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The Birth of Corinne Elizabeth
My first child had me worrying about her before she even let me see her face. The initial prenatal visit, when I was only ten weeks pregnant, ended in an ultrasound when the doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. Out came the machine and my husband and I got our first glimpse of the amazing kidney bean shape with a flutter in its center. I fell in love then and there.
After that initial scare, I had a routine pregnancy except for the inability of the doctors to monitor the heartbeat. This little girl knew when they were listening for her and would turn in such a way as to make it impossible to hear. Each appointment seemed to end in me having a non stress test and staring at a ceiling for twenty minutes listening to the lub-dub of my baby’s heart.
And then I reached my 39th week. I had another routine visit and noticed the doctor’s brow furrow as he listened to the heartbeat. I could hear the beat and it seemed strong. He told me that it was nothing serious, just a little skip. I was hooked up to a non stress test again and as usual, my little girl would not cooperate. Every time the heartbeat was found, there would be the whooshing sound of movement and it would disappear. So we were off to the hospital again for another non stress test and an ultrasound. There she was, still inside me, but looking so different than our second sneak peak at twenty weeks. On the screen, the heartbeat was strong and the doctor told us that everything looked perfect.
I was due on April 29th and went in for a routine doctor’s visit. My husband and I had been walking two miles a day trying to induce labor. The night before, I was having contractions every eight minutes and we were hoping to go to the doctor and be told to head to the hospital. We even had my bag in the trunk, just in case. Instead, we were told that there was a good chance that I would have the baby in the next week. We were a little disappointed, but headed off for some pina colada Italian ice and spent the day waiting for contractions to start again.
The contractions never started, but at 1:00 a.m. on April 30th I awoke to a sudden surge of water. I jumped out of bed, waking my husband in the process and told him to get me a towel. He ran to the linen closet, opened it, and yelled "where are the towels?" They were right in front of him, but he was so confused by being woken up that he couldn’t grasp what I had asked for. He called the doctor while I showered and did my hair. Around 2:00 a.m. we left our house for the last time as just the two of us.
When we got to the hospital, they asked me if I was sure my water broke. My husband looked at them and said "either her water broke or she brought a gallon of water to bed with her." They seemed shocked when I explained how much water came out and told me that I had grossly ruptured my membrane. They set me up in a labor room and put the monitor on my stomach to make sure that the baby was handling the changes well. When they examined me, I was only dilated 2 centimeters. I wasn’t having any contractions, but the nurses were unable to keep track the baby’s heartbeat. Because they knew the baby had a heart arrhythmia, they were concerned and put an internal monitor in place.
At 4:30 a.m. they started me on Pitocin to get the contractions going. At that time, I still had not dilated. By 7:00 I was having contractions that were four minutes apart and causing me a great deal of discomfort. I had dilated to four centimeters and decided that because I couldn’t walk around due to the internal monitor I needed an epidural. After the epidural was administered, I was my smiling, joking self and better able to handle my husband’s playing with the buttons and gadgets around the room. He was like a kid in a candy store. After weeks of telling me to do jumping jacks to get the baby out or asking me if the baby was coming each time I sighed, the moment he couldn’t wait for was here.
I was examined at 10:15 and the nurses were surprised to find that I was completely dilated and the baby was at +2 station. I started pushing, but the baby’s heartbeat slowed and the doctor decided to have me wait, take some more fluid, and decrease the epidural.
11:15 brought the doctor back to my side to see if I was ready. I felt the need to push and five contractions later, at 11:37 a.m., Corinne Elizabeth arrived. Her daddy cut the umbilical cord and the nurse took her to the warmer. She weighed 6 lbs. 13 oz. and did well on all of the tests the nurses performed. I could see my perfect little baby and was relieved to hear that she was healthy. I held her and took in everything about her; the brightness of her eyes, the little mole below her hair line, her perfectly round head. She gazed at me and I filled with love.
Then the worrying started again. The nurse took Corinne to the nursery and set me up in the mother-baby room. I was told that Corinne would be back with me in less than an hour. My husband left to make some calls and get something for us to eat as I sat waiting to see my baby girl again. An hour passed and then it was two hours. At 3:30, three and a half hours after they took her from me, a nurse came in to my room and told me that they had called in the pediatric cardiologist because of a problem with the baby’s heart. She asked if it would be all right to give her a bottle and a responded with a vehement "no." I asked if I could go see my daughter and nurse her and was told I would have to wait until the cardiologist gave the ok. I sat in my room, shaking, and when they finally called for me, I had to have a wheelchair because I was so terrified that something was wrong.
I entered the nursery to see my baby hooked up to a heart monitor with wires coming out of the bassinet. The cardiologist came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. As he removed the wires from my baby’s delicate skin, he told me that it was nothing to worry about, that he should not even have been called. My baby girl was fine; she just had a routine arrhythmia that usually clears at birth, but didn’t. I would have to monitor it for the next few weeks and just make sure that the baby was not lethargic or having any difficulties. I broke down into tears and thanked him. I glared at the nurses who had taken Corinne from me. My husband found me in the nursery with tears in my eyes. A look of panic spread across his face and once I explained what was going on, it changed to relief and we took our daughter back to my room. I spent the next two days in the hospital getting to know my daughter and not letting her out of my sight.
There is nothing that could have prepared me for the roller coaster of emotion that I had on the day of Corinne’s birth. When I think back about that day, however, what is most overwhelming is the love that was created in the instant that my hands touched her for the first time, my perfect baby girl.
Stacey is a stay-at-home mother to her two children: Corinne who is three years old and Garrett who is 1 year old. She lives in New England.
Check back for Garrett’s birth story-coming soon!
The Birth of Lil C
July 18, 2006 by Black Belt Mama · 3 Comments
Filed under: Au Naturale, Gestational Diabetes, Induction-The Lease is Up
It was the evening of October 2, 2005, the night before my due date. I had finally given up hope of going into labor on my own. After a pregnancy of finger sticks, a strict diet, and oral medication to control gestational diabetes, it was now time to face the fact that I was going to be induced with this pregnancy too. I had envisioned a birth center birth: no needles, no hospitals, no interference. Just me, my husband, my midwife and eventually a healthy baby. The gestational diabetes brought with it all kinds of unwelcome intervention in the form of twice weekly non-stress tests, ultrasounds, and a ton more appointments than just my visits to the midwife, all resulting in a scheduled induction on my due date. "At least I know when I’m having this baby so I can have plans for my older daughter," I told myself. I went to bed for the night, knowing full well that I would not get much sleep.
I checked into the hospital at 8 a.m. on Monday, October 3rd with all intentions of having this baby by lunch time. I had made plans with my Mