My First Pregnancy--The Birth of My Daughter

I see a few new dead bodies every day. Most of them die of old age, but there are always the random car crash victims, suicides, babies, and children. 

I am a mortician. 

I graduated from a mortuary college with a degree in funeral service and work as a Funeral Director and Embalmer. 

I hadn't really decided if I wanted kids or not when I found out I was pregnant with my first child. Frankly, I was not a huge fan of other people's kids. I was not the person in the room who would beg to hold "the baby". I admit, I had given some thought to having kids and assumed I probably would become a mother. . . someday. When one hits age 30, I imagine the thought crosses about every childless woman's mind. I certainly wasn't interested, or ready, when I was in my twenties. 

So, at age 31, when I became pregnant while on "the pill", I was shocked to say the least. I was a diligent and responsible pill-taker. My boyfriend of 3 years and I had not planned for this kind of adventure yet. He REALLY was not ready and had more to work through emotionally than I. Once the dust settled, though, we jumped headfirst into what was to be our new life. We began to plan our wedding, which in hindsight, is not the wisest thing to do while dealing with fresh waves of hormones crashing into your body every day. It was a stressful and exciting time.  I began doing all kinds of research into pregnancy, labor, and delivery. I signed up for weekly email updates on my baby's growth and development. You know the kind--"Your baby is the size of a kumquat this week and now has eyelids!" I sent these updates to my boyfriend and he dutifully read them. I received "What to Expect When You are Expecting" as a gift and read it like I thought everyone was supposed to. We bought a couple of baby name books and started the daily suggestions to each other. We signed up for a childbirth class. 

I had spent years learning everything there is to know about death. Now, it was time to switch direction and learn about life.

Then, we got married. My husband and I got married on Friday the 13th. My choice, not his. However, the number 13 was a number that had meaning for both of us.

It was a wonderful wedding, surrounded by friends and family. I made my entrance into the chapel to the dramatic opening of "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" by Johann Sebastian Bach. We honeymooned in Vegas. On one hand, Vegas is a silly place to go when you can't drink any alcohol. But, on the other hand: huge buffets.

It took forever for me to "show". My coworkers were always joking that I was faking my pregnancy. My manager, who was pregnant at the same time and due 2.5 months before me, showed very early so that didn't help. It turns out that black suits are way more flattering and concealing than I was previously aware. I kept telling my coworkers, "If you just could see me naked, you would have no doubts of my condition." The first day I wore a maternity dress everyone was like, "Oh my goodness! You're pregnant!"

I was full of anxiety the weeks leading up to and the weeks immediately following Week 20 of my pregnancy. That is the gestational age that I see the most of at the funeral home where I work. I don't see too many full-term fetuses and I don't see many dead infants. The babies I usually pick up from the hospitals are 20-25 weeks gestation. I picked up a couple of these "fetal demises", as the funeral industry calls them, while I was at the same point gestationally in my pregnancy. I always handled these little ones with care before I became pregnant, but now that I was carrying a baby the same size inside my body I felt honored to be the one who administered their final care. They are so fragile at that age, with folded up arms and legs and their organs visible through their transparent red skin. Their eyelids are still fused. It was a HUGE dose of reality to hold a fetus in my hand that was the same size as the one in my belly. The website BabyCenter showed my brain what my 22-week-old fetus looked like, but those real babies showed my heart.

If you lose a fetus before Week 20 the hospital gives you a choice: you can choose a funeral home or the hospital will "dispose" of the fetus for you. Starting at Week 20, you have to have a death certificate and make arrangements for the final disposition. We rarely see a fetus that is "younger" than 20 weeks at the funeral home.

During those weeks, in particular, I was very nervous about losing the baby. I tried not to dwell on it, but you know how it is when someone asks you not to think about elephants and then all you think about is damned elephants. I worried.

Those weeks passed, however, and I started to enjoy myself more. Feeling my baby move around inside me was the coolest thing I have EVER experienced. There is just nothing else in the whole world like knowing a brand new person is growing inside my body. Feeling a tiny elbow push against my hand while I sit and talk with someone was like the ultimate little secret. I rub the little elbow and share a private exchange with someone else who is in the room that only I am aware. No one but me can communicate with that person at that point in time. I have never felt so special than when my little girl was swirling, swimming, and kicking inside me and I was the only one who was privy to her motions. And, boy, was she an active one! She liked to kick me sharply in the ribs whenever I sat down. She liked to jerk and shift and shiver her whole body at once. I took little videos of my belly with my cell phone at work. My husband and I did photo shoots each month to document my belly. We made a belly cast around my due date.

