The Scariest Day of My Life: My Birth Story

The morning I went into labor was my 32 week mark.  I had been in the hospital for just over 2 weeks due to leaking amniotic fluid and low fluid levels, so we were prepared that our son would arrive early.  The ideal situation was to get to 34 weeks, but at 32 many developmental milestones have been reached.  The morning started pretty routine for my hospital stay.  Around 1:30 in the afternoon I started getting what felt like bladder spasms (I had been dealing with this during most of my pregnancy, and years before, so I was very familiar with it).  It was a light constant cramping right over my bladder.  I asked for my medication for it.  Usually it only took 5-10 minutes to take effect, but it didn’t seem to be working.  The nurse told me to lie on my side and relax, and if it wasn’t gone in an hour to let her know.  At that time they gave me another dose of my meds, which still didn’t help.  At that point they attached the fetal monitors to see if there was any activity.  I was apparently having mild, fairly contractions, but I wasn’t feeling them (this was pretty routine, as it had happened off and on during my hospital stay).  I remained on my side and drank a lot of fluids, and was told to use the restroom regularly.  The cramping never went away, but never really got worse either.

My last ultrasound, the day before I went into labor

Tim arrived a couple hours later.  Around 7:30 I went to the restroom yet again.  I was told each time if there was any blood to let them know.  Ok, no problem.  Except for this time….there was a LOT of blood.  My heart dropped.  This was it…this was the game changer.  Labor and Delivery was notified, and we prepped to move from my temporary home away from home.  By the time they arrived to move me I was definitely feeling the contractions!  But, they were manageable.  Just as I had imagined the full blown contractions would be.  We were in good spirits, and I was even joking with the nurses that were transporting me.  Once I arrived to my L&D room I was hooked up to all the monitors, given the dreaded IV again, etc.  The doctor on call came to check on me.  This time they checked my cervix…they had not touched me prior to this as to not contribute to any germs/infection that could get into my already leaking uterus.  I wasn’t very dilated, about 1 ½ cm.  So it might be a while.  The contractions gradually began to increase, more…and more…and more.  Finally they began to become unbearable, and fast.  Although my contractions were showing as a moderate level, my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 was about a 12.  They asked if I wanted to go ahead and get an epidural.  Yes, please!  They called the anesthesiologist, and as we waited I could barely breathe through my contractions.  Just breathe, the nurse kept telling me.  I can’t!  I wanted to yell.  How can anyone breathe or stay calm through this??  Why is the pain so bad if my contractions were still fairly mild??  Just before the anesthesiologist arrived, the doctor checked to see if I was dilated any further.  I didn’t notice at the time since I couldn’t even see straight at this point, but later Tim told me that the doctor and nurse exchanged a look.   

“You are still only dilated about 2 cm, so we’re going to have to do a C-section”.  

“Ok”, I said.  

I didn’t care at that point, as long as my pain went away.  Just then the anesthesiologist arrived.  “Go ahead and just meet us in the OR” the nurse said.  “Oh God, no”, I said under my breath.  I just wanted the God awful pain to go away.  “How long is it going to take?” I asked.  “About 30 minutes” the nurse said.  “Oh my God” I said, knowing there was no way I could endure the pain that much longer.  I knew it wasn’t the nurses’ fault, so I wasn’t going to take it out on them.  And, I knew that I had to stay calm and focused if I was going to get through this.  Although at that point I didn’t think I could!  I couldn’t see or think about anything else but the pain.  I knew Tim was there by my side, and I can imagine now how stressed and worried he must have been.

