November 8, 2016
9:16 AM
7 lbs 14.5 oz
20 inches
I prepared for this labor unlike I have ever before prepared. Having previously run long distance races, the correlation between the 3 Emotional Signposts of Labor and a marathon was key for me, and I read as much as I could to learn about it. In short, the first Emotional Signpost can be described as fairly laid-back and fun. The second could be called hard work. The third describes a feeling of defeat as the runner/laborer feels as though she can't possibly keep going, though in actuality, the end is closer than ever. I studied labor with this imagery in mind, hoping that it would prove helpful when the time came. And it did! So yahoo!
Also: This is my obligatory warning that this is an uncensored record of events. There's almost nothing about childbirth that isn't disgusting.
The Part Where Labor Begins
Let me begin by saying that up until closer to the end, anticipation for Lillie’s labor, and the actual labor itself, was probably a trillion times more relaxed than either of my previous labors. In and of itself, that fact makes me feel like I’ve arrived. I’ve made it. I know how to handle waiting for baby to arrive. It helps that having two other little kids under foot keep a mama SUPER busy. There was not a lot of time for sitting around and wishing labor would begin. I was usually wishing that labor would wait for a convenient moment.
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| Looking gigantic and cute about a week before birth |
I also felt a lot of pressure to NOT go into labor before all the members of my contingency plans were ready. The week before she was due, Darren had two work meetings on the calendar—one of them being in Houston. Mom (Louise Jeter…my mom…in case you were wondering) had a HUGE church event scheduled for Saturday of that week (the 12th) for which she had been planning and preparing for an entire year (a family history Discovery Day). She was also committed to work the presidential election, which is literally an all-day event--she arrives before sunrise and leaves well after it has gone to sleep. She doesn't have time to help me that day.
I was at peace with this because I was also hoping to get to watch the Primary Presentation at church that Sunday, November 13, and I had a lot of Christmas decorating to accomplish since I had lost the whole first week of November to a stupid cold.
So, naturally, pre-labor began during the wee hours of the morning on Monday, November 7. I was wakened by slow and sharp menstrual-type pains that definitely caught my attention. I was able to sleep well enough, but they were definitely more convincing than my pre-pre-labor pains*.
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*my pregnancies involve a lot of contractions that have no direct effect on labor
*the progression of these stages of pain is something I can't really describe...just know there are differences along the way, and by the 3rd time around I had a decent idea of what the pains meant, for the most part. Pre-pre-labor pains is a perfectly legitimate description.
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Understanding that it was an incredibly inconvenient week for childbirth, I exercised a calculated level of denial and went about my morning. The only piece of information I was really willing to acknowledge was that in the hours since they had begun, the intensity of the contractions had not subsided.
It was during my warm morning bath that I remembered the pains from Emma's labor. Sensory memory is a thing, right? I had taken a warm bath when similar contractions were happening in 2013. I realized that IF my body was taking the same route as it had then, we would be in the hospital in less than 24 hours.
I spoke with Darren. I told him that I didn't want to alarm him or sound dramatic, but I had a really strong feeling that there was a good chance I would be going into labor within a day. I asked him what kind of ramifications there would be if he missed his meeting the next day. The career prospects weren't great with that scenario, but he gave the powers-that-be a call and explained the situation. They weren't sympathetic, but did let him know that the chances of actual repercussions were minimal and to reschedule his meeting. He did so, and I felt a little more at ease knowing that it was no longer on the calendar.
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| Snuggling with my babies at nap time |
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| Nap |
I spent the calm parts of the evening sitting on the couch, basking in the soft glow of Christmas lights and decorations while watching Cinderella. The kids joined me for a while, but eventually we put them to bed. Darren and I watched TV until late. We discussed the what-ifs ahead of us. I went to bed before he was ready, and he decided to sleep on the couch. I wanted to get a good night of sleep so that I could hopefully have a little energy for the following day, should things become exciting.
