The Labor Story

So it started with deciding to try to labor naturally, without any drugs. Not that I have anything against an epidural and wouldn’t have judged myself or anyone else for getting one, but I think going through the process of deciding to do it that way was good. It made me think about trusting both in God’s purpose for pain and in His not giving me more than I could bear, of trusting my body’s ability, and of trusting in the support of community. I listened to a lot of birth stories, asked for a lot of prayer, and tried to leave the rest to God.

I think pregnancy is designed on purpose so that by the end you want the pain to start so you can stop being pregnant. That was my first thought when I woke up one morning two days after the due date, with the gut feeling that labor would start that day: relief and excitement. Throughout the day I had crampier versions of the practice contractions I’d had all week, and D and I enjoyed our last day of childlessness doing our favorite things: worshipped in church, ate out, got candy and fruit at Wegman’s, hiked around a lake and park, watched a movie at home.

By eight that night the cramps were regular and uncomfortable enough that I had to get up and walk each off, and started coming every ten to twenty minutes. I think that’s when it hit us both that this was for real. By eleven they were every six to seven minutes and felt like a hyperbolic wave of painful pressure. D labored with me for the next four hours at home. As each contraction came, we breathed and walked together as he told me I could do it, I was doing great. I focused on relaxing through each as much as I could. In between we rested, I drank. D kept a string of our favorite music going and timed each contraction.

Sometime towards the end of those four hours we called the hospital and were told it was up to us to come in, or wait until the frequency increased to three to five minutes. At that point D asked me how I felt about an epidural, and I remember saying, I think I can do this. I much would rather be at home with him than lying in a hospital bed with nothing to think about but the pain, so we opted to stay home a little longer.

D worried I was getting tired, and suggested a bath, which was wonderful. The hot water was relaxing. I listened to All the Way My Saviour Leads Me on repeat on my headphones, holding D’s hand and counting through each contraction. They were becoming more intense, but it was bearable because I knew by the time I counted to twenty they would start to ease up.

They sped up quickly—within the hour, contractions were intense, coming every few minutes, not letting up completely in between. I remember with shock feeling like I wanted to push, at which point D was already rushing to get the car. The next four contractions were a blur; when they hit I’d curl up on the ground wherever I was—sidewalk by the car, backseat of the car, hall of the hospital waiting for the elevator—and focus on not pushing and counting through it. After the fourth I had arrived in the hospital; I counted through two more while lying in bed, amid a flurry of activity. The doctors were paged stat to the room, they said I was fully dilated, the sterile field was being set up, and by the next contraction I started to push. I remember gripping D and a nurse’s hand on either side, surrounded by a ring of nurses and doctors, everyone cheering me on with each push. You can do this! I can see the head! Keep going!

An hour and fifteen minutes later, she was born. I could feel her coming out, burning then something slippery. Someone asked how it felt, and I kept saying, weird. I looked over and there she was, small and pink with two big open eyes.

Good memories: D walking and breathing with me, holding my hand in the tub. The songs I listened to. The circle of people cheering me on with each push. D’s look of excitement when he told me he could see the head. His look of relief afterwards when he said, “we did it!” Most of all, knowing that something elevated as such a negative, painful experience can be in part positive, redemptive; that the prayer, positive thinking, and preparation made a difference. And now she’s here!