How I got here, part 1: Ethan's birth.

"When I grow up, I want to be a birth doula."

These are not words I ever uttered as a little girl.  I wanted to be a fashion designer, or a veterinarian, or a professional horseback rider.  When I got a little older, I wanted to be a writer, and then a lawyer.  I wasn't planning on having children, ever.

My first child was born a month after my nineteenth birthday.  The only informational reading I did was the ever popular What to Expect When You're Expecting, and I was woefully and embarrassingly ignorant about labor and birth.  (I didn't have sense enough to realize that, however.)  I took a Lamaze class because I thought that was what you were supposed to do; I had no intention of laboring unmedicated, and I sure as hell wasn't planning to give birth without the strongest epidural it was possible to get, preferably in the parking lot, the moment I arrived at the hospital.  I didn't pay much attention, and I remember feeling fairly ridiculous when practicing the breathing techniques in the class.

I went into labor on my due date.  I am certain that I felt my very first contraction, and I was instantly in a panic that I needed to get to the hospital RIGHT NOW; this was around 4pm on November 8th.  At the time, I was living about 45 minutes away from the hospital I delivered at, and I was certain that I was going to have my baby by the side of the road, delivered in the backseat of the car by a state trooper, or something equally outrageous.  My mother, a veteran mother/infant nurse, convinced me that I should be sensible, and at least take a shower first.  So I showered, had a small snack, and paced and acted ridiculous for a few hours, convinced that we would never make it to the hospital, and it was going to be all my mother's fault.  (I find it completely hysterical, now, that I was in such a lather about it.  I was BARELY in labor, and it was my first baby.  I'm not sure how my mom kept herself from clubbing me over the head for being stupid.)  We finally got to the hospital around 10pm.

I'm not really sure how the L&D nurse kept a straight face.  I was barely 2cm dilated, and only about 70% effaced.  They called my OB, who instructed me to walk.  So I walked.

And walked.

And walked.

By 2am when they checked me again, I was exhausted, and still only 80% effaced and barely 3cm dilated.  They gave me a Seconol (this was in the days before Ambien), and told me to go home and get some sleep.  (It was the best night's sleep I have ever had in my life; I totally understand how people become addicted to sleeping pills.)

I woke up around 10 the next morning, showered, had a forbidden cinnamon roll, and was back at the hospital by 2pm.  They made me walk some more.  After an hour and a half of increasingly uncomfortable contractions, I refused to walk any longer.  (I think I was almost 4cm by that point, and completely effaced.)

I got comfortable (HA!) in my bed, and listened to the sound of the monitor.  I got more and more uncomfortable.  I tried laying on my left side.  My right side.  Flat on my back.  This was the point at which we realized that I was experiencing the misery of back labor.  It was horrid, and I wanted to die.  I asked for an epidural.  I threw up.  They gave me Phenergan to help with the nausea, which made me incredibly sleepy; I dozed between contractions, and felt dopey and stupid.

By the time my water was broken (artificially), and I'd received the required amount of internal fetal monitoring that my OB demanded I have before he'd okay an epidural, the only anesthesiologist was in an emergency c-section.  (How is it possible that a hospital the size of Ohio State University Medical Center only has ONE FREAKING ANESTHESIOLOGIST on call for Labor & Delivery?  On a weekday?  At 2 in the afternoon?)  By the time that anesthesiologist was free to administer my epidural, I was ready to push.

I have never in my life experienced such grotesque pain; I was pretty sure that I was going to die.  I will never forget my labor nurse, though I don't think I ever even knew her name; at one point, when I was ready to give up (hellooooo, transition!), I remember sobbing, "I can't do this, it's too hard!"  That nurse, in the sweetest, softest voice, told me, "Of course it's hard, sweetie.  If it were easy, men would do it."  How's that for words of inspiration?

After 8 horrendous hours of agonizing, unmedicated back labor (mostly flat on my back, I might add) and 20 minutes of pushing, I pushed an 8 lb. 10.5 oz. baby boy into the world.  He was perfect and beautiful, and had Apgars of 9 and 10.

I realize now that, back labor notwithstanding, I had a ridiculously easy labor and delivery for a first timer.  That first experience of birth taught me other lessons as well, though I didn't realize or appreciate them until much later in my life.

To Be Continued ....