Here is our birth story.
It was a wonderful Friday. I rested all day, wondering if
tonight would be the night that I would go into “real” labor. I had
contractions throughout the day, painful to the extent that I couldn’t stand up
for too long. I took it easy and even missed the last day of country dance. I
missed Joseph for sure. That day was the day that Joseph had an organic
chemistry test, started at three. We’d known about this test since the
beginning of the semester. And we also knew that he could drop one test a
semester, so if we happened to go into labor before the test, he could skip it.
But he didn’t want to. And I didn’t want him to. He spent the morning at school
studying. Then he went to dance, to calc, and then took the test. I watched the
clock all day, pretty closely. Just counting down the minutes until four ‘o
clock, the minute he was done.
Four hit and he came on home. Cumorah had called and wanted
to hang out, and although I didn’t feel super well, my mind and heart wanted to
as well. So I agreed, knowing Joseph would be down. When he came home, we got
ready to go and started thinking about restaurants to go eat at. Spicy food is
what I needed! There’s an old wives’ tale that is actually real that when you
eat spicy food, it regulates your contractions. We were set to test it out.
Recently Joseph’s been playing the guitar a whole lot. It’s
a dream come true for me. He is getting really good, and he’s learning lots of
songs. And he lets me (and loves it when I) sing with him. (He even told me
last night that I was the whole reason he started. I tried to suppress how
happy that made me…So sweet.) We’ve been working on his singing and he really
is getting better and better. He isn’t tone def. Nope. Not even close. If you
help him find the note (I’ve found that playing it on the guitar is way more
effective than singing it and then having him try to pitch match) helps him
immensely; once he finds the first note, he can usually stick to the rest of
the notes for the entire song. Anyway so we passed the time until dinner by
singing Miranda Lambert’s “Easy from Now On.”
Cumorah and Daniel came around 6 and we headed to Las
Salitas. Every ten minutes (on average), I’d have a contraction and have him
squeeze my hand really tight. He did it. So well. He was so compliant at helping
me with whatever I needed. It was so sweet. I felt like all I had to do was say
the word and he was more than willing to assist me in any way that he could. This
was just the beginning of millions of little ways in which I fell in love with
Joseph over and over again throughout our birth experience. He is an amazing
man and husband. I can imagine being a fly on the wall and observing the way he
treated his wife (whomever it may be) as she labored. As that fly, (I’m smiling
right now, please know) I would be so impressed and enamored with the way he
loved her and showed her that love.
Back to the story (but I can’t make any promises about not
digressing into a confession of immense love for Joseph again). A few bites of
salsa later, and I had a testimony of the wives’ tale. The contractions got
closer together and stronger. Strong to the point that I just had to turn to
the side and have Joseph squeeze my hand really tight. It was sweet when
Cumorah and Daniel started to notice. They would soften their voices and be
really reverent. I appreciated it.
We made it through our dinner and I wobbled outside with
them. We decided on walking around Uptown and eating some gelato to pass a
little more time. Whew! It was hard! Walking around, I’d have to stop pretty
frequently and demand my muscles to relax as my uterus contracted and surged
intensity through my body. We got peach and cheesecake gelato (side by side,
not together). And we couldn’t finish it! I was full pretty fast. (I ended up
losing it all anyway.)
When we got home, we all decided to start Episode IV. Yes,
of Star Wars. So they could be entertained—and so I could see why in the
world they were obsessed with the movie. I didn’t find out…not yet, anyway. We
got through a half hour or so, and then I felt like we should rest (since I was
thinking we might have to go into the hospital in the middle of the night).
Cumorah and Daniel respectfully left, and Joseph and I crawled into bed around
9:30 p.m.
The contractions were pretty steady and pretty painful. It
was like they say, really painful cramps. But it wasn’t enough pain tot eh
point that I wanted to give up at all. It was just pain that I had to really
try hard to demand my muscles to relax. It takes so much energy to do that.