Something changed in my status, because it was much less than 30 minutes before they took me to the OR.  By this point my pain was constant, about a 6 between contractions and a 12+ during them, which were happening every minute (which felt like every 5 seconds).  They told Tim where to go to change into OR gear, and told them they would come and get him as soon as I was prepped. The nurse then began explaining how it was going to be very loud and chaotic in the OR and it could be very overwhelming.  I wanted to tell her that I worked in trauma and OR situations for a living so I could totally handle that part, but I was concentrating on not dying from the pain.  And I wasn’t too far off with that thought…

I could barely move onto the operating table and had to have several people help me.  “PLEASE MAKE THE PAIN END. PLEASE MAKE THE PAIN END” I kept thinking.  They had me sit up so they could give me the epidural.  I kept thinking there was no way they would be able to get the needle in me, as the pain was so unbearable I couldn’t relax at all let alone hold still.  As I sat up and put my legs over the side of the table there was a nurse right in front of me helping me up.  “Just lean over my shoulder” she said.  As I did she held on to me and hugged me.  I have never hugged someone back so tight.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to kiss her.  In that moment she was my only security, my only comfort.  I wanted to hug her forever.  Although it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything else but the pain I tried to listen to what was going on around me.  Working in an OR many times I knew what sounds, what words to listen for, but it was so difficult to do.  As they were almost done with my epidural I heard the nurse say “Heartrate at 58”.  Shit, I thought.  My baby was starting becoming critical.  As soon as they were done they all but threw me down onto the table. 

“Ok, we’re going to have to go ahead and get your baby out right now” my doctor said. 
“Ok” was all I could make myself say back.
“Are you getting numb yet?”
“Just my foot, dammit”
Why is it not working faster?  I don’t need my damn foot numb!!

Finally the pain started to go away.  I had never felt such relief in my life.  The second it took effect I could feel pressure and see my abdomen moving.  They weren’t wasting any time.  There was a male voice that was letting me know what was going on.  He told me they were about to pull him out.  His head was out. 

“He’s here!  Time of birth 1:24 AM.”

Then I heard a tiny but strong baby cry.  “He can breathe, his lungs are ok” I thought.  Then I started to cry.    It was over. I was so relieved.

And I was all alone…

There was no one to comfort me.   I have never felt so alone in my life.  No one to tell me he was going to be ok.  To tell me I was going to be ok.  Because at that point it wasn’t certain that I would be.  When they cut me open they realized what had been going on.  My placenta was tearing.  With each contraction it was ripping from my body.  My uterus was filling with blood. This is the most common cause of death during labor.

I heard Tim enter the room.  I was thankful he was there to watch over Noah while they cleaned him up and made sure he was ok.  It wasn’t until months later that he was able to tell me what he had to witness when he walked in to that OR.  As he walked in the door, straight in front of him he saw several people crowded around me frantically working on me, each one covered in blood.  The floor around them was covered in blood.  He had the thought that I was not going to make it.  But he had to focus on Noah. 

It was at that time that I began going in and out of consciousness.  The reality of what was happening to me started to take over my body.  It was 20 or 30 minutes maybe before they were able to bring Noah to me quickly before they took him to the NICU.  They touched our cheeks together and took a few pictures.  He was asleep and all bundled up, and I could barely even see what he looked like.  

Tim left with Noah as they finished up with me.  I was in the operating room for close to 3 hours according to my calculations.  Towards the end I heard my doctor on the phone with a Urologist.  I was able stay conscious and listen to what was happening.  In all the chaos (and bleeding) my bladder was nicked by the scalpel.  They had to repair it on top of everything else.  She got the ok and I was finally almost done.

I arrived back to my Labor and Delivery room and I was alone with the nurse for a few minutes.  They explained to me everything that had happened.  I got to see my placenta in a jar on the table across the room, and the nurse took it out for me to see (a healthcare worker curiosity, which I understand most people would be creeped out by!).  Tim arrived shortly after, then my parents.  I had a sense of relief that it was all over…or so I thought.  When the doctor arrived she had to check my uterus to make sure it was shrinking back to normal.  As she pushed on my abdomen the excruciating pain that had occurred during labor came back.  That was when the weight of everything that had happened over the last several hours fully hit me.  I started crying uncontrollably.  The emotions hit Tim and my parents as well.  These uterus checks, and unbearable pain, would happen regularly for the next few hours.  No pain medication would make it go away while they were pushing on me. 