I nervously gave Mom a call and informed her of the day's events. I hadn't wanted to tell her too soon without being reasonably sure, but by that point I had been contracting for nearly 20 hours. It was time to tell our Plan A babysitter what was happening! I told her that I might be calling during the night, but hopefully not. Hopefully the baby would stay put for a while longer. As I laid in bed to sleep, I took the opportunity to check with a couple of friends about possibly babysitting the next day if the need arose. By the time I was ready to close my eyes, I was feeling prepared and supported, but mostly I felt TIRED. So I went to sleep at 10:30.
The contractions continued. I felt like I was sleeping hard between contractions. I would drift toward consciousness with the pain, but then it would subside, and I would relax into oblivion again. Around 2 o'clock in the morning, I felt a contraction beginning. It hurt, and I rolled onto my left side, burying my face in the mattress as I focused on relaxing through the pain until it was over. I was barely awake.
That is when it happened.
In my semi-conscious state, I was very confused when I heard and felt a disctinct popping sound. It sounded like someone with very large fingers had just cracked a knuckle. In fact, it felt like my pelvis had just cracked a knuckle. In any case, I was suddenly VERY awake. I considered the possibilities: I'm either dying, imagining things, or maybe my water broke? I laid there and waited for a gush of fluids. It did not happen. A moment of clarity later, I realized that if a gush of fluids were to commence, I should probably move myself to the toilet. I'm an excellent decision maker. The moment I sat, I felt the gush.
It was in that moment of definitive evidence that my mind ceased to function. All the reading and talking and preparing never seems to sufficiently prepare me for the real thing. I suddenly had no idea what to do with myself. Do we go to the hospital? Do we wait? Should I call mom? Should I call the hospital? HOW DO I REACH DARREN?!
Since he was on the other side of the house, I was at a loss. I tried to holler for him, but no luck. I tried to call him on my phone, but that did not work either. By this time, it had been 10 minutes since my water had broken, and contractions we becoming decidedly more intense. I put in a call to Labor and Delivery. The nurse I spoke with encouraged me to go ahead and come to the hospital. I wanted to speak to Darren before making any real decisions, but after a minute realized that he would be deferring me anyway since I was the one in pain, so I called Mom around 2:15 and asked her to come and be with the kids. Then I dressed myself and woke a sleeping Darren on the couch, informing him that he needed to get up and get packed because Mom was on her way, and we needed to get going.
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| Will Baby be a He or a She? |
As we pulled from the driveway, Darren told me that he was hungry and asked if he could get a quick bite on the way. I said that was fine. It's the middle of the night, I thought. There is no way any place is so busy that it won't be a quick stop, and there's no telling when he'll have a good opportunity to eat again.
Turns out I was only half right. Jack-in-the-Box wasn't even remotely busy, but they took FOREVER. We waited forever to order. We waited forever to pay. And then we waited forever to get the food. And then when they brought us the food, the employee said that someone had goofed up with the money and asked us to sit tight while he went inside to figure out if we had been given too much change. We hadn't been given a recipt so it was their word against ours. Not amused. By this time, I was having some pretty intense contractions. The verdict was that we had the right amount of change. Darren chose at this point to demand a receipt upon principle (and because he wanted to call and leave a poor review on their servey). We never did get that receipt. We mocked them the whole way to the hospital. We are very compassionate and mature like that. I'm going to defend myself by claiming that the pain was making me irritable, because it was.
The Part Where We Go to the Hospital
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| Last Look. This was their last night as a kid crew of only two. |
I'm not sure if it had been a rough night or if she was just tired, but my admitting nurse didn't seem to have much humor left in her. She questioned whether or not my water had actually broken because the test came back negative the first time. Um, no. If that isn't amniotic fluid flowing out, then something is terribly wrong with me. When she checked my dilation, she contributed to the tear in the sack by accidentally ripping it wide open. No second test necessary, it turns out. We all knew what was happening, and I was moved to a room. It was 3:23 AM, according to the post I made in the Jeter Facebook page.
