“Any day now!”
“I’d expect to see you in here this weekend!”
“That baby could come any second!”
That’s what they told me when I hit 37 weeks, and then 38, 39, 40.
I had spent months and months preparing for an all natural birth. Multiple classes, lots of workouts, tons of reading. I was determined to go through this labor with no medication whatsoever and nothing, I repeat – nothing, was going to change my mind. I had done all that I could to get my body ready for delivery, and in these last few weeks I had tried all of the old wive’s tales, (Yes, even the castor oil!) Yet, no matter what I did, baby Bennett stayed at 80% effaced and 2cm dilated. Finally, when we went in for our 40 week check up, I asked – well, really begged- my midwife to get me scheduled for an induction. I was hoping they would be able to take me on my due date, but instead found out we would have to wait another week.
I did so much walking, stretching, bouncing on a yoga ball, consuming unnatural amounts of dates, ANYTHING I could do to get my labor started. Nothing worked and I became increasingly more uncomfortable and depressed as the days passed.
So, at 41 weeks Dakota, mom, and myself checked into the hospital for our induction at 7:00am. After getting situated, we had to wait an additional hour and a half before anything actually got started. I was thinking they forgot about us, turns out that was true! When a nurse finally came in and asked if we’d been seen yet and we told her no, she abruptly exited to go find the midwife ha ha!
At around 9:00am, the midwife on call came in and we discussed the best method for induction. After another quick examination and seeing no change from my previous check up, we decided to do a slow Pitocin drip (this was the first deviation from my plan) with the assurance that “You’ll likely not even need a full bag of this. Your body is so ready to go, this should hopefully be the little push your body needs. I bet we’ll have a baby by tonight!”
I should’ve known, based on my last month of check ups, that her statements would not bring reality. But, I hoped for the best and we got going. The contractions came very slowly, really felt like mild period cramps. Nothing I couldn’t handle. As the hours went by, they continued to up my Pitocin amount as we kept a careful eye on the monitor that showed how close they were together and how intense they were. Dakota was a rockstar – working through each one with me as we patiently waited for progress.
Twelve hours passed like this. I was up to about a 14 on the Pitocin scale – started at 2 – and while the contractions were getting more intense, they still felt very manageable. However, my energy level was getting really low, as was Dakota’s and my mom’s. At the shift change, my midwife decided to go ahead and stop the Pitocin for awhile to let everyone get some rest. She said my body might continue contractions on its own and that was fine, but she wanted to give me a break.
That decision ended up being one of my biggest regrets.
We stopped the Pitocin and everyone tried to sleep. My body kept up consistent contractions for maybe an hour before they stopped completely. At the 24 hour mark, around 7:00am I was checked again. No change to effacement, but we had dilated to a 5. The decision was made to get Pitocin going again with more promises that we’d have baby soon. Now, I assumed they would put me back around 14 where I had been and we’d pick right back up. Instead, they informed me we had to start over again at 2 and increase by increments of 1 every hour.
I was so frustrated as we again began another round of slowly increasing contractions that lead nowhere. After another six hours or so of this, I was getting increasingly tired and desperate for something to change. My midwife informed me that my last resort to get my body moving would be to go ahead and break my water. She assured me that this would be the thing that finally sent my body over the edge and we would get the baby here shortly after.
This would be the second decision I regretted. While I was told that breaking my water would make the contractions more intense, I had no idea how blindingly painful they would become.
I agreed to let her do it (the second deviation from my birth plan) and within thirty minutes I could sense a shift. Still on no pain meds, the contractions suddenly shot up in intensity and pain level. I went from being able to speak through them to not even being able to open my eyes and look at anyone. I was no longer able to handle them in bed, the only place that was moderately comfortable was the yoga ball. Another thirty minutes or so and it got to the point where I couldn’t sit, any pressure was becoming unbearable as my body began to contract back to back. I knelt with my head on the hospital bed, knees on the floor for what felt like hours…
Then the contractions started coming about every two minutes. But I was no longer getting any break from the pain. The peak of the pain would come, and then lessen somewhat but never fully release.
And this was where the game changed.
The pain was becoming unbearable. My eyes didn’t open anymore. All I could focus on was remembering to breathe through the sensation of my bones splitting apart. I clung to my husband and my doula for another two hours as these contractions wracked my body.
My midwife came in at one point and asked if I wanted pain relief. I was miserable but still desperately wanted to stick to my birth plan. I asked for alternatives in between back breaking contractions, and she suggested a type of relaxer, similar to Benadryl.
I eagerly accepted.
This would be the third decision I regret.
