My First Birth Story
My First Birth Story
I loved her from the moment I saw her. I laid her on my chest and I wept. She was perfect. More perfect than I ever could have imagined.
I wept tears of joy and relief.
I wept tears of gratitude and sorrow.
I was worn down. Beat up. Exhausted.
I was thankful. Overjoyed. Fulfilled.
Bringing my daughter into the world was the hardest and most rewarding experience. My birth did not go as planned or intended. Everything went wrong, yet it all went so right.
At my 41 week check up, my NST suggested my little babe was showing signs of distress. We were instructed to check in to OB triage for further evaluation. Before we knew it, I was admitted into L&D. I was induced and reached the max dosage of pitocin with very minimal signs of labor. I had very light contractions, but the monitor suggested otherwise. 8 hours had gone by since we were admitted.
“We need to break your water.”
These were the next words that we heard from an on-call doctor whom we’ve never met until he uttered those words.
I was scared, questioning why my body wasn’t doing what it was “supposed” to. We requested a few minutes to ourselves in order to try and make sense of everything that was taking place. We prayed.
The on-call doc stated that he needed to know how to proceed because he was “tired,” had other patients, and couldn’t wait around “forever” in order for a decision to be made.
At this point, I had quite enough. From the L&D nurse who previously completed her cervical exams on me twice with her wedding rings on before I realized why they were SO excruciatingly painful and her sarcastically and rudely asking if I had a UTI because I requested to use the bathroom so frequently…
I can’t tell you what my facial reaction was like in that moment, but it was enough for him to pause and reconsider his poor word choice. He then spoke from a place of empathy, and ensured us that if his daughter was in my situation, this is how he would proceed. His words were comforting.
With my permission, he broke my water, and shortly after that, I started to feel my contractions. They intensified quickly. They were excruciating. They were sudden. They were close, with barely enough room for me to catch my breath before I experienced another. I went from 0 to 100, in a matter of minutes. They say pitocin will do that to you.
I did my best to breathe. To stay grounded. Present. Focused.
I requested an epidural. My body could no longer tolerate the pain.
Another hour went by, and I finally received my epidural. Things suddenly felt great. Well…I couldn’t feel anything, so I guess that was great given where I was just a few minutes prior.
I was slowly dilating. It was shift change for nurses. I couldn’t be more thankful. I was disappointed in myself for not better advocating for me. For not requesting a different nurse. I didn’t know how to. I didn’t know if it was okay to. I didn’t know if I could…
My new nurse, who helped me deliver my baby girl, was an angel on earth. I will never forget her. She was supportive. Kind. And she wanted the birth for me that I wanted for myself. The one I held on to despite everything that had taken place up to this moment.
20 hours went by…12 since I had my water broken…and it was finally time to start pushing. My baby didn’t “drop” and she was sunny side up…I pushed for 2 hours and 45 minutes…my body was depleted. I was hungry. I couldn’t remember my last meal. My epidural was no longer effective…My nurse instructed me to take a 15 minute break while she went and spoke to the OB on shift (different one from earlier) for instruction on how to proceed. By the grace of God, my baby was continuing to do well.
She came back after approximately 10 minutes and shared that she didn’t want to scare me, but that if my baby didn’t arrive in the next several minutes, I would be transported to the OR for an emergency c-section. The look on my husband’s face was enough for me to muster up whatever energy and determination I had left to get my baby out into this world. I couldn’t wait to meet her.
It was time. After an episiotomy, my precious baby girl made her way into the world. Safely. Beautiful. Healthy, all things considered. She had a week stay in the hospital after I was discharged, which was so hard on my mama heart.
It has taken me 16 months to write out my story, from start to finish. I’ve processed it a lot. I’ve done a lot of work around it. I’ve prayed a lot. And I feel overwhelmingly grateful for the peace that rests in my heart around my entire experience. For far too long, I let others determine how I should and shouldn’t feel about my story.
Mama, don’t let others determine the significance of or minimize your birth story. YOU experienced it. They did not.
xoxo
Dr. Pickering