Our adventure really began at 12:30 a.m. Joseph said it’s
because Conley didn’t want Landon’s birthday, and he didn’t want Jordan’s
birthday. So around midnight, he (Joseph always looks at his watch while he
says this) said “Okay! It’s my turn!” and kicked my water bag right open. It’s
pretty accurate. I didn’t expect true labor to begin this way, with a water
break. But it made it so fun! And real! And certain. And movie-like. I was
having a contraction, and little Conley was sick of how tight it was in there.
So he kicked and GUSH! Water just came right out. It felt like I’d peed without
knowing it. I woke Joseph up by saying, “Honey, he broke my water!” He grabbed
a towel and I waddled into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting
the rest just gush down my legs. We were both laughing and really excited.
I took a quick shower, put on my leggings, got our bags,
threw in some banana bread muffins and oranges and we left the apartment.
Joseph was so giddy. I loved it. I was still having contractions, and they were
still painful. But I could muscle through them each time. When we got to the
hospital, we parked in front of the birthing center and a nurse who loved pink
and tongue piercings came and got us. She had a wheelchair, thankfully. And she
was so sweet and friendly as she took us up to triage. I had a contraction on
the way, and she could see it. She wheeled me a little more gently from there
on. When we got to triage, I peed in a cup and then went and lay on a bed. A
nurse came in to check my vitals and draw some blood. When she got ready to put
in an IV, Joseph told her we weren’t going to do so. She was surprised. And
even looked a little perturbed. But whatever. I didn’t even care! It rocked.
As I was laying there and as we were waiting, I was so
exhausted and the pain was getting worse. I ended up throwing up after the most
painful contraction yet hit. There went my Las Salitas and gelato. Long gone.
It hurt so bad. I can’t even describe the pain of
contractions. When they peak, it’s like every cell in your body turns into
metal and it gets banged with a hammer. The pain is so loud and sharp and keeps
reverberating even after the strike. Again, Joseph stayed so close. He got so
close to my face. I told him, “You have to tell me to relax. You have to say it
over and over. It’s a decision I have to make and remake every second. Relax,
relax, relax.” He did perfectly. He would help me breathe in, and then on the
breath out, he’d say “Relaaaaaaax” and squeeze my hand. It was so helpful. And
so sweet. Thinking about it now, the excruciating pain and his determined
direction, makes me get kind of choked up. It was so intense on both of our
sides.
After triage, they wheeled me into a room. Labor and
Delivery. I was a little disappointed that we weren’t going to the Family Birthing
Center, but they were understaffed in the middle of the night. At this point, I
was still so sure that we were going to progress well and make it through
naturally, so I wanted to deliver where I had visualized. But that didn’t
happen. The room we got was really spacious, though. And nice. Once we got in
there, I had no other desire other than to lay on the bed and allow the
contractions to come and go like waves. I had another really bad one, threw up
again, and got an IV. The same nurse came in and said, “I told you!” In a nice
way. In between them, I could talk and communicate and look around, for the
first three or four hours. But once one hit, there was nothing else I could do
than go totally limp (or try to!) on the bed. I’d expected to use the yoga
ball, or to slow dance, or to walk around. Pshhhh. Yeah right. I tried the bath
(surprisingly, since my water had broken), until the midwife told me my cervix
was still hard and the bath may not help. I walked for a minute or so. But the
rest of the night I was on the bed.
They had two monitors on me. His heart rate and my
contractions. I didn’t really care or notice, although beforehand I hadn’t
wanted monitors. The nurse’s name was Kelsey. And she was pretty and nice. And
gentle. And I talked to her for a minute. I asked her if she was Christian. She
said she was Catholic. And she was marrying a Jewish boy in a few months. I
told her that marriage was the best, and then I started having a contraction
and almost said something sarcastic like this, “Because it leads you to feeling
pain like this…haha.” But I didn’t.
The midwife on call was Christina Cheney. She was fine. But
her attempt at having a calming aura actually just kind of stressed me out. She
sat there cross-legged for most of the time and just allowed Joseph to guide me
through each contraction. He was such a champ. At one point, she said, “I like
watching you. You are doing great.” It was nice.
