Apologies in advance, it is a long one! Here is the short version from my Birth in Progress thread:

Short version:

At 1 PM on Sunday, June 2nd I was induced due to ruptured waters and no sign of labor. I got started on pit at 2 ml which was upped to 4 ml about an hour later. They had me at 6 ml for about a half an hour but turned it back down to 4 since it seemed to work well. That was all that I needed to jumpstart the process. Contractions picked up quickly, but I was disappointed when around 8:15 pm I was only 3cm. I started to doubt my ability to do it without an epidural and even though it felt early, I got in the tub. While in the tub I had such strong contractions that I thought I might have the baby in the tub, but I didn't think there was any way I was that far along. They got me out of the tub to check me at 10:30ish and I was a ten. I began pushing and at 11:43 our baby boy was born, 8 lb 2 oz.!

Long version:

Friday, May 31st, we were out to dinner celebrating my sister in law’s birthday party. At this point I was 41 weeks to the day and the “where is baby!?” questions were getting old. I had lost my mucous plug a week prior and was only 1 cm if the midwife was being generous. Cervix was still long, but she said baby was nice and low. During dinner, I felt a weird little trickle. I hadn’t had any incontinence issues during pregnancy, so I went to the bathroom to check on things—it was just a small amount of liquid, but I thought it was a little curious. We proceeded with dinner and went home and to bed. In the middle of the night I woke up from a similar trickle and then the next day, Saturday afternoon, I awoke from a nap with damp-verging on wet underwear. At this point I was a little suspicious that perhaps my bag of waters was leaking, so I called the midwife on call at the hospital to see what they thought. They had us come to L&D that night to have a NST and to test the fluids. Baby was doing great but the fluid was indeed amniotic fluid—by that point my waters had been leaking for over 24 hours. I was GBS negative so they were not overly concerned about infection, but they did recommend moving up the scheduled June 5 induction to either that night (June 1) or the next day (June 2). We opted to go home and come in the next day. I was nervous about the induction and secretly thought that my dreams of birthing without any pain management had flown out the window—I was pretty depressed about that. Devin and I had plans to labor at home as long as possible and I was pretty down that that wouldn’t be the case.

After a full night’s (anxious) sleep, we headed out the door to our favorite coffee shop for our last (non-hospital) meal as a twosome. It was surreal and strangely normal at the same time. Finally, we headed to the hospital. As I mentioned, we had had grand plans for a natural labor and birth and wanted to labor at home for as long as possible. I was frustrated that labor hadn’t started on its own even though my amniotic sack had ruptured and that we’d have to do the whole thing in the hospital. We were admitted and discussed our various options and settled on a small amount of pitocin. Since they don’t allow anything but clear liquids once you start pitocin, they let us order a meal before we began. Our hospital labor room was pretty great—beautiful view of the Charles River in Cambridge/Boston, tub in the bathroom, birthing ball, speaker system, etc. It then occurred to us that in a way being in for an induction was nice—we were being fed, didn’t have to clean up, could listen to music with the AC on as high as we wanted while nursing staff was there to get us whatever we needed! Plus, we got one of the most beautiful views of the city…not bad at all.

Once lunch was over, we were told that usually they start the pitocin with 2 ml and increase it by 2 ml every half hour, often up to 20 ml/hour. We started with the 2 and immediately contractions began more noticeable than the BH ones I’d had during later pregnancy. After an hour, we allowed them to up us to 4. A nurse came in about half an hour later and automatically went to up us to 6 ml. We asked that she hold off on the 6 as the contractions I’d been having by that point already felt stronger and more productive. She begrudgingly allowed us to stay at 4. After another hour or so, we requested the 6. Up until this point, Devin and I were goofing off and having a great time. We listened to the “Labor” station I made on Pandora, played cards, and watched Scrubs. We even made a silly video of us dancing around (which looking at it now gets me—I can’t believe how pregnant I was!) Shortly after, the same nurse came back and surprised us by suggesting we go back to 4 as her monitoring of the contractions showed that we were progressing nicely at the low levels. We were thrilled that it looked like we wouldn’t have to up the dose any more than that. Around 6 pm I was finally starting to really have to breathe and move through the contractions—I found the birthing ball to be the most comfortable way to do that and my breathing naturally came out in low, controlled hums that felt really grounding. We had taken a Prepared Childbirth with a Midwife class, but no method called out to us, so most of what we did felt instinctual. At this point we called our doula to join us. She had been on call all day and I finally felt like Devin and I would benefit from another support person. Devin and the doula took turns offering massage and counter-pressure during contractions and much-needed words of encouragement. The doula was the best money we have ever spent. She and Devin were the most amazing team and they played off each other perfectly. I felt so loved, tended to and cared for. At one point she suggested Devin and I both get in bed and he spoon me while supporting me through contractions. This was such a loving way to Iabor, especially because in the last months of pregnancy spooning was so uncomfortable, and I really missed that closeness with my husband. I labored a couple of more hours in various positions before I finally felt like I was starting to crack.