The drug shot through my veins like a hot soda…tingling and burning its way through my IV. Instantly I felt my eyes grow heavy, but not in a good way. I sagged against my husband as the world started to go dark and another contraction hit. The sounds around me blurred into a distant, fuzzy hum as the pain once again spread through my whole body.
I have to be honest, I don’t remember much of what happened after that for awhile. My body rejected the drug, which caused me to hallucinate in the midst of the contractions still coming two minutes apart. I have faint memories of my husband holding me, my doula talking to me, vomiting more than once, and fighting with all my might just to keep my eyes open. I was terrified as shapes on the wall started to come to life…part of my brain knew there was no way they could be real, and yet I laughed at them…or did I? Was that my voice?
My brain flitted between reality and dreams as the pain soared. I remember asking to go to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping as the world spun around me. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t do anything except pray and moan, and grip whomever was holding me the entire time.
This went on for over an hour. As the drug started to wear off and my condition worsened (shaking, sweating, vomiting consistently) they came in and checked me again, only to deliver the worst news I could possibly have heard at that moment.
No change.
Still 5 cm.
Still 80% effaced.
In fact, the baby had moved my uterus around so that it was no longer in optimal position and needed to be turned.
I cried harder than I ever have in my life. Never have I felt so much pain and so much despair. I clung to someone (I think it was Dakota) as I folded in half, tears gushing down my face as another contraction hit, thinking there was no possible way I was going to make it through this. I threw up again. Begged to go back to the toilet.
And as I sat there, swallowed in the pain, I officially hit what I now know is my pain threshold.
I could not do it anymore. I was at my breaking point physically, emotionally, spiritually. I remember thinking, I’m in this much pain, and I’m only at a 5. If I keep this up, I won’t have the energy to push him out, and then what will I do?
I looked up at my husband and mentioned I might be ready for my epidural. This had been one of my biggest no nos headed into labor. So much so, that we had come up with a code word to use if I really, truly wanted it and no one was to talk me out if it.
I sat there through a few more gut wrenching contractions, threw up again, and finally uttered the word.
Leprechaun -( he was supposed to be a St. Patrick’s Day baby so we felt it was appropriate)
I didn’t think I was going to make it much longer without some help.
My doula ran out of the room and called for the midwife.
I was mentally preparing myself to handle another thirty minutes of this torture; I knew that it could take that long for the anesthesiologist team to get the epidural in place.
But God played through.
No more than 5 minutes later, the team came in. By God’s grace, I held still through one of those awful contractions while they secured the catheter. And within minutes the blinding pain finally eased.
My legs started to go numb from my toes, warmth worked its way up my legs. And I took my first deep breath in six hours. The contractions still came, but they were less and less unbearable. I thought for the first time in almost 30 hours that we would really make it through this and meet our baby.
Then it happened.
Just as they were getting me settled into a good position for resting, one of the nurses burst in and quickly ran to the monitors on my belly that were watching Bennett’s heart rate, she uttered the phrase that will forever ring in my ears.
“We lost the baby’s heartbeat.”
Instantly the room changed. As the nurse started quickly moving the monitor around trying to pick up the heart rate, I could see her concern growing. The epidural team quickly left as more nurses flooded the room. My midwife came flying in, behind her an OB , and another team of nurses. People started talking in hurried tones and began saying “Brooke we can’t find him, I need you move.”
But I couldn’t.
My legs were completely numb and I couldn’t feel anything beneath my belly.
I’ll never be able to fully describe those next few moments.
This team of medical staff worked together, flipping me this way and that, turning, pushing, rolling. One team was trying to find the heart rate, another was drawing blood from my hand, while another still came up to my ear saying they needed to give me some type of injection in my arm to get the contractions to stop.
My midwife checked my cervix and quickly alerted the team that I had suddenly gone to 7cm and 90% effaced. Then no more than 5 minutes later, they checked again and in shock revealed I had gone to a 10 and was completely effaced.
They kept asking my permission, checking with me. It wouldn’t have mattered to me what they needed to do. I just wanted them to find his heartbeat. I remember feeling, for the first time as a mother, utterly helpless. My baby needed me and my body was completely numb. I could do nothing accept give permissions and try to listen as they explained what they were doing to me. I told myself the only thing I could do was stay calm, getting worked up wouldn’t help the baby. So I surrendered completely to the team around me, closing my eyes, I went inward and prayed.
When they finally found his heartbeat, I’ll never forget the sound. We’d been listening to it for 30 hours at this point. The quick – thump, thump, thump, of our sweet boy. We’d even fallen asleep to it throughout the night. But this time, this time was different.
Our sweet boy’s heart was a dull thud. Clanking with each beat.
