Aiden's Birth Story- Part II

Let's try a little experiment.  Place a basketball inside your shirt over your belly.  In a sitting position, place your chin to your chest and arch your back as far as you can.  Now, pretend that every three minutes or so, your body is consumed by the most intense pain you can imagine (being eaten alive?) Stay in this position and DO NOT MOVE for five minutes.  Keep arching your back!  Chin to chest!

The reason I know you can do it for five is because I did it for thirty...And everybody was wondering why I was complaining of sharp headaches and spinal pain for the next week!  I totally injured myself.  Welcome to Receiving an Epidural 101.  Don't get me wrong;  I didn't complain much.  I knew relief was on the way, but it sure does take patience if the anesthesiologist is having a hard time placing the thing...I can't remember how many times he poked me.  I just kept thinking "What is he doing back there?  Why is this taking so long?  This is torture, but I will die if it doesn't work."

Prior to getting the magical meds, I asked the doctor and nurses how often they had experienced stalled labors because of epidurals.  Everyone I spoke to told me that research has shown that epidurals actually speed labor by allowing your body to relax so that contractions can be most effective.  In the back of my mind, though, I heard the Bradley peeps yelling at me "epidurals slow labor!" I decided to take the gamble.

4am.  The epidural is kicking in and I'm feeling good, so incredibly relieved to be over the worst part of the pain at hour 8 instead of hour 22.  The nurses tell me that I have a visitor.   I knew it had to be my brother, Bret, who is routinely awake at all hours of the night either as a reserve cop, workaholic attorney or insomnia sufferer.  He brought donuts (and he was even in his police uniform...fitting.)  I am a lucky sister to have a big brother who drives an hour each way to visit his laboring sister in the middle of the night.  That is awesome.  I felt tons of support which would serve me well in the following days.

My brother left and my mom took over the support-crew.  Wes took a nap.  We twiddled our thumbs for a few hours and started to wonder why I wasn't having a baby yet...I lingered at 6-7cm for a few hours and then at 7:30am, they started me on Pitocin.  I was really hoping to avoid Pit, but my body had other plans.

Still at 7cm two hours later, Dr. Brown broke my water and observed for awhile.  Something was wrong.  Baby Aiden's heart-rate started de-celling to dangerously low levels (around 40) with every contraction.  He was struggling.  Tension in the room increased.  Nurses moved with more intensity in their step.  Dr. Brown stopped smiling.  A nurse strapped an oxygen mask onto my face.  They gave me a shot of something to slow down the contractions to see if they could stabilize the baby.  Dr. Brown gave me an amniotic infusion (replaced lost water) to provide more cushion for Aiden.  It was clear that the cord was wrapped around him, but unclear where.  I heard murmurings of emergency C-section prep.  They were assembling the team.

Wes and I prayed with everything we had that Aiden would be okay, but I was scared...very scared.

After a few minutes and much to everyone's relief, Aiden's heart rate started showing variation and slowly built back up to normal levels.  They started me back on Pitocin and slowly built the contractions back up to the productive range.  I dilated, but lingered at 9cm for the next four hours.  Dr. Brown became increasingly frustrated (you can imagine my level of frustration at this point) and diagnosed my uterus as being "lazy."  When she told me that I now have a history of "unproductive contractions" with my labors, I wondered what I would do if I decided to have another child one day.  How would I get him/her here?  I certainly don't feel like our family is complete yet. 

After so many roller-coasters, my mom stopped Dr. Brown in the hallway and teary eyed, told her "I'm worried about my daughter." Dr. Brown replied simply "So am I."  

Around 1pm on Sunday, Dr. Brown came into my room and told me that if I had not fully dilated, I would be having a C-Section immediately.  This was another one of those "Please, please, please be dilated" moments, reminiscent of my labor with Liam.  Lots of silent prayers.  

"Okay, you're there."  This was just one of many miracles that week.  Dr. Brown said, "Remember the whole 'easing your baby down/ no aggressive pushing' thing you were hoping for?  We're not going to do that."  I was so far removed from the hypno-philosophy at that point.  I knew my body had a mind of its own and this doctor and I were on the same page.  It was game ON.  I knew I had to get this baby here and use everything in me to do it.  I was ready.  I just thought "Push or die."  And since dying wasn't an option...

I pushed as long and hard as I could three or four times per contraction.  I could feel the buildup and could start on my own.  My mom and Wes switched off holding my right leg and a nurse held the left.  This was a sprint.  This was the culmination of nearly ten months of sacrifice.  This was part agony, part miracle.  Part fear, part anticipation.  This was tough, but I can do tough things.  I became the not-so-little-engine-that-could.

As I pushed, the doc held Aiden's head in a certain position because he was having trouble getting over my curved pubic bone.  What is the deal with my body?  She had me get in various positions to assist...not easy when you're numb from the waist down.  There wasn't the normal, expected excitement in the room as he crowned.  This was serious business.  This baby would need help.  

After an hour, his head came out and the cord was wrapped around his neck.  Within a millisecond, Dr. Brown slipped her finger between the cord and his neck and scooped it off of his head.  His body made it through with a gush of murky, dark amniotic fluid...an indication that he had probably inhaled some meconium on his way out.    

She placed this slippery, strange-colored, struggling baby on my chest and Wes quickly cut the cord.  Aiden's right arm was raised above his head in a fist, a gesture he uses frequently even now.  He attempted a pathetic little cry which came out only as a distressed gurgle.  Help him.  HELP HIM!  And  only seconds after they put him down on me, the trauma team whisked my boy away.  And then it dawned on me;  we were at a hospital without a NICU.  

Stay tuned for the third and final part of Aiden's birth story!