My Birth Story

Sitting on my bed, I stared at the brand new creature in my arms. She was beautiful, eyes open wide, staring in wonder at the fuzzy world around her. She was so small as I held her, and yet she had seemed SO BIG just a few minutes before (if you know what I mean).

But how did we get here, to this magical dreamland of oxytocin-induced bliss? 

My birth story does not start with “I went into labor at x time.” It needs just a little more background.

Warning:

This story is pretty detailed. Depending on how much you actually want to know about birth, proceed with caution.

At around 36 weeks, I began to develop PUPPP, which stands for pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy. In short, it is the worst rash that you can possibly imagine. It has no known cause, though some theories include an over-taxed liver, an allergic reaction to the baby's cells, or overstretched skin. It typically starts in the belly's stretch marks. It is more common in first pregnancies, particularly with boys. I had many, many stretch marks, thanks to carrying all of my weight in my stomach. I had also eaten mostly junk food and not gotten enough water for much of my pregnancy. Whatever the cause, I was prime candidate for PUPPP

I was also miserable. 

The rash quickly spread from my stomach to my thighs and butt, all the way down to my feet. It included my hands as well. The itching got much worse at night. When I looked it up to find a cause, I discovered it to be a response to hormone changes that happen as the body prepares for sleep. I could manage not to scratch most of the day, but nighttime was an entirely different story. My feet itched the worst. In order to even sort of sleep, I had to put cold washcloths on my feet. I would frequently wake in the middle of the night, scratch furiously for a few seconds, then hold on to my husband's arm for dear life in order to stop. Some nights, I would get up and wander around or read to get my mind off of the itching. 

I had a particularly bad night early in July. I spent most of the night scrolling Facebook, reading a book, and trying not to scratch every part of my body. Around 5:00 am, I finally fell asleep. I had to get up at 7:00. Since my husband and I shared a car, I had to drop him off at work in order to run my errands that day. I did all of the grocery shopping in the couple of hours before I had to leave for my midwife appointment, which was an hour away. 

I arrived at my midwife's office to discover it was locked. I sat outside for awhile before texting her. She quickly replied, reminding me she had a meeting at our normal time, so we had scheduled for an hour later. My sleep-deprived brain had completely forgotten. At my midwife's suggestion, I spent the next hour in a coffee shop, trying to wake up via caffeine.

I was 38 weeks and a few days. The appointment went normal, and I received my official PUPPP diagnosis. I declined a cervical exam, because I was early still, and it probably would not give us any helpful information. My midwife suggested a benadryl and a warm oatmeal bath to help me sleep that night, because I obviously needed it. As I left, I wondered aloud, “Wouldn't it be funni if I went into labor today? Since I only got two-and-a-half hours of sleep.” My midwife assured me that situation was quite unlikely.

That afternoon, I went to my sister-in-law's house. She had offered to help me make some freezer meals to use after the baby came. While sitting in their kitchen, my brother-in-law joked, “Don't go into labor here!” I rolled my eyes and said, “I wish!” I definitely was ready for the pregnancy to be over.

That evening, after dinner, I was beyond exhausted. I pushed through, though, and made another batch of egg muffins to freeze for future breakfasts. I noticed a mild cramping in my low back every several minutes. I tried to convince myself it was nothing. It persisted, even though I kept changing positions. I knew I was in labor, that this was it, but kept it to myself. My husband and midwife were both convinced I would go after my due date, given the statistics. (The average delivery date for first time moms is one week after their due date.)

My husband and I went to bed. About half an hour later I heard a pop and felt a gush. My water had broken! Thank goodness I had decided to put the plastic sheet on the bed earlier that week.

Rolling out of bed, I went to call my midwife. We talked briefly, confirming that it was, in fact my water that had broken. She told me to go to bed, try and sleep, and we would touch base around 7:00am. 

Yeah, right, I thought. I don't think it will be that long.

This is the part where things start to get a little fuzzy. I did try to go back to sleep. But after one contraction in bed I knew that was not happening. I spent the next hour pacing my living and dining rooms. The contractions continued to intensify. I wasn't strictly timing, but based on the clock, it looked like they were a minute long and only a couple minutes apart. I couldn't take it anymore. I woke my husband and begged him to call the midwife, to tell her to come. I needed her, I thought, mostly to tell me that I was laboring correctly. I needed the affirmation that things were moving along properly. He looked at the clock. It was about 11:45. He convinced me that we could wait another 45 minutes to call. Again, statistically, I had many hours left to go, since first time moms typically labor an average of 21 hours.

I was not happy about the decision, but also felt like I was incapable of making the call myself. At my husband's suggestion, I climbed into a warm shower sitting in the tub. This was where I spent the next three hours. (Thank you, tankless water heater!) It was really the only place that was comfortable. I tried a couple times to pick a different position, but one contraction there told me otherwise. 

