Decker’s Birth Story
Before I dig into this, I want to mention a few things. First, I don’t love the culture surrounding labor and delivery that makes a lot of moms choose to share their stories in a way that incites a fear around birthing. My opinion is that a lot of us women share birth stories like they’re battles, and by doing that, we hope it makes us look strong and like we’ve overcome some unbeatable foe. I think it leads to a lot of fear and anxiety for first time moms, and puts really negative energy around birthing. I hope we can get to a place where we’re viewing our births as a series of small miracles, versus a serious of unfortunate events. That being said, here, we’ll go over the series of unfortunate events leading up to (and following) the small miracle of Decker’s birth.
I also want to say, that now that I’m on the other side of this, I am changing a lot in the way I’m approaching my second birth. Second, I hope this story encourages you to advocate for yourself. Don’t be embarrassed about looking silly or demanding. You know your body, and it’s okay to demand a higher level of care. Don’t be dismissed if you believe something’s off.
Okay, let’s dive in.
So, how far should I go back? That’s the question with all good birth stories. But I think I’ll start at the time when I knew shit was getting real.
The Giant Booger aka the Mucus Plug
I think I lost my mucus plug at 36 weeks and I remember being like WTF is this giant booger in my undies?! I texted my doula and she explained that it was what kept your cervix sealed up and that it could regenerate and I shouldn’t worry…
“Could mean baby’s coming soon, or not for awhile.”
(Which isn’t that everyone’s favorite thing to say - and the least helpful thing to hear? Am I right?)...
I was a little anxious, though I would never let that show, because my doula had warned me (when I initially partnered up with her) that she would be on a mission trip to Haiti from week 37 of my pregnancy until I was about 38.5 weeks. So I was hoping baby would stay put until she was back stateside.
Fast forward to the following week…
The “Cool” Wife
We find out one of our best friends is playing in the NFL playoffs as a member of the Arizona Cardinals and hubby looks sooo crushed that he can’t attend. So, being the cool wife I think I am, I say
“Look, take Sara (our friend’s wife), leave Bronson (their 2.5 year old son) with me, and go to Arizona. I know when we conceived this baby and she probably won’t come until closer to 40-41 weeks I guarantee it! Go, have fun, because it’ll be the last fun you can have for awhile.”
I was only 37 weeks, and they would only be gone for two days and I didn’t feel the way everyone describes late pregnancy - I wasn’t waddling, I didn’t feel pressure, I was sleeping fine, I was comfortable, I still had energy, I was good.
So I thought...
The Gush
So, at 37 weeks, while my sweet husband was in Arizona (two flights away from me because there’s no direct flights between our city and AZ), and I’m watching someone else’s kid, and my doula is in Haiti, and I’m at the gym mid-plank.... I feel a gush.
This is what I get for trying to be a cool wife. But, of course, being the non-alarmist I think I am, I try to dismiss it. Even though the fluid went all the way through my yoga pants and ended my workout, I tried to tell myself that maybe I just peed (which I had never done at all during my pregnancy but, again, I heard it happens).
Wiser Women than I
I texted my doula in Haiti about what happened that morning at the gym and she says,
“Okay, I’m with a bunch of midwives here and we all agree: We think it’s your water based on your description. You can wait it out, knowing your husband isn’t there, but if contractions don’t start up here soon, you’ll need to go to Labor & Delivery (L&D) and get swabbed. You can give it until tomorrow morning if you want, but the rule to go by is 24 hours.”
Keep in mind: I have someone else’s child staying at my home (sleeping in a Pack N Play in my room) and it’s a Saturday – so I know my doctors aren’t just hanging out at the hospital or at their office. I tell myself, “Okay, let’s just wait a bit and see if I feel anything that resembles what people are describing as “period cramps” (which I’ve never had before), then I’ll make a game-time decision.”
All the Fun
The Cardinals win that playoff game in overtime and Kyle has ALL THE FUN. The next morning, a Sunday, Kyle & Sara are on the long travel day back home. I was still leaking a bit so I decided to call my OB’s office’s after-hours line and they sent me to L&D for a swab.
I drop my sweet little buddy Bronson off at a friend’s house so I can run to L&D and get swabbed, but because I can’t call my husband as he’s in the air, I call Sara’s husband Jason (who’s recovering from his win the night before) to tell him where I’m headed and ask him to tell our travelers what’s going on when they land in case I can’t get to my phone. I head to L&D, nervous AF and also trying to keep myself calm because “it could be nothing.”