But when she told me at three or so (when I got into the
bath) that my cervix was only at a two and was still pretty hard and thick, I
got so discouraged. The words “still hard and thick” pierced me! It was like
tons of bricks just being poured on top of me. I couldn’t believe it. All that
pain for this? Just a two?
A few hours later I was a five. And that was the point that
my head starting rolling around and my body was shaking so much, and during
each contraction, I had so much pain that relaxing my muscles seemed like more
torture. I really just lost mental control over my body, and the contractions
had total rule over my sanity, my emotions, and my pain.
About six I asked about my options for pain. It was ironic
because I had never even entertained the idea of getting medication, so I had
done no research and was entirely ill-prepared. But at that point, I needed
something to help me. It was too much. I tried a drug that starts with an “f”
first, hoping that, even though it only lasted an hour, it would help me
progress (even though I was progressing so slowly) quickly and I wouldn’t have
to get an epidural. It lasted an hour and made me feel totally drunk, like
Christina had warned.
The minute it was up, it was like all the pain in the whole
world decided to make a visit to my body. And I was down for the count. Down!
And so done. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Joseph, I need to get an epidural. I can’t do it anymore.
It hurts so much. So much.” He seemed a little disappointed, but I don’t think
he was; I asked him and he said he wasn’t. He just knew that before labor, I
really didn’t want myself to get an epidural either.
Side note on why I wanted to do a natural birth: One of the
main reasons is because I envisioned a hospital situation in which once I
decided to turn over one thing to them (medication), I would be turning over
everything to them and I would lose all control of my birth situation. They
would decide when I got Pitocin and how much. They would decide how worried I
should be when his heart rate dropped a little. They would decide if my
situation was desire. They would decide if they should give an episiotomy or if
they should use a vacuum or forceps to pull the baby out. They would decide
when I needed to push. I would become a total bystander to my own delivery. I
really didn’t want that.
I also wanted to be in control of my body. I wanted to feel
everything, and know exactly when I needed to push. I wanted to feel a connection to the baby. I didn’t want to
feel groggy or out of it, or feel like there was a barrier from my hormonal and
chemical attachment with and love for the baby.
Turns out, there wasn’t! There was no barrier! All the
epidural did was what it was slated to do: go into my spinal cord and block the
sensory nerves in my uterus and pelvis that tell me I am experiencing pain.
Okay so back to the
story. I told the nurse and midwife that I wanted an epidural. I think that was
around 8 a.m. What follows may be the best part of the story. The
anesthesiologist came in soon after, pushing a cart and wearing a
scrubs/surgery hat. I loved him from the get-go. He was like Dad: friendly, put
you at ease, and professional. He explained in simple terms everything that was
about to happen. I signed a paper (something I had made fun of other moms in
birthing videos; when they signed that paper on the videos it was like they
were signing their lives away, but they were so willing because they had
experienced lots of pain up to this point). And Joseph came over to the side of
the bed and I leaned forward on him while the anesthesiologist administered the
drug.
It was practically painless in every way. He did a butterfly
needle of local anesthetic, and from there on I felt absolutely nothing (except
for the two hellish contractions I had in the meantime). He inserted the tube
that would constantly release beautiful, blessed, pain-blocking magic into my
body.
I could have kissed that guy. Jerry was his name. I told him
how amazing he was, that it hadn’t hurt at all, that I hadn’t felt anything,
and that it started to work, like, right away. I told him he deserved a gold
medal. He laughed. Looking back, I was kind of ridiculous. But I would go back
and do and say the same things: I was so high! So high emotionally and
psychologically (and hormonally) simply from being free from pain. And I have
never regretted that decision, thankfully. Getting an epidural made things
enjoyable.
