So lets see, I wrote Pt. 1 to this story back in July. It has been a minute, has it not? I think I can look back and maybe see with clearer vision now. Now that I have a nearly seven-month-old baby boy, I can hardly believe any of this happened to us all. Yet I still feel and see a lot of it very vividly. I hope those memories wil never leave me, and will not evade me as my mind grows older and fills with other things.
When I left off writing last time, my already long birth journey had taken its course with five hours of Pitocin. I held out. I was a strong mama. I will not deny myself that–even if I didn’t make it to my goal. Then, after my strength went out, I finally gave in. The aching, the throbbing, the feeling of a huge massive grip seizing my body over and over again, relentlesslly–it was far too much. The pain in my sides, the splitting feeling I had in my ribs and my womb, it was not natural, as far as I could tell. I decided that I would finally have Nubain.
A shot of narcotics in my arm, a brief sting, and then I felt elated. I could see the sun shining into my room, glistening. It was brighter and clearer than anything–looking so beautiful. I thought to myself that it must be the dawn. Hahaha. It was nowhere near dawn, since my baby was born at 9:38 p.m. However, it looked like a dawning sun shining into the room from my view. My mind was warped by drugs.
I greived for not having the birth that I wanted. I grieved, knowing that my baby’s best birth would be one that wasn’t voilent, one that wasn’t scary–without drugs and intervention. A waterbirth would’ve given him such a calm way to enter into the world with a smooth transition from amniotic fluid, into the warm birthing pool, and finally onto my warm, bare, comforting chest. But this was not to be, and so I left it behind. I am so thankful God provided an awesome nurse who helped me through this. Dee took my hands and told me, “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to put yourself through so much. You’ve already gone through a lot of pain, you’ve already been through a lot.” She convinced me that I would be okay with the drugs. She told me that the anesthetist was a great one. So after the nubain’s elation wore off, I decided it was time. Troy & I talked, and that was that.
He came in with ease–he was a friendly guy with a big needle. Of course, what every pregnant woman wants to hear is, “Man, you’re in great shape! Look at that back!” Which is what he said. So he made me laugh, and then gave me the first numbing shot. It wasn’t bad. Then Troy held my hands because the big needle was going to go into my spine. If I thought about it, I felt woozy. But after it was over, it wasn’t bad at all. This epidural, this thing that I hated and dreaded, was my relief. I was finally able to rest, finally able to recoup my body’s resources for the most difficult task–pushing my son out of the birth canal and into the world.
I slept. Who knows how long. The weirdest, most odd sensation was having Troy & the nurses flip me over as I dozed. I would awaken, someone would tell me something and I would nod my agreement, and then I would be flipped. Then off into oblivion I would slip again. It wasn’t terrible, especially because my body was just so tired and sore already. Then, finally, I had rested a long time and my body was preparing. They kept upping and upping my Pit. so that the contractions were coming close enough together. He was almost going to make his arrival. I looked at the clock. It was almost 8 p.m.
My midwife came and checked me. We squealed with delight together to know that I was fully dilated. After being so mad each time when I would have no progress, after all of the painful contractions, I was overjoyed that my womb was finally agreeable. These moments feel so surreal to me now–the feeling of anticipation almost overwhelming. One second she was telling everyone that I was fully dilated, the next I was feeling this strong urge to push. I was so glad I felt that urge, because I didn’t know if even that primal sensation, that instinct, would be taken from me with the complete haze of drugs. Pushing was completely exhausting. I pushed, I pushed, and pushed. There was some progress. I kept on pushing. My midwife told me, “Miranda, you’re close, but if you can’t push him out we might have to get the doctor to help assist with forceps.” THAT was IT. I pushed harder than I ever had. I would NOT allow my child to come into the world being plucked from the womb like a little specimen, with cold unloving forceps. That was too much for me. And that did it. After almost two hours of pushing, my sweet little baby came into the world crying. He was placed on my chest directly, just as I had hoped.
He looked as tired as I did. He was so small, yet so large to me as well. A new person on my chest there. He was directly on my chest, skin-to-skin, heart to heart with his mother. For better or for worse, we were one anothers. For all the pains and all the joys we would experience, they would be together. I couldn’t believe it.
5/25/12, 9:38 P.M. He came to be with us. After over 33 hours of crazy labor!
And then, after things had quieted down, the most miraculous thing happened. Something I’ll never forget. After all that had happened, all the drugs that had to be administered, everything that went wrong in my eyes… something so completely beautiful. I wanted to breastfeed so badly. I didn’t know if that would work out so well, now that my body and baby were medicated strongly. Instead of worrying about anything–I couldn’t worry, as I was too exhausted. So I just lay there with my baby, enjoying him. And he did it all by himself. He crept up to my breast, and started suckling like he knew exactly how to do it, and knew exactly what he needed. It was a true miracle to me. A gift. A beautiful thing that I didn’t think was possible.
And yet it was. A lot of other things went on after that, and we had to take a nasty trip to the NICU, but most of all this is our story. God provided for us incredibly through painful and difficult times. The people who surrounded us, who ministered to us, and who cared for us in that time were just incredible. Not to mention an amazingly developed, sweet, smart little boy is in our midst, and it is all unbeliveable to me still. This tiny human is ours.
All my love,
-M
A Captive Mind 