC many years before, and had been supportive and encouraging in my
desire to have one. She told me she had been waiting for me to return, even
asking other nurses during those three weeks if they had seen me. She wasn’t
scheduled to work that day; she was filling in for another nurse who wanted to
go to the Iowa State Fair. I was thrilled to see her, too, feeling like she’d
been sent to me for a reason.
I changed into a gown and a doctor came in to
check to see how far I’d dilated. I was a 4! I was thrilled. My doctor wanted
to put me on antibiotics right away since I was Strep B positive, which meant
being hooked up to an IV and that I’d be stuck in bed for awhile. But I begged
Jean to let me take a hot shower while she stalled the doctor. I stayed in as long as I
could. I think I was in there for an hour before Jean said I really had to get
in bed. They put me on an IV and the broke my water, which helped me progress
to a 5.
There was a shift change around this time, and a new doctor
came on. It was the doctor whom I least wanted to see, the one who had revealed Miles' gender to me earlier that week. Jean stayed on for about
an hour after her shift to see my progress. But not much happened from the time
they broke my water at 2 or so until 5 p.m. My doctor discussed doing “a whiff”
of Pitocin {a hormone that induces contractions}, and I agreed. Around this time, I also decided to get an epidural.
The pain was endurable, but I was exhausted from laboring and not sleeping in nearly 48 hours. And believing that I would have to push out a 10-pound baby, I
wanted to rest and build up my energy for the end. The epidural gave me a nice
break. I slept a bit and we watched DVDs. But after more than four hours had passed, I still wasn’t making “satisfactory”
progress. My doctor started to mention deadlines and c-sections. I was upset,
kicking myself because I worried the epidural had stalled labor.
At around 10
p.m., I felt like the epidural was wearing off. I was in extreme pain and felt
nauseous. Now I realize that probably meant I was in transition. I asked for another epidural, which
helped, but it made me so numb that I couldn’t move my legs. This part is kind of a
blur, but I remember a nurse came in to set up the baby’s warming bed, and I
realized that I might have the baby soon. A little while later, the nurse checked
me, and I was at 10. At around midnight, it was time to push, even though I
couldn’t feel a thing.
At this point I think I went into my marathon running mode—so focused that I didn’t
realize that an hour and a half passed by. I simply concentrated on Kent’s voice,
closed my eyes and pushed. I opened my eyes at one point, and was thrilled to
see the room had filled with several doctors and nurses. It was really going to
happen.
Miles James Smith was born via VBAC at 1:30 a.m., weighing 7 pounds, 12 ounces.
Nowhere near 10 pounds. Unlike my c-section, the doctor put him immediately
into my arms. He cried, and I did, too.
What an amazing {and quick!} year we've had. This little guy has brought so much joy and energy to our lives. We can't imagine our family without him.