Six hours passed until I felt pushing sensations (which was
so rad because I couldn’t feel any pain, but I could still feel the urge to
push). Six hours of eating green jello, chicken broth, then beef broth, of
drinking Gatorade, of sleeping, of smiling and laughing and feeling like a free
woman, of thanking joseph for being so wonderful (he didn’t sleep the whole
time), of listening to the women in the adjacent rooms scream their heads of,
and feeling sorry for them, and wanting to rush over and bear my fervent
testimony of the power of epidurals.
It was great. I would look over at the monitor and see I was
contracting, and smugly chuckle to myself, like, “I didn’t feel a thing just
now, and it was glorious.”
Three ‘o clock rolled around and we let the nurse (Valerie,
who totally ROCKED! Best nurse ever. She was so interested and sincere in
helping us, and talking to us, and making sure we were comfortable and good)
know that I was feeling the sensation to push. It was funny because the nurse
and midwife took their sweet time (after checking me and seeing that I was at a
9) until they came in at around 4. I had been feeling Conley’s little head move
down the birth canal and feeling like if I pushed, he might just fall right
out. When they came back in, I not only was at a 10, but his head was halfway
down the birth canal. They waited until the next contraction, and I started
pushing!
I was at a 45 degree angle on the bed and Joseph and Valerie
were holding each leg. Lowry Simpson, the midwife, a cool, wise, black, older
lady, guided me with each push. I breathed in, held it, and pushed my hardest
for ten seconds. We did several sets of these, and then Lowry said I could feel
his head. It was so weird, but cool. They said his head was wiggling out. “He’s
such a helper!” they kept saying. His head came out on one push, and the rest
of his body came out after that, with Lowry’s pulling (I’m actually not sure
why, something about the cord). And it was all great! They put his little wet,
wriggly body on me and he stopped crying when I held him and talked to him. And
that’s how he has been ever since. Pretty content and minimal crying. Way less
than an hour a day.
It was so fun, holding him. I cried and cried, and Joseph
and Cumorah cried. It was really sweet. I held him for like an hour. I loved
looking at his face. And I loved looking at Joseph. While we held him, they
wiped him off and put the gooey stuff in his eyes and sewed me up (a
second-degree tissue tear). I tried feeding him after an hour or so, and wasn’t
honestly sure if he got anything out of it (it was like that for the first three days…he had a strong suck,
but wouldn’t suck for very long and I couldn’t see any colostrum coming out or
anything…). Then Valerie took him to weigh him, measure him, take his cute
footprints, and give him a shot. Then she gave him to Joseph. It was so sweet
to watch Joseph look at Conley. He was so in love, right from the start. Maybe
this will sound bad, but I think that the first two days with Conley were for
me to fall in love with Joseph and watch his love for Conley, more than they
were for me to love Conley and bond with him. That started the day after we got
home from the hospital. But at the beginning, I felt like my duties were to
watch Joseph, allow my love for him to grow, and to take care of Conley’s
physical needs.
Valerie walked me through taking care of my vagina. She gave
me tucks, pain-relieving spray, amazing witch-hazel–soaked cotton pads that I
laid on my pads, and a nipple shield. These all helped with my recovery. The
next 25-hours were full of vital sign checks, breastfeeding (Joseph sat next to
me every time I breast fed; it was challenging, but I wasn’t stressed or
overwhelmed, thankfully; my back did get sore, though), eating hospital food,
visitors (Jessie and Mark came right after; my mom got in town really soon;
Caleb and Cordell came that night; Cumorah and Daniel and Paul all came the
next day, and Cameron and Christina met us at home when we got home from the hospital),
weird nurses (after Valerie; one nurse that wanted to teach us how to give him
a bath at 11:00 p.m.!; the other nurse had a super nasally voice, and I had to
ask her to repeat everything she said).
Anyway, there you have it. Since then, it’s been feeding,
sleeping, playing, smiling, laughing, and praying to thank Heavenly Father for
the wonderful blessing this little bundle is. I can’t believe I have had a
baby. I am so grateful for it, and for the beautiful experience it was; for
Joseph, for Valeria, for the anesthesiologist, and for Baby Conley. I love him!
