Relieved.

She did it. She went in for her induction and it worked. She went into the hospital Thursday night and got her cervadil, and they started the pit sometime on Friday. The baby was born a little after nine, no cesarean necessary. She even did it without pain meds. So, I wish I could say I'm happy for them, but I can't because I'm still pretty bitter; but I will say that I am really relieved for all of them. I did ask DH to speak to them - in part about the awkward position it put him in, but also to let them know that just because I have opinions on a subject doesn't make me a bad person. I'm not sure DH conveyed everything as I hoped he would, but he did at least have the conversation. His friend's response, "I understand."

Slapped in the face

A while ago, my husband had a confession to make to me. His best friend and his wife (also a friend) were expecting their first child, and my husband had been asked not to tell me about it. The friend told my husband that he didn't want me "pouncing" all over them with pregnancy and birth stuff - that's not exactly how he put it, but that's what I got. Apparently, I'd allegedly "attacked" his sister-in-law at one point (which was more likely due to not having anything else to talk about with anyone), and between that and the fact that I often post newsworthy birth-related items on my Facebook page, they wanted no part of me in their world. I feel very hurt and extremely insulted by this. I have behaved very well - I saw them for the first time since they got pregnant only a few days ago and barely acknowledged it. I didn't even talk to hubby's best friend the whole night. So now here she is, a few days past her estimated due date, and I have just read that her induction has been scheduled for three days from today. I am already filled with "I told you so's" - bitter ones - and I suspect there may be more to come. And I hate that. I hate it because what I know is that being a few days past one's due date isn't enough medical reason to induce. I know that inductions fail about half the time. I know that the practice she sees has a history of putting their needs in front of the women they claim to serve. I have seen them in action firsthand and there are at least a dozen OBGYNs I would recommend before I'd send someone there way. And now, for the first time since I learned of her pregnancy roughly eight months ago, I actually DO want to pounce on her - make sure she knows what she is getting into. Knows what the risks and benefits are on BOTH sides of the coin. Knows she can delay her induction and give her baby a more fair chance to have the healthiest birth possible. I wish I'd had someone around who knew what I know now, the first time I was pregnant. Truth is though, I probably wouldn't have taken much in. But I wouldn't have shut the door in her face either. There is a big part of me that wants to tell them to F*** off. I worry about what will happen to her and I am angry that I am worried. I suppose that is my own arrogance - that drive I have, to save the world. On the one hand, I must respect her journey as her own. After all, she is an intelligent adult woman who is capable of finding her own way. My own journey has been bittersweet, but I would not be leading the life I am leading now if I hadn't fallen and had to pick myself back up. I would not have made the discoveries about myself that I made. At the same time, I am angry that they know I am a resource, and they are so threatened by me that they stay away. All I am is a resource. I am not holding a knife. No matter what choices they make, I will not make a profit. I have nothing to gain nor lose, so why shut me out? If things had been normal... if my husband had just said, "Bob and Jane are going to have a baby," I might have said a congratulatory email and mentioned I had a lot of resources available - knowledge of area doulas, providers, childbirth educators, books, info sheets, websites - and if they had any questions, I am no more than a phone call away. I might have asked how they were doing when I saw them the other night. Instead, I am angry.