The Morse Code Nurse
Here’s where it gets weird and frustrating (in hindsight).
I check into L&D and I’m immediately hooked up to monitors – which showed the baby’s heart rate and my contractions. The nurse says,
“That’s a contraction, do you feel that?”
And I reply,
“That? Oh really? Yeah I’ve been having that feeling, didn’t realize that’s what that was.”
She sees me leaking and tests the fluid with what looks like a little strip of litmus paper. She explains it will change to another color if the leakage is amniotic fluid. She seems to not like what she sees on the first one and does it a couple more times. She says,
“I’m watching it leak out, it’s not urine, and these swabs are coming up negative… but they can be wrong. I’m going to call the on call doctor from your practice and they’re going to want to come in to check for ferning.”
(Cut to me, staring blindly at her, no idea what the hell she’s talking about.)
She explains,
“Basically the doctor will come in, put the fluids under a microscope, and if it looks like a fern plant, then it’s your water and we need to induce you.”
(Cut to me, knowing my husband is still 6-8 hours away from being at my side, knowing I wanted “a natural birth unless I have to be induced with Pitocin, then I’ll be open to an epidural,” with my doula in Haiti, and now I’m panicking.)
Here’s what I saw happen next: Nurse comes back in the room. Her body language has changed. She seems a little frustrated. She says,
“Well, the on call doctor said if I’m testing the fluid and it’s negative, I should just discharge you.”
Ya’ll. When I tell you this woman looked like Sergeant Brody from Homeland trying to signal me Morse code with her eyes, I am not lying. She says, with so much intention that I feel like an idiot for not advocating for myself further here:
“If it keeps happening, even if it’s an hour from now, COME BACK. Don’t be embarrassed or think it’s a false alarm, JUST COME BACK.”
((Cut to me, practically throwing on my panties to GTFO of there because I was embarrassed. I had just dropped a kid who was under my care off at a friend’s house, worried my sweet doula while she’s tending to women in another country, freaked out my friend who was on a high from celebrating a huge win, and wasted 2 hours of my Sunday just cause I peed myself.))
So I practically run outta there. Hubby gets home later that night, the kid is back with his family, and I’m licking my pride wounds of a false alarm.
Business as Usual, but with Back Labor
Throughout the next three days, I go to work as usual. I have more wet underwear, but when I called my OB’s office they say,
“Unless it’s enough fluid to leak through a pad, it’s not your water.”
I shrug and move on with my life. I walk the stairs at work over breaks. I go to meetings, but have this come-and-go desire to stand up in the middle of them because of back pain and general discomfort. I can’t get home soon enough every day and then basically live in the bath on and off until bedtime. It was the only thing that helped the waves of low back pain I was having.
“We’re Having a Baby Today”
That Thursday (6 days after the planking “pee” incident, 5 days after I was sent home from L&D without a fern test), I go to my 38 week appointment. I’m excited to get my cervix checked – I’m curious to see how close I am to meeting my baby.
After I put my legs up, the OB dives in. I’m not sure the exact order of these words but here were the phrases that followed:
“You’re 1cm. 60% effaced”
“Your waters, I think they’re gone...”
“… maybe high leak”
“I’m touching your baby’s head, I can feel her hair.”
“I’m going to check for ferning.”
“Yes, it’s amniotic fluid”
“She’s okay right now, she’s not in distress...”
“Her head probably plugged up your cervix and preserved some fluid.”
“We need to induce you.”
And lastly, with a smile on her face, God bless her,
“We’re gonna have a baby today.”
((Cut to me instantly tearing up, scared, excited, confused, angry, panicked.))
((Cut to Kyle, confused, panic-stricken - as I don’t cry very often and when I do... he worries and frets.))
The Pre-Admission Binge
Thankfully, this appointment took place on hospital grounds so all we had to do was walk to the next building over to get admitted. On the walk over, I INHALED a protein bar, a banana, apple juice and - with a full mouth - told Kyle to call my mom, his mom and our siblings. He moved quickly and by the time we were ushered into a room, we’d called the necessary people and they were working on flights from California and Texas and neighbors were on call for our dogs. And I had consumed enough calories and fluids to make me feel like I had enough fuel to labor with strength.
