Our 48 Hour Wait
Early in the morning on March 15, 2023, I went into labor.
It was early labor and contractions were varied but strong enough to prevent me from sleeping. After tossing and turning for hours, 1AM eventually turned into morning and contractions were still coming consistently but not in a discernible pattern. Either way, both Adrian and I knew that work wasn’t going to be an option for us. We notified our bosses and spent the morning distracting me as best as we could. In mid-morning we went to Target to get last minute supplies. The woman behind us at the check-out line could tell I was in labor and happened to be one of the L&D nurses at the hospital we were going to be delivering at which was a fun connection. We never actually saw her while we were admitted, but being validated in that way was really helpful for me.
We had an afternoon appointment at the OB’s office and saw one of the midwives. We decided she should check where I was at and I was 4cm dilated and 70% effaced. It wasn’t enough to send me to the hospital but definitely headed in that direction. We continued to distract, rest and labor at home until Friday evening when contractions were following the 5-1-1 rule and we called the hospital at 9PM to see if we should come in. Initially they didn’t think we should but a few hours later we called back and they told us to get in the car.
We got to the hospital at 12AM on March 16th. At that point I was 6cm dilated so they agreed I should stay. To spare the incredibly mundane details, I ended up laboring in “early” labor until 4:30PM on March 16th when the midwife on duty suggested breaking my water to see if that would help make the contractions more consistent. It was a pretty emotionally defeating day. To be in “early labor” for 15.5 hours and constrained to the hospital after following all the “rules” about when to come in and honoring our “what do we have peace about” decision making radar, was exhausting physically and mentally. It made me doubt myself and my body and shockingly, the hardest part of birth for me, was fighting old lies that were rearing up in new ways.
After they induced me via breaking my water, the contractions started ramping up over the next few hours and by 11:30pm or so, I was ready to start pushing. I pushed for 2 hours and at 1:22AM, on March 17, we got to meet our sweet boy, Wesley. Because I was in my head about trusting myself and my body, pushing was harder than I anticipated. The midwife kept telling me that I would know when to push but mentally I didn’t trust myself. Thankfully, she was encouraging and kind and the nurse on duty, as well as Adrian, helped me work through that mental block.
For various reasons, even though Wesley was head down and in the right direction and he wasn’t too big, I had several tears from pushing. They were severe enough that about an hour or so after Wesley was born, I was wheeled to the OR and had minor surgery. Honestly, this part was kind of fun for me. To be in an OR for a non-life-threatening reason and to be awake was quite fun. It was a low-stakes way to pretend I was on Grey’s Anatomy. It did mean that I missed Wesley getting weighed and measured and his footprints and all that but I’m thankful Adrian was there to take care of him, give him more skin-to-skin time, and be a great partner.
By the time Wesley was born, I had been laboring in early, active, and the pushing stage for 48 hours. While what happened wasn’t what I imagined, I’m incredibly proud of myself. For an emotionally brutal 48 hours, I persevered. I remained as calm as possible, didn’t let myself completely spiral, and managed to do it all with minimal nitrous oxide and cursing or screaming. The midwives told me my fortitude was admirable and that I was a badass. As it turns out, their positive affirmations were really hard for me to hear because of the mental battle in my head.
While the physical and practical parts of Wesley’s birth did not necessarily go as planned, I’m proud and thankful for the way things turned out. I’m thankful that I was able to do it mostly unmedicated, with grace, and with midwives I trusted and wanted to be there. I’m thankful for the support I had from Adrian and the host of people praying. I’m thankful that we followed our guts and what we had peace to do even if things didn’t turn out how we planned, because we got to exercise and use those skills and will continue to do so in our parenting journey.
I was woefully unprepared, however, for the emotional and spiritual attacks I endured. I should have anticipated them, the enemy is crafty and Wesley had some pretty great words prayed over him prior to birth. I was unprepared for the same old lies to come raging back but in new contexts.
I think it’s so important, when sharing birth stories, to first, ask permission because perhaps someone doesn’t want or need to hear your story, but secondly to share the emotional impact and how you battled through it. We know epidurals exist and we can avoid the physical pain if we want. We know inductions exist and c-sections are options if things stall or babies need to be born immediately. The actual birth of a child, the physicality of it, isn’t a mystery. And it will happen, on your due date, earlier, later, whenever. That’s not in question. It’s learning how to respond mentally and emotionally that I wish I had heard more about. It’s remembering how to battle internally or being warned that perhaps old fears and lies might rear their head, that I wish I had been prepared for because I think it would have made a fairly decent physical experience so much better.
Labor was hard but beautiful and that’s the part I’m focusing on and thankfully next time (hopefully there will be a next time) I know what to expect both physically and mentally and can better roll with the inevitable punches without feeling so untethered.
All in all, I’m so proud of Wesley’s birth. Because even if there was an unexpected battle to face, I did persevere. I did fight through and in my opinion, and that of those that were with me, I did it like a true Gryffindor, I did it like the strong Scottish lass that I am, really though, I did it only with the strength of the Holy Spirit. And that is something to celebrate.