Harrison
The birth of Harrison Matthew
The morning of April 28th: I woke early in the morning, my usual routine to
quickly use the bathroom and hop back in bed to get a few more hours of sleep.
This morning was different as I realized from looking down that my body had
started to prepare itself for labor. I often wonder who came up with terms like
mucous plug and bloody show. Needless to say, my body had decided to begin the
long three-day labor to bring my baby boy into the world.
After finishing up in the rest room, I crawled back in bed only to start feeling
crampy and wondered if this was a contraction or just something “different.” Being
a first time mom, I had never had the pleasure of experiencing one, and every
woman’s body works differently to bring a child forth. These “contractions,” which
I attempted to ignore, came on a rather inconsistent basis. I didn’t sleep much for
the remainder of the morning and opted not to follow our normal Sunday morning
routine, but to stay home for the day and rest. Clearly my body was gearing up,
since I could not ignore the little waves of tension that surged every 15 – 20 minutes.
My husband woke to find me fully awake, but still taking it easy, and I told him
things were going to start moving, but obviously in their own time frame. We took
our dogs on a short walk, in which the contractions moved in a more rhythmic
pattern, but eased once we got back home. I proceeded to relax on the couch while
Jared went to the grocery store to grab some last minute food. I took a relaxing
bath in the afternoon, we enjoyed our last bit of time together as just us, rented a
movie to watch and spent a quiet day and evening at home.
Sleeping proved difficult that evening since the timing between each contraction
had begun to shorten. They came every 10 – 12 minutes, preventing me from
getting into a deep sleep. I believe I got a total of three or four hours that night
only to find myself awake and in true early labor at about 5:30 Monday morning. I
worked with each surge, swaying, leaning, breathing and doing a few small things
around my house that felt normal to me.
I called my doula, Kate, to let her know that I thought “labor” was in full swing and
doubted it would stop. Baby was on his way. I continued to labor, and she met us
at our house after lunchtime. Having the extra support proved wonderful; an extra
pair of hands to knead my back, apply counter pressure, grab water and snacks.
I labored throughout the day, making every effort to relax and do as my body told
me. Taking a bath was incredibly soothing for my sore muscles, but did not do
much to help labor ease or move along. My husband kept me company while I was
relaxing, and we chatted a little bit. When I got out and had re-dressed the
contractions remained stalwart; there was no “escape.” I walked around the house
a bit, mainly in the kitchen to eat a few bites of egg, as I used the kitchen table and
counter as support, but it was not the most comfortable position.
Kate suggested I try letting her use the rebozo on my stomach to help with the
back-labor. It helped a bit, yet I could not seem to get comfortable and eventually
made my way back to the bedroom to labor on the birth ball.
The “coaching”, encouragement and positive distractions kept me going, until later
in the evening when the exhaustion from lack of sleep started to sink into the
depths of mind. This was hard work. This was really hard work. And after a
restless night and a full day I called my midwife, Wendy, who assessed everything
my husband had to say along with the few bits of info I could give her over the
phone. We made the decision at about 10:30 p.m. to slowly pack up and head to
the hospital.
We arrived around 11:30, where Wendy met us at the side door so I could escape
the “emergency department” after hours check-in.
Slowly we made our way to the elevator, to my room, and proceeded with
questions, and other details. I declined an IV and the hep-loc for the time being. I
wanted to labor my way. Wendy checked me to make sure going home was no
longer an options. At a mere five centimeters my mind felt slightly defeated,
thinking I had a long way to go, and not knowing the duration of how long it
would take, in the end I truly did have a long way to go.
Laboring at the hospital was more difficult, it wasn’t my environment, it gave me
obstacles I would not have had at home. On and off the fetal monitor was probably
the worst part, requiring me to move from a comfortable spot, only to have to find
another leaning on hands and knees on the hospital bed, or sitting on the birth ball.
The bathroom shower seemed to soothe my aches more than anything else, and I
had no need for counter pressure to my back. The back labor didn’t seem so
intense. I swayed and moaned, mentally repeating phrases to my baby. He and I
were gonna do this, and to get ready.