The Nurse Who Almost Met her Maker
In our birthing suite, one of the first nurses walks in the room, looks at my chart and says,
“Oh I bet you’re thrilled to have this baby early so you don’t get to 200lbs!! You’re just shy of it, so yay for an early delivery!”
Or something along those lines. Y’all, if looks could kill.
A couple of other (better) nurses come in, and I say,
“I know you have to start the antibiotics for the Group B Strep, but do you mind if we hold off on the Pitocin and I try the breast pump and nipple stimulation first?”
I can’t remember if it was my nurse or a doctor but I do remember feeling like the person kind of laughed and said,
“I’ll let you get started with the pump while we get the Pitocin.”
The pump got me from 1 to 2 by the time she got back with the drugs so I was hopeful they’d just let me do that... but nope.
My doula’s emergency “back-up doula” got there at some point around the time they started me on Pitocin at around 12:30-1pm. They explained that protocol was to increase the dosage every 30min, to which I replied,
“Can we just try to keep it on as low as possible without raising it and just see how my body reacts? It seemed to be doing okay on just the pump alone so maybe let’s avoid upping it if we don’t have to? I would still like to try to do this thing with as close to natural contractions as possible, and hopefully avoid the epidural…”
Again, with the smug smile that, to me, felt like “Sure, toots, but you’re gonna be begging for that epidural either way.”
Productive Contractions
The nurse explained that pretty much the only “productive contractions were the painful ones,” so if I wasn’t in pain, they likely weren’t productive (i.e. dilating me). So then, I just waited for pain. I stood, I rocked, I held on the Kyle’s neck as I swayed and waited.
Sometime after that conversation about keeping the Pitocin low, my back-up doula leans over and says,
“They’ve upped it four times since you spoke to the nurse.”
I was frustrated and confused as to why that was done, in my opinion pretty stealthily, without them mentioning to me that’s what they were doing.
The Fear Factor
At around 3:15, I was feeling pain, but I was managing it with the support of my guy and my friend Sara in the room timing my contractions. I was swaying through it. I was doing okay.
Then I wasn’t.
The contractions started running right into each other with no pauses and Decker wasn’t getting a break inside of me either. I remember something about them wanting to back off the Pitocin and that the constant contractions were getting to be too stressful on the baby. My inner monologue went,
“I told you, you assholes, we didn’t need that much Pitocin, my body was doing its job and you guys just love your protocol so much you don’t care.”
But, obviously, they’re medical professionals and I’m not, so I did my best to just respect what they were saying and their course of action. I asked for them to check me, and while I waited, I told my doula and Kyle,
“If it’s 8cm, I’ll skip the epidural, but if it’s less, I’ll order the epidural.”
They checked me at that point and I was 7cm. I was secretly relieved that I had given that speech because I was ready for a break in the barrage of contractions.
I looked at my nurse and said,
“Do you think it’ll be soon? Or will it be more pain for a lot longer?”
She replied,
“It could be 20 more minutes, but it could be 10 more hours.”
I asked,
“Well, could you tell me which one it’s gonna be? Because I can do 20 minutes, but 10 hours is a no-go…”
She shook her head, knowing I was joking, and the epidural was ordered.
An Epidural: The Sweet Juice of the Gods
I got my epidural during a 3.5min brutal, non-wavering Pitocin contraction at about 5:00pm. It only took to one side, but I savored that feeling on one side as they rolled me to the other side hoping it would take over there as well. It didn’t, so they gave me more of that Magic Juice.
Then, it took all over and I was all peace and butterflies and beauty. I was so comfortable I could have slept but I was too busy texting, sending video messages, and calling people. I felt like I was high with contentment, I couldn’t believe this was labor. It was straight-up lovely. I was smiling, laughing, joking, and in pre-baby bliss.
The Shirtless Wonder in the Room
I asked my sexy husband to take off his shirt. Maybe because I was feeling flirty and affectionate, but also because, in case something happened, I wanted our baby to go immediately to someone’s skin and if it couldn’t be me, I wanted it to be him. I kept cracking jokes to the nurses that I knew shift change was coming and if I made my husband strip, would they stay a bit longer to help me usher this child into the world?
The epidural was like tequila for me: It made me think I was hilarious. But, they stayed past shift change, so who’s laughing now?
Practice Pushes and Poop
They kept coming in and checking me sporadically and at 6:15pm they eventually said,
“Okay, let’s do a few practice pushes!”
Followed by,
“Okay okay okay, that’s enough, that’s good, we’re gonna get the doctor.”
