A birth story.

The week before Lucy's birth was a hard one.  Physically I continued to enjoy the feeling of my huge baby belly and the sweet kicks of the wee one growing inside but emotionally... emotionally... I was being overtaken by fear.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of what could go wrong.

I had been warned, as with Swee'Pea, that if I didn't deliver by 39 weeks I would have to be medically induced.  Without going into too much detail, one of the side-effects and risks of my blood-clotting disorder is late-term miscarriages.

Still born babies.

Death.

The thought was too much for me to bear sometimes.

I went to multiple appointments during the final week before she arrived.  Several ultrasounds.  Non-Stress Tests.  Even a visit with a high-risk specialist.  He advised inducing no later than Friday.  I convinced my doctor to give me another week.  I knew the risks... but even as I felt the fear of an ever-growing chance of induction, I also felt a peace that this labor and delivery would be different. 

Anxious.  Terrified.  Worried.  But still... a peace.

By the middle of the week I was a broken mess.

I saw my sweet doctor, who verified that I was just at 2 centimeters dilated and not much effaced.  She stripped my membranes, and reassured me that I would be in the hospital by the next day in labor.  I did all the recommended "post stripping" rituals.  Spicy food.  Walking.  A massage.  A pedicure.  But nothing happened.

On Friday morning I returned.  Only a bit more dilated and 30% effaced.  I shuddered and sobbed as she stripped my membranes again.  "This time, it will work.  I expect to see you here by 5pm in labor."

That evening I met my in-laws for dinner, silently timing contractions that were 7 minutes apart throughout the meal, only to stop by the time we were ready to pay the check.

"Is there going to be a baby tonight?" my father-in-law excitedly asked.

"I don't think so... but this is the same restaurant I ate at with you guys the night I got a positive pregnancy test, so maybe it is good luck?!" I responded.

I texted my mother-in-law and mom throughout the evening until falling asleep around 9:30pm.  At some point in the night I woke on and off, feeling restless when Popeye got home from work before the sun rose and not being sure if the cramping I felt was in real life or only in my dreams.

At 5:00 on the dot I woke up and I knew.  Just as I had known with Swee'Pea. 

This was it.  It was time.

I tried not to wake up Popeye, knowing he had only gotten an hour or so of sleep and not wanting to worry him, but by 5:45 my tossing and turning was too much and he asked what was going on.  I told him I thought I was in labor, but to go back to sleep.  I got up, got a shower, and grabbed a cup of coffee.  He texted me from the bedroom... "I can't sleep!"  I replied from the couch... "Me neither!"

Swee'Pea woke up.  We cuddled.  Watched some TV.  

I decided to get ready for the day, timing contractions that were five and six and seven minutes apart.  Not unbearable but annoying enough that I couldn't fully rest.  By 10:00 am I was feeling restless and bothered and short with Swee'Pea and knew I just needed to get him out of the house so he didn't have to see me in that state and I could get to the "real" work of laboring at home.  I dropped him off at my in-laws and set about to run my errands and get the van washed.  My mom called and asked if I wanted to go shopping to get my mind off of things but at some point in that hour of taking Swee'Pea and taking care of the van something happened in me and I just needed to be home.  Home.  With my Popeye.  With the only person I felt like could help me through these uneven but increasingly more painful contractions.

We spent the afternoon doing nothing.  I soaked in a tub.  We got CPK to go.  We walked around Target.  My contractions were so uneven at times I feared this wasn't the real thing.  I cried... I begged... I prayed to God that this was it.  By 3pm I was hurting so badly that I didn't know if I could handle the disappointment if this was in fact false labor.  I didn't know if I could do this all again.  I didn't know if I could face another day of this kind of pain... of worse pain... if this was not the real deal.

I texted my mom that I was hungry, and desperately needed blueberry muffins with sugar crystals on top from Vons.  Also... bananas.  She arrived with a whole container of fresh muffins and a bunch of bananas and I laid on the bed eating.  Eating and laboring and moaning and resting.  When I was in labor with Swee'Pea, I desperately wanted her there by my side the whole time, but this... this was different.  I looked at Mark in between contractions and prayed he would ask her to leave.  I love you mom!  Dearly!  But after years of trying and hurting and losing there was something about this moment that was meant to be just Popeye and myself.  She finally left and Popeye promised to call.  

This is when I began bargaining with myself.

"Let's make it to 5pm.  I can make it to 5 and then we will go in!"

"Okay, it is 5pm.  I can make it to 6.  Let's just make it to 6."

"Well now it is 6, we might as well make it to 7.... but nurse change is at 7 so let's make it to 8."

Just after 8pm I got into the shower.  The warm water felt glorious until the contractions hit.  One after another.  Strong enough to bring me to my knees and bring up the previously devoured muffins and bananas.

I started sobbing.  Somehow Mark helped me to the bed and in between contractions I got dressed.  

