Kylin’s Birth

I woke up on Sunday, August 26^th, feeling “different.” It was hot, I was cranky, and Jamie and I were not getting along. He worked in the computer room all morning, and I cleaned and worked around the house. At about 11 am I couldn’t stand it anymore…my back was aching so badly—I had to ask for his help. I bent over in front of the box fan on all fours, the air blowing in my face, and called for him to come rub my back. I had been having contractions, but they were not very regular—varying from 5-10 minutes apart. We decided we would like to get the grocery shopping done and run a few errands before going to the hospital to be checked. If I really was in labor, I wanted to know for sure so that I could notify Aunt Debbie, who would be driving up from Grants Pass to be here for the birth. I spoke to my mom and told her how I was feeling and what our plans were, and she thought it was pretty silly that I would run around doing errands while I was in labor, but I was sure that was what I wanted to do. We went to Fred Meyer first for Jamie to get his watch fixed, and as he was waiting at the counter with the associate trying to do whatever it was they were trying to do to his watch I paced back and forth several feet away, having strong but not painful contractions. The woman who was helping him kept asking if I was ok, and suggested that I get right to the hospital if I was having contractions. My extensive birth plan included laboring at home as long as possible, but it was difficult to continue on that path when it seemed everyone else thought I should be at the hospital. I don’t remember the actual conversation, but we decided to heed everyone’s advice, and just go into the hospital to get checked. I also don’t remember what instigated it, but I was SO mad at Jamie on the way to the hospital—I remember screaming “I HATE YOU!!!” over and over in the car, and wishing I could just get out and never have to see him again. I have no idea why…

When I arrived in labor and delivery at 3:45 pm I was put in a triage room, checked and found to be at 3 cm, and I remember laying in bed hooked up to the monitors while Jamie watched TV. The reality of the experience we were about to have set in, and the anger began to dissipate. After a little while, a nurse came in and told us they wanted to move us to a room and get me on an IV. They said there was nothing to worry about, but that the baby’s heart didn’t look as good as they would like and they wanted to get some fluids in me and see if her heart tones improved.

We moved to the LDR room and they got me all settled and hooked up. I asked if they were going to send us home after the fluids, and the nurse said that we were all checked in and that we wouldn’t be going home…she then uttered the magic words: “You’re having a baby!!” I was like putty in her hands…I couldn’t help but want to nod and smile and blindly believe that because she said it was so, it was.

After the fluids were administered the baby’s heart tones looked much better, and they were willing to let me off the monitor for short periods of time to walk the halls. So, with my IV pole in tow, I walked. And walked. And walked. And walked some more. I did laps around and around the L&D ward. Friends and family started arriving, and soon I felt like a long distance track star, circling the racetrack, waving to each fan and cheerleader on every lap. I also had a small crowd making the trek with me. At this point, contractions were very bearable. I was breathing through them, and although they felt strong and uncomfortable, they weren’t painful.

I labored all night, rotating between the birth ball and walking laps, hoping that labor would pick up. At some point in the evening pitocin was suggested, and I refused—I knew I definitely didn’t want to go down that path. My aunt, cousin, and her 19 month old daughter drove as quickly as they could, and arrived later that night.

Somehow the tension between Jamie and I slipped away, and we were able to work as a wonderful team. He was in rare form during my labor, being very attentive, rubbing my back, and supporting me in anyway he could.

The next morning at 7 am I was STARVING, tired, and worn down. I finally caved to the repeated advice to start pitocin, with the caveat that it be used as sparingly as possible. The nurse turned up the dose slowly, but nonetheless, up and up it went. My contractions increased a little in intensity, frequency, and duration, but not really in painfulness. I had been stuck at 4 cm dilation for several hours. I continued being as mobile and upright as they would allow—walking, sitting on the birth ball, and rocking in the rocking chair. At one point, I got into the “Jacuzzi” tub in the bathroom, but didn’t last more than a minute before I got very frustrated about the cramped, hard, uncomfortable tub, lukewarm water, and jets spraying at my knees and promptly got back out.

The nurse began planting a seed for the next in the cascade of interventions—having my membranes ruptured. I, of course, refused all day, but rolling into the evening I started to worry about being up laboring all night for a second night in a row—and still on an empty stomach. I couldn’t bear the thought.