Labor, at that point, truly became mind over matter. With an exhausted mind,
body, and soul I prayed for strength. After several more hours the contractions
started to space out, although they were still a minute and a half long and severely
intense, it felt good to get just a slightly longer break in between. In the back of my
mind, I knew this wasn’t good, but I kept up with them for a little while.
At around six o’clock on Tuesday morning, Wendy came to check on me, and let
me know her thoughts on the situation. She felt my uterus was getting tired, and I
knew it was. She gave me a quick check that boosted my confidence and
reassurance: I had finally reached 8 centimeters; transition was literally staring me
in the face! She suggested breaking my water, since it had yet to rupture on it’s
own or give me some Pitocin to see if it could pick the contractions back up, but
first agreed to allow me to try 30 minutes of different positions.
Changing positions didn’t seem to do much for me, and in my mind, only caused
me to doubt my body more. A decision had to be made. Pitocin or AROM. After
discussion with Wendy, then my doula and finally my husband, him and I made the
decision to break my water. I did not want those drugs, I was going to try
everything first to let my body do its best. I finally consented to a hep-loc, knowing
the possible risk of infection, and if contractions picked up but I still needed
Pitocin it was already in and measures could be taken at a moment’s notice.
At 7:00 a.m. my doula sat down next to me while I was being monitored (again!),
to let me know she had to leave. Her babysitters for her children weren’t available,
and her husband had to go to work. I told her that “shit happens” and that it was
ok. Knowing that she had to leave was difficult, the support has been invaluable,
yet I also knew that no one else was doing the work, or was going to finish this
work for me. This was my job. My husband, thankfully was there to continue to
hold me up, and proved the needed encouragement that eventually brought me
over the top.
Wendy came in shortly thereafter to break my water, and within ten minutes, the
story had changed. Transition had its own idea of how the rest of my labor would
go, and truly it rocked my socks off. I moaned deeply as I labored on the bed, in the
bathroom, and on the birth ball. I held Jared’s hand through a number
contractions. They came, wave after wave, sometimes with no break. I had no
concept of time. And I knew, finally, after days of laboring that I was going to
finish this.
I believe my midwife may have noticed a time where the contractions started to
space out again. She made the suggestion I bear down a bit to see if something felt
different. I am not sure it did and eventually climbed back on the bed for
monitoring. She gave me a final check, saying “you’re complete.” Glory Halleluiah
if those hadn’t been the sweetest words I had heard in the past three days. Wendy
gave me some coaching for pushing and I went to work. I tried side lying, hands
and knees, sitting on the toilet, and squatting.
Eventually as baby started to move down I yielded to side lying. Even though it
gave my hips horrible cramps, it was the easiest pushing position, because the rest
of my body was exhausted; I could not support myself on hands and knees, nor
squatting.
Slowly but surely, he moved down, inch by inch. Jared had stepped back to watch
me work, and to watch baby boy enter the world. At that point counter pressure
on my back was unnecessary, and it was all up to me. Wendy gave excellent
guidance as he began to crown, providing support to make sure his entrance went
as smoothly as possible. As I slowed down to allow baby boy his time, I vividly
remember the intense burning sensation, and wanting to get it over with, but
knowing that if I did, I would likely tear.
With another contraction, Wendy gave me a little more gentle instruction, and his
head popped out. I heard him try to breathe (already), and Wendy asked me to go
ahead and push again so he could come on out and join the world. Before the next
contraction I bore down as she guided his shoulders out and he immediately let out
a good wale.
Wendy told me to look down and get my baby. Wow. I reached down picked him
up and brought him up to my chest. He was alert, and looked straight at me as if to
say, “See, I was so worth this!” and he was. I told the room, it’s a boy. I had seen
the evidence but just to check I picked him back up again to confirm. Yep! It was
a boy.
I learned a little later that he had a nuchal hand, and cord. What a stubborn little
man. I was determined to see us through, the best way possible, and doubted
myself a couple of times, but because of the excellent support from my husband
Jared, my doula Kate, and my midwife Wendy, I didn’t falter. If it weren’t for the
three of them, I do not know how the situation would have played out. Truly, I
owe them a debt of gratitude, each in different ways. Because of the excellent hands
that guided me, I left the hospital with a beautiful healthy baby boy, no stitches,
and totally free of drugs!