Part VI – Retrospective

Would I do it all again? First of all, I’ve no regrets. I believe everything happened the way it was supposed to. Even with the pitocin, the IV, the epidural, etc., I think I (we) only did things that were actually necessary. I don't exactly like that these things were necessary, but I can truly say that I gave myself every possible chance of having a totally natural home birth, and it just wasn’t meant to go that way. And, given the bleeding and the extent of the meconium, perhaps if I’d been at home and these had occurred, the situation would have been more disastrous. I can’t say for sure, but I have to believe that something bigger than we know brought us to the hospital. We were just supposed to be there. I felt in control most of the time. At least, as in control as I can be. I made the choices. I chose what to fight and what not to fight. I chose going to the hospital rather than waiting it out. This birth was very much on my own terms, and I’m grateful to everything that happened before those days that brought me to be able to make those choices for myself. Of the things that would be in my power to change, I would not change a thing. But to do it again? It’s so complicated. First, I’ve always said I wanted three children. But, perhaps it’s because we’ve recently taken a massive blow to our finances that has no immediate means to remedy itself, a third child is a little scary right now. We don’t have a lot of space in our home to begin with, and I would want some hope of being able to move into a larger house. At this moment, it’s not going to happen. So, we’ll see. Economic factors aside, do I want to be pregnant again? I think that part would be ok. I really kind of enjoy being pregnant, but admittedly I was somewhat distracted this time and didn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted. Plus, the hot, hot summer was miserable. But if we do decide to have another baby, those are things that will be different – unique to the pregnancy itself. But, the part that is terrifying to me is, having to go through so much labor again. I would want to do it at home again, and if things didn’t progress as it happened this time, I would really start to question my body. I already am in a lot of ways. Why 4cm? Again? Sure, I can chalk up LittleGirl’s birth to a lot of tension and a hyperactive doctor with a great fear of litigation and apparently not enough time to consider his patients’ needs. And only being in labor for a few hours as I see it, I don’t think I was given a chance. But this time… jeez, I did everything. I gave myself time. I chanted things like "ohhh-pen… ohh-pen" and "I can do this" over and over again. I visualized. I relaxed. I rested as much as I could. I allowed myself time. I was loved and supported and free to labor however I needed to from moment to moment. But in the end, the only thing that really got me going was the pitocin. WTF? Maybe I was tired. I probably was. I hadn’t slept much that whole week. And maybe the combination of pitocin and a little rest really was all I needed, and if I’d been rested enough to begin with I would have been fine. But I just don’t know. And the thought of going through all that again only to land in the hospital – and by the way, no hope of an epidural ever again since my track record stands 0 for 2 in reacting well – it’s a little much to bare. But there’s nothing that says any of that would ever happen again. And then, there’s My Beloved. He was wonderful, patient, supportive, amazing. In reading back through my previous entries, I didn’t emphasize how amazing he was. I don’t know if I can now – if the words even exist. I could not have done it without him. We were so close, so connected. He was everything I knew I needed him to be and everything I didn’t know I needed. He truly was the rock that I clung to. So strong. So loving. I’ve always known he loved me, but I don’t think I have ever seen or felt it as much as I did when we were having our baby. He just knew who to be, what to do, how to love me, how to get me through it all. There would have been no VBAC without him. And even if there had been, it wouldn’t have held the same glory. That said, if you asked him today, he would tell you that he does not want to try to have another baby at home. He’s not sure he wants a third child anyway; and we’ve agreed to put that topic on hold for at least a year. But after seeing all the blood from my tear, (I did not require a transfusion, but there really was a lot of blood lost) and all the meconium that came out of Lindsay, he is no where near as confident about the safety of it all as he was before. He doesn’t think that these same situations would have been handled well by a home care provider. I can’t say as I know they would have either. But I know that a different baby brings a different labor. And I know that since we listened to ourselves, our instincts, my body, we made the right choices this time, and would likely do the same next time. But he doesn’t believe in divine intervention like I do. His faith is more easily shaken than mine is. The moments after her birth were really scary for him, and he thought he might lose one or both of us. I don’t know what to say to that. So, another baby is possible, but we just don’t know right now. I believe that you have another child because you feel your family is missing somebody, and every other reason to do it or not to do it is secondary to that. It’s just too soon to tell right now if that’s where we are. The really complicated part comes in the logistics. It could happen that another pregnancy would be more stressful, because we may never come to a place where we’re on the same page again. I still feel strongly that most births do not belong in hospitals. He now feels that for us, the gamut of emergencies that are better dealt with in a hospital is broader than he realized. It’s not important to argue about it now, but it’s going to be a major thing if we choose to have another baby.

Part V - BIRTH!!!

