Fourteen years ago, on October 18th, I had my first child. I entered motherhood with a traumatic birth but a very blissful babyhood. Cullen was a sufficiently difficult toddler and preschooler to teach me patience, which I needed for the next child, yet he was such a charismatic, charming little boy who endeared himself to anyone who met him. He is still quite the social magnet and can carry on a conversation with just about anyone despite age and other differences. I remember we went to Robby’s wedding last year and he attended the rehearsal dinner with me. We sat at a table where I knew most of the people, but he didn’t. He was so adept at conversation, that everyone at the table was amazed to find out he was only 12 at the time. He still looks and acts older than he is, something people always said about me, but I wasn’t six feet tall at 14.
So in keeping with tradition, I’m posting his birth story. I love you, Cullen. Thank you for being the best son a mother could ever want.
Cullen’s Birth Story
It was a Thursday morning. I was sitting on the loveseat in the living room struggling with putting on my shoes. Mother sat next to me in the big chair. Carl walked in and looked at us both as he crossed the room. He said, “One of you is smiling and excited and the other isn’t.” I said, “Well, one of us isn’t being induced today.” Mother made a comment that she had been there and done that. I was feeling very ambiguous.
On the one hand, I had become relieved, if not a little excited when the nurse-midwife scheduled the induction. After all, she was a midwife and she said that she induced both of her labors and did them without drugs, so it could be done. And, I had been sick for so long. This factor is easy to underestimate, but until you have thrown up for nine months (and I was two weeks post due) you cannot possibly understand the need to feel well again. In fact, I was completely miserable. Also in my mind was the fact that Carl was scheduled to go TDY the next week and Mother was long overdue at work. Because I was so intensely ill during the nine months, Mother generously agreed to come early and help me prepare the nursery. It sounded like a great idea and when she arrived three weeks before the due date, we hurried to complete all our tasks. But, of course, as the due date came and went, it was painfully obvious that she was running out of time. Everyday that I didn’t go into labor was one more day she couldn’t stay after the baby was born. It seemed everyone was staring at me, willing me to have this baby, but still I crept along, no labor pains at all.
And so there we were, getting ready very early on a Thursday morning to have this baby, no more waiting, no more guessing, no more feeling sicker than I had in my whole life.
When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses and doctors checked me, admitted me and never once blinked an eye that this woman who was obviously not in labor just showed up to have her baby. It was all very normal to them.
After being admitted, having an IV started with Pitocin, and getting settled in my room, once again all eyes were on me. Do you feel anything yet?
I can’t really remember exactly when the contractions became noticeable or even when I started to use my relaxation techniques. I only remember feeling very isolated once I had to concentrate on them. I didn’t feel connected to anyone. I felt they were tiptoeing around me. After a long while in labor, I began to doubt my ability to handle the induced labor. After all, if I were doing this naturally, I would have emotional signposts to signal my progress and perhaps I could have handled knowing that better. As it was, I doubted my self, my body, from the very beginning. When I didn’t dilate as fast as they thought I should, I worried I wouldn’t have enough strength to get through it all. I started to inquire about pain medications and the midwife was eager to discuss them with me, even though she knew I wanted a natural childbirth. The only encouraging word was from Carl. He told me I was doing so great and asked me was I really sure I wanted to get the drugs. In retrospect, it was one of the most important things he did for me and many times I have wished that I could’ve made him understand more how important not taking the drugs was for me so that he could’ve made a bigger deal out of it and talked me down from that ledge. As it went though, I told him yes and he dropped it. I have since told him repeatedly what a difference his comment made to me and how much I appreciated his confidence in me.
I received the epidural and suddenly labor was gone. The contractions slowed and we all relaxed. Once again I was included in the conversation and activity. We chatted and “caught up” until time passed and the midwife checked me again. No progress. 9cm and no more. She confides that the doctor will be in to check me and will probably want to talk about a c-section. It seemed she was letting me in on a big secret, including me in the group, who was probably standing outside my room asking “Have they told her yet? Is she prepped yet?”
The doctor did come in and she did recommend a c-section. I remained somewhat calm on the surface, after all, someone had let the cat out of the bag and I knew what she was thinking. I asked to talk it over with Carl alone and we did. I told Carl I wanted to try another hour, perhaps in a different position and see if I could make any progress. The doctors agreed and I set into motion a plan to get me vertical. This was no small task I should say because by this time I had an internal fetal monitor on, a contraction monitor, blood pressure cuff, IV, epidural, and oxygen mask attached. I looked more like a science experiment than a woman giving birth. We joked about the “X-Files” baby.
Anyway, despite all this I managed to get Lisa, Carl and Mom to sit around me as I sat up with my feet hanging off the bed. This was very uncomfortable for me because my legs were numb, and I’m sure it was no picnic for everyone else, but they never complained and stayed there with me for an hour. The pressure was immense. “Dilate! Dilate!” I kept telling myself. But how could I communicate with my body who couldn’t communicate with me. I had shut if off.