The morning of April 28th: I woke early in the morning, my usual routine to
quickly use the bathroom and hop back in bed to get a few more hours of sleep.
This morning was different as I realized from looking down that my body had
started to prepare itself for labor. I often wonder who came up with terms like
mucous plug and bloody show. Needless to say, my body had decided to begin the
long three-day labor to bring my baby boy into the world.
After finishing up in the rest room, I crawled back in bed only to start feeling
crampy and wondered if this was a contraction or just something “different.” Being
a first time mom, I had never had the pleasure of experiencing one, and every
woman’s body works differently to bring a child forth. These “contractions,” which
I attempted to ignore, came on a rather inconsistent basis. I didn’t sleep much for
the remainder of the morning and opted not to follow our normal Sunday morning
routine, but to stay home for the day and rest. Clearly my body was gearing up,
since I could not ignore the little waves of tension that surged every 15 – 20 minutes.
My husband woke to find me fully awake, but still taking it easy, and I told him
things were going to start moving, but obviously in their own time frame. We took
our dogs on a short walk, in which the contractions moved in a more rhythmic
pattern, but eased once we got back home. I proceeded to relax on the couch while
Jared went to the grocery store to grab some last minute food. I took a relaxing
bath in the afternoon, we enjoyed our last bit of time together as just us, rented a
movie to watch and spent a quiet day and evening at home.
Sleeping proved difficult that evening since the timing between each contraction
had begun to shorten. They came every 10 – 12 minutes, preventing me from
getting into a deep sleep. I believe I got a total of three or four hours that night
only to find myself awake and in true early labor at about 5:30 Monday morning. I
worked with each surge, swaying, leaning, breathing and doing a few small things
around my house that felt normal to me.
I called my doula, Kate, to let her know that I thought “labor” was in full swing and
doubted it would stop. Baby was on his way. I continued to labor, and she met us
at our house after lunchtime. Having the extra support proved wonderful; an extra
pair of hands to knead my back, apply counter pressure, grab water and snacks.
I labored throughout the day, making every effort to relax and do as my body told
me. Taking a bath was incredibly soothing for my sore muscles, but did not do
much to help labor ease or move along. My husband kept me company while I was
relaxing, and we chatted a little bit. When I got out and had re-dressed the
contractions remained stalwart; there was no “escape.” I walked around the house
a bit, mainly in the kitchen to eat a few bites of egg, as I used the kitchen table and
counter as support, but it was not the most comfortable position.
Kate suggested I try letting her use the rebozo on my stomach to help with the
back-labor. It helped a bit, yet I could not seem to get comfortable and eventually
made my way back to the bedroom to labor on the birth ball.
The “coaching”, encouragement and positive distractions kept me going, until later
in the evening when the exhaustion from lack of sleep started to sink into the
depths of mind. This was hard work. This was really hard work. And after a
restless night and a full day I called my midwife, Wendy, who assessed everything
my husband had to say along with the few bits of info I could give her over the
phone. We made the decision at about 10:30 p.m. to slowly pack up and head to
the hospital.
We arrived around 11:30, where Wendy met us at the side door so I could escape
the “emergency department” after hours check-in.
Slowly we made our way to the elevator, to my room, and proceeded with
questions, and other details. I declined an IV and the hep-loc for the time being. I
wanted to labor my way. Wendy checked me to make sure going home was no
longer an options. At a mere five centimeters my mind felt slightly defeated,
thinking I had a long way to go, and not knowing the duration of how long it
would take, in the end I truly did have a long way to go.
Laboring at the hospital was more difficult, it wasn’t my environment, it gave me
obstacles I would not have had at home. On and off the fetal monitor was probably
the worst part, requiring me to move from a comfortable spot, only to have to find
another leaning on hands and knees on the hospital bed, or sitting on the birth ball.
The bathroom shower seemed to soothe my aches more than anything else, and I
had no need for counter pressure to my back. The back labor didn’t seem so
intense. I swayed and moaned, mentally repeating phrases to my baby. He and I
were gonna do this, and to get ready.
