Colin and I had a birth plan. It had four bullet points:
1. If any intervention must occur, start with the lowest possible dose/intervention and work up.
2. If an intervention must occur, and it is one we can do ourselves, please help us do it ourselves.
3. Please keep the lights low and only necessary conversation.
4. We’d like an hour as a family after Cash’s birth before any post-partum interventions occur, unless medically necessary.
Here’s how it all went down…
Wednesday 11pm
Just before 11:00pm on July 15th, 2015, Caitlyn Jenner gave a moving speech at the ESPYs while accepting the Arthur Ashe Courage Award. I was kinda bummed I hadn’t gotten to see the whole awards show, especially Devon Still’s acceptance of the Jimmy V Award on his daughter’s behalf. Colin and I had to catch it on YouTube instead. Just as we were about to switch gears to catch up on some OITNB, there was a small gush. I wasn’t sure what a gush meant. I had gotten pretty used to the fact that anything, literally anything, can happen when you’re pregnant…some of it seems pretty important and isn’t, the rest seems unimportant and actually is important. I wasn’t sure which category this particular gush fell into.
From the bathroom, I opened the door to tell Colin that this gush could be nothing or could be something, I wasn’t sure. He seemed to know more what it meant than I did and said, “I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.” We debated whether or not to call the midwife for about 60 seconds when a second, more forceful gush, happened that pretty much sealed the deal. Since I was Strep B positive, we’d be heading to the hospital. He called the on-call midwife and our doula, Melanie. Neither answered.
Luckily, we were as prepared as first-time parents can be, and our bags were already packed and in the car. Colin gathered up the final few things we’d need and readied the car for my arrival (think garbage bag and beach towel). I, however, was trying to figure out how to get dressed and get myself out of the bathroom without causing a trail of destruction in my path. Ew. While I was waiting, I ran a flat iron through my hair (Colin loves telling that part of the story and has photographic evidence, which I admit is a little ridiculous). I also called Carla, who was halfway to Kentucky and bummed that she wouldn’t be bringing bagels to the hospital to meet Baby Cash, but excited that he’d be here by the time she was back home!
By the time Colin had things ready, I was now standing in the bathtub talking to Melanie. No, I wasn’t having contractions yet. Yes, I was sure my water had broken. She told me the gushes wouldn’t stop til there was a baby so I’d have to be creative about getting from Point A (the bathroom) to Point B (the car). She said when we got to the hospital they’d start antibiotics and that I should get some sleep since it could still be a day or so before the big event. Sounds good.
Somehow, with Colin’s help, I made it to the car and we were on our way. We were SO excited! I put on my slightly defiant hip-hop playlist I had made for just this occasion. There was a slight moment of…we’ll call it…discomfort, when traffic stopped for construction. I googled alternate routes and considered getting out of the car to yell at that guy holding the stop sign, but Colin reassured me it would only be a minute and I tried to convince myself he could accurately assess the situation, which, luckily, he could. On the move again! We looked up Cash’s horoscope since he was going to arrive earlier than his anticipated due date. I called my brother to give him a heads up and I called Kallie, whose birthing mojo I knew I’d want to hear! While I was talking to her, Colin drove right past the hospital (part of the story I love telling), but a quick U-turn later, we were pulling up to the ER.
Colin dropped me off and left to park the car. It seemed like he was gone forever. Long enough for me to have a whole conversation about the ESPYs with the security guard. Finally, he was back and we were headed to our next stop, registration. Picture a girl who literally looks like she could not possibly be more bored, with her headphones, and her mad face. This was what we were working with.
Thursday 1am
Soon, though, we were in our room and ready for the action to start. First step, 20 minutes in bed…literally watching the clock.
I complained a lot about being in that bed, not wanting to be stuck there for the rest of the night. Colin reassured me the nurse said I only had to stay 20 minutes. He checked in with Melanie, who told him to go ahead and ask for a birth ball for the room. I relaxed, knowing that he was handling the logistics, I just had to make it through this 20 minutes.