It would be about 10 hours after Noah was born before I was stable enough to see him.  He was sound asleep.  I was allowed to put my hand into the incubator with him.  He was on his stomach so I still couldn’t fully see what he looked like.  It would be several hours after that before I got to see him awake.  I was unable to visit him again that night, so it was via video that Tim took that evening.  I bawled my eyes out.  He was my baby and I was missing all of these moments.  It would be about 32 hours after he was born before I was finally able to hold him for the first time.  At 4lbs 10oz he was like a feather.  Most women talk about that instant connection they get when their baby is born.  It hits them when they first hear their baby cry, or when their baby is placed on their chest right after birth for that skin to skin connection.  I didn’t get that experience.  Maybe it was all the trauma and pain I went through and because I was so weak.  Maybe it was because I didn’t get to instantly hold him, or breastfeed him, or even see him.  Maybe it was because I wasn’t able to choose when and how he was changed and diapered and held for weeks.  But when I saw him that strong bond wasn’t there yet.  Yes, I loved him and felt that I needed to protect him.  I worried about him when I wasn’t with him in the NICU and wanted details of everything they were doing for him.  He definitely felt a bond with me.  People noticed that when I would speak around him in the NICU he would turn his head towards me.  But it would be well after he arrived home before I would feel that bond.

After 4 days it was time for me to go home.  It took me several hours from the time I was discharged before I was physically able to go home.  I was crying uncontrollably.  The weight of everything we had gone through the past 3 weeks was hitting my postpartum hormonal mind.  I was finally free from the hospital after almost a month, but I was going home without my baby.  I could no longer go down the hall and check on him any time I wanted.  I was unable to stay the night in the NICU because I had to be taken care of as well.  I wasn’t strong enough.  I also had to go home with a catheter for several days, which upset me greatly.  Most importantly, I had missed out on that bonding time of having him in the same hospital room with me, to be able to dote over him like everyone you see sharing this wonderful experience online and when they talk about those first hospital days.  I would cry for the next 24 hours straight, and cry myself to sleep every night for the next week.  Every night in the shower for a couple of weeks I would stand there and bawl my eyes out, having flashes of the trauma that occurred. 

The day we left the hospital.  I felt like I was dying inside.

Now, a year later, everyone is well.  Noah is happy and healthy, and has had no developmental issues from being born so early.  I have had a few minor complications from the C-section, and I’m still building my immune system back up from the trauma my body went through, but otherwise doing well.  This experience has changed us in ways that would be impossible to explain.  We take it day by day, but the memory of what we went through still creeps in from time to time.  It no longer is consuming, and it gets easier every day.  I wouldn’t have been able to get through this without the support of Tim.  He has held me while I cried harder than I have ever cried in my life.  He has supported me through the times when I was unable to even get off the couch in those early days.  He gave me the space to process everything and let me heal in my own time.  He went through his own demons during all this, but made sure I was ok before he brought that burden on me.  For that I am forever grateful. 

I was later diagnosed with PTSD and postpartum depression.  I had to have Tim call my employer and tell them what had happened, as well as tell our friends and family, as I couldn’t even think about it without panicking.  It would be months before I could talk about it, and then it was just the straight medical facts.  It took several therapy sessions before I was ready to talk about it, and even then it was broken up over a few sessions.  I have never told the full story of what happened to me to anyone else, until now.  Why did I finally decide to tell this story?  As Noah’s first birthday comes closer some of the feelings, anxiety, and memories are starting to creep back.  I am telling my story first and foremost as a therapeutic tool for myself.  I also want to share my story so that others know that not everyone gets that fuzzy fairytale story of their baby’s arrival, so they can be understanding and compassionate towards those who didn’t get that story.  I want others who have had to endure a similar situation that they are not alone, and it’s ok to talk about it.