"It's time!" I cried.  I couldn't do it at home anymore.  I needed a change.  Something different to stare at other than my own four walls.  At this point my contractions had been 2-3 minutes apart for over an hour.  And I wanted to go to the hospital NOW.

At 9:17 we were on the road.

We texted parents.  We parked the van.  I cried as I contracted in the parking lot.

We made it up to the delivery floor and Mark picked up the security phone to let them know we were there to check-in.  "We would like a room with an ocean view, please!" he told the nurse on the other end.

She was completely confused.  And we laughed even through my pain.

The checking in process was long.  They asked me questions, and I bent over the counter top contracting and prayed they would just leave me alone.

They got me in my room and went to check me.

"I want to be a six.  I bet I'm a five.  If I'm at a four I will cry..." I had told Mark in the car ride over.

I was a four.

I bawled and bawled.  I felt so defeated.  Sixteen hours of labor and I was only a four??  She said I was almost completely effaced, that the hard work had been done and now I could go quickly, but I still felt so lost.  My sweet friend Toni arrived and sat with me while Mark went back home to grab my birthing ball.  She had been a constant source of support through my pregnancy, encouraging me in my desire for a drug-free delivery and giving me advice based on her experiences along the way, and I don't know if I could have continued with my desire for a natural birth had she not come at that exact moment.

The next two hours we spent walking the halls.  Pacing by rooms with crying newborns and stopping every few moments to labor through a contraction and throw up in the little blue sack we carried around. 

At midnight they checked me again.  Six centimeters.  I cheered and cried with relief.  I was in full-blown labor, and I could stay.

I answered questions for the next thirty or so minutes, feeling in a much better mood and suddenly filled with the adrenaline of a thousand cups of coffee.  I rotated between laboring on my birthing ball and on my feet, remembering to use the restroom every 20 or so minutes and feeling unsure if I was burning hot one moment or freezing cold the next.  Popeye rubbed my back, encouraged me when I went through a contraction, and reminded me how close we really were to meeting our baby.

At 1:30 or so they checked me again and I was at a seven.  I cried for my mom.

Just after 3:30 they checked me again.  I was at an eight.  And I cried for an epidural.

The next hour was a haze.  I cried and moaned through the contractions and begged for drugs... for anything... that would ease my pain.  Popeye and my mom spoke quietly in my ear as the pain ripped through my back.  It was intense and it was hot and it was real.  My (double) epidurals had worn off while in labor with Swee'Pea but this... this was like nothing I had ever experienced.  I swore I could handle natural labor after having a horrible non-effective epidural but the pain I experienced this time was excruciating enough to literally take my breath away.  Between contractions I rested, unresponsive to everyone around me only to mutter that no, no I did not want an epidural and please do not let me get one.  

At 4:30 I begged for my bag of waters to be broken and I went back down to a seven.  

I cried.  I screamed.  The pain became more and more intense to the point that I literally thought my back was breaking.  Mark continued to speak quietly... but urgently... in my ear.  The baby would be here soon.  I was doing great.  I didn't want an epidural.  I could do this.

The next 20 minutes were insanely intense.  I could feel the baby's head push down with every contraction.  I could feel my water gushing with every movement.  I couldn't find relief.  I felt like my contractions were one right after another and there was no chance to breathe in between.

Mark promised he would get me help, and left the room.  Soon my angel of a nurse came back and said she was giving me something in my IV.  A narcotic... one I had sworn I didn't want but one in which she promised would not numb me but only allow me to breathe and rest in between contractions.  She finished filling my IV and then asked me to roll on my left side.  She said she was going to check me to see how I was doing.  I breathed through a contraction as she checked... a nine.  I had gone from a seven to a nine in less than 20 minutes.  She told me to keep breathing and to push through the next contraction as she felt for the baby's head.  The next contraction came and I pushed in a way I had never been able to while in labor with Swee'Pea.  

It felt glorious.

She popped up and said I was ready.  A full ten.  She was going to get everything ready and call for the doctor.

But I couldn't stop.

I rolled to the right and bore down as hard as I could.  Everyone kept telling me to hold off, to wait for the doctor, but I couldn't.  I screamed that the baby was coming and everything in me let go.

The next four minutes flew by.

The doctor rushed in.

The lights came on.

One push.

And then two.

And then she was there.

My daughter.

The precious gift I had waited so long for.  The miracle I had prayed God would bless us with.  The sweet song that healed years worth of sorrow.

For thirty-nine weeks I had carried her in my womb.

Felt every kick.  Every hiccup.  Every jostle of her tiny growing body.

I had labored for 24 hours.

And pushed for 4 minutes.

I felt every rip. tear. and stretching of my body as she worked her way into the world.

And she was here. 

In my arms.

Sweet and perfect and crying and breathing in her first sweet breaths of life.

My dream.

My miracle.

My precious Lucille Kate.