When Cara, our midwife, checked me I was 1cm and 100% effaced. At our midwife appointment earlier in the day, I hadn’t asked Sue to check my progress so this was the first time I’d heard an update on my cervix. Guess it’s true what they say that dilation means very little in terms of delivery dates! I was having contractions every 2-4 minutes, according to the monitor, but could only feel about half of them and even those weren’t very strong.
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| Colin trying to distract me |
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As soon as they said the word, we were roaming the hallways with my IV antibiotics. We got a little lost at first, and wandered off the unit. I was too focused on the actual painful contractions that were now coming pretty regularly to pay much attention to where we were. With each contraction, I would hold on to the hand rail and rise waaaaay up onto my tippie toes. At one point, Colin asked, “Are you really doing Pure Barre right now?” It’s funny now, but wasn’t that funny at the time. Cue my “Not Now” face. Paulette, our nurse, eventually came to find us since we were locked out of L&D, having ventured too far from our room.
When we got back to the room, the birth ball was there waiting for us. Great! I’d been practicing sitting and rolling on a birth ball at home, but unfortunately, the one at the hospital was too small. Womp Womp. No worries. Colin pulled a wheely stool to the end of the bed so I could use him as my seat instead.
2am
With each contraction, I’d stand up and rest my head on my arms at the foot of the bed and try to breathe my way through it. Paulette suggested another Pure Barre move (low wide second) while swaying side to side. I took the deepest breaths I’ve ever taken through those contractions, trying to picture filling my entire body with pure oxygen. When it was over, I sat back on Colin’s lap. The strength and comfort of him supporting me, literally and figuratively, made me feel so much more relaxed than I would have thought possible, though I tried to get him to change out of his jeans, worried that he might regret wearing them through this part. He said he didn’t care, and I believed him in the moment, but knew he would care again when we were back to reality.
I remember looking up at the monitor and the spacing of my contractions at one point, before they turned it off in my room. I told Colin, “I need to have a serious ‘Come to Jesus’ meeting with myself because watching these on the monitor, these are nothing compared to what’s to come.” And then the Come to Jesus meeting with myself commenced. Ninety-nine percent of the next few hours was purely mental mind games and endurance. I had to get ready, whatever that meant. I drew from my counseling experience, hypnotherapy scripts I’d practiced, mind-body connection from Pure Barre, the wisdom of my friends, and Colin’s positive energy to center myself.
Eventually, I wanted to move to the tub. Paulette came in and asked about my “long term plan for pain”. I don’t think I even looked at her. I just felt her hand on my arm in that dark room and heard her voice asking me the question. I thought about how I must seem for her to be asking me that question. Is this a normal amount of pain? Is there a reason she is asking me? Does she know something that I don’t? Regardless, Colin and I both answered her with “this is it”. Can I move to the tub now?
But before I go, I’m going to need to go ahead and throw up. Colin, can you hand me that trash can? Thanks.
2:30am
The tub was AMAZING! I was back to myself again, at least for a little while. The water was warm. There were jets. I had my water bottle. And Colin was sitting beside me. It felt like heaven. I could think clearly and reconnect with my body. Unfortunately, the tub kept draining so Colin had to keep topping me off with warm water and then running cold water on my feet (for some reason my feet were crazy hot!).
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| I love everything this photo represents…strength, determination, focus. |
Eventually, the contractions caught up with me again and the intensity increased with each one. I tried to focus on my feet, tried to reposition my body, tried to adjust the jets. The reality was active labor was really getting started now and breathing would need to be accompanied by some low vocals. Breathing through contractions, which is what they tell you to do, worked for me for a while and then that became a joke. A very not funny joke.
Colin talked to Melanie while I was in the tub. I overheard the conversation, but at this point wasn’t interested in words or conversation. I started holding Colin’s hand more to ground myself and get through the pain of each contraction. I needed more focus, more quiet. I dug deep to find reserves I didn’t know were there. This was the first time of many that night when I found myself looking deeper within myself for strength I never knew I had.