For the first time ever, I was finally brave enough to ask the nurse if we could skip the IV. I was okay with the needle part being inserted into my arm, but didn't want to be hooked up to saline unless I needed it: less trips to the bathroom, less feeling cold (IVs make me cold...don't ask me why), and one less thing to be tethered to. She granted my wish, and I continued to labor "comfortably".
At this point, everything is someone what of a blur. Time passes differently in a hospital. Time passes differently when you're hurting. But time still passes.
For the part of labor that correlates with the "Second Emotional Signpost" discussed in the Bradley Method book that I read, I worked my way through each contraction by groaning while Darren rubbed my back. The TV was off. We were alone. I asked that the lights be dimmed. It was a perfect as it could be. The contractions continued to increase in their intensity, but I honestly can't say anything about how fast they came. I never once timed them officially, not even while at home. At home I had just kept an eye on the clock, but had no intention of putting forth extra effort if they didn't start hurting more. After a time, I needed Darren to stop rubbing my back. His touching me was a distraction, and physically very annoying. I went to the bathroom a few times here and there, including one toilet-destroying trip, if you know what I mean. Nothing like a little bit of labor with a side of explosive...toilet-destroying.
More than once I became concerned that the baby was coming faster than anyone was ready for. I asked to be checked several times, and was pretty disappointed each time to learn that I wasn't dilated to 10 centimeters yet. It sure hurt like I was! (so naive about how bad the pain was going to become...). And yes, I know that each dilation check is a new opportunity to introduce bacteria to the birth canal. But I don't have to justify my decisions to you. YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE.
Labor makes me dramatic.
During each contraction, I focused on breathing and groaning in rhythm with the pain. I focused my mind on the pain and its journey through my body. It felt like each wave began near my chest and ended in my pelvis. This was effective for me, and got me through several hours of increasingly intense contractions. At some point, a new sensation of pain joined at the end of each contraction. As the contraction waned, and I expected the pain to dissipate, a tugging sensation deep in my pelvis started to catch my attention. With every new contraction the tugging progressed to painful pulling until it felt like my insides were stretching apart. I asked Darren if it was possible to feel my cervix dilate. Weirdly enough, he had no idea. I think he said something about not having a cervix. Like that matters. ;)
The Part Where Darren Makes Me Cry
I eventually hit the 3rd Emotional Signpost of labor (per my Bradley method book). I was still handling my contractions, but it was starting to feel endless. I lost my ability to control my breathing for a few minutes, and was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get that back. I
If you know Darren, you know he doesn't say garbage like that.
Instead, he spoke to me like a little league coach and made me cry.
It wasn't his finest moment, but again, if you know Darren, you know that's his recipe for support.
I've forgiven him, but FYI, don't go crawling to him for a pat on the back.
I managed to pull myself together and give him a small piece of my mind. In hindsight, that might have been his plan all along: making me mad enough to yell at him would pull me out of a slump.
I disagree with his methods, but I guess that point is moot by now. He was an alright Coach.
Let it be understood that I didn't cry at any other point in labor, so I'm basically awesome. It takes very little pain to make me cry!
After weeping like a small child and then yelling like a wench, I needed to pee. Darren helped me out of bed and disconnected all my wires. Before I could walk away from the bed, a contraction hit. I was standing at the end of the bed, holding onto the footboard, when the nurse walked in carrying all the equipment she needed to hook me up to a Pitocin drip.
Come again?
I asked her what "all that" was. She replied that the doctor had put in orders for me to receive Pitocin. Feeling offended, I asked her why. She said that Dr. L wanted to be sure that she was the one who delivered the baby.
Now don't get me wrong: I love Dr. L. She is an excellent doctor with impeccable bedside manner. She listens and is attentive. She respects wishes and accomodates them as well as she can within the parameters of her professional and hospital policy. As far as physician care goes, she's hard to beat, especially for this area. However, I was genuinely insulted that she thought I needed Pitocin to progress and that she felt entitled to the baby's delivery. I wanted her to deliver the baby, but I wasn't committed enough to the idea that I was willing to take unnecessary medicine to make it happen.