Laying on my right side and with oxygen (because of the epidural, of course), I was starting to feel the contractions stronger again. It had only taken about an hour for it to wear off this time. But then, something amazing and out of the blue happened. I felt an overwhelming urge to get on all fours. Unsure if this was safe, I asked LMW and she said it would be fine. So with the swiftness, grace, willingness and speed of an Olympic gymnast I flipped over. LMW said she was stunned I had moved so well – as every other time I tried to move it was a real effort. All this, and my left leg was still pretty numb. Within one contraction on all fours, without comprehension of the fact that words were even coming out of my mouth, I said, "I have to push!!" LMW was quite surprised – it had only been a few minutes since she’d last checked me. I held back so she could get her gloves on. I kept asking if where I was on the table was ok, and moved myself to their instructions so I wouldn’t fall off or cause the baby to fall off. And there I was – 10cm – but with a lip. She told me it was fine to push but that she had to hold back a small bit of a lip. So there I was – I’m not even sure if I had a contraction or not, but I started pushing. Then, I know I had a contraction and I pushed even harder. The nurse told me not to scream or yell, but to hold my breath because it was more efficient. I argued with her in my head, but found that what she said was true – my baby seemed to move more when I held my breath. Then, MB took a look at his baby emerging from me. As I was on all fours, she was facing up, and was winking at him as she came into the world. He was so surprised to see that her eye was open! And then one more contraction with some pushing, and my little Lindsay Margaret was born! I think I pushed for less than 5 minutes – it was only two contractions at any rate, and it took no time at all. Once my body was opened enough, she was more than ready to come out and I was more than willing to get her there. I do wish I could have seen her come out myself, but even if there had been a mirror available, my position made it impossible. It was incredible, and exhilarating. I have never felt such elation, such a high before in my life. MB did not get to cut the cord. The nursery staff was late on arrival (I don’t think anyone expected things to go so quickly from the time I started pushing), and LMW was kind of on her own in delivery. And then, I’m told there was a good amount of meconium. Lindsay didn’t cry right away (I don’t think LG did either, for that matter), and they took her immediately to the warmer and suctioned her. In the end, they took 200ml out of her belly, I held her twice for a cumulative total of less than 5 minutes – and that was only upon the insistence of MB, and then she was taken up to the nursery after a while. I didn’t get to breastfeed her immediately like I wanted, and they did all the standard newborn procedures on her without my consent. I was mostly upset that they felt that she would do better in a warmer than on me, and argued with anyone who would hear me. But that was fruitless. It was 7 hours before they brought her to me to stay. Meanwhile, I suffered my own minor emergency. I had torn, apparently more on the inside than the outside, and I tore forward rather than towards my butt. I was bleeding quite a bit. LMW wasn’t sure if a trip to the OR would be necessary to repair me, because most of the tear was difficult to get at. They brought in all the residents, who manhandled me and finally determined that I did not need to go to the OR, and they fixed me up. I remember one of the residents asking if I’d torn or ruptured, and I all but rolled my eyes. I didn’t have to say anything though, because LMW took care of it. But I did lose a lot of blood. So, everything that happened during my labor in the hospital for the most part was really positive, in spite of pretty much my entire birth plan flying out the window. I made my own *informed* decisions. My nurse was kind, gentle, and positive. I loved her. My LMW was incredible. She never doubted that I would have a vaginal birth. She kept telling me so. I honestly believe she wanted this VBAC for me about as much as I did. And after I was all sewn up I said, "Thank you for believing in me." It brings tears to my eyes just to think about just how wonderful she really was. I will always have love in my heart for her. I have a lot of qualms about the things that happened to myself, and volumes more about the "procedures" that Lindsay was subjected to once she was born and even in the few days that followed after her birth including after we got home. A lot. Most of these are things I wouldn’t have noticed or known about after LG’s birth, but are big deals to me now. The biggest one of all being them not letting me see her and hold her – that keeping her under a heat lamp like a rotisserie chicken at a fast-food joint is somehow better for her than skin to skin contact with her mother. I could go on for a very long time about the things that made me mad. Nonetheless, the experience has been light years better. I have some hormones from time to time, but no postpartum depression. In fact, emotionally, I feel better than I have in years, maybe even before LG was born. It feels good to feel emotionally normal. And physically… wow. Yes, I’ve had some pain and discomfort. I’ve been tired. But I can move. I can breath. I can laugh. I can sleep on my sides. I can walk up and down stairs. I can lift. It’s so much more freeing. So, would I do it again? Have another child? Plan another homebirth? Those are big, loaded questions. I’ll save that for another blog entry ;-).

Part IV – Let the inteverntions begin!

