A Failure to Plan

Birth. The final frontier. These are the voyages…okay, I’ll stop. It was just what popped into my mind when I thought about this week’s topic, “Birth Stories”. Birth is one of those words that sounds like it should be followed by a clap of thunder or a “don don donnnnn”, or insert other ominous footnote.

It’s the thing that pregnant women fear, probably due in large part to its gross misrepresentation in the media. Women, in general, associate birth with chaos, frantically trying to make to the hospital before the child wiggles its way out and goes running down the sidewalk, screaming and pain. Lots of pain. It’s no wonder we all dread labor.

Me? I don’t dread labor. I actually never really have. Actually, I take that back. Someone told me that she always knew she was about to go into "real" labor because she would throw up right before…and that was scary. I then found out that most women don’t throw up so my fears were abated. Being ripped in half by a nine pound critter pushing out your ladyship? Psh. Throwing up? HOLY CRAP!

But honestly, I really didn’t worry much about delivery, especially after I’d done it a few times. My labors have been blessedly easy. The usually begin with Pitocin and end with a baby with an epidural somewhere in between. I’ve never really had a birth plan, other than going to the hospital pregnant and coming home with a baby. Even this plan hasn’t worked out for me every time. If motherhood has taught me anything about plans, it’s that no one really cares about my plans.

Birth plans get a lot of attention these days. There are so many options. You can have your baby at the hospital, at home, in a bathtub, in a birthing center, in a box with a fox. You can deliver sitting up, lying down, on your side, on your stomach, squatting, bending or doing zumba. You can have an epidural, you can smell lavender and listen to Mozart, you can have an IV or rub oils on your feet. There’s a huge amount of debate surrounding all these things. We all have our ideas of what we want our birth to be like, and that’s great. But it doesn’t always go as we planned, and that’s okay too. My friend, Amanda, has referred to these issues as “first world problems”. And they are. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if we have a c-section or a vaginal delivery. It doesn’t matter if we go natural, or get an epidural. We are blessed to have choices and to have the safety net of living in a great age of medical technology and in a place where that technology is readily available.

So I typically spend most of my dreading energies on morning sickness (or, as I like to call it, “progesterone poisoning”) instead of labor.

My last pregnancy was a challenge. When I was seven and a half months pregnant, our family moved twelve hours away, from Richmond, VA to Orlando, FL. This move took place four days before Christmas. Did I mention we had five children and two of them had the flu? My husband drove the moving truck accompanied by the dog and the cat, hauling his car. I drove our van (affectionately known as “the hoopty”), filled with children, tissues and Motrin, hauling a trailer.

The next month and a half were filled with long days and lots of tears. While I had never really been afraid or anxious about labor, I suddenly found myself far from home with a doctor I barely knew, in a hospital that I had not so much as visited (unless you count internet surfing). Suddenly, I was very afraid and anxious about labor.

I try not to compare any of my deliveries to their predecessors, but something you need to know is that I never dilate prior to induction…like…ever. Oh wait, I did dilate about a fingertip with my fifth child. Have you met those women who walk around for weeks at 4cm and, by the time they reach the hospital, they are 7cm? Yeah…I want to step on their toes…just a little. Cause, ya know, it’s not fair.

Well, imagine my surprise when I was 4cm at my final check-up. My doctor actually had to call a nurse in to mop my jaw off the floor since I was way too pregnant to bend over and get it myself. I had an induction scheduled for the next day. When I got to the hospital, I was 5cm. A FIVE! That’s halfway. It was a miracle. We all fully expected that I would start Pitocin, sneeze and have the baby in our arms. Of course, that is not exactly what happened. It took a long time to progress from 5…a really long time. My contractions increased but were very irregular. I would have two back-to-back and then none for six to seven minutes. This had never happened to me. Golden rule of childbirth #1: Expect the unexpected.

I had epidurals for six of my seven deliveries. I love epidurals. They provide the perfect excuse to be lazy. Oh and did you know that they make you not feel like your abdomen is being chewed on by a great white shark? I repeat, I love epidurals. My epidural with number six, however, did not work. It localized in my leg. FYI, babies are not born in legs. Leg-epidurals are useless. Golden rule of childbirth #2: Things don’t always work the way they are supposed to.

When it was almost time to deliver number six, they got me ready for pushing. I was anxious to push. Pushing hurts less that sitting. No really. But when I started to push, it felt all wrong. I felt like I was doing all the work. Usually you feel the urge to push, but I didn’t. My contractions were still completely irregular and I was getting frustrated. I told the nurse that I wasn’t ready to push. They checked me (again) and said that I was actually only a 9, not a 10, which is what they said I was before I started pushing. I told them it wouldn’t take me long. The doctor left the room…and then I started yelling because it was time to push. They said it was probably just the baby moving down. I yelled louder. They checked me…number six’s head was coming out. Seriously, no one listens to me. Luckily, the doctor made it in just in time to get gloves on and catch the baby. Golden rule of childbirth #3: Timing is everything.

When all was said and done, number six made it here safely.

Childbirth rarely goes the way you envision it in your mind but what really matters is not the method. After all, who cares if Amazon ships your order with UPS or FedEx (okay, my husband might care, since FedEx signs his paychecks), as long as you get your package? What really matters is that the baby and mama make it through the whole ordeal in sore, but happy, pieces. Golden rule of childbirth #4: All’s well that ends well.