My husband came with me to every childbirth class. I felt pretty confident in my knowledge of the process of labor and delivery, but felt it was important that he understand what my body was going to go through for our baby. He also came to the breastfeeding class I signed up for and I was very proud that he was the only guy who attended the day-long class. He practiced different breastfeeding holds with little plastic dolls with me and I loved him for it. 

We were looking forward to the big day with excitement and nervousness of the unexpected. I knew that I did not want an epidural or any other kind of medication during my labor and birth. I didn't do too much research on the matter; I just felt deep inside that it was the best for my baby and the best for me. I did so much more researching and reading during my second pregnancy, but for this one I just FELT that a natural birth was the way to go. I wanted to experience and FEEL everything about the process. I was enjoying how amazing it was to grow a person inside my body and I wanted to feel that new person emerging from my body in all her glory. I wanted the full experience. I wanted to know what giving birth felt like.

People thought I was insane. I didn't bring it up much, but my coworkers were all stunned that I was planning a natural birth. I hadn't realized how weird I was!

I wrote out a birth plan. I hoped to be flexible, but I also hoped that things would progress in such a way that all my hopes and requests for my baby's birth would fall into place. That first baby is such an unknown. Such a huge learning curve. I was nervous about the pain, but felt I had a pretty high pain threshold. I was discouraged because two of my friends who had babies a few years prior had planned natural births. I had talked to both of them right before their births and they both separately told me that they had very high pain tolerances. Both of them ended up with epidurals and both of them told me the day after their births that their hopes for a natural birth "went out the window" once they were actually in labor. Very discouraging.

I'm not sure what week my Braxton-Hicks started, but I had them for months. My OB/GYN maintained that if I had more than 6-8 contractions in an hour that could not be stopped with a glass of water, peeing, and laying on my side then I should come in and get checked out. Well, my frequent Braxton-Hicks caused us to head to the hospital one evening to see what was going on. I wasn't in pain, just uncomfortable, but hey, I'd never been pregnant or given birth before. I just wanted to make sure things were cool. They were.

After that pointless visit, I continued to keep track of my contractions, but tried not to let them make me paranoid that I was on the verge of having a baby emerge from between my legs at any moment.

As I neared being a week past my "due date", those fears seemed silly in hindsight. My daughter was in no hurry make her entrance. 

My husband and I went to my scheduled morning appointment with my OB at 40+6. She performed the vaginal check (which I was led to believe was necessary to have every single week starting at 36 weeks). I was 3 cm dilated and somewhat effaced. I mentioned that my Braxton-Hicks had woken me up often during the previous night. Add that to the frequent urinations and my horrible hip pain that I had every night, it had been a long non-restful night. She asked if I was currently contracting and I said I was. Frequently. She hooked me up to the fetal monitor. Things sounded good. My daughter was dealing with my contractions well. But, maybe not as well as my OB preferred. They wheeled in a little portable ultrasound machine. I tried to lean over and peek at my daughter on the tiny screen. The doctor who was performing the ultrasound was rather grim. She whisked the machine out of the room and brought my OB back with her. They launched into this whole terror-inducing tale of how my amniotic fluid was low and while my daughter was doing well now, she wouldn't be doing well if she wasn't born soon. 

I was not told what the levels were and not given a single suggestion on how to improve those levels. Nobody told me that I could try drinking water and retesting, for example. I was only told things that struck fear in my whole body. I was told that if the levels got lower (and they indicated that they surely would) that my daughter wouldn't be able to tolerate strong contractions. The contractions in a "dry" uterus would put her into distress. They told me that it was possible that they would have to insert a tube into my uterus to pump liquid inside to replace the levels. They told me that I would have to be admitted to the hospital IMMEDIATELY and would need to be induced.

My husband and I asked if we could run home first to grab the suitcase, camera, and my birth ball. I was told, "No. You need to walk across the street to the hospital immediately." We argued that it would take like 15 minutes to drive home and get our stuff. They told us that there was no time. I would need to be admitted right away. They were already calling over there to tell them we were on our way.

This was all very upsetting. Neither my husband or I could believe what was happening. We were worried and I was panicking. We wanted the best for our daughter and trusted what they were telling us, so we took their advice and headed to the hospital. 

