Good morning! Just one short hour. That is how long I was with this Mama.
45 minutes of labor (she did a bit more than that- but by the time I got there...) and 15 minutes of pushing.
and wallah- this little guy emerged.
Job well done! I needed that. Its gonna be a good week.
(can someone get that girl in the light blue some oil-control something or other! guess she must just be shiny and happy!:)
It began with a posterior baby (face up instead of face down), lots of back labor, and a plea for help. When I arrived at their house, after driving 45 minutes up the canyon, she was clutching tightly to her sisters hand. Her husband let me in. I was the stand-in. The other midwife busy with another birth. It was the first time I had met her and instantly we were thrust into a relationship that had to be trusting. I coaxed her to the bathroom where she could sit on the toilet, where we could be alone for a moment. She talked of being awake all night, of being tired and frustrated. My hands holding hers, I talked about giving in. I talked about not being afraid, about breathing deeply, and letting go of all the tension. Assurance, encouragement, strength. Soon her breaths slowed. Deep inhales, long exhales. Her shoulders released, her brow unfurrowed. Calm. Two contractions passed. Then a grunt. And another. And bigger grunts. Then full force pushing. I begged her to stop. No breath holding. Pant, pant like this "hee, hee, whoo, hee, hee whoo". I had nothing with me. Not a glove, not a doppler (to listen to baby), not a BP cuff, not an Oxygen tank. Nothing. Nothing but my thoughts screaming "I DO NOT WANT TO CATCH THIS BABY!" Off to the birth center, I jumped in the car with them.
Her husband drove us. I was glad he knew the road so well. He was calm and encouraging- oblivious, but calm. I drew from that peace. I glanced about their car for warm blankets. Cell phones. Gloves- why didn't I have gloves?!! Panting, we were still panting. She squeezed my hand, my wedding ring cut into my other fingers- their tips turning purple. I was telling her to hang on and telling myself that I could do this. I didn't believe it, but I said it anyways.
After what seemed like and excruciating drive- we made it to the birth center. Inside, on the bed. Exam done. 3cm. What? Her cervix is dilated just to 3 flipping centimeters? Where is the urge to push coming from?
To the tub. Warm Water. Hopes of easing the pressure. Hope of slowing down. I left her with the midwife who was there now (thankfully!!) I set up the oxygen. Blankets were warming. Tools at the ready. Gloves in my pocket! Listen with the doppler to baby. Good. Everything was ready and good.
The urge to push never went away. Our mouths dry. Our throats rough from the rapid movement of air. We panted all together. Cool washcloths. Sips of juice. Bites of yogurt. I brushed the hair from her face. I pushed with pressure on her low back. Praise. Heaps and heaps of praise for her efforts. She was working so hard. Such focus.
Hours and hours passed this way. My stomach rumbled. My head throbbed. With pressure to her back, my arm quivered. I focused in on her face, realizing that I had not yet see her eyes. All this time and I had no idea what color her eyes were. They were closed. All I could see was her determination.
The magic measurement: 10 centimeters. It was ours. I never thought it would come. Really, I didn't. Finally, no more panting- just pushing. Pushing and pushing and pushing. I willed her to bring the baby down. I willed her to make progress. I was so invested...we/she had worked so hard to get here.
Will was not enough. Want was not enough- hers or mine. The baby wasn't moving down. I watched her heart break as the midwife advised her. It wasn't for a lack of effort. It wasn't her failure. The baby wasn't moving down. They left for the hospital. A C-section. Thirty hours of labor, billions of short panting breaths, thousands of "good jobs!" pounds and pounds of back counter-pressure, 10 huge centimeters...and that was it. A C-section.
Depleted. Disappointed. Emotionally exhausted. Hungry and tired. I drove home. I climbed into bed making peace. I have been here before. Healthy Baby. Healthy Mom. That was the goal. We achieved it. There are things in life that we just don't have control over. Birth is one of them.
So a few weeks ago I started the Polly Beret. It was a fun little project from the very start. Little did I know it would turn into such family entertainment.
We were headed into town yesterday to score some equipment at the local ski swap and I thought I should sort of look the part. You know, Nordic or something. I had yet to debut the beret in public- nor had my family gazed upon its finished loveliness- so I thought, why not?
Out I came from my bathroom (where I fidgeted for at least 15 minutes with the hat...how do you wear your hair under one of these things?) and my husband, who was sitting with his laptop, did a double take and smirked. Anticipating some snide comment I said, "You think it is silly don't you? Would you be embarrassed if I wore it out today?" Without laughing (I don't know how he kept a straight face) he said, "No you wouldn't embarrass me at all, go on with your bad self." (direct quote.) I told him that I really liked the color of it- Bernat Soy yarn in Celery. Who doesn't want to wear a celery colored had?
"Huh" I thought, "it must really look okay!" I swelled with pride and accomplishment knowing that I had crocheted something that I could actually wear. In the kitchen now, the next person I encountered was Laurel. At the sight of me her face twisted and she was obviously disturbed. She pointed to my beret and said, "I don't like you with that on." My confidence began to waiver. Before I knew it Hannah piped in with , "Mom, uh, are you really gonna wear that because it looks really dumb." Emma, who is always taking care of my feelings said, "Its okay Mom, I promise not to laugh at you. If you really like it you should wear it. Do I have to go with you?"
Just then, Carl waltzed in casually and started singing, "Cel-er-ey beret, the kind you know that your Grandmother makes." (the Prince song)
That did it. I yanked off the hat and marched back to my room to find some other form of acceptable head attire. I laughed the whole way! It was pretty funny.