Postcards from the CoHo: 2009

When we found out that this pregnancy was complicated, the doctor told me that we would have to do a c-section. The birth process would be stressful which would increase risk at his size, his breech position would make it harder, he wasn’t likely to turn since I had so little amniotic fluid left, and we'd probably have to take him out before labor started if he started demonstrating that he wasn't getting enough nutrition. I had been hoping for a natural, unmedicated birth (which the doctor had initially been supportive of), but I’d also thought that I had no complications. Really, it was all such a shock and a feeling of being out of control, and that was just one of the many things that I had to adjust to.

I did ask him, just to confirm, that there was really no way this was going to be a natural birth. “Unless you go into labor on your own and dilate to 10 centimeters before we can get you into an operating room, we’ll be having a caesarean,” he said.

Saturday morning everything seemed normal with me but weird with the hospital. The midwife came in and hooked me up for my daily fetal monitoring session. She came back a couple of minutes late, and during those minutes, Agustin’s heart had decelerated temporarily. This is often a normal thing, but when the monitor picks it up, they have to keep recording to make sure it doesn’t keep happening. So she left me on for a while longer. When she came back, Agustin had fallen asleep, so his heartbeat was actually too regular—they like to see some up and down patterns. I had some juice to wake him up and show that he was still fine and sat on the monitor for even longer. He woke up, but then it was time to go downstairs to have the scan to monitor the placental blood flow.

Downstairs we learned that the computers were down, so the tech didn’t have my last results. With my fluid so low, she was having a hard time finding places she could do her measurements. And then she kept rechecking and rechecking. I guess because it was so difficult and because she wasn’t getting a result within range. I was still feeling Agustin moving though, so I felt calm about it.

The first sign I had that something was up was that they said my doctor was coming in. I assumed that if the results were straightforward he would have been fine with a phone call. They popped me back on the fetal monitor again, and we sat there and waited for the doctor to arrive.

Now my doctor is pretty calm and soft spoken, so he came in and looked at things and then said something about today, and Adam said “is that a decision? Today?” And when he said yes, I just had this feeling of letting go. Letting go of the birth experience I was hoping for, letting go of trying to keep control of my body and keeping the baby in, and letting go of my fears and just trusting that we’d prayed for wisdom for the doctors and that we entrusted this baby to God and that if today was the day he needed to come out, then it was the day.

Not to say that I was all peace and love; it was actually scary and upsetting.

The doctor went out and I could hear him requesting the theatre be prepped and calling the pediatrician and other staff that would need to be present. The plan was to do the procedure in theatre where I would be able to see the video monitor, and then they would keep the baby in the room with me as they worked on us side by side. I signed the epidural and surgery papers, and we waited. I think it was about 1:30 in the afternoon.

As we waited, I started getting the uncomfortable feelings I’d been having in my abdomen the last few mornings. I assumed it was the hospital food, since it had started when I arrived—that’s why I wasn’t sleeping well. The pains would start around 3 in the morning, and I’d roll myself into child’s pose and breathe through them, which would help. I thought it was just a little indigestion, so I never bothered calling a nurse. Plus, they went away when I got up and had something to eat and drink. I did mention them when the morning midwives would come, but I continued to blame the food.

The doctor came back into the room and said that another surgery was finishing up and then they’d take me in. Just then another pain hit and he started feeling my stomach. “Contracting,” he said. This was news to me. I felt like God was confirming that it was okay for the baby to come that day so that I wouldn’t worry that we’d done it too soon.

He stepped out to try to speed up the operating room. A nurse came and checked my monitor. “I’m contracting,” I said, a bit proud of myself. “They’re very small,” she sniffed. And then I wondered if maybe I’d been crazy to have been so sold on the all-natural approach. I mean, these were manageable, but they were not fun. How much bigger do they get?

Meanwhile, the theatre was taking forever. There had just been a very complicated birth, and the doctors were still working. They decided to start prepping me in my hospital room. Back upstairs, I got into the gown with the tie left open for the epidural and got into bed.

Oh, and it was visiting hours, and since I was in my room, a couple people from church stopped by. But the contractions were still coming, so I was a bit antisocial. When a contraction would hit, I'd stop talking, close my eyes and breathe, and just check out for a while.

The doctor later told me that he suddenly had this feeling he should check me. He came in and asked if the contractions were getting more regular. I was a little annoyed actually; Adam was running around trying to take care of things, people were coming in and out, we never got to do a labor/birth class because I meant to sign us up the week that I was hospitalized, and neither of us finished reading The Birth Partner or any of the other books (I’d laid those aside when we found out about the complications), and I’d been researching preemies and IUGR lately, and, yes, I’ve heard you’re supposed to time contractions but I’m supposed to be going into surgery and I’m trying to ignore them so I DON’T KNOW HOW OFTEN THEY’RE COMING. And maybe they are getting worse. I DON’T KNOW THAT EITHER!

I was six centimeters dilated.

So now the doctor is barking at people, but the previous team is still not vacating the operating room, and they decide to take me to a delivery room near the operating room “just in case.”
We get down there and they check me again, and I’m eight centimeters. A midwife appears by my side and they start telling me that if I feel like pushing I can. And all I can think is that I’m not prepared for this. It that dream where you signed up for a class but forgot to attend and now you have to go take the final. I think I told the midwife I don’t know how to do this, and they said they’d talk me through it.

I’m still thinking I might be whisked into the OR at any moment, but then the doctor tells me if I’m feeling pressure to push. It must have occurred to him that you have to be specific with me—just because I’m feeling pressure doesn’t mean I’ll start pushing.

And just then it started to dawn on me that I wasn’t going to make it to surgery. Because I was, in fact, feeling pressure now that someone mentioned it. “The most important thing about a breech baby is that you have to push like hell,” someone said.

Then a contraction hits and everyone is telling me to push. I really should have worked on my abs more. They offered me some gas, but Adam asked what it was and I realized that I didn’t need it. So we carried on without any drugs at all. The pushing was difficult, but it didn’t last very long. Agustin was quite small. I never thought I’d be a screamer, but a few primal roars were apparently what I needed to get bubs out. He was born at 4:11 pm.

Agustin held up through the birth process just fine. I don’t think he was decelling much at all—at least not enough to make anyone nervous. As you can tell in that one picture of his face right after birth, he seems a little cranky that his barcalounger gave way on him and bruised his little booty in the process. Every time someone changes his diaper for the first time they do this whole "OMG, a vaginal breech baby!" They're a nearly extinct breed these days.

I think I’m still in shock that everything happened the way it did. It was almost an out-of-body experience. I really feel like so many friends were praying about the birth that God had mercy on me and performed a miracle in the hospital that day because I certainly had nothing to do with how everything worked out. I’m so overwhelmed with thankfulness to Him and to all of you who were petitioning on my behalf. I know that progressing that quickly with no intervention and not being able to get into the OR—meeting the exact requirements the doctor had given me—were His hand over it all. With Him all things are possible.

Some pictures of our new place. It comes furnished, so we can just show up and unpack our suitcases.

The living room is in this curvy point of the building, so the walls are all windows and you get a 270-degree view. In this picture the shades behind the couch are all drawn, so it looks kinda like a wall.

You can see that the shades are partially up in this picture.

City views...

In the foreground is the park across the street from our building. Those bridges in the middle of the shot are going over the Yarra River. And at the skyline, it was a cloudy day, but you can sort of make out the beach of Port Melbourne.