At 5 pm, and 4 cm, Dr. Nakamura came in with his huge crochet-needle-looking amnio-hook and broke my water as I lay in the hospital bed. INSTANTLY I was overwhelmed by the pain…it was like a switch had been flipped, and suddenly the circuit that allowed my brain to sense the pain of the contractions was engaged.

I was paralyzed by the pain, lying on my left side, trying to make it through one contraction at a time. My mom was in front of me, talking me through each wave of excruciating pain, while Jamie stood behind me, rubbing my legs. After about an hour I knew I could not do it another minute and I said it was time for an epidural. I had really really hoped to go without one, but I just couldn’t bear the searing pain any longer.

It seemed like forever between the time I made the decision, and the time the anesthesiologist actually arrived and began the procedure, and the pain got even more intense. During that hour I progressed from 4 to 6 cm. The epidural took quite a while to insert properly and was a very painful procedure—the anesthesiologist kept hitting blood vessels and making jokes, and everyone in the room was on edge and unsure if the problems he was encountering were serious. When it was over and the medication took effect I was very comfortable. I sat talking with Stephanie from 6:30-7:30 pm while everyone else left to get food. The nurse returned to check me, found me to be dilated to 10 cm, and my response was, “Shut Up!!!”… I couldn’t believe after such a long early labor, active labor was over in an hour.

At about 8 pm everyone returned, ready for the pushing to begin. My room looked like we were hosting a sporting event with all the people there (12!): my dad, brother Brian, sisters Haley and Julie, best friend Stephanie, Aunt Debbie, cousin Bridget, her daughter Drew, brother’s girlfriend Becky (who I met for the first time that day), Jamie’s sister Dani, my mom, and Jamie--the doctor said he should have sold tickets. In the waiting room was Jamie’s mom, her huspand, and Dani’s kids Ari, Jessi, Shawn, and Jason.

In the labor room, I pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed, in every position imaginable. After a little over 2 hours it was apparent that we were not making any progress. Dr. Nakamura checked me and determined that the baby’s head was stuck sideways, and decided to use the vacuum to turn her head so that it could fit through the birth canal. My first thought was that I had read that an episiotomy is necessary in order to use the vacuum extractor, but to my relief when I asked the doctor about this his response was: “I haven’t done one of those in 8 years, and I’m not about to start now!” I pushed for some time while he tried to guide the baby’s head, and I could hear people shouting excitedly “I can see her hair!”, but I could feel that she was not moving down. Finally the doctor said, “The scalp is coming, but the skull is not.” He explained that her head was transverse and asynclitic, and that a cesarean was probably the best option. I pleaded for anything else to try first. He said I could turn side to side every 5 minutes and see if gravity would help the baby turn, but it was unsuccessful and so a cesarean was our final resort.

After making the decision to do the surgery, the vibe in the room immediately changed. Instead of being focused on me, there was now a hustle and business, every person doing their job to prep me for surgery. This period of time felt like it went on forever, and during it my epidural wore off. The excruciating pain returned, and I begged for more medication. The anesthesiologist came in, added more medication to the drip, and did his part in preparing me. I did not realize that he was adding more and different kinds of drugs to my cocktail.

As I laid on the table, with nurses shaving me and painting my belly with iodine, I suddenly felt a lot of pressure down low, and a feeling like the baby was moving down the birth canal. I yelled “She’s moving!! I can feel her moving down!” The nurse looked very doubtful, but said “Oh, I wish she would.” She checked me and said that the baby had definitely not moved. Full of disappointment, defeat, and exhaustion, and at the same time anticipation and excitement, I was wheeled into the O.R. The surgery was uneventful, but very unpleasant. I started to feel the effects of the extra drugs, but because I was not warned that I would feel different, I thought it was something they were giving me in my oxygen mask. I tried to stop breathing. Jamie noticed that I was holding my breath, and kept coaching me to breathe. I counted ceiling tiles. I stared at the lights. Anything to keep from thinking about my insides exposed to all who were looking…my guts sliced open just a few feet below my eyes.

Then came the magical, amazing moment. I became a mother. The doctor lifted my baby from my womb, and presented her up in the air for me to see. She was beautiful. And very mad. My eyes welled up with tears, and suddenly all the ickiness of surgery faded away. I was a mother. I had a baby. She was so gorgeous and perfect. They weighed her, measured her, and I watched every second of her short life with intense wonder. Finally they brought her over, all wrapped up like a little burrito, and handed her to Jamie. He held her next to my head, and we cooed and kissed her. Kylin Taylor. Our sweet baby girl.