Once we got there we decided that we HAD to have our stuff so my husband left me to run home and grab it.

I was admitted around 11am and my contractions were picking up. 

I was reclining in a hospital bed with the fetal monitor and contraction monitor both strapped around my belly in one of the birthing rooms when my husband got back. I was decked out in a "flattering" hospital gown and was immensely relieved to see him. I was getting more and more uncomfortable. 

I was still getting checked in. The nurse was sitting next to the bed on her computer and asking me questions. When she asked me about pain management, I said that I was not interested in any type of pain medication or an epidural. She raised her eyebrows and told me I should keep an open mind. I said that I would, but to please not offer me any pain meds because I was not interested. 

They inserted an IV needle in my arm (the second nurse was successful).  They "checked" me. I was 5cm dilated. 2 cm more than what I had been at the appointment I had just come from.

They were preparing to start the Pitocin. I was told nothing about possible risks and knew very little about the drug at this time. All they told me was that the drug would help my labor get going. I was confused. I told them that I thought I was laboring pretty well already. That did not seem to make any difference to them. 

In hindsight, what really really doesn't make sense to me is that they were concerned with my daughter's ability to handle labor contractions yet they wanted to induce me with a drug that has the very real possibility of making contractions harder and stronger. Every time I think about it I get so damned angry that NOBODY suggested that I could try drinking water to increase my fluids. Not even mentioned. Just straight to scaring the daylights out of us and pushing induction drugs on me. 

I also found out later that this hospital's protocol is to routinely induce every pregnancy that reaches 41 weeks. I was 40+6 at my appointment.

Anyway, I was really working through the contractions at this point and wanted to get out of the bed. My husband ran to get something to eat from the cafeteria.  I ate some of the soup he brought back and guzzled some water. It was getting harder and harder to deal with the contractions, though, and I wanted to try out the jacuzzi tub. I was hoping that the water sprayer thing was just what I needed for the intense pain that was radiating through my back during contractions. I wasn't feeling any pain in my belly; it was all in the back. . . and getting worse. 

Things were beginning to feel extremely surreal. It was at this point that my timeline gets fuzzy. I have extremely clear memories of things that happened, but have a hard time putting them in order. Things were getting so very intense. I was checked again at some point. 

I was 7cm. Everyone was shocked.

It was decided that I was, in fact, laboring just fine. They told me that they would just "let me go" and labor how I had been laboring. They never started the Pitocin drip. I had a needle taped into the crook of my elbow, but nothing went into it. It was such a relief. 

Later, after doing a lot of research, it became even more of a relief. My daughter and I were doing this thing all by ourselves. My body was working perfectly to get her into this world. . . and there was no stopping it.

I stripped down and plopped in the tub. 

I don't know if I didn't have enough water in the tub or what, but the water was not helping me relax. My husband was dutifully holding the water sprayer on my back, but it wasn't helping the pain at all. A nurse stopped in once to check my daughter's heartbeat with the portable fetal monitor. Things sounded swell. I have no idea how long I labored in the tub, but I remember when I decided to get out I stood up completely naked and all of a sudden 4 or 5 nurses, aides, or who knows, crowded in the bathroom doorway. In any other circumstance in my life I would have covered my body or felt embarrassed. At that particular moment I definitely felt very exposed, but mostly I just felt so strange. Like, I can't believe I'm naked in front of all these people; this is the strangest day of my life.

I was helped back into my hospital gown. I am unsure of where my husband disappeared to, but I remember dealing with an awful contraction while I sat on a bench in the bathroom. It was 10 times worse without him there to put pressure on my back or just to be there to hold my hand. I remember being just absolutely and completely amazed at how strong and how PAINFUL the contractions were. I had expected pain, but it was at that moment, alone in the bathroom that I went into my own head a little and told myself that this was going to be the hardest thing I had ever done, but that it was possible and I could get through it as long as I kept believing that I would get through it. 

I have lost track of some time here, but sometime after my bath I was alone in the birthing room. I don't know if my husband stepped out to grab a snack or what was going on (he doesn't remember either), but nevertheless, I was alone in the room when my water broke. It happened with a surprisingly loud POP. I had no idea that water-breaking could be an audible occurrence. Admittedly, not much fluid came out. I started dripping blood a minute later. When a nurse and my husband walked in another minute later I was bent over on the hardwood floor trying to wipe the blood up. It wasn't going well. I felt so embarrassed that I was making a mess. The nurse was very nice about it and told me to stop worrying about it and that someone else would clean it up. I went to wipe up one more blood drop and while the nurse was telling me to just give her the paper towel I was hit with the first contraction since my water broke.