I boldy (see: with a shaky voice, afraid to cause a scene) told the nurse that I did not want the Pitocin since I was progressing just fine without it. She didn't look super happy, but she said that she would give the doctor a call. After peeing and settling back into bed, she returned to let me know that Dr. L would be by soon to visit me.
A few minutes later, Dr. L entered the room with a huge smile on her face. One second later, her smile dropped and a sympathetic expression took over. She declared, "You're really hurting; I didn't realize you were in so much pain."
You think?
Before you take my sarcasm and run with it, I understood and understand what she meant perfectly. For a decent portion of labor, it's basically fun and games with a side of pain. Eventually it turns into just pain. I had only been in true labor for a few hours by this time, so I assume she was expecting me to still be in the "fun and games" part. Alas, I was not.
She instructed me to lay down so that she could check my dilation. I let her know that laying down was excruciating, so I wanted to get it over with very quickly so that I could return my bed to an upright position. She told me I was 4 centimeters. I asked if it was possible to feel the cervix dilate, and she said she had never heard that before but assumed it could be possible.
I submit that it is possible.
Dr. L let me know that I could do whatever I wanted at that point and that there was even a yoga ball in the closet I could use if I wanted to. I do not like to move around in labor, so I declined the offer and continued to forge ahead from the comfort of my bed, sitting up, with my diamond-making frog legs supported by a million pillows.
The rest of labor is a blur of contractions. I was no longer groaning or growling. I was sitting up and felt every single body-shredding pain as the baby barrelled its way through my pelvis.
I frequently thought each contraction was "the" contraction. It felt like the baby was going to slam through at any moment, and that if we weren't careful, nobody would be prepared to catch it.
Dr. L came by at another time to check on me and ask how I was doing. I was sweaty and hurting, but things were going as well as possible. I asked her to check me again since I was so sure, this time, that I had to be dilated to 20 centimeters. That's how I felt, anyway. We decided, per her check, that the baby was on its way out soon. I was at 8 centimeters, and progressing quickly. She said she was going to gather supplies and nurses and return.
The Part Where I Scream
This is the part of the story where my dignity takes a swift exit and trips down a flight of stairs on her way out.
This pain that hit... How do I describe it?
Imagine, for a moment, that you have four foot blade stabbing up the hole of your hiney. Seems like it might be excruciating, right? Now try to imagine the opposite. Imagine that blade originates somewhere inside of your body and is trying to find its way out without slicing any vital tissues.
There I was, sitting upright in bed, on my fists. My butt was no longer touching the bed as the pain caused me to levitate with little more than my wimpy fists to support me. The pillows that had been so carefully placed underneath my legs and knees were being pummeled all about as my legs writhed with the rhythm of the pain. Is there another word for pain? We'll go with agony.
The next thing I did was embarrassing.
I felt the urge coming over me, and I wanted to stop it. Really, I did. But it just kind of... came out...
I screamed. I screamed out loud. I screamed really loud, and I didn't care who heard me.
That isn't completely true... I wanted Darren to hear me. I wanted him to know it was me and come running back to assure me that I wouldn't die on that bed. He later shared that in his quest to find a nurse and/or my doctor, he was finally speaking with a nurse when he heard me scream. He knew it was me, and he told the nurse it was me. They came to me shortly after.
Dr. L checked me one last time. I felt her hand inside of me playing a twisted game of Rock-Paper-Scissors. I jerked my head up toward her and loudly demanded to know what she was doing since, as far as I was concerned, she had gone offscript. She said she was making sure I was completely effaced before encouraging me to push.
Don't care. Effaced or not, this baby is coming. When it is out of me, we'll know how effaced I am. In the meantime, get your hand out of my vagina!
