E's Arrival: A Birth Story (Part II).

It's approximately 8:30PM and I'm pretty certain baby D has sent the "I'm-on-my-way" signal (does that mean the eggplant worked?! Or is it just simply a coincidence and baby D's time?).  Deep breath. (Here, I wish I had asked my mom and S. what they were thinking when I made my in-labor announcement.  Were they excited? Cautiously optimistic?).  If I were indeed in labor, now was the time to get into my labor-mindset:  hypnobirthing.  

I don't want to bore you with what hypnobirthing is here.  But I will say that it was instrumental in the course of E.'s birth.  It taught me how to release every bit of tension not only during contractions (or "pressure waves" as they're called by the HB method) but whenever my nerves might start to take over.  HB, after three months of listening to relaxations during A.'s naps and positive affirmations during my daily 30-minute exercises, wired my brain to think of pregnancy, labor (or "birthing" in HB-speak), and delivery as painless, natural, and what I was meant to do without any intervention.  

So, hypno-methods engaged.  At the slightest feeling of tension, I released.  In the words of Mo Willems' Knuffle Bunny, I went boneless.  I checked-out.  And this state of mind, I was sure, would serve me well and make birthing easy, efficient, quick, and - yes - painless. I would not work against the process.  I would let it take its own, natural course.  (Sneak peak into the hours ahead:  it worked.  I was honestly calm as a cucumber, smiling and talking just an hour before E. arrived. Yes, me. Tightly-wound and take-a-motrin-for anything me pulled this off.  My offer of proof: the picture below was taken at 1:20PM and I'm, yes, smiling through a pressure wave, and surrounded by the nurse [in pink and a Jennifer-Garner look-alike], my midwife [in black], doula [massaging my feet, so nice!], and M.  S. took the picture.  I swear.  I'm a walking, talking advertisement for HB.  Send me my royalties.) 

Okay, I digress.  Back to 8:30PM in the living room.

After my announcement, I decided that I would stick to A.'s (albeit late that night) bedtime routine. Honestly, I wasn't totally convinced labor had begun.  So I slipped into bed with A. and read to her.  And kissed her goodnight, knowing that this could very well be our last goodnight as a family of three.

While I was reading to A., I asked M. to text our Doula, K., to let her know that contractions may have started and that we were monitoring these maybe-contractions for a pattern, some evidence of realness.  K. texted back:  "stay hydrated, try to get some sleep."  As if I could sleep!

I rejoined my mom, S., and M. in the living room.  I immediately asked for my birthing ball, which I would sit on in total comfort until it was time to leave.  My mom, for her part (I chuckle at the memory of this), poured herself a glass of wine (clearly bracing herself, right?).  And then we just waited.  S. started timing the contractions. Happy Gilmore was on the television (I wasn't paying attention to it and S. jokingly commented a few times that this ridiculous movie was on during an otherwise serene time.  Interestingly, the night's plan was to watch Due Date had I not actually done into labor!).

At 10PM, we decided to call my midwife, K.  At this point, K. and I were aware that I was already 4 of 10cm dilated.  And K. wanted to be sure that I received at least one round of antibiotics because I was Group-B Strep positive.  But I told her I felt okay and she suggested that we reconvene at 11PM by phone.  M. texted this update to doula K.

In the next hour, I made several trips to the bathroom - well, because I thought I had to use it.  I was, after all, drinking a lot water.  But, annoyingly, this was never the case and this constant feeling of needing to "use the facilities" was really uncomfortable.  And the trip either up or down stairs (we don't have a bathroom on our main level) was annoying.  I remember my mom asking, "are you sure you don't want to go downstairs?"  And I remember during one of my trips down the stairs from level 3 of our house that I complained:  "Ugh, [labor is] like knowing you have a 12-hour day of work ahead of you; you can't think about the long road ahead of you. You just have to focus on the work in front of you."  

Contractions and discomfort became more frequent and intense.  But don't ask me specifically how frequent/intense. I didn't want to know: knowing might discourage me, might make me feel like I have a long way to go.  S. was in charge of those details.  So with each "pressure wave" I released, became jello, cleared my mind of thoughts (except for the occasional image of A., which helped immensely). I also realized that the contraction was only difficult until its peak, then it was easy.  A 90-second contraction, therefore, really didn't feel terrible for the entire 90 seconds.  It actually improved after the peak.  With this mindset, I could manage.  My mom made me cold compresses and placed them on my forehead.  M. massaged my shoulders.  At one point, I recall M. and S. wondering if they could transfer the contraction data from my iPhone app into an Excel Spreadsheet (that's what happens when you put a professional researcher and techie in the same room!).

Midwife K. called at 11.  On a scale of 1 - 10, I told her that my pressure waves were a 5.5.  I wasn't in any particular rush to get to the hospital (I was thrilled it was Saturday night.  No D.C. traffic to contend with!).  And my doula didn't want me to spend more time than necessary at the hospital.  Home would be the ideal place to labor.  But Midwife K. said that I should head to the hospital and to give her a 10 minute lead so she would already be there when I arrived.  S. and M. started to gather the last minute belongings.  My mom offered me her flip-flops since I refused any substantial covering for my strangely hot feet.  The thought of socks, dramatically, repulsed me.  And before we left I checked in one last time on my dear, sweet A.

And, with my hair freshly washed, finger and toenails shining, and my purple bottle of water in hand and S. and M. with me, we headed to Virginia Hospital Center in Arlington.  S. sat in the back of the car timing my contractions.  As we drove along the George Washington Parkway, M. and I pointed out the lit-up monuments along our right-side.  We chatted.  We joked.  We laughed.  I couldn't possibly be in real labor under these kind of idyllic circumstances, could I?

We were all so relaxed, in fact, that we kind of dilly-dallied upon our arrival to the hospital.  Should we park at the curb? Park in the garage?  We drove through the garage, turned around, and opted for the curb.  I insisted that I take only two items with me:  my wallet and my birthing ball.  Let the games begin.