Wow. Things were serious now. I bent over the bed and moaned loudly. I said, "That was awful." 

She replied with, "Oh yeah, your contractions should be more painful now that your water has broken."

I had no idea that would happen and kind of whined that nobody had told me that. Another one it me. I was consumed. The intensity was unbelievable. It was at this point that I just went with it and just tried to hang on for dear life. The rest of the birth is a total blur. 

I kept holding my breath during contractions. This was one of the main things that they stressed in our childbirth class for the birth partner to help with. Make sure mama is breathing and not holding her breath. My husband and I had even discussed this situation before labor and I had told him to remind me to breathe. Well, everything went out the window, as they say, in actual labor. I kept holding my breath during contractions. When my husband would remind me to breathe, I would say, "I can't!" 

Two and half hours later I was ready to push. I don't remember being checked and told that I was "complete" and could push, but I imagine that's what happened. All I know for sure is that the pushing part was great for the fact that I was finally actively doing something, but awful because it felt like it was never going to end. I pushed for one and a half hours.  It was the most vigorous thing I have ever gone through. When a contraction would hit, I just started pushing with all my might. My OB was there at this point; I have no idea when she arrived, but it was neat that she was there. I could have gotten any of the OB's in the practice, whoever happened to be on-call at the time. I would have been fine with any of them as long as my husband was by my side. The doctor who was there did not matter to me, but it just happened to be MY OB and I was glad for that since I really liked her. 

When you are in the middle of something as intense as pushing a brand new human being out of your body you are fully in the moment. It is scary because you have no idea how long it is going to go on and, damn, it really hurts. At one point, my doctor suggested that I could yell if I wanted to on the next push. It was great advice. However, I almost scared everyone who was there to death when I let loose this primal animalistic scream during the next push. It really helped, though. Back in my teenage years I took Tae Kwon Do. We were required to yell when breaking boards since it forces you to release more power in your punch. I think my yells during pushing really put some power behind it. I definitely was not "breathing my baby out" as they say. Ha! I was helping my daughter make her entrance with all the strength I had. Letting loose my "birth warrior" screams, so to speak.

Things were progressing and I could feel my daughter getting closer. The pressure was so unbelievable that I was gripping the bed rails like I was on a sinking ship.

I was in the side-lying position and nobody could get me out of it. That was how I needed to be. That was how I needed to push. I was not going anywhere but on my side.

They asked if I wanted to see my daughter's head. I said I did and they brought out this huge full-length mirror. I was surprised to see such a large mirror. Um, how big has my vagina gotten, people?!

I looked in between my legs. Umm, I did not see my daughter. I was just looking at my crotch in the mirror along with who knows how many other people. Just another surreal moment amongst all the other surreal moments on that day. Another contraction hit and I closed my eyes and pushed. When the contraction let go, I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror again. There was my swollen looking vulva. Another contraction hit. I closed my eyes and PUUUUUSHED. Everyone in the room was getting excited. My husband said, "Oh, she's almost here!" My doctor said something similar. I opened my eyes and looked. I could see her! There was a small section of her hair visible down there. Just a sliver really. I pushed during the next contraction with renewed gusto. Everyone was getting soooo excited that I expected to see half her head in the mirror this time. However, when I opened my eyes and looked, things looked the same. Just a little slit of hair. This continued. And continued. Every time I pushed everyone was soooo excited and then I would open my eyes and everything looked the same! I finally said, "She's NOT getting any closer! You're lying to me!" My husband was getting teary-eyed and said, "Keep your eyes open when you push and look in the mirror."

I tried. I really tried. I physically could not keep my eyes open during the strain of pushing. 

I was completely convinced in those moments that they were all filthy liars and were just trying to make me feel better about the whole situation. My daughter wasn't getting any closer. She was never going to come out. I was going to spend the rest of my (very painful) life pushing and pushing and pushing and would never be able to push her out.

During one contraction I didn't push. I said, "I can't push this time. I can't do it." I just lay there and cried through the contraction. The room was silent except for my soft sobbing. It was a rough moment.

The pushing continued. Every time I pushed, my daughter would start to crown and then when I would stop pushing my body would suck her back in. It was very disheartening in the heat of the moment.

