Friday, November 22, 2013

Matthew's Birth Story

With each child it seems it takes a little longer to get the time to write out their birth story. Matthew was four months old yesterday and I'm finally getting to it. I realized that there won't be a day very soon when I feel refreshed or well rested, so I better just go with what I've got before I forget it entirely. Although I'm not sure that could ever happen.

This birth was the first one that I was honestly scared about. Terrified actually. I'm not sure why. It would make sense if it were the one after Charlotte's, since her labor was so, well, labor intensive. But, I wasn't scared a bit about Cy's birth, excited even. And you'd think after Cy's birth, since it was such a breeze (in the relative terms of a pain medication-free natural birth), I'd be excited for Matthew's birth, or at least not as fearful as I was. But from about thirty weeks, when I had my first contractions, I really started to get scared. What if? What if something bad happens? What if I labor in the middle of the night and can't make it through the rest of it in the morning. (I was blessed enough to have both Charlotte and Cy's labor and delivery during the daytime hours.) What if he/she is in a bad position or what if I can't go natural for some reason and have to get an epidural or have a c-section. I know it sounds crazy to the moms out there who are great fans of the epidural, to choose to have the pain of childbirth, but I'm actually more scared of being numb than the pain I'll experience when I can feel everything. At any rate, I was scared of this birth and also worried once again that I wouldn't bond with this child. Even though I had experienced these feeling twice already and knew full well that the moment this little blessing is placed in my arms, I'm completely in love, I still had that fear.

As for the contractions at 30 weeks, I was advised to take it easy and drink more water and they soon passed, not to return for another ten weeks, thank the Lord! I was also very prepared to have this baby come late, since Charlotte was eleven days late and Cy was seven. I was praying this wouldn't be the case this time because they diagnosed me with gestational diabetes (turned out to be a pretty bogus diagnosis) and I was told they would "highly advise" me not to go past term. Even though I was with a midwife, she was still under a doctor and pressured to follow his orders. I didn't want to have to fight them for that last week or two, so I was praying it wouldn't even be an issue. The week before the baby was due, it turned out I was measuring small and they were concerned the baby hadn't grown in the past two or three weeks. I had many tests done that week and soon discovered that everything was completely normal, and the baby was more than likely just in a position that hid his/her size. It was the Saturday after my final testing was done (two days before my due date) that I started to feel some contractions that afternoon. I wasn't expecting to go into labor yet since I was still convinced this one would be late. So, when I woke up at midnight to contractions coming about two to five minutes apart, I was thankful this could be the real thing, and we wouldn't have to worry about fighting the doctors about going past my due date.

I was a little nervous knowing one of my fears may be realized, going into labor in the middle of the night. But I also knew from past experience that the other two babies came within four to six hours, so it shouldn't be too long of a night. So, after I had steady contractions for an hour, I woke up Peter and we called our good friend, Serene, to come watch Charlotte and Cy. I was full well expecting to get to the hospital already dilated to a six or even further, since that was how my body works, right? The hospital was about forty minutes away, even in the middle of the night with no traffic, and my contractions stayed regular, 2-5 minutes apart, and moderate to strong the whole way. We arrived around 2:30am, got checked in and because nobody comes in to get induced at two in the morning, all eyes were on me. You would think I was there for an emergency c-section with all the nurses that came into my room to see the action. I was already feeling the pressure to preform, when the first nurse came over to check my progress. "Hmmmm.....barely a fingertip....,maybe a one". Excuse me?! A ONE? I don't do ones! I do sixes. I come to the hospital after moderate to strong regular contractions for an hour and am a SIX. Not a ONE! Check again. My midwife arrives shortly after and checks me again, while I'm contracting (oh yes, that's a fun time if you've ever had one - turns out it will be the course of events for the majority of my labor and even delivery). She says I'm a two to three...maybe. Better than a one, but definitely not a six. It turns out my cervix is in a posterior position. She could pull it forward while I was having a contraction and stretch it a bit further, but after she let go it slipped back again. I had the same situation with Charlotte and Cy when I was checked prior to going into labor, but as soon as I was in active labor and arrived at the hospital it turned anterior and all was well. Well, this baby was in such a position that it was keeping my cervix tilted back. His/her (didn't know the sex yet) head was still down but just pushing down in the wrong direction.

Well, needless to say, I shut down. My husband, Aliza my midwife, Michelle my doula, and more than the necessary number of nurses were all in my room waiting for me to perform, and I was failing. My contractions slowed down to 20-30 minutes apart with moderate to low pain, my blood pressure spiked and my anxiety was through the roof. We couldn't go home because it took forty minutes to get there and it was the middle of the night and Serene was at our house already. What if things picked up as soon as we got home and Serene was told she could go home?  But I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with Charlotte and Cy. I missed them. I didn't want to have this baby. I didn't want to go through labor. I didn't want to push another one out. I just didn't want any part of it. I wanted it to all be over. Now. I was terrified of what might come next.

My midwife suggested they turn off all the machines and I could stay there and rest until morning. I agreed that was probably the best option and that as much as I didn't want this to happen, it was the inevitable and I had to get through it the best way possible. I joined Peter on the visitor couch and laid next to him for some time, crying most of the time. He encouraged me to talk through all the fears and just keep sharing what was on my mind. I did and it helped and I think somewhere in there I got an hour or so of sleep before the morning hours. At about 7am, Aliza came back, as did Michelle, and I was checked again. At this time the contractions were slowly picking back up and as a bigger one hit, she checked me again. Bad news, I was still posterior, good news, I was now about a five or a six. Okay, I can do five or six. Let's get this show on the road.