The doctors came in and checked me again and sure enough, there I was, stuck at 9cm. So close, but I just couldn’t do it. They started talking again about the c-section and this is about the time I lost it. It was somewhere around 2am and I had been working a long time. I was exhausted.
I guess I should add here that despite all my childbirth education and reading, I was completely unprepared for this. I was going to have a natural childbirth, and that certainly did not include a cesarean section. In fact, I skipped all those chapters in the books. I couldn’t even watch the video they showed at the Bradley classes. Just the thought of being operated on, of being cut on, while I was awake was enough to make me shiver. Now, here I was and my nightmare was fast approaching reality and I lost it. I started sobbing and shaking and I felt completely out of control. Later, Carl said that he had never seen me so scared in all his life. I really was. I was horrified. Carl moved to my shoulders and held me as tight as he could among the attachments and wires and tried to calm me. “Breathe,” he said. “Calm down, breathe.” It worked for a second or two but soon I was shaking again uncontrollably and it was with great fear that I signed the consent form and entered what I was sure to be hell.
My next memory is that of the anesthesiologist talking to me about the operation. “Put me out,” I begged. I just couldn’t seem to accept the idea of being cut wide open while I was still awake! “Surely you can put me under,” I begged again. This gentle man very quietly convinced me that I did not want that because it would be worse on the baby. Reluctantly I agreed and he promised I would not feel more than tugging. What he didn’t understand was that was just what I was afraid of.
It seemed an eternity until the operation started because at that time I withdrew into myself and started chanting and reciting poetry and English stories, Chaucer, anything to remove my mind from the reality of being strapped down, numb, to an operating table while my precious baby is cut out of me. Carl arrived at the last minute so it seemed. Once I saw him I felt better but I really never came fully out of my self-induced trance to communicate more with him. The physical sensation I remember most was what seemed to be a catheter in my bladder that hurt painfully every time someone bumped it, which they were doing constantly. My Shakespeare sonnets soon turned into a chant of “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” to Carl, hoping he would stop them. The next thing was the sound of Cullen crying and it was then I realized they had cut me open. They asked Carl if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord and he rushed from my side to cut the cord. I’m not sure how much this meant to him, but it later struck me as completely absurd. I mean, here I am lying draped in a hospital operating room, belly cut wide open to deliver the child I could not birth while doctors and nursed lift the baby out of me and they ask Carl to cut the cord. Well, why not just ask him to stitch me up while he’s down there?
Carl, or the nurse, I don’t remember which, brought Cullen around and let me see him before they rushed him off to the nursery. Carl and I had agreed earlier that he would attend the baby at all times and would make sure he wasn’t bottle-fed. I know Carl was leaving to go with Cullen, but I was sure the bottle-feeding was history, because of course, when would I be available for breastfeeding?
This left me all alone in the OR, my new family gone. The anesthesiologist looked down at I’m sure what he thought to be a mad woman by now, and asked me if I wanted something stronger now. I welcomed the chance to escape and shook my head yes into a deep sleep. When I started coming to, I was in a different room and I was in pain. My head wouldn’t seem to clear though and it was hard to let them know I has a new baby that I needed to get back to. When a nurse asked me to rate the pain and I did, she gave me morphine. I stayed there a long time. I felt some of what it must feel like to be mentally insane. Drugged so high you can’t talk plain and you are sure you are being held against your will. I begged to go back to my baby. “Soon,” they kept saying, but hours went by, then a shift change. I started in on the new staff. This must’ve been about 7am. I cry when I think about all the time I missed with Cullen. In hindsight, I could’ve probably shortened our separation if I hadn’t taken all those drugs, but no one told me at the time. I didn’t know.
When I was finally moved to a room in the maternity ward, Carl and Mom were waiting for me. I guess I should mention that Carl took great pains to get to me in the recovery room to let me know all was okay with Cullen, but I barely remember that. I was in the room and Carl was pacing and talking about the baby. When I listened closely, which took considerable effort, I realized that he wanted to go get the baby because the baby had not been fed yet. I was astonished! It was now around 8:30 and I was sure some well-meaning nurse had fed my baby a bottle by now. But Carl assured me no such thing had happened. He reminded me of our agreement and I told him how in my mind I was sure things were changed because of the cesarean. Well, he didn’t think so and when Cullen came to me, there was a sign above his head that read “Breast Only” in big red letters. It had been about four hours since Cullen was born and he was hungry. When he was handed to me I lifted my gown and he latch on and suckled beautifully. It healed my soul to be able to breastfeed by baby. It gave me back my confidence and my sense of motherhood. This baby needed me after all. I am eternally grateful to Carl and his efforts on my behalf to make sure Cullen and I could enjoy the wonderful breastfeeding relationship that we still enjoy today.
Those first few days with Cullen were tough. I was in a lot of pain and I drifted in and out of clarity because of the medications. Still, they are beautiful in my mind, as if God sent a real angel to be with me.
Looking back now, there are so many missing parts to the story, but these are the parts that remain vivid to me almost a year later. I am proud of myself for enduring all I did. The joy of my son had filled my days (and nights) and made it all worthwhile.
Recent Comments