Psite's Story

I initially vetoed the idea of sharing the birth story of Psite.  After all, the original intent of this blog was to share stories as they relate to academic life.  Somehow the story of my first child's birth didn't seem to fit.  But now, three weeks later, I've changed my mind.  After all, we hear a fair bit about the many women in academia who struggle with the decision whether or not to have children and, if so, when.  And we hear about difficulties in juggling motherhood and professional life.  But I personally have not heard much about the transition between childless professional to academic mother. 

As a scientist, I found much of my pregnancy to be frustrating from the standpoint of gathering reliable information about "what to expect."  I wanted data, not anecdotal stories or gushy stories about the "wonders of motherhood."  In the end, I relied on one book that did a fair job of drawing on research to present what seemed to be a realistic depiction of pregnancy, labor, and delivery.  Most importantly, it refrained from using words such as "normal" to talk about the average woman's experience.  Rather, it focused on what they reffered to as "uncomplicated" labor and delivery, but then described a range of different ways that it all can play out.  Above all, it stressed that every case is unique. 

So in the end, there I was, nearing my due date and hoping for an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery.  In my mind, this meant little to no medical interventions, deep breathing and relaxation techniques in lieu of pain medication, and a vaginal birth.  And with that image in my mind, I prepared for my first child.  As if I were preparing for my dissertation defense, I planned (as best I could) for every curve ball that could be thrown at me.  I packed my suitcase with racquet balls, relaxing music, massage oils, extra socks, an exercise ball, print-offs listing various birthing positions and the advantages/disadvantages of each, and on and on.  I threw in food for my husband, swim trunks so he could be in the birthing tub with me, and spare clothes.  I practiced breathing, squatting for inoridinate amounts of time, Kegel exercises, and stretching.  I was ready.

Did all of this fussing pay off?  Now, with more regular hormone levels and a few hours of sleep under my belt, I would say yes.  I did, I had an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery.   In the heat of the moment, though, I would have disagreed.  I had such a narrow definition of what "uncomplicated" meant that the small variations in my labor and delivery left me feeling like a failure, that I had somehow compromised my own beliefs and wishes.  As a scientist, I should have had a more liberal idea about what "normal" or "uncomplicated" meant -- that what is included in a standard deviation is quite a large range of experiences. 

So I have decided to give a snapshot of Psite's birth story.  Mostly because I think that many women in academia live by the same mantra by which I was raised, and continue to live -- if you work hard enough anything is possible.  As academics, this often gets taken to the extreme as we deprive ourselves of sleep to finish cranking that last bit of data, writing a lecture, or editing a manuscript.  And yet, as mothers, we have to let up a bit on this idea.  Our children and our bodies are much less predictable, and there is a lot that is out of our control.  And in the case of labor and delivery, most of these variations can be included under the blanket descriptor of "uncomplicated".  Now, with over 3 weeks perspective, I can happily report "yes, we had a long but perfectly uncomplicated delivery and both mom and baby are doing fine."

Psite's Birth Story

Wednesday:  OB appointment.  11 days until D-Day.  Menstrual-like cramps all through previous night.  Pelvic exam reveals 3 cm dilated.  I kick it into gear and finish grading papers and edit a manuscript.

Thursday:  Crappy night sleep, up every hour.  Another long night of menstrual-like cramps.  Get out of bed to 6:30 am alarm.  Gush of fluid falls onto floor.  Call birth center, told to come in.  Spend 2 hours at birth center and get sent home.  Leak fluid all day and crampy.  Stay home from work.  Submit manuscrpit, write letters of recommendation, get Grandma's room in order.  Eat homemade risotto. 

Friday/Saturday:  Still crampy and leaky, didn't sleep well.  Initial contractions are starting, only I don't know that is what they are.  Stay home from work again.  Clean house, pack Ginny's overnight bag, sew duvet cover, knit Sam's fish hat.  Lay down for nap,  awaken at 3 p.m. with pain and soaked lounge pants.  Hesitant to feel like a fool and be sent home from the birth center for a second time, hang out at home for a few more hours wondering if water has broken and if what I am feeling are really contractions or not.  Quick call to the hospital results in orders to come in -- soon.  Contractions anywhere between 5 minutes and 20 minutes apart (my body had not yet fallen into any discernible pattern).  Make Sam eat supper and feed Ginny.  5 pm head down the street to MeritCare.  Admitted by 6 pm.

We are escorted to our birthing suite where we fill out paperwork and are "debriefed", so to speak, by the nurse.  She tells us that the on-call OB will probably want to start me on pitocin since I am still only 3 cm.  This seems like a great time to unveil our birth plan, which basically says we want as few interventions as possible.  I don't want pitocin yet; I prefer to see what my body willdo on its own.  But, long story short, I labor until 6 am and never make it past 6 cm.  Worried that I will be too tired to push later on, I finally allow the pitocin drip. 

Although my contractions certainly strengthen and increas in frequency, I am still making  slow progress.  Despite the initial optimism of our (third) nurse to deliver by noon, at 10 am I am completely exhausted and still only at 8 cm.  At this point I am convinced that this is a sign of a delivery on its way to becoming "complicated".  I worry I won't have enough energy to push and will end up with any number of interventions, the worst being a C-section.  I long for a 15 minute break to clear my head and regain focus, but know it is impossible without medication, which I also don't want.  In the end, the exhaustion gets the better of me and I reluctantly ask for anepidural.  I feel as if have failed, or my body has failed, I'm not sure which.  Disappointed in myself, I apologize to Sam and weep as I wait for the effects to kick in.  I am sure things are only going to get worse, and that my labor will slow down further because of the epidural and I will have to get the C-section anyway.  And I worry that Psite will be affected and will be slow to latch and nurse.  At that moment, I think everything is going wrong. 

30 minutes of napping later, I have much better perspective.  Despite my fears, the epidural does not leave me completely numb to the birthing experience.   Although it numbs most of my left side and some of my right, I can still feel the contractions increase in strength to the point where I find myself needing to focus my breathing to make it through. I am relieved, actually, to still be able to feel the contractions and to move my legs. I wanted to be an active part of delivery and to be able to push with my contractions.

The nurse checks me again shortly after noon. I am certain that given all the pain, I will be finally be dialated enough to push. But no. And our 24-hour window is closing, with the message that the on-call OB will push for a C-section if things don't change. My delivery nurse, thank goodness, will have none of that. She says that after all I have been through and how hard I have worked, she wants a vaginal birth as much as I do. And so, another intervention of sorts. During one of my contractions, she flipps the edge of my cervix up and over the baby's head and tells me to push -- hard. It worked. The head moved through enough so that we can finally start pushing with the contractions. And boy do we push. We make such progress that the OB, who had just left the building thinking she had several more hours, is called back to catch our little Psite. At 4 p.m., after more than 24 hours of labor, our lives are permanently changed.  We become PARENTS.