Almost as soon as Dr. F walked in and checked me, he calmly told me I could push anytime and meet my baby.
Say what? I confirmed with him that I wasn’t even dilated to 10 yet, but he maintained that I was just a couple good pushes away from having a baby.
He and the nurses were totally respecting my desire not to be told when and how to push, yet he was giving me the option.
Any time now (… or later)
This was a situation I had not anticipated. I was able to cope with every contraction so well that I didn’t feel an urgency to have the baby, and I also didn’t feel an urgency to push. But here we were, in the middle of the night, all there to meet a baby.
I felt a burden of responsibility to hurry up and have a baby, but that was coming from my own head. Here is an actual excerpt from the delivery room conversation:
<Scott & Doctor F making small talk about Salem>
Me: Ok, I’m just going to get through this contraction and decide what to do afterward.
Scott: Sure, whatever you want to do is just fine.
Doctor F: You don’t need to decide anything.
Scott was patiently standing by and supporting me, my doctor was incredibly laid back, and the nurses kept a respectful distance from my decisions. In spite of all this, I felt anxious about holding up the show.
Interestingly, that did not stop me from holding that show up. I held it up for an extra hour and a half! And, because my dad dropped a mic on a table in the room, I have an audio file of all my semi-coherent running commentary.
Basically, the contractions were completely manageable pain-wise (with my mournful cow noises), but when I tried to use a contraction to push a little, it HURT. So, I’d back off and just wait it out, and the doctor would be endlessly encouraging, and the cycle would repeat.
A few entertaining snippets of the delivery room dialogue:
An hour and a half before Lauren’s arrival:
Me: Ok, so I’ll just take it one contraction at a time. Can I push like this when it comes time to push?
Doctor: You can do whatever you want.
An hour before Lauren’s arrival
Doctor: If you gave one push, maybe two, the baby would come out. Oh yeah, you’re crazy close.
Me: What if I don’t know how to push so I can’t do it?
Doctor: The chance of that is zero.
45 minutes before Lauren’s arrival
Me: I’m so excited. This is the best.
Doctor: You’re amazingly good at this. Spend the day with me and you’ll know what the competition is like.
<after a few more contractions, which I handled very well but still didn’t use for pushing…>
Doctor: I’m so impressed. I’m so impressed with you. You’re a superstar.
Me: I just feel like a wimp right now. I wish there was some other way.
Doctor: You’re doing great. We’re in no rush. We just feel bad for you.
<during a contraction when I was supposed to be pushing>
Me: Can I wait, can I wait? I’m going to wait.
Doctor: That was good for about one second. Is that mean of me to say? But, it was only good for one second.
Doctor: Either way it’s going to come out, I am just trying to speed it up for you. If you’re comfortable then just tell us all to shut up. The baby is perfectly happy.
30 Minutes before Lauren’s arrival
Me: I just want to fast forward an hour and hold the baby. I’m just being honest.
…
Doctor: Everything you’ve done has been good. If you do exactly what you’ve been doing, the baby will come out.
Me: When you say the baby will come out, what does that mean? I’m going to have to push, right?
Doctor: I see your point. Yes you’ll have to push eventually.
…
And eventually, I started asking for pushing advice! Yes, even after delivering 4 babies already and reading and thinking extensively about it, and being clear with everyone in the room that I didn’t want to be told when to push. I did a complete 180 on all that.
20 Minutes before Lauren’s arrival
Doctor: If you could push 3/4 of an inch, the rest would just fall out.
Me: I feel like you’re telling me in the most supportive way possible that I’m a wuss.
Doctor: You’re the opposite of a wuss. Most people want to rush to the pushing to get out of the pain but you’re handling [the contractions] so well.
Getting serious
Then came the first contraction when moaning didn’t save me.
Me: Contractions like that might get me to push. I don’t want to do that again. That was bad and the baby didn’t come out. Might as well be bad and get the baby out.
At this point, I’m squeezing these gloriously warm squishy hand warmers they gave me and mulling over my options.
15 Minutes before Lauren’s arrival
Me: I know I did it four times before this time, but this time someone else is going to have to do this.
…
Me: Count please, but in an encouraging way but not in a panicky way.
…
Me: Can I pee if I want to pee?
Me: Letting amniotic fluid out feels glorious, like peeing in a lake. (Someone please stop this lady from her stream of consciousness talking!)
10 Minutes before Lauren’s arrival
I prayed out loud, said, “Now’s a good time,” then did my first great push.
Me: That wasn’t bad! I could do that again. I’m glad I could hear you say that was right. And I’m especially glad about having squeezy bags.
I did a second good push.
Scott: Wonderful job. Huge progress.
Me: Really? How could I have huge progress if I only had half an inch to go?
Scott: I can see the head.
Nurse: Do you want feel?
Me: That’s freaky. I’ve never done that before. (I actually loved this.) I could keep doing this! It feels awesome to push through those contractions.
Five minutes before Lauren’s arrival
Scott: Can I get you some water?
Me: I don’t have time. I need to hold my baby. I love you.
I can hear the determination in my voice. I kiss him, and it’s adorable, even on the audio recording.
I did a third good push.
Me: Help me understand. I’m not a good pusher?
Doctor: The baby’s just turning a corner. You’re a rockstar.
Three minutes before Lauren’s arrival
In the audio file, we’re making chitchat here about how much I love my squeezy hand warmers, about how Scott developed cold hands when he graduated from medical school, and there’s some commentary about what a nice town Columbus is. I suggest perhaps Scott wants to go grab my dad from the hallway, and he can wait behind the curtain for the birth. I say that I don’t think it’ll traumatize him because this time I’m not all crazy like I sometimes get in the last few minutes of a birth. *This is foreshadowing.*
We abandon the plan to get my dad; Here comes another contraction.
I psych myself up and start out pushing well, but then the pain comes like a freight train and I go out of my mind as I fight to bring this baby into the world. I have the audio file with the time stamp at the bottom, so I know this part lasted just three minutes. But I’m re-living it as I listen to it, and I’m gripped again by an echo of the intense emotions I felt that day. I can hear it all in my voice on the recording.
I push, I grunt. I panic, I think something is wrong. I wail, I beg, I scream. I worry, I breathe and I hold my breath. I pull with my voice. I blindly dig deep into myself and summon every bit of energy I can muster for birthing this child. The nurses, Doctor F. and Scott are surrounding me, encouraging, soothing, buoying, and they too hold their breaths and will this baby out and into the air.
Absolutely nothing is wrong, they assure me. This is just the way this baby is going to be born.
I’m already a mother, and I know what mothering entails. This is it: the intense love and fierce loyalty in the moment and anticipation of what is to come. The worry, the physical exertion, the breathing and the holding one’s breath. The moments of panic and pleading. I’m living out all of this in those excruciating and endless three minutes. Like my whole life with this child is on 10000x speed and I’m desperately scaling all the mountains we’d ever face together in this one supreme effort.
And then? When I’ve laid bare my insufficiency, when my pleading voice has rung in the halls and I’m thoroughly engaged in the bringing forth, when I’ve forgotten my embarrassment, forgotten the desire to be anything except this baby’s mother, she comes.