Peter and my doula, Michelle, took turns walking the halls with me, and more women were checked in for labor, so I was less of a spectacle to be watched, releasing much of the pressure for me to perform. (If you haven't caught on, I have major performance anxiety issues - not a good thing when it comes to childbirth, so I found out.) I relaxed and continued to progress. About 10am, I was at an eight, but still posterior, so she had to stretch my cervix to that point when she checked me during a contraction, only to have it slip back again after the check. But, the anxiety lessened and I felt God's peace over my heart, knowing there was hope and feeling the prayers of so many that morning who knew I was in labor.

My contractions continued to increase in intensity and kept coming closer. I labored for a time in the tub, which relieved some of the pressure and helped me to relax. It turned out that the baby was still positioned way over on one side, his/her back still not in front but rather on the side, keeping my cervix posterior and keeping me from fully progressing. They tried to use a sheet up under my belly while I was on all fours, rocking my belly back and forth to try to get the baby to change positions, but he/she didn't budge. My water still hadn't broken, so I wasn't yet experiencing the intensity of contractions that come once it's broken. Nor did I want to, as I was barely holding on at this point. During the break in between contractions, I would just completely zone out. I couldn't answer any questions or barely even hold myself up. I was spent. Completely.

At about noon, I knew I was still at an eight, could be stretched to a ten when contracting, but it wouldn't stay there. I knew I couldn't go on much longer. I also knew something had to be done and this baby had to be born soon, otherwise I would have no strength left to do it on my own. I asked my midwife what my options were. She told me we could do one of two things. One option was to break my water and hope things would progress faster and I would get fully dilated on my own. I wasn't too thrilled with this option because I knew from experience with Charlotte's birth that contractions get much worse once my water breaks and I could barely handle it now. I was also concerned that without the extra fluid, it would be even harder for the baby to turn into a better position. The second option was to lay flat on my back, hips tilted up, and when I had a contraction, my midwife could reach in, stretch my cervix and pull it forward, and I could try to push the baby out. I asked what the chances of success were for the second option. She said it would be pretty painful (major understatement), but if it worked, I could meet my baby in about twenty minutes. I took a minute, had another contraction, then decided, I will take my chances. I can do just about anything for twenty minuets. That was a couple minutes past noon.

 So, I got up on the table, on my back, and my first contraction hit. Aliza coached me on pushing while Peter and Michelle each held a leg. What came next, with the next three pushes, was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. I say that after two natural childbirths with no pain medication. It was seriously mind numbing pain. There were a couple pushes that Aliza coached me not to push, but to just let the baby come through, as it was already crowning. She had me do the same thing with Cy's birth, and with him, this wasn't too challenging and even gave me a much needed break from pushing, since he was in just the right position. But, with this baby, there was nothing on this earth that could keep me from pushing. Ever fiber in my body wanted that baby out and there was no stopping the process. I knew when his head was coming through. They say ring of fire, I say wall of fire, and I'm not sure if his shoulders were much easier. Never in my life have I felt such pain. His shoulders came though and right after, Aliza asked me if I wanted to pull out my baby. I reached down and pulled him out and brought him up onto my chest. What I experienced at that moment was the most intense feeling of relief and elated joy I could have ever imagined. I kept calling out, "Praise God, Thank you Jesus, Praise God!", as I couldn't stop  myself from praising the Lord out lout. It just flowed out of me. Then I looked at my sweet baby, held him close to me, saying, "You're so wonderful. You're so wonderful!". And he was. Healthy, strong, baby boy. Matthew was born at 12:19pm that Sunday afternoon. It turns out it didn't even take twenty minutes. He actually didn't have a name until that following morning. We hadn't decided on one before he was born, and a couple hours late, Peter said, "How about Matthew Leif". I said it sounded nice and he said we should sleep on it. The next morning I still loved it. So, Matthew it was. Matthew means gift from God and Leif  means beloved. Pretty perfect to me.


 I still get tears in my eyes thinking of how wonderful he was. Knowing the whole anxious, exhausting, fearful process, and then settling my thoughts on the outcome. God is so good. What a beautiful little blessing. He is now four months old and cooing and laughing and wriggling all about. His brother and sister just adore him and as utterly exhausted as I've been from the multiple midnight plus feedings, I still go to him each night in my sleep deprived stupor, loving every ounce of him and the quiet moments I get to spend with him. With a four year old sister and two year old brother, those quiet moments can be very far and few between.

The process of his birth reminds me a lot of how God does life with us. It's always the times following the greatest hardship that we feel closest to him. If we hold on during those trials, trust him not to save us from it, but to give us strength to endure it, He is always there on the other side to bring us great joy and satisfaction in being nearer to Him. In seeing maybe just a glimpse of his glory. Like Moses, who had to be covered by a rock as the Lord passed by him, and couldn't see his full glory and live. We also couldn't possibly experience the full extent of His glory on this side of heaven. But I believe that Sunday afternoon, right around 12:19pm, I received a glimpse of it. Praise the Lord indeed!




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