3:30am
Paulette returned and made a suggestion. She felt like things were progressing pretty quickly and that I had a very small window left where I could get any kind of rest. Rest seemed like such a ridiculous idea considering my contractions weren’t giving me much time in between and were building to unreasonable heights. She suggested Stadol, an opiate. One small dose to help me rest between contractions. She told me it wouldn’t help with pain, but would help me fall asleep when I had no pain. Her worry was being up all night and progressing quickly could lead to a situation where I was too spent to push at the end. We talked through pros and cons and I agreed to one dose that would last about an hour. We texted Melanie and suggested she come to the hospital.
Paulette and Colin helped me out of the tub and back to the bed. Oh good lord! Moving from one position to another was the WORST. I’d try to move quickly to avoid having a contraction mid-way to my next location, but any movement or repositioning increased the intensity ten-fold. Cara came in and checked me while Paulette gave me my opiates. 7cm. Wow, that was fast! And then it was full on.
I was on my side. That much I remember. Colin was there. I squeezed his fingers as hard as I could through every contraction. My “as hard as I could” was WAY stronger than I would have thought possible! He would agree. And at this point, I would no longer let him speak. There could be no more talking. He tried to encourage me, tell me I was doing great, give me positive energy. I just said, “Stop it.” There were no words for what was happening and no words would make this pain better. Just fix your fingers the way Anne Brand taught us and let’s do this thing.
Time gets tricky for me at this point. The length of time I labored in any one position is very blurry to me…could have been minutes, could have been hours.
Cara suggested I go into the bathroom. My only two thoughts were: 1) “You want me to move AGAIN?” and 2) “I don’t want to have a baby on a toilet.” After some coaxing, I agreed. Cara and I went into the bathroom. I asked/told Colin to wait in the room.
I won’t get into what happened in that bathroom, but it was my very favorite part of labor. Cara was awesome! She held me, comforted me, and encouraged me. She gave me added strength and helped me dig deeper to find even more of my own. I would describe that 30 minutes as ethereal. I left that bathroom with more confidence and determination than I had going in. And that’s saying a lot! Cara checked me when I was back in the bed. I was 8cm.
Transition
I had heard a lot about transition. The one that stuck in my mind the most was women in transition being described as “climbing the walls”. For me, I was on my knees in the bed, holding onto the top of the bed, screaming into the pillow.
Dim voices whispered to “keep it nice and low”. “Breathe through each contraction”. And I tried, I really did. But it just wasn’t possible. So instead I screamed. I call this the Game of Thrones era of my labor. It was dark and visceral. I could hear myself, but didn’t feel like myself. I always knew Colin was there, but wasn’t sure who else was in the room. Sometimes I could see Cara through the bed rail. My eyes would meet hers at the top of an excruciating pain wave. No words, just intense eye contact. Her face was always calm and she would nod. Affirmation that this was all normal and I was ok. Contractions were no longer individual ups and downs, just varying intensities running into each other. I couldn’t tell where one contraction ended and another began. But I would crash in between. I went from screaming into pillows and feeling like I could tear the bed apart to 30-60 seconds of being completely out cold. Then again. I can only imagine what the scene looked like to anyone else. Cara checked me again. 8cm. Dammit. Still 8cm.
My body had an urge to push, but at 8cm I wasn’t ready. Cara coached me through it with just the facts. “You don’t want to push yet. You’re only 8cm. Your cervix will tear and you’ll wind up needing surgery.” Ok, ok. But in my secret defiance (that really only had the potential to hurt myself), I would push just a little bit. Not hard, but just a little bit.
Sun’s Coming Up
I remember the sun started to come up. A new day. Transition was over and I was coming out of the haze.