I wasn’t able to see the monitors, but I didn’t need to to know it was frighteningly low.
At that point, the OB in the room began to tell me that if they couldn’t get baby’s heart rate back up within two minutes, we’d have to do an emergency C-section.
I remember nodding and saying okay as I cried out in prayer. I could do nothing…it was all up to God. That helpless feeling will never ever leave my mind. Listening to the dull thunk of my sweet boy’s heart, the cacophony of medical staff directing each other, tossing me around. At some point I remember hearing my husband’s voice at my ear, I called out for my mom but couldn’t see her either.
I don’t remember how it happened, but eventually they got an interanal monitor onto Bennett’s head and suddenly the heart rate came back up. The room stopped moving, everyone’s eyes fixated on his pulse and mine.
The low thunks slowly returned to steady thumps as his heart rate climbed. Another few minutes and it was clear it was holding steady.
The OB still wanted to perform a C-section. But my midwife stepped in, and I will forever be grateful that she did.
“Let’s give everyone thirty minutes. Mom is exhausted, baby is too. Let’s just take a half an hour and watch closely. Then make the call. We need to see if baby can stabilize long enough to even make it through a few hours of pushing. I’m not sure he will.”
So we waited.
The edpidural was in full effect. I was finally able to open my eyes and talk with my husband, my mother, my doula.
After 30 minutes, my midwife came back and said he looked great so far, but wanted to play it safe and give the baby some more time. So we talked for awhile as a family, then turned off the lights, settled in and napped for a couple of hours, listening to our sweet boy’s heartbeat.
She came back a few hours later and told me he looked great, and if I was alright with it, they would go ahead and get Pitocin going again to try and get us ready to push.
When I asked what had caused him to fall into distress, she said that because my body was in so much pain, I had essentially stopped my own labor. A body won’t deliver a baby if it doesn’t feel safe, and due to the level of distress my body was in, caused by the pain, once the epidural hit I relaxed so much that the baby “fell” down the birth canal too rapidly. I went from 5cm to 10cm in less than seven minutes. That’s what caused his heart rate to fall as he suddenly slipped down and was being pushed out without being able to transition at a rate his body could handle.
But, now that we’d both had some rest, she was comfortable giving it a go. However, we knew that if his heart rate started to go down during pushing, we’d have to stop and do a C-section.
But again, God played through.
After three hours of pushing, baby Bennett finally made his entrance into the world at 9:42pm, on March 18th, weighing 9lbs.
After 36 hours of labor, 6 bags of Pitocin, and more medication than I care to remember, my baby boy was in my arms. We had to stay in the hospital for a few extra days after that. His bilirubin count was quite high, so they had him under blue light photo therapy, just like his uncle Blake. But he’s a trooper, after a few nights under the lights, we were finally sent home as a family of three.
Nothing about my brith went the way I planned. Reading back through my story, you could almost take a pen and cross out everything I’d written down. And for awhile I was heartbroken about that. I had planned for many, many months to have a completely different story. In many ways, I felt like I had failed as a mother in making decisions surrounding his birth that, until being in the moment, I was certain I wouldn’t have chosen.
But, every time he looks at me with his dazzling blue eyes, every time his face lights up with a beautiful grin, or cute little smirk letting me know he’s filling his diaper, I’m reminded of the greatest lesson I learned throughout this process – “We can make our plans, but the Lord directs our steps.” (Proverbs 16:9) Nothing about my sweet boy’s birth went according to my plan, but it all went exactly according to God’s because he already knew the plan years before Bennett was ever a twinkle in my eye.
I can now look back on the pieces of this day and see His hand woven throughout each and every moment. He blessed me with the best birth team and medical care we could have ever asked for, and I will be forever grateful for their wisdom and support.
And it was my husband who said, probably the most encouraging words I’ve heard since our return home from the hospital, “We had a plan, yes. But, the more important and amazing thing is that you were willing to adapt the plan to do what you needed to get our son here safely. I am so proud of you.”
And those are words I still hold to even almost two months later. I wish I could look back and say I had this amazingly positive birth experience. But the truth is, I didn’t. Not until my sweet baby boy was in my arms. I didn’t have the picture perfect birth that I’d imagined, or that I’d seen other moms have on social media.
And you know what? That’s okay.
He’s here and has quite the story to tell someday about how God played through in a mighty way on his birthday.
And his mommy will forever look back on the pain, suffering, fear, despair…and remember that God is always, always there. Even when we think he’s left us. He gives us His love through the love of our families too, and I could not have done this without my husband and mother.
And my sweet Bennett is forever a reminder of His great love, mercy, and blessings.
~Bennett’s Mommy