Part One: It’s Happening!
In the weeks leading up to Nico’s birth, I kept thinking about what it would be like to go into labor. How would contractions feel? What’s it like to have your waters break? Would it happen somewhere embarrassing? Like, out in public! If I did go into labor, would I still go through with a planned cesarean, or would I suddenly decide to ride out this trial of labor? (You can read my thoughts about having a trial of labor vs. vaginal birth after c-section here, and here).
I had dreams as well. In one dream, my sister-in-law had the baby for me. When I woke up, I let her know by text. She replied, “No thanks!”
In the week running up to his birth, I was thinking about it a lot. With hindsight, I think I was experiencing some different symptoms. The pressure in my cervix had changed quite a bit, and more frequently Nico’s head was hitting a pressure point that sent a jolt of pain down through my vagina - known as lightning crotch.
Preparing for the unknown
Obviously, we knew it was a possibility that I could go into labor before my due date, before the scheduled cesarean. Steve and I had a list of friends willing and on call to take care of Max (our 2-year old) in case that happened.
I had a document full of information about Max’s usual schedule on weekdays (when he went to daycare for the bulk of it) and weekends, his healthcare information, foods he liked, games he enjoyed and how if all else fails they can show him Vivo or Cocomelon on Netflix. It wouldn’t be ideal if I went into labor early, but at least we knew Max would be cared for.
As we got closer to a week out from the due date, two of those friends became essentially unable to support because both of them were living with someone who caught Covid! Of course they happened to be the most experienced at watching Max as well.
I worried a little bit, not because I didn’t trust the folks helping us, but because I know Max so deeply and I have multiple strategies to try and help him when he’s in a bad mood or being fussy. You can’t write those things into a document, it’s as much about me being there as it is about what I do and how I say things.
A visit with the Doctor
On the morning of Thursday, February 10, I went for a routine appointment with my OBGYN. She checked my cervix and said it was still closed.
“Oh good, that probably means he won’t be coming early then,” I said, like a fool.
“No, actually, I’ve seen women with closed cervix go into labor and have their baby the next day, and I’ve seen women walk around 4cm dilated for two weeks. It doesn't really mean anything. Science is way behind on understanding what starts labor,” she informed me.
* cue shared sigh at the patriarchy *
Dr C. asked if I wanted her to do a membrane sweep, which allegedly can help trigger labor. I said no thanks! Nope, nope, nope. I wanted my Feb 18 delivery. I wanted those matching birthdays (Max is March 18). And I was honestly a little scared of going into labor too early.
On this day, I was 38 weeks and 6 days pregnant. This was the gestational age at which Max had been born. We made it through the day, and I thought to myself: this is the most pregnant I've ever been. And apparently, my body decided that 38+6 was also the limit for me.
The day before Nico was born, I enjoyed a delicious lunch at Wahpepah's Kitchen in Oakland.
Ruptured Membrane
Apparently, ruptured membrane is the medical term for your waters breaking.
Around 1:45am, I woke up to use the bathroom. I remember thinking to myself: hmm, this is more than I usually pee. I wondered how people can tell the difference between peeing and having your waters break.
I got back into bed and lay on my left side. I tried to get back to sleep. Just 5 minutes later I felt a dampness spread between my legs. It was definitely not urine. It was pretty easy to “tell”, my waters had broken.
I shook Steve awake, “Steve, I think my waters just broke.”
“What? What the ****?!” he asked in a dazed and confused state, "what do we do now?"
Steve got me a towel so I could waddle to the bathroom without dripping anything on the floor. It was coming out of me slowly, but continuously. Dripped clear liquid down my legs. I stood in the bathtub to prevent covering the floor.
“Does this mean you’re in labor?” Steve asked.
“I think so. I think we’re going to have a baby today,” I replied, a little shocked, a little excited.
I called the hospital, as I had been instructed to do if I went into labor. I mentioned that I was scheduled for a cesarean the following week. The nurse on the phone asked me why, and if I had considered trying labor. She asked if I wanted to have a trial of labor. I was taken aback by these questions. I had spent a long time thinking about it and discussed it with all the doctors I’d seen. I’d even signed paperwork stating that I wanted a cesarean. After pulling up my records, wouldn’t she have seen this? Wouldn't she have thought that maybe I’d given it some thought for the past 9 months?
Later, on our way into the hospital, I told Steve that her question had bothered me. Mostly because it brings up an ounce of self-doubt. Another moment where I have to check myself, am I really doing the best thing? Should I try labor? Is that the right thing to do?
Steve was very supportive and reassuring, saying to me “Mimi, you’re doing the right thing because you made this decision, and it’s your decision to make. You’ve spent a lot of time thinking it through, you made the choice that’s best for you. That makes it the right decision.”
I always appreciate how certain he can be at times when I’m shook. He agreed to support me when we arrived at the hospital. I really wanted to ask the check-in nurse to make sure other staff don’t keep asking me that question when we’re there. It did come up as soon as we arrived, and before I answered Steve stepped in, “No, she’s made her choice, she doesn’t want to try labor.” I was very grateful for him. It wasn’t mentioned again.
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| Final photo, arriving at the hospital in the middle of the night. |
Boring
This wasn’t like a movie scene. I actually just watched a TV show where the woman’s waters broke. It was made to look like a hose of water turned on, rushing through her tights onto the floor, and she quickly waddled to hospital in pain from contractions. Cut to her pushing and screaming like hell as a baby comes out.
I’m sure it’s that way for some women. As I said, I stood in my bathtub with a slow trickle of water dripping down my legs. I never felt any contractions.
The labor & delivery nurse on the phone said we should come in right away, but that I didn’t have to rush. I took the time to shower and get my things together. Obviously, I was already packed. But we didn’t have anything for Steve for an overnight stay. So he had a bunch of things to get sorted.
We woke up our roommate, Mayhem, to prepare him for taking care of Max in the morning. He was sleepy and excited for us, and trying to get his head around the instructions for the morning.
At the hospital we were checked in and I was put onto a bed and strapped to a machine to check the baby’s movements and heart rate. All was good. The nurse explained that the surgical team would come and meet with me, they’d all start to prepare, and we would likely be ready to go around 7am. It was only 4am, why did it have to take so long?! Urgh, I hate waiting!
Steve and I sat in this small room for centuries/hours. The surgical team came to visit one by one, introducing themselves and explaining their part of the procedure. I took a rapid PCR covid test (negative! whoop whoop). We still had to wear our face masks the whole time we were in the hospital. Even during surgery!
I was a little nervous. Even though I had been through it once before, I was very aware that I was still about to have a major surgery. I was still about to have a needle in my spine.
In those moments, I kept thinking about all the risks they mentioned and how terrible it would be to go through something traumatic. I don't just think about the risks to my body, but how Steve would react. I worried that he would be so traumatized if suddenly I was hemorrhaging and there was a big panic in the room.
I just kept telling myself it would probably be fine. I also distracted myself by thinking about Nico. I wasn’t nervous about meeting him. I was excited about that. Excited to finally meet this little one. To introduce him to our family, to the world.
Since we were in this windowless room for, like, forever, we even had time for a 45 minute nap! The nurse taking care of us noticed Steve was on a pretty uncomfortable chair, so she dragged a cushioned chair into the room.. Then encouraged him to put his feet up on his original basic chair. She even went to get him a warm blanket!
Meanwhile, I sat in a cold damp mess of my own creation. I continued to leak fluids in much greater quantities than earlier. Every time I moved, even the slightest bit, I could feel it flow out. If you’ve ever had a very heavy period (while wearing a pad, or perhaps it arrived unexpectedly) then you’ll have sensed a similar feeling. Only this was like a quadruple heavy period: much more noticeable and wet.
The bed was lined with two or three layers of “puppy pads”. When I changed positions from one hip to another I had to peel my thigh off the damp pad and cringe as I turned onto my other side, resting a new part of my body on an already damp and cold surface. By the time the nurse came in to move us to the operating room I had absolutely soaked through them all! It was gross!
In part two, I’ll share more about the actual surgery and meeting Nico for the first time!
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