I thought I was so smart. I thought I always had a high tolerance for pain. Therefore, I was able to so confidently repel anything unnatural, any intervention. My poor obstetrician literally begged me to be more open minded.
No induction because I was happy to allow the baby to decide when it was ready to enter this world. It can also lead to a prolonged and extra painful labor. No epidural because of the very small chance of it causing irreversible damage to my back. Many times the epidural can lose its effect as well. Why risk it? No vacuum or forceps. I could not do that to my poor baby. No gas because they say it causes nausea. I have a phobia against vomiting. And the list goes on. All of which I made very clear to my obstetrician.
As well, I did not want anybody aside from the hospital staff in the room with me whilst I labored or gave birth. I could not bear the thought of anyone seeing me in such a state. According to Jewish law, my husband was not allowed in the room at childbirth. My mother was not happy that she could not be there to support me. Thankfully she understood. I invited her and my father to roam the hospital corridors; I wanted them there as soon as the baby was born. However, my mother did insist on getting me a doula and managed to persuade me to find one myself. It was the best advice she has ever given me.
And so began my game of broken telephone until I found Jo. I met Jo a number of times before the birth to make sure we were on the same page. Luckily we clicked straight away. Jo was just so normal and down to earth. I was worried I would not find someone because of my preconception that doulas are hippie earthy crunchy. I am not like that at all. So we discussed the no's I mentioned above, as well as me wanting to labor at home for as long as possible.
Thank G-d I was blessed with a relatively easy pregnancy. I only complain about having needed to pass urine every two minutes. At the most inconvenient times too: the second I stepped out my front door, and during the night.
During the last couple of weeks of my pregnancy I felt signs of labor and was desperately waiting to pop. Waiting for the mucus plug; waiting for a show. Anything to tell me that today would be the day.
It was approximately 10:15pm on a Tuesday night. I was resting and trying to read a little when I got up to use the bathroom. I suddenly felt a pop and gushes. Thank G-d I was wearing a nice big pad. I ran to the bathroom. My waters were red. I freaked out. I quickly called my obstetrician. He told me he would like me to come in so he could check if it was just a show. Uh hello! A show? I knew my waters had broken. I updated Jo. I called my mom to tell her the news. She insisted on driving us to the hospital. About ten minutes later my labor pangs came crashing in. I was beyond irritable. My mother was still not there. We debated calling a taxi. We got to the hospital at 11pm. I was up on my knees leaning over the back of the seat and moaning the whole way there. My husband was telling me to sit properly and put my seat belt on.
They strapped me to the CTG. We called Jo again and asked her to come. It was becoming unbearable. I was ready to burst out of the bed. What were they thinking? I am not sure how I was able to stay on it for as long as I did.
The obstetrician arrived, but I could not talk.
Once I was unchained I could not stay in one spot. I walked into the bathroom. My irritability was reaching new heights. I lost all shame. I could no longer tolerate my clothing. I felt major urges to pass bowel. No one mentioned that it may have been THE urge to push. I was too scared to push anyhow. I was losing my breath. Labor takes your breath away, in the other way. Jo the angel reminded me to breath. Don't know how I could have survived without her.
The midwife came in to ask if I wanted the obstetrician to check me. I said no, just because I could. And he listened. In hindsight I wish he had not. Perhaps I had been ready to push.
Intense was not the word, nor intolerable. There is no way to describe the pain. I cried out for an epidural, all the while knowing I had pre-warned my doula not to listen to me, and knowing that made it much harder. I vowed never to forget the strength of my pain. I thought I would die. I settled in the bath thinking that it would give me the most relief, though the word relief did not exist in that bathroom. I could not move.
Eventually I succumbed and let the waves hit me. They had no pity.
All the while, no one ever knew what stage of labor I was at. It never established itself.
I then decided to check how things were doing and kind of gave myself an internal examination, I guess. It felt soft. I asked Jo if the top of the babies head felt soft. By then I was barely talking. I could not say much after that. Without warning Jo I started pushing. I could not stop myself. It was amazing. I did not care how painful it would be. I just wanted the baby out. It was a good pain. I was groaning. Jo realized something was amiss. She quickly checked it out and realized birth was imminent; Jo buzzed the midwives "baby in bath."
They came running. I remember my smile was literally ear to ear. I felt it. I knew it would all be over soon and I was about to meet my baby. They told me to get that smile off my face and start pushing. The head was out, but the baby was not turning. The midwives decided to do the turning for the baby with their hands. Apparently that was when I tore. Third degree tear. Not fun. Then finally he was placed on me; relief, exhilaration, joy, elation. The cutest little being I had ever beheld. The nine months of growth within me, perfection, the greatest gift.