**Didn't say any of that out loud, but I thought it really loud.**
It only got more blurry from there. The rest of my transition memory is a blob of, of course, PAIN, screaming, sarcasm, and embarrassment. I was laid down in bed as my legs were hoisted into stirrups. Whose idea were those?! Like, seriously. They are the last great pillar of broken dignity on the road to hospital delivery.
So my legs are in the stirrups and I am laying on my back. I am convinced at this point that the pain is worse on my back, but in reality, the list of comfortable positions for managing contractions was shrunk down to zero.
It was go time.
The Part Where I Poop
"Push! Push, Emily! Push! You can do it!"
It's hard to put into words how my body physically felt in those moments. I wanted the pain to end, but I did not want to do what it took to make that pain end because it would cause me short-term pain that hurt even worse. Also, the urge to poo was getting stronger by the second. I'm not sure why those physiological features and functions have to be in such close geographic range. The chorus of people telling me to push was unwelcome, as I had no desire to do so. I attempted a few half-hearted pushes, hoping that they would be enough. They weren't enough. During the moments I wasn't screaming in agony, I kept yelling that I didn't want to push.
There was a brief rest between contractions. I knew I had to push. I knew I was the only one who could end this. And I knew that I had to do it, no matter the consequences. So I did the only thing I knew to instill a little bravery into my heart. I bellowed a battle cry:
"I NEED TO POOOOOOOOOP!"
I pushed and pushed and pushed, and pushed some more. Two-ish contractions later, I felt the baby's body burst out of me with all the gentle grace of a linebacker. I felt like I had been ripped in two. (I also felt other things leave my body, but in that moment I had decided not to care.)
The debilitating pain was over. I flopped my head back onto my pillow, closed my eyes, and laid my hand across my face. I needed to breathe. I needed to rest.
"Y'all, I'm just going to hold the baby up so you can see for yourself what you have," said the excited doctor.
The exhausted mama didn't move.
I simply said, "I'm gonna need a minute," and remained with my head on the pillow, arm across my face, eyes closed.
I think Darren snickered.
I continued to lay still.
I realized I was going to have to look sooner or later.
I gathered my strength, and forced myself to look.
I saw Dr. L through my legs, sitting there, holding a goop-covered baby girl in the air to meet her parents.
That baby was beautiful.
Darren's face was elated. He loves his baby girls.
We had our Lillie Mae.
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Louise Jeter's (my mom, Lillie's grandma) perspective, as stated in a family e-mail:
"The night before election day, Emily called to tell me she had kind-of been uncomfortable all day and had cleaned her house and put-up her Christmas tree and decorations. She called again at 2:15 a.m. to tell me her water had broken. So I went to take care of Emma and Milton while she and Darren went to deliver sweet Lillie Mae. Amanda stepped-up, took the day off, did a little running around and then took the kiddos so I could go to my post. Got there about noon. Emma and Milton spent the night with me for two or three nights/days and then returned home. The family history discovery day was that Saturday [I told Emily six months ago NOT to have the baby that week!]; it was done before noon so really not too much of an interruption."
Random tidbits and facts, for the record:
- I had a 1st degree tear. Heals a lot faster than a 3rd degree tear, I'll tell you that.
- I could not have done it without Darren. Despite our differing motivational approaches, he was a rock--my rock, and his involvement with this labor was his best performance yet. We truly brought this baby into the world as a team. I love him.
- My post partum nurses weren't my favorite. They didn't have much bedside manner, and I felt like an annoying burden every time I needed to speak with them. And they made me take almost the two full bags of Pitocin...ugh. I never had to do that before.
- Post partum was really hard because I declined Motrin. It disagrees with my Ulcerative Colitis, so I took the best Tylenol products they had to offer. Let's just say that Motrin works better. But I didn't have any UC flare-ups, so the extra pain I felt was worth it.
- Nothing in the world can replace the feelings I felt watching Emma and Milton meet their baby sister. Nothing.
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| The proud papa shared our happy news with the world. |