At that point, around 8 o’clock, I felt like I needed to know my progress. I had not been checked to that point, and I was completely dismayed to find that I was only at a 3. A measly three for what had felt like good, hard work. I felt like it was too early to get in the tub (I didn’t want to risk slowing labor down), but I was encouraged to do it—I think everyone could tell I needed a change of pace and the tub was it. After about half an hour in the tub, I started to loose control. At the beginning of each contraction, I completely lost my ability to breath in a controlled manner—my first breath at each of these contractions was an almost animalistic grunt/wail, and I felt like I needed to bear down. Devin and our doula were amazing at recentering me for the next breath—what felt good during this time was a deep breath in of 4 followed by 4 short breaths out. However, with each new contraction, that helpless animal feeling came over me. I remember saying things like “I can’t do this” and “make it stop” and “I don’t want this.” Devin and the doula came back with phrases I had used myself during pregnancy—“You are MADE to do this.” “You can do this for yourself and your son.” At times their words angered me because in the back of my mind I was ready to get the epidural—but at the same time, they reminded me of how much the experience of birthing my son without pain medication had meant to me. They refilled the tub with hot water while feeding me ice chips. I could barely open my mouth to accept the ice chips, but they were my saving grace during this period. The pain and the feeling of lack of control was starting to get to me…I was in the heat of the moment considering giving in to the option to feel relief. I tried to work through the contractions and trust Devin and my doula. Devin was amazing—he helped me focus by squeezing my hand, telling me he loved me and how proud he was of me. Hearing that was allowing me to hold on, but I didn’t know for how long I could do it.

It was in the tub that I first started feeling an out of control urge to bear down, but I knew it was too soon. I tried to stop it, but at points I couldn’t help but push. I should note that at this point, other than checking in on us every now and then and the midwife giving me a cervical check, we were pretty much on our own—that is one thing I really loved about the experience, even being in the hospital, I felt like I was at home in a comfortable environment. Our doula had brought essential oils that brought me back to our own bathroom taking relaxing soaks during my pregnancy, and unless we called for them, the nurses only checked in on us very discreetly from time to time.

Finally shortly before 11 PM, our nurse came in to check on us, witnessed a contraction and calmly but firmly said “You’re doing great, I think after this one you should get out of the tub and we should see where you are.” I was pretty helpless at that point, and moving sounded like the absolute worst thing in the world. She insisted, and the three (Devin, doula and nurse) helped me out and back to the bed in the room—I was caught by a contraction before I could get in—at this point they were on top of one another. It wasn’t until then that I had my bloody show. The nurse had fetched the midwife and they suggested another check. At this point I was pretty convinced that I needed an epidural. Having only been at 3 cm 2/3 hours prior, I could only imagine that I was just a 5 or a 6. When the midwife checked me, she sounded surprised herself—“You’re a ten! You’re ready to push!” Devin and I both cried with surprise and relief—I couldn’t believe it. It was a totally surreal moment. I also felt overwhelmed—it was time to push. After a few pushes, they told me I was making great progress and that they could see his hair—he had hair! They brought the mirror over to motivate me, and seeing the top of his head did prove a huge motivator! While I could see him, I still didn’t comprehend how he was actually going to exit my body. That’s when I went into autopilot mode—It was almost like everyone disappeared and I was alone and just pushed—again, a feeling of lack of control took over and my body just seemed to have a mind of its own.