I was in the hospital for about 3 hours before the anesthesiologist came to administer the epidural. It seemed like it took him forever to do what he needed to do. The nurse who stayed with me in my room was so sweet and supportive, and let me hug her while he did his thing. The anesthesiologist was not my favorite person of the night. He was desperately lacking in personality. Like, when he came in I jokingly said, "Are you my new best friend?" and he had no idea what I meant by that. I also tried to explain to him that when I had an epidural with LG’s birth, my blood pressure plummeted and I had to lay on one side and breath through an oxygen mask. He had never heard of such a thing before, and kind of wrote me off. What a surprise for him when my BP plummeted, just like I’d described! And then the oxygen and he pushed five bags of saline or so into me too. And, some other meds. I’m not sure what all went into my body, frankly, but the guy was really freaked out. Finally, I laid on my right side (I told them that it had worked last time), and eventually it started to pick up. Apparently, it got as low as 90/40. And then I slept. I slept for about 2 or 3 hours… I think. I don’t really know. And somewhere in here they gave me the pitocin. Unlike last time where I was started on the highest dose and brought down, they started me on the lowest dose, and increased by one unit every ½ hour. The thing with the epidural was, it took very well on my left side but not as strongly on my right. So in what seemed like a very short time, I started feeling the contractions again. At first it was no big deal, but eventually, it wore off and I could feel everything. The pitocin had really taken flight, and I was having contractions on top of contraction. I begged for someone to make it stop. I begged for more epidural. I felt like this labor was showing me no mercy. I wept. They turned off the pitocin to see how I would do. The contractions slowed down enough for me to catch my breath. I kept begging for the anesthesiologist to offer more relief. He apparently was in surgery though, with someone else’s c/s. When he finally did come in, I had to beg him. I mean beg. If I could have, I would have gotten on my knees. He finally agreed, and gave me the smallest dose possible. It pretty much only numbed out my left side; I still felt everything on my right though it was dulled and bearable. The good news was, I was dilating! I was at 6 or 7 cms. And at some point, quite suddenly, I felt like I had to throw up. (I had been dry heaving here and there in the hospital during stronger contractions, but this was full on puking again). I realized that I was in transition! And a little later I was checked again, and I was at 7 or 8. I dilated on my own! But it wasn’t much relief to me, because I was still laboring. I was still frustrated. One more interruption until the final installment…

