While I wanted a natural, non-medicated, low-intervention birth, I don’t think I was ever fully prepared for one. So, when Harris was a week and a day late and they measured my amniotic fluid to be high, it was time to schedule an induction. With that, I knew my birth plan was out the window. But, in the end, all that didn’t really matter.
I was showing no signs of labor: no contractions, no dilation, no effacement. So, I knew an induction might be hard on my body; we weren’t ready. But, I was well past my due date. Anything seemed like fair game.
My entire pregnancy, I feared a C-section. My whole birth plan was built on doing everything in my power to prevent one. I shared this fear with the doctor at my last appointment, when she told me I needed to head to Prentice to be induced that evening. She comforted me, encouraged me and supported me.
After my appointment, I called Mike to let him know the plan. I called my mom to share the news and talk through my fears. I went home and finished packing the last-minute supplies for my go bag and ordered chicken shawarma for dinner. We dropped Luda off at Bonnie’s and left home for the last time as just the two of us.
We arrived at the hospital promptly at 6:30 p.m. There was a woman in active labor waiting to check in, and it scared me. She couldn’t answer the admittance questions she was in so much pain. I looked at Mike, and started to feel a bit thankful for an induction and missing out on the laboring at home part of my plan.
In triage, they tested me for COVID and I waited; hooked up to monitors. Still, nothing was happening. My test came back negative, which meant no mask during delivery and Mike was able to stay by my side. That month-plus long quarantine was worth it.
By 9 p.m. we were in our room in labor and delivery and they’d started the cervical ripening and inserted the Foley balloon. Still, I wasn’t laboring. The balloon fell out and the nurse told me we were ahead of schedule. This was great news, as I was anticipating the long end of the 12- to 48-hour estimate.
They couldn’t start the Pitocin yet, so they broke my water. I was dilated to a 5 and they hoped this would jump-start labor. I had mild cramping, but it didn’t feel like active labor—as if I knew what that felt like. I’d never had any Braxton Hicks contractions and had been so worried I wouldn’t know when contractions were actually happening.
An hour later, they started the Pitocin. Within 90 minutes I was starting to feel occasional contractions, but no progress with dilation. The doctor said they’d be back in a few hours. We had a long way to go.
I spent the night trying to rest but was woken either by a contraction, a nurse or Mike snoring. As the contractions continued, I realized I couldn’t keep up with the pain. I asked for an epidural.
They were slow to increase my Pitocin as contractions weren’t registering on the monitor. They could tell from baby’s heartrate I was contracting, but the monitor wasn’t picking them up. It turned out that the scar tissue on my abdomen from my emergency surgery nine years earlier was causing the issue. So they inserted an internal monitor instead, and there they were.
After a couple of hours, the epidural seemed to be wearing off. The nurse kept saying something wasn’t right, I shouldn’t be in so much pain with each contraction. It was all I could do to breath through each one, and at one point I told Mike I couldn’t do it anymore. After attempts to redose offered little to no relief, they determined that my epidural had failed and the head anesthesiologist had to come redo it. Then, finally, some pain relief.
At one point, Harris’ heart rate kept dropping and they were worried about the cord being wrapped around his neck. When the nurse repositioned me, it would bring his heartrate back up. But she kept having to rearrange me. Somewhere around the 14-hour mark, I was fully dilated and ready to push.
I had no idea what I was doing but remembered being told to push like I was pooping, so that’s what I did. The doctor was so excited, she saw his head on the first push. Three contractions and 11 minutes later, Harris was on my chest. He was, of course, perfect.
In that moment, all of my fears and uncertainty melted away. Harris was here and this was so, so right.
While we enjoyed our golden hour and I was able to nurse, the doctor delivered my placenta and massaged my uterus. She said I lost a lot of blood and there seemed to be some concern, but I was so enamored with our son I don’t think it registered at the time.
We were discharged from the hospital less than 36 hours later as a happy, healthy family of three. And while these past 41 weeks have flown by, it all seems like just yesterday. Parenthood continues to be the most surprising journey and I’m overwhelmed with amazement as I see Harris learn and grow and become his own person.
beesophia 