Part 1

Part 2

“Two more pushes,” he said, “and if you don’t make any progress, we’ll take her out.”

I tried, I really did. A cesarean was the last thing I wanted. I was terrified of the cutting, of the recovery. But the pain was overwhelming and my strength was fading after 3 hours of pushing.

I made no progress.

Things happened fast after that. I remember suffering through two more contractions, seeming alone on my bed moaning and suffering, while they bustled around me. Clark had left the room to tell the family the latest news and that she would be here soon.

Then, finally the anesthesiologist made the pain go away. Relief flooded through me as the medication warmed me nearly to my shoulders. I was so relieved to finally be pain free, I didn’t care anymore about the cost.

They wheeled my bed into a small room. It didn’t feel like an operating room. It was small and cramped. They draped me in warm blankets and put a blue sheet up between me and my belly.

I began to shake and then talk uncontrollably to calm and distract myself. I asked Clark to talk to me, tell me something, but before he had a chance to even think of something to say I started talking. I was making jokes and asking questions and probably making a fool of myself but I couldn’t seem to stop.

Before I knew it I heard her cry.

It happened so quickly. She was finally out.

Clark left my side to take pictures. I began to vomit and my anesthesiologist (I should really know his name by now), held a bowl for me then injected something to make it stop into my IV.

Clark brought the camera back to me and I got my first glimpse of my daughter, the little person who had caused me so much pain and frustration for the last 3 hours and I instantly forgave her.

A few minutes later I was back in my room. She was across the room in her bassinet, little legs kicking up in the air, silent and so far away from me. Clark was gone to get the family and I was in my bed, quiet and calm after the storm. Tears began to roll down my face. Tears of disappointment, of sorrow and tears of thankfulness.

My family walked in, my girls first came to see me, the tears on my face making my big girl cry too.

“We’re ok,” I told her. “Go see your sister.”

The nurse had just checked me and declared me complete, but my other nurse came in, checked me and said there was a little lip of cervix left. They wanted me to sit up to allow the head to come down some more.

I sat up in the bed talking to my sister. Clark went out in the waiting room to let everyone know what was going on. Suddenly, while we were talking I began to feel a lot of pressure. One minute I was all, this doesn’t hurt at all. No, I’m not afraid of the pushing. And the next minute I was feeling more and more pain. With each contraction the pressure intensified. After Clark came back and the pressure continued to get worse, I buzzed the nurse at his prompting.

The nurse and doctor came in and sent my sister out. They began to get ready, pulling out shoe covers and trays of instruments.

My nurse sat me up, had Clark hold one leg and she held the other and on the next contraction I pushed. And pushed, and pushed. With each contraction we continued pushing and the pressure I felt got stronger and stronger until I wondered if the epidural was working at all.

After about an hour of pushing and little progress, the doctor told me the baby’s head was turned the wrong way and I was going to have to push a lot harder to get her to come down. But once she was down, it should go fast. That and some encouraging pushes gave me hope, but as the time passed and the pain increased, I got discouraged.

Somewhere in the middle of all this the doctor left the room. A few minutes later, the nurse told us he had left to go to another hospital to deliver another baby and that I should rest and shouldn’t push until he got back.

What? Was he serious?

I could tell Clark was concerned about this too. Who stopped in the middle of pushing and took a nap?

I tried to lean back and relax as if by his words alone relaxation would take place. That did not happen. Instead, the intense pressure/pain I was feeling made it impossible not to push.. “I can’t tell you to push, but I can’t make you stop if that’s what you feel like doing,” my nurse said. “I am trained to deliver babies.”

While she was with me I pushed, I had to. And I made a little progress moving the baby down. She was encouraged enough to put on the cover suit she needed to catch the baby.

But that little progress seemed to be all I would make that night.

In the heat of anticipation of delivery she buzzed for help and the head nurse arrived. It was obvious she didn’t want me to deliver without a doctor present. She took over.

She took a look at my bottom and said, “She is really swollen.” I knew that would happen after having Milo and having to push a longer time also, but when someone says it out loud in the delivery room it makes you want to protect what little bottom you have left and stop pushing so hard.

She also felt the baby wasn’t far enough down, I was wearing out and she was concerned that the baby’s head hadn’t turned and wanted to try turning me from side to side. For every tiny step forward, I seemed to take 10 more back.

She turned me on my side and once again I was told not to push. To stop and rest a while. I writhed in pain. I whimpered as each contraction caused the pressure to feel unbearable. The nurse buzzed the anesthesiologist who upped my epidural. Still, it did not relieve the pressure.

Instead, it got worse and worse.

The head nurse turned me to my other side. Even something as simple as turning over seemed impossible as every nerve in my body was alert and sensitive. I pushed on my own from my side, practically crying through each contraction, too weak to even scream.

After about an hour my doctor returned and the focus on pushing resumed.

My cell phone rang and rang as people wondered what was happening. We ignored the sound and focused on each coming contraction. As one built I would breathe and then push, bare down and focus on getting her out. I couldn’t believe it was taking so long. I felt discouraged and blamed myself for agreeing to be induced.

Between pains, the doctor mentioned plan B if my pushing continued to be ineffectual. I cried, “I don’t want a cesarean.” And so I increased my efforts. I prayed, “Please God help me get this baby out.” I cussed, “Dammit baby get out!” I bore down with all my might. I whispered prayers again as I tried to catch my breath.

I told Clark I wanted to stop. I wanted to go home. I wanted it to be his turn. But we continued to try. He told me I could do it. The doctor said I could do it. But at the same time I could see there was a chance I might not could do it.

After a few more minutes the doctor looked at me and I knew my time was running out. My body was wearing out, the pushes weren’t getting us anywhere and I was giving up.

“Whatever you think is best,” I said. Giving in out of sheer exhaustion.

And then everything happened so fast.

Sorry this is so long. Part 3 tomorrow. Besides, you know how it ends