Part III – In the hospital

So defeated. So frustrated. We both tried to keep our spirits up, but I for one was as zoned out and teary-eyed as a person can get on the ride in to the hospital. There is no way to accurately describe the mix of emotions we were both facing. We were both very aware that this was how it was now supposed to be – we were not willing to take any chances with the health of our baby or my health, and under the given circumstances, the hospital became the safer place to be. We really understood that, but it was a hard pill to swallow. I began to try to brace myself for the operating table, to try to reconcile that we had exhausted all other possibilities and it would be necessary if we had to get to that point. I was trying to think of what else to tell Legal Midwife. The interesting thing was, I wasn’t really… scared… I sort of knew everything would be ok, but I was really nervous about how we’d get there. I kept reminding myself of that saying, "God doesn’t give you anything more than you can handle", and that whatever was coming next would be something I could survive. We pulled into the hospital parking ramp and found a space towards the top. We were about four floors from the ground, and we waited for what seemed like about 10 minutes for the elevator to come before I decided that stairs were a better option. Did I mention I really had to pee? At this point, anything that brought me closer to a bathroom was a good option. So down all those flights of stairs we went, and I managed to not have a contraction. Some hospital staffers were at the ground floor waiting for the elevator, and made jovial comments like, "I know why you’re here". I know they had no idea what I was going through emotionally, and tried very hard to be polite and smile at them. As we made our way out of the ramp, across the street towards the hospital, it was clearly the end of the day for the working world around there. I really did not want to have a contraction in front of the whole world, but was sort of forced to. I tried so hard to hide it. My Beloved tried to tell me it was ok, but I really didn’t want to hear it. At the end of it though, it was impossible to hide, but it didn’t seem like many people were paying attention. This hospital is kind of a maze, but we had been there a few times before and knew our way through the bends of the hallways that would bring us up to the labor and delivery floor. I was grateful that LMW had told me exactly which floor, as I had made a concerted effort to avoid knowing anything about the hospital. I just didn’t want to be able to visualize being there lest that distract me from focusing on my birth at home. We made our way up to the L&D floor and checked in. It took forever to give the woman our information, exacerbated by the fact that the woman checking us in was kind of an idiot. (MB actually confirmed this because she had once worked with him in his office and had been terminated.) And then we were stuck in the waiting room for what seemed like forever, though it was probably less than half an hour. Finally, we were called in to the admitting/exam room. The table I had to sit on was adjusted so the back was really low and uncomfortable, and I was paranoid about moving in any way that might encourage Lindsay to turn in an unproductive way. I was so miserable in there. I was hooked up to an Electronic Fetal Monitor (EFM) and we waited for LMW to come in. While we waited, I noticed a chart on the wall that gave a visual reference for centimeters of dilation. I looked and thought, "Oh my gosh, I think I’m only 4cm". I did not say anything to MB about it, but that just made things worse. Finally LMW came in the room. We spoke for a bit, and then she said she had to do an exam. I assumed the position uncomfortably. She went to get a tool of some sort, and it wasn’t there. So I had to lie there while she went to find what she needed. That part may have felt the longest yet. Until… she gave me an internal vaginal exam with a speculum (AKA, "the duckbills"). VE’s are miserable for me in labor, and usually spawn the most painful contractions imaginable. And then, to top it there was this hard piece of metal inside me too. Augh. I screamed with pain and yelled, "TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT!" Which, at last, she did. And then she did another VE without the speculum. Like Illegal MW had said, she thought that the baby had hair and it made it difficult for her to tell how dilated I was, but she was pretty certain I was at 4cm. Yes, the dreaded 4cm. The number I got "stuck" at with Little Girl. 3 days of labor had brought me to 4cm. Unbelievable. I just wanted to give up right then and there. I was beside myself. We were then taken to the L&D room where I would spend the rest of my labor. I uttered the words to my husband, "I don’t know how I can do this anymore. I can’t. I want to give up." He was feeling just as sad as I was. He was really scared too – scared of what was going on, scared of what might happen, scared of how I might handle it. He was not anxious to relive everything we’d worked so hard to get through over the past 2.5 years. I think he was most scared of trying to help me get through that kind of depression again. He was still trying to figure out how to deal with me Immediately I was hooked up to an EFM – not a telemetry unit like I had specified in my birth plan, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of moving around – I needed rest. And hospital policy would not allow me to have a hep-trap, so I was hooked up to an IV. The first of nearly every part of my birth plan to go out the window. The nicest thing was that everyone I dealt with in the L&D came in to introduce themselves to me. And, they all told me they had read my birth plan, and asked me questions about it. It was so refreshing, and I actually felt respected. This was a major plus. (Of course, in an hour or so the shift changed and I didn’t have the new people do that, but I didn’t care by then!) Meanwhile, I was weighing my choices. How much more labor could I endure? Would it be better just to let it go and have the surgery? But, if I had the surgery, would I still end up wondering "what if?" Might it be better if I did decide to do it – because it would be on my terms? Or would it only lead to hating myself even more? I knew one thing: I needed desperately to rest. So, against my better judgement, I requested an epidural. LMW suggested one other thing which was against my better judgement: pitocin. I did not want to hear about that. I was certain that pitocin would cause a rupture, or that it would cause the same decelerations that led to my c/s. LMW said that my contractions were strong enough, and that Lindsay was right there at my cervix, just waiting for it to open up, but they needed to get closer together. LMW left the room, and I talked to MB about it. He wasn’t sure what to say. He understood both sides – why I did not want it, but also why it might be good. He suggested I call IMW and get her opinion. I thought this was a good idea. IMW said she would definitely take the pitocin. She was concerned about hemorrhage, and felt it was actually important to try this route. She said she didn’t know what else would work, and things weren’t picking up for me by any other means. So I agreed. More to come… Is this exciting or what?

