a series of ordinary events: 06.13

It was three weeks ago at 3:00 in the morning, and I couldn't sleep. The alarm was set to ring at 4:15 AM, setting the day Lydia was to be born via c-section in motion. I grabbed my iPhone and blinked away the sleep, trying to focus my eyes on something, anything, to take my mind off the terrifying day ahead. I tapped on my ESV Bible app and mindlessly chose a psalm to read. These words seemed to jump right off the screen and wrapped themselves around my anxious heart:

"I sought the LORD, and he answered me

and delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to him are radiant

and their faces shall never be ashamed.

This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him

and saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of the LORD encamps

around those who fear him, and delivers them."

(Psalm 34:4-7)

I have already recounted what happened that amazing day in a previous post, but I will sum it up: God worked a (small but enormous) miracle that morning and turned my baby from her breech position, thereby making the c-section unnecessary. I am still in disbelief when I think of the timing of the discovery, a.k.a on the operating table. God kept me terrifyingly dependent on him right up until the very hour I thought I would meet our baby. I felt a little like Gideon going to battle with naught but some horns, jars, and torches. God delivered me.

The following two weeks were very difficult. I felt like I had done all of the work of labouring emotionally, only to find out I would have to reset my brain and work up to birth again. And then there was the waiting. Dear little Lydia made no effort to break the cycle of being extremely overdue that her brothers had established before her. This meant I had to make time to fit in many extra appointments and trips into the city that I was hoping to avoid this time. Routine was thrown out the window, and every day that passed brought the unwanted threat of induction. I was so weary with waiting, and so afraid of being induced in a new hospital with policies I was uncertain of without the aid of a doula and a midwife. My brain was constantly in "worse-case scenario" mode, during which I practiced saying NO to nurses and clinging to my husband as an advocate. It was so dreadfully hard to give my anxieties to God when they would pop up like weeds every waking moment.

When it became clear that I would need to be induced (five days sooner than I was with Benjamin, thanks to differing induction policies between provinces), I was convinced that it would go just as it did the first time: I hoped I would be far enough along to be put on the Synto drip and that a baby would be born five hours later, with manageable pain and minimal intervention. This was my desire. Instead, after four hours of being locked up in a windowless ~~jail cell~~ fetal assessment room, I left the hospital with the less intensive Cervidil inserted in my lady parts. I was so incredibly discouraged. I was certain that it wouldn't do anything and that I would be back the next day (if they had room, they said) to repeat the process again. Joey and I grabbed a quick (and delicious) falafel supper at a local diner, then crashed at my Aunt's house for the night. We chit-chatted with them, watched some strange TV, and hit the hay at 9:30 PM. I had had a few semi-regular contractions by this time, but they felt just like the "false labour" I had been having for a week. I was not hopeful.

At 11:30 PM I was woken up by strong contractions. They were coming every eight minutes or so, and at first I was able to stay in bed and breathe through them. Over the next hour and a half they grew in intensity and frequency, and the only thing that felt good was to kneel by the bed and rock through them. I woke up Joey when they were three minutes apart and told him it was time to go to the hospital. He snapped into action with a gleam in his eye. This was the real deal!

I only had two contractions during the car ride there, but they were so bad that I had started to let myself moan and groan my way through them. It was about 1:45 AM by the time we had made it through admitting and into yet another ~~jail cell~~ fetal assessment room. They told me to drop my drawers and wait for a doctor to come assess me.

This was the point at which I began to panic. I don't remember my contractions being so painful in either of my previous births. I was frustrated because I was naked from the waist down (they had not given me a gown yet) and felt too self-concious to move around and get through the contractions on my terms. I began to yell and cry and despise that stuffy room, the big red clock on the wall, the unforgiving examination table. They left us in there without checking on us for half an hour, during which I had seven of the worst contractions of my life. Finally, after many tears, Joey poked his head out the door and addressed the several nurses standing around, asking "Is someone going to come check her?" I was beside myself, sobbing, yelling through my pain, and nearly giving up.

It didn't take long for a doctor and a nurse to come check me. They took one look at my tear-stained face and immediately felt pity for me. An internal exam showed that my cervix was 4-5 cm dilated, 75% effaced, still pointed backwards, and that baby had not yet dropped. Finding this out was devastating to my willpower. At 4-5 cm dilated with Judah I was walking around block stores and managing to look like a normal person. The pain I was feeling this time around just did not compute, and I immediately knew (or thought I knew) that I would not be able to manage the rest of the labour without some real-deal pain relief. After sobbing through the decision making process and asking Joey repeatedly if it was ok to get an epidural when I had managed both of our boys' births just fine without one, I barely squeaked out to the nurses my wish to have one.

I was terrified at the thought of having an epidural, and I knew I would regret it later, but I could not see through my pain and my brain was in full "flight" mode. Each contraction only served to heighten the sense of growing panic. By the time they got me to a labouring room, I was pacing around in a frenzy, blubbering out "I need relief!", and crying into my husbands shoulder. I was angry and disheartened by my nurse, who seemed in no great hurry to relieve my pain. I know now that she was purposely stalling because she truly believed I was nearing the end and was strong enough to go through it without an epidural - I just wish she would have verbalized those beliefs.

Finally (which was really only about 15 minutes after I got into the labour room - but it felt like an eternity!), the nurse offered me nitrous oxide gas to help me cope with the pain until further pain relief could be acquired. It told my frantic brain to shut up and allowed me to actually relax between contractions. It really didn't feel any better, but it allowed me to regain control. I moaned my way through the contractions while Joey told me wonderful things like "you're doing so well" and "you're beautiful". In my mind I was still at 5cm dilated with a baby that had not dropped, so it was hard to believe what he was saying.

What really snapped me to the reality of how far along things really were was my water breaking. With my other labours/deliveries, this was one of the last things to happen before my babies were born. I announced it to Joey and my one faithful nurse, and she seemed not as amazed by it as I was. She got the hint, though, when halfway through another contraction I went from my moaning-yell to a really deep and frightening growl. "I need to push!" I exclaimed, to which I was told "Not yet!". I kept growling anyways because I was certain she was wrong. A quick internal exam brought these words from her in a very astonished voice: "It's baby time!" She told me it was ok to push, at least until she saw how eager I was to get that child out of me, at which point she said "Slow down or it will be just me delivering your baby!" I didn't care.

There was a lot of hustle and bustle after that, as you can imagine. I heard her run to the door and say "I need a doctor! I need a doctor now!" I felt the lower half of the bed being removed. I heard my husband cheering me on by my side. I recognized the presence of another woman (the doctor) in the room, and did my best to listen to her telling me to stop pushing and just cough instead (apparently I'm pretty vigorous in the pushing department). I finally felt in control and confident as I pushed our little girl into this world. I heard the doctor say "reach down and grab your baby!". I saw her sweet face. I fell in love.

It was such a whirlwind. I went from 5cm dilated with a baby that had not dropped and a cervix that was still pointed backwards to pushing within 45 minutes. At 3:09 AM she entered this world weighing 8lbs 7oz (for reference, Judah was 8lbs 12oz and Benjamin was 8lbs 6oz). All of my fears were swept aside as the Lord carried me through another amazing delivery. After all we've been through this last month, I am breathing a huge and heavy sigh of relief to be done with all of it. God is good.