Here’s something no one told me: Your doctor isn’t there the whole time. They’re not even there for a lot of it. Or most of it. Or any of it really. The nurses are your team, your people, and your support. Unless you’re like me and have a doula and a supportive birth partner, there will be times when you could be alone while you’re in labor. The nurses have to check on other patients, etc. Your doctor will only really come in if something’s wrong or you’re at 10cm. This is one of the biggest reasons I believe in hiring a doula and/or having a committed birth partner for labor and delivery.
Not sure when shift change was, but of course the Doc that came in to deliver me was the on call doctor from that previous Sunday - the one who didn’t believe it was necessary to come in to check for ferning.
I was actively trying to keep that frustration out of my mind as I started pushing again, and then I asked my friend Sara to leave the room “because I felt like I was gonna fart” and didn’t want her in there.
Well, with the next push I asked the nurse,
“Umm did I just poop or something?”
She just said,
“Don’t worry, we covered it up...” then I horrifyingly yelped and exclaimed,
“GET IT OUT OF HERE!”
Kyle laughed. She did as I requested.
The Only Time It Feels Good to Hear You Have a “Very Elastic” Vagina
Doc said,
“You have very nice elasticity.”
I beamed proudly and winked at Kyle as I replied,
“Thank you, we worked really diligently on our perineal massage.”
She gazed into my vagina again, saying:
“Your pushes are strong, I’m seeing her head come down then she gets sucked back up, I think she’s sunny side up.”
((Cut to me, looking confused, not understanding what that means.))
Baby’s like my Eggies: Sunny Side Up
At the time, I didn’t know what “sunny side up” meant. But apparently when your baby’s facing your belly instead of your back, also called “OP” or “occiput posterior fetal positioning,” it makes delivery a little trickier.
The doctor requests the ultrasound machine, while someone explains to me that if the baby is facing “up” in the OP position, the doctor will do a manual manipulation to rotate her.
((Cut to me, doing the math on what a manual manipulation is.))
((Cut me, as I realize this means she would have to stick her hand inside of my already verryyyy full vagina to rotate Decker)).
((Cut to Kyle, after they confirm OP positioning and the doctor reaches inside of me to twist the baby.))
I looked up at Kyle, holding his hand and expecting to feel pain while the doctor rotates Decker. Due to the MAGICAL epidural, I felt nothing but I will never forget the look in my husband’s eyes - so wide with awe - and trying so hard to hide his terror - as he leans in to whisper to me:
“You should be so happy that she has very tiny hands.”
I laughed.
Decker was out on the next set of pushing, born at 7:27pm.
She had a limp arm and wasn’t crying. They took her immediately to the little baby station in the room and checked her out and got her suctioned, breathing, and crying. She grabbed ahold of Kyle’s finger and he started crying.
They handed her to me. I couldn’t believe she was here, on the outside. She was a squishy little chunk at 8lbs and 19.5 inches long. Kyle immediately started fretting over her, worried that she was clawing at her own face as she hunted down the scent of my milk.
I remember at some point, soon after basking in those fresh baby feelings, asking,
“So when do I do the placenta birth thing?”
They replied,
“Oh you already did that, and you didn’t really tear – just a little ‘road rash’ that would heal on it’s own but we’re going to throw one stitch in so it heals quicker.”
I also learned that apparently I had a catheter that I didn’t know about. I’d say that epidural did me a solid because I simply missed so many of the moments that were really worrying me leading up to the birth.
My Milkshake
We started breastfeeding immediately and I remember thinking it felt like a shock of pain when she first latched, and I’d just go “Owe owe owe owe” in my mind. It got better, or I developed a learned helplessness. But still, I feel like it’s important that women hear that it kinda fucking hurts at first. Eventually, though, I settled in and it became an oxytocin rush of love and affection.
I found out shortly after that at some point in her exit, Decker broke her collarbone. She was badly jaundiced and we remained in the hospital for five days as we worked overtime to kick the bilirubin and learn how to care for our little bird’s broken wing.
I was really stubborn and refused to use formula, so after every feeding I would pump and give Decker even more colostrum/milk in a medicine dropper. After days of crying while she lay in her little baby tanning bed, cheering on every poop, knowing it meant the bili was leaving her body, we were allowed to go home.
Despite all this, I will say it was one of the two greatest days of my life and I can’t wait to do it again.