Paulette suggested I try my left side again. Ugh…more switching of positions. These people! They brought me a thing they called “The Peanut”. I could squeeze it between my knees to get some traction. We started on the left side and then switched (reluctantly to the right). I vaguely remember someone suggesting getting out of the bed. Ha! NO.
At some point I rolled onto my back. Cara checked me. 9.5cm. Well, close only counts in hand grenades and horse shoes. Gah. I started negotiating a little bit, asking Cara to just go ahead and pull him out. She reminded me it didn’t work that way. Finally, Cara said we could try something. She would hold what was left of my cervix to the side while I pushed to get the baby’s head past that point and then I should be good to go. We tried it, and it worked. Ok, where’s my baby?
And so began the most frustrating part of labor. I was hyperaware of everything around me, from people’s faces, to what was being said, to what was happening with my body. It was shift change so there was a room full of midwives and nurses. Melanie arrived and jumped into the mix. She brought me water and a wet washcloth.
I was annoyed with life by this point. The F word became my epidural. I used it in every way known to man and then started making up my own phrases. You want me to WAIT for the next contraction to push? Uh-huh. I started making jokes. I started being sarcastic. I started yelling for this baby to “Get Out! Get Out, Baby!”
Everyone was telling me how great I was doing. Tuck your chin, curl around your belly, low vocals, breathe. Blah. This part sucked. They brought me a mirror so I could see what I was doing. I reinforced the rule that Colin was to keep his eyes on my eyes. I asked for counter pressure.
Cara asked if I wanted to feel the baby’s head. I’ve always been so weirded out by that thought and wondered why in the world anyone would want to feel the baby’s head. But turns out I did want to. It was my first real physical connection between Cash and me. It gave me motivation. It gave me more willpower. I stopped complaining about needing a nap and got to work.
I only pushed for about 15 minutes. It was a dark room with one light, a team of quiet encouragers holding my feet, and a silent partner sending me the last bit of strength I needed to make it to the end. I kept thinking, I didn’t do all this work to quit now. So here we go.
8:35am
After a reminder that this is the part where we go slow, so as not to tear anything, I would push then stop. Breathe. Wait. Contraction. Push, gently. Stop. Breathe. Wait. We did this a few frustrating times. And then there he was.
Cash Ellington Dunbar was born at 8:35am on July 16, 2015. He weighed 7lb 6oz and was 21.5 in long. He was born with his arm across his face. They set him low on my belly because the cord was around his neck. All I said was, “I’m so glad you’re here!” Colin describes it like I was picking up a conversation just where it had left off, like Cash and I had always known each other.
I didn’t realize how emotional it all was until I looked at Colin looking at Cash. He had tears streaming down his face. I loved him. I wanted to hold him, but my hands were full of our baby. I was so far beyond happy and grateful. It was an emotion that I still don’t have words for.
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| So many emotions in this picture. |
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| And so many realizations all at once. |
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| Baby Cash |
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| Barely keeping my eyes open. |
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| The room stayed dimly lit even after Cash was born. |
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| After a few minutes, Colin cut the cord. |
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| The three of us. |
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| I don’t remember any sounds, just feelings. |
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| I love this one. |
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| There is nothing better than this moment |
10:35am
It was important to me that Colin and Cash have skin to skin time too right after he was born, so when they asked me if there was anything else I wanted before we moved on, I handed Cash to Colin and they sat together in the rocker for a while.
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| I loved watching Colin being a daddy those first hours. |
Cash’s birth was the single most amazing night of my life. It was perfect. I trusted my body and trusted my baby. There was not a single moment of fear, just overwhelming confidence. The three of us worked together to create an awesome experience for our family. I’m grateful to have gotten through it without an epidural, without stitches, and without tearing. Afterward, the nurses called me a rockstar, though I don’t think it was just me. There was a team. And there was a LOT of preparation. And a LOT of hard work.
“Birth is not only about making babies, it’s about making mothers…strong, competent, capable mothers who trust themselves.”
-Barbara Katz Rothman
Joyful Striving 