And then--the ring of fire. It hit me full-force. I was saying, "Ow ow ow ow ow." Well, I was whining it.

It was at this point that my doctor started telling me to pant. To start giving little pushes and to slow down. I was tearing. I obediently starting panting while pushing, but it was VERY hard to cut back on the pushing. If you have never had another person's head pushing its way out of your body then you don't understand. There was no stopping this. My daughter was ready to come out and my body was responding.

Then, all of a sudden, there she was.

There she was.

I couldn't even process that she was out of me yet. She was laid on my belly. I put my hand on her back and stared. I couldn't speak and I couldn't even think. I felt completely out of it for a few moments. Utterly stunned. You can see it on my face. I couldn't even hold on to her properly at first. 

Finally it hit me. My baby! She's out! I brought her closer to me. She was beautiful. She didn't cry immediately. We looked her over. She looked so big! She pooped the second she came out so there was poop on my legs and belly. She was all slippery and goopy! She was so precious!

My husband and I just stared at her. Here was our new little person. Our daughter.

My husband cut the cord about 5 minutes after the birth, I think. 

I barely remember birthing the placenta. My daughter was here!!

She latched onto my left breast and nursed like a little pro for 45 minutes straight. The nurses wanted to move me to one of the recovery rooms, but my daughter just kept eating! 

Every nurse and doctor that came to look her over during our hospital stay would stick their finger in her mouth to check her sucking reflex. And every single one would immediately exclaim, "Whoa! She's a strong little sucker, isn't she?!" She continued to be a good little nurser and nursed until my milk dried up during the 5th month of my second pregnancy (when my daughter was 21 months old).

The nurse showed us the placenta and amniotic sac. So cool!

After the placenta was out, my doctor, and later a nurse, started vigorously massaging, kneading, and manipulating my belly to get my uterus to clamp down. It was awful. Just awful. I couldn't believe how much it hurt and I had no idea why they were doing it. Every time they did it I would cringe, and at least once I tried to push their hands away. My OB reached inside me to pull out some clots. My husband says she was up to her elbow and just pulling out these big globs.

I had a second degree perineal tear and a labial tear that wrapped up the side of my labia and kind of looped over my clitoris. I had never even heard of that type of tear occurring. I had a vulvar varicosity during the last month of my pregnancy where my inner and outer labia on the left side swelled to more than twice their size so that probably didn't help matters. My inner labia was swollen so big it was hanging out of my outer labia and rubbing on everything. Not fun. When I asked my OB if there was anything I could do to help it go away, she said, "Give birth." Great to hear when I had a month left to go before my due date.

There were several people in between my legs while I was being stitched up. A student was getting to practice while my OB assisted. The numbing agent they used while suturing me kept wearing off and I was saying, "Aaaah! I can feel it." It was very sharp and very awful. I just wanted them to be done and they kept stitching and stitching. My OB would squirt some more numbing stuff on me periodically, but I kept feeling it. She said it was probably because I'm a redhead.  I asked her how many stitches I received and she said she didn't know. I tore in a zig-zag way. Fun!

I also could not stop shaking. My teeth were chattering and my whole body was vibrating.

When we were preparing to head to the recovery room, a nurse came up to me and told me that she had never seen a "natural birth" before. Every birth she had seen up to that point, the women received an epidural. I have no idea how long she had worked there, or what, but when I think back to my blood-curdling first scream while pushing then all of the shocked faces around me made more sense.

The following day I received an IV of Pitocin, after all, because they said I was bleeding too heavily. Nothing like Pitocin flowing through my veins to make the afterpains better. Just kidding. The pain in my uterus was lame. I stayed an extra day in the hospital because of the excess bleeding. Lots of ice packs on my swollen vulva and perineum. My butt bone felt extremely bruised and stayed extremely sore for weeks postpartum.

It was all worth it, though, to usher my sweet little girl into the world. 

Our little rascal was born on the 13th. Just as her mommy and daddy were married on a Friday the 13th, she will have Friday the 13th birthdays. Her first one comes along at age 3. We finally met her at 8:13pm. She weighed 8 pounds 10 ounces and was 20 inches long. Right now she is 2.5 years old and she's the most stubborn, strong-willed, most emotional person I've ever met. She was such a happy baby. Thinking of her frequent belly laughs still makes me smile. She's so adventuresome and is in love with animals and the outdoors. She's such a sweet, caring, and thoughtful little girl. I am amazed that I get the chance to be her mother.