Labor, at that point, truly became mind over matter. With an exhausted mind,
body, and soul I prayed for strength. After several more hours the contractions
started to space out, although they were still a minute and a half long and severely
intense, it felt good to get just a slightly longer break in between. In the back of my
mind, I knew this wasn’t good, but I kept up with them for a little while.
At around six o’clock on Tuesday morning, Wendy came to check on me, and let
me know her thoughts on the situation. She felt my uterus was getting tired, and I
knew it was. She gave me a quick check that boosted my confidence and
reassurance: I had finally reached 8 centimeters; transition was literally staring me
in the face! She suggested breaking my water, since it had yet to rupture on it’s
own or give me some Pitocin to see if it could pick the contractions back up, but
first agreed to allow me to try 30 minutes of different positions.
Changing positions didn’t seem to do much for me, and in my mind, only caused
me to doubt my body more. A decision had to be made. Pitocin or AROM. After
discussion with Wendy, then my doula and finally my husband, him and I made the
decision to break my water. I did not want those drugs, I was going to try
everything first to let my body do its best. I finally consented to a hep-loc, knowing
the possible risk of infection, and if contractions picked up but I still needed
Pitocin it was already in and measures could be taken at a moment’s notice.
At 7:00 a.m. my doula sat down next to me while I was being monitored (again!),
to let me know she had to leave. Her babysitters for her children weren’t available,
and her husband had to go to work. I told her that “shit happens” and that it was
ok. Knowing that she had to leave was difficult, the support has been invaluable,
yet I also knew that no one else was doing the work, or was going to finish this
work for me. This was my job. My husband, thankfully was there to continue to
hold me up, and proved the needed encouragement that eventually brought me
over the top.
Wendy came in shortly thereafter to break my water, and within ten minutes, the
story had changed. Transition had its own idea of how the rest of my labor would
go, and truly it rocked my socks off. I moaned deeply as I labored on the bed, in the
bathroom, and on the birth ball. I held Jared’s hand through a number
contractions. They came, wave after wave, sometimes with no break. I had no
concept of time. And I knew, finally, after days of laboring that I was going to
finish this.
I believe my midwife may have noticed a time where the contractions started to
space out again. She made the suggestion I bear down a bit to see if something felt
different. I am not sure it did and eventually climbed back on the bed for
monitoring. She gave me a final check, saying “you’re complete.” Glory Halleluiah
if those hadn’t been the sweetest words I had heard in the past three days. Wendy
gave me some coaching for pushing and I went to work. I tried side lying, hands
and knees, sitting on the toilet, and squatting.
Eventually as baby started to move down I yielded to side lying. Even though it
gave my hips horrible cramps, it was the easiest pushing position, because the rest
of my body was exhausted; I could not support myself on hands and knees, nor
squatting.
Slowly but surely, he moved down, inch by inch. Jared had stepped back to watch
me work, and to watch baby boy enter the world. At that point counter pressure
on my back was unnecessary, and it was all up to me. Wendy gave excellent
guidance as he began to crown, providing support to make sure his entrance went
as smoothly as possible. As I slowed down to allow baby boy his time, I vividly
remember the intense burning sensation, and wanting to get it over with, but
knowing that if I did, I would likely tear.
With another contraction, Wendy gave me a little more gentle instruction, and his
head popped out. I heard him try to breathe (already), and Wendy asked me to go
ahead and push again so he could come on out and join the world. Before the next
contraction I bore down as she guided his shoulders out and he immediately let out
a good wale.
Wendy told me to look down and get my baby. Wow. I reached down picked him
up and brought him up to my chest. He was alert, and looked straight at me as if to
say, “See, I was so worth this!” and he was. I told the room, it’s a boy. I had seen
the evidence but just to check I picked him back up again to confirm. Yep! It was
a boy.
I learned a little later that he had a nuchal hand, and cord. What a stubborn little
man. I was determined to see us through, the best way possible, and doubted
myself a couple of times, but because of the excellent support from my husband
Jared, my doula Kate, and my midwife Wendy, I didn’t falter. If it weren’t for the
three of them, I do not know how the situation would have played out. Truly, I
owe them a debt of gratitude, each in different ways. Because of the excellent hands
that guided me, I left the hospital with a beautiful healthy baby boy, no stitches,
and totally free of drugs!
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