Part II - The Ride to the Hospital

So, Friday afternoon, feeling fairly defeated that we did get my contractions to pick up, I decided to rest. IMW checked me again, and thought I might be at 8 or 9 cms, but it was really hard to tell because my water was broken and she wasn’t sure if she was feeling hair or cervix. Eventually, IMW left, and contacted some of her colleagues who are more experienced MWs, and one suggested I might be exhausted, and to try to rest some more. She thought that IMW may have miscalculated my dilation and that it was possible that I was still at 4cms. I refused to believe this though. A LMW called from my "official" practice. She wanted to know how I was doing (I had skipped my appointment for that week) and also, as I was officially post-dates, wanted to know when we could schedule my c-section. I found this to be an incredibly easy conversation, though I was forced to lie through my teeth and tell her I was not showing any real signs of labor. It was kind of amusing. I scheduled my c/s for the first available appointment on Monday morning, proud of myself that this did not disturb me at all. But, soon I started to get chills, but my face felt flushed. At first I just kind of wrote it off, but then I started thinking… this felt like a fever. I waited a little bit more, and then when it didn’t change, I took my temperature. It was 100.6 – I took it 3 times. While ordinarily this would only be a very low-grade fever and nothing at all to worry about [to Jenny V in the UK, 98.6 is considered a normal temperature, and a fever is anything 1 degree or more from that by most standards], being that my water was broken and I was so tired, I got concerned. We decided to call IMW, and she suggested several homeopathic options, or we could go to the hospital. This was such a hard choice to make. I didn’t have a lot of faith in the homeopathic choices working fast enough, but I didn’t want to end up being slaughtered again. In the end, I decided not to take any chances, and like it or not, heading to the hospital was becoming the safer choice. We had done just about everything we could do at home, and between the fever and the contractions not picking up, it was getting to be beyond the scope of IMW’s capacity. So, I had to contact LMW. I didn’t want her to know I had lied to her, and felt a little bad, so I had to cover my tracks. I told her that I hadn’t been sure but I thought my water broke the night before… in the tub rather than on my couch… and I didn’t really put it together that it had happened until just now. I told her contractions started pounding in shortly after I hung up with her. I told her I thought I had a fever, and also that I hadn’t slept hardly at all in three days. And that we were coming in. Getting ready to go to the hospital and the trip there were so hard. Grudgingly does not even begin to describe. We were defeated, and MB and I had to keep reminding each other that it was not the end of the road, this did not have to mean an automatic c/s. Packing was almost impossible – we had not prepared ahead of time for this because we didn’t want to focus on it. We forgot a lot of things – in fact, it’s amazing we remembered half of what we brought. And then we got into our car and drove off. It was a very long 15-minute ride. More Later…

The Birth of Lindsay Margaret – Part One

It was Monday morning – Halloween, but about 2:45am – and I awoke with contractions. They were steady, but not very strong. I did manage to get myself pretty excited though, and stayed awake hoping they would turn into something. I put MyBeloved on notice that something was happening, but I didn’t think it was necessary for him to stay home from work. But, they didn’t progress and in fact they fizzled out about the time he left for work. They came back, but still not strong. That night, I took LittleGirl Trick or Treating, hoping the walk up and down our street might inspire something further. But, nothing. And Tuesday was uneventful… I think – it was either Monday or Tuesday my mucous plug came out, which was interesting because that was something that didn’t happen until I was well in labor with LG. As mentioned in a previous entry, Illegal Midwife told me that baby girls tend to be born during the New Moon – that was Wednesday. And in fact, again, around 2:30am I woke up with contractions. These were stronger than before, and I was cautiously optimistic. Very cautious. My instincts nervously told me that it would still be ok for MB to go to work and that it was not time to call my mother to have her watch LG. But I was feeling strange; feeling like important was going on. I call this the beginning of my labor, because I was compelled to pay attention, even though the contractions were still not the caliber I had with LG. I walked around the house outside, took extra time to play with LG, grooved to my Black Eyed Peas CD (Elephunk – with great songs for labor like, "Labor Day (It’s a Holiday)" and "Hey Mama"), and tried to enjoy the last few hours of being a 3-person family. And then, again at 2:30am on Thursday… whammo! No doubt that this was it. I decided not to time them, but they were strong and steady. Around 4am MB [finally!] woke up and tried to comfort me. I kept asking him to call my mom and IMW, but he told me it wasn’t time yet. Finally I insisted on him calling my mom at least, and after trying to get a hold of her for over an hour, I called her myself, and got through. She answered the phone and I could tell I was making her nervous by being in labor, but she came right over. I’d made the decision early in labor that it probably wasn’t a good idea for LG to be around… she is very attached to me and I was in no position to explain to her why I couldn’t give her my usual full attention. So my mom picked her up and she stayed with her grandparents. Shortly after my mom and daughter left, IMW came to check on me. I asked her to do an internal exam, and she thought I was around 3-4cm. After watching me and occasionally checking fetal heart tones, she left and said she’d check in with us in a little while. At some point I took a shower, and at another point I sat in the warm tub with the shower water on my belly, which felt wonderful. I did that at least one more time during my labor at home. My contractions grew stronger, but did not grow closer together. IMW made phone calls to check in with me, and occasionally popped in. I couldn’t seem to keep any food down and she had concerns, so I made concerted efforts to drink plenty of fluid. The big surprise of the night was around 7pm when my water broke! That was such a surprise to me, and was reassuring and wonderful. My water had been broken artificially with LG, so this was progress, a milestone, and a rite of passage. But, Thursday came and eventually left. There was no baby yet, and MB and I hadn’t slept much at all. By Friday I was simply exhausted. Still nauseated from contractions (I’m kind of a puker anyway), I managed to eat some eggs and toast but it took me all day. Then we noticed something disheartening – that my contractions had actually slowed down. They had gone from 7 minutes apart to about 15. IMW was very concerned about this, and gave us some suggestions to get them rolling again. We tried all of them, and for a time the contractions did pick up again, but when I stopped doing them, they spaced out again. Time to nurse baby – stay tuned for more of my birthing adventure!

She's Here!!!!!!!!

Just a quick post - will post more when I'm more "up to it"... Lindsay is here! Though not on the New Moon, labor did begin Wed. afternoon and was full throttle by Thursday AM. She was (finally!) born at 3:38 am on Saturday morning at the hospital. In short, I was really exhausted, my contractions were strong but not close enough together to get them to open me up, and then by Friday afternoon I seemed to have a low fever. Though she appeared to be tolerating everything very well, it seemed like the hospital would be the bette place to be for both of us. So, the birth plan went out the window, but, I know what you're wondering, "Is VBAC Lady still VBAC lady?" the answer is... YES!!!!!!!!!! More details to come...

No News Yet...

Yep, here it is, Halloween, five days past my estimated due date, and I’m still pregnant. Very, very pregnant. I’m finding myself in new territory, as with BabyGirl – I’m sorry, now LittleGirl - I went into labor on my own exactly on my due date. I was certain this little booger would come a little early, but my little Halloween prankster apparently has other things in mind. This has brought a small amount of anxiety, of course, but I am trying to be patient. Illegal Midwife told me a few weeks ago that baby girls tend to be born on a new moon (and boys on a full moon) and the new moon is Wednesday. Cross your fingers for me! I thought I was getting close – on Friday last week I woke up at 4am with some good contractions. But, alas, they fizzled out after about three hours. Damn it. I keep trying to remind myself that she will come when she’s ready to, and that she can take as long as she needs. That was so much easier to say two months ago. Still, everyone around me is asking questions like, "so when do you go in to be induced"? My response is, "never!" Despite my anxiousness to get this kid out, I have no reservations about sticking to my guns on this one. I had my most recent Legal Midwife appointment on Wednesday, which sort of sent me into a bit of a worry spiral. I was, in a way, hornswaggled into a non-stress test, which is where they strap your belly to a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor, and then you have to hit a little button whenever the you feel the baby move. I say hornswaggled, because I wasn’t expecting it and all of the sudden she was strapping me to the machine, and I didn’t question it right away. It wasn’t until we got to the part where I had to hit the button where I realized what she was doing. Not really a huge deal, but I do wish she had explained what she was doing. And my baby was fine, so there. But then LM essentially told me I "have to" go in for an ultrasound at 41 weeks to do a Biophysical Profile, and that didn’t sit well with me. She painted a very vivid picture of how my baby might be in my uterus, all floppy and stressed out, which was rather frightening. But on the other hand, I know of women who have gone in for these tests only to be told that the baby was in distress and needed to come out ASAP, then go right to the hospital for an "emergency" cesarean, only to find that the baby is perfectly fine. This brings in that issue of, is it better to let your baby actually get stressed out, or to have the cesarean as a measure for "just in case" with both of us suffering the consequences of unnecessary surgery. So I don’t want to have the test. I did question – if she is moving well and her heartbeat is fine, then is this really necessary? LM said yes, because it helps measure fluid and to see if she is reacting properly. I’m thinking no. I think it’s more important for me to trust. Of course, there’s that mommy voice of, God forbid something goes wrong and it was preventable and ultimately it’s my fault because I made certain choices. MyBeloved says I invent things to worry about…