My husband did call the midwife at 12:30. Discussing my contraction pattern, they determined it wasn't time for her to drive down yet. As I continued to labor, my husband timed contractions. They were averaging about 40 seconds long and a minute and a half or so apart. My midwife had told him to call when they were a minute long and a minute apart. Spoiler: They never reached that pattern. 

Around 2:30 am, I was done. Completely drained. The last three hours had been almost all pushing contractions. I was trying to breathe, to relax into them. Mostly I just moaned. I was LOUD. That was one of the only ways I could cope with the pain! My husband conferred with the midwife again, and they suggested I lay down and try to sleep. I didn't like the idea of leaving the shower, but since they thought it was a good plan, I decided to go for it. 

The first contraction in bed was awful. My positioning felt all wrong. But then, somehow I still don't fully understand, I fell asleep. At very least I dozed. The only reason I know this is because I remember dreaming. It was more one of the half-asleep dreams. I remember there being 5 houses, one for each push of the contraction that woke me up. 

Fully awake, I realized I needed to pee. Urgently. But I was tired, and walking was painful (I think this was due to the baby's head being pretty low, even early on in the process). I tried to ignore it, but it could not be ignored. Slowly, I rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. 

I sat on the toilet. I didn't pee. I pushed! Involuntarily! Reaching down, I felt the top of my baby's head! I called to my husband from the other room: “THIS BABY IS COMING NOW!”

He called the midwife to inform her of my unexpected progress. I continued on  the toilet, and another contraction came. My husband came back to the bathroom with the midwife on speakerphone. “Is she still on the toilet?” the midwife asked. That was my hint to get off the toilet. 

I went to a kneeling position, hands pulling on the doorknob of the bathroom door. That lasted only another contraction or two. I ended up sitting on the bathroom floor, legs up, back against the bathtub. After a few more contractions, the baby's head made it out. Due to my position, I saw the head turn, stopping face up. I will never forget that moment. A few more pushes, and my husband said, “She's here!” He handed me the baby. 

“It's a girl?” I said in shock. I doubled checked. I had been so sure I was having a boy. She began to cry almost right away, relieving any fear I had that she wouldn't breathe with no way to help her. I held her close, and she calmed. Her eyes were big and wide, taking in the new world around her. 

A short fifteen minutes later, the placenta followed with no complications. We moved to the bedroom, mama, baby and placenta in a glass bowl. At this point the midwife had arrived. She checked everything. Baby was perfect. The midwife had left so quickly she forgot her scale! We didn't get a weight until later. 

I had a couple of minor tears. Thankfully, I didn't require any stitches. I was told to stay in bed for at least the next three days, keeping my legs together as much as possible. I (mostly) complied. 

The first latch was difficult, but after that I had no problems nursing. After getting everything cleaned up, we all slept for about an hour. The midwife left, to return in a day or two to check on everyone. 

When our family of three woke up around 7:00 am, we lay in bed, quiet. “I guess we should tell everyone we had a baby,” I said. My husband made calls and texts to the appropriate family. We had many visitors over the next few hours and days. Thankfully, I never felt overwhelmed.

The first weeks postpartum were hard. Harder than I could have ever imagined. The hormonal changes threw me for a serious loop that I was not expecting. Up and down, thrilled to have a baby, and grieving the loss of it being just my husband and me. 

The worst, by far, was lack of sleep. Waking up every two hours or so to nurse wasn't so bad. I can fall asleep pretty easily under normal circumstance. My circumstances, however, were far from normal. Remember the rash I mentioned? It is supposed to clear up after giving birth. Mine did not. It worsened. Every time I woke up in the night I had to fight the itching in order to fall back asleep. 

It was so bad, that a week after my daughter was born, my mom took me to the doctor. He prescribed a short course of prednisone. The steroid helped immensely...for a few days. Once I had finished the prescription, the rash flared up again. The only thing that kept me half sane at night was getting up to wash my body with Granpa's Pine Tar Soap in a lukewarm shower. It usually alleviated the itch long enough to fall asleep. 

I ended up with a second, more intense course of prednisone. This time it worked. I was nearly six weeks postpartum before the rash FINALLY cleared up and I could get on with life. 

My birth story, like every birth story, is unique. It did not go at all how I imagined it would, and it has taken me quite some time to come to terms with it all. The immediate postpartum blindsided me with just how difficult and up and down it would be. I have no desire to go through PUPPP again. But, when the Lord wills, I look forward to adding to our family. Pregnancy and birth are no joke, but definitely always worth the effort. 

Next time, though, I hope the midwife makes it in time!