To my shock, I was an effective pusher (this coming from someone whose first blood draw made me throw up and pass out!) and the midwife said he would be here soon. My bag of waters finally completely broke at this point. I had been getting two good pushes out of each contraction, and once the midwife thought it was time she left to fetch the pediatrician (who was on call since there was a trace amount of meconium in the amniotic fluid) after she had said this…however that particular contraction I gave another push without being able to help myself, and the baby was head out before the midwife had come back from getting the pediatrician! At this point my husband ran out and said “little help!?” and the midwife and nurse ran back in the room to help guide baby out. They tried to tell me to slow down, but I couldn’t control it and baby came sliding out, entering the world at 11:43 PM on Sunday, June 2. I never felt the “ring of fire” I’ve heard so much about, and honestly the pain that I felt seems like such a distant memory now. I was in another world mentally and that seemed to melt away. They placed the most beautiful baby in the world (doesn’t every mother feel that way?), bloody but perfectly pink on my chest. I wept, my husband cried, we stared at each other and our little son in awe. After a few moments on my chest they whisked him to the warmer to make sure he hadn’t aspirated any meconium—he cried a hearty, beautiful cry, they announced he was healthy as could be with his first Apgar a 9 (and his second a 9 as well). 8 lbs, 2 ounces, 20 ½ inches. They wiped him down and brought him back to me, and we just stared at this little man, this beautiful baby who had been hanging out with us for ten months, this person we had been dreaming about was finally here. It felt so surreal and peaceful and perfect. My husband held me, I held our son, and we were a family of three. Time seemed to stand still during this moment and all the pain and exhaustion were replaced by sheer euphoria and adrenaline.

And…the aftermath:

While we snuggled with him, the midwife surveyed the situation “down there” and she called in an OB to help assess the damage. I had a third degree tear, causing damage to the labia and the muscles around the anal sphincter. That barely registered with me because I was so distracted by the sweet baby on my chest. The OB recommended I get an epidural to deal with the repair, which she estimated would take an hour. I felt like I had done so much to avoid an epidural and after all of that I didn’t want to have to go through waiting for the anesthesiologist, etc. She sounded doubtful, but said they could try doing the repair with a local injection of lidocaine and some numbing gel. That, combined with the best pain relief of all—my newborn son on my chest—did the trick. The repair wasn’t comfortable, but it really wasn’t all that bad. Unfortunately, the repair itself led to a significant amount of blood loss. Once I was finally stitched up, they had to bring the baby up to the nursery for the routine newborn care. I urged Devin to go with him—I didn’t want the baby to be alone! Our doula stayed with me, and they brought me my first meal—chicken pot pie, ice cold coke and carrot cake. It tasted like a feast. After eating, I had to get up to pee before they could let me go to my recovery room. I went to get up and blacked out. They got me back into bed and gave me some ice chips and ginger ale, and I tried again. Fainted again. Unfortunately at that point they had to give me a catheter since I couldn’t pee on my own before they could send me off to recovery. They cathed me and then tried to get me up into a wheelchair…passed out again. Finally they ended up sending me in a stretcher to my recovery room, which I barely remember. Ultimately, I ended up needing a blood transfusion of two bags of blood. That is a whole other story, but the most important thing is that our baby boy was as healthy as could be and our little family is doing as well as can be. 10 days PP and I am feeling so much better and so glad I got the transfusion. I am still having trouble getting up and around but each day is progress and I would go through it all again in the blink of an eye for our baby.

We finally named him:

On his third day of life, June 4, 2013, Devin and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary. We had still not named our little bundle of joy. It was a lovely surprise that he stayed napping while we ate our breakfast, again in a room overlooking the Charles River. It was one of the first times I had really gotten out of bed and it felt decadent to sit with my husband while our baby napped, eating a meal on our anniversary. We finally agreed on Jack Arlington, and when he woke and we called him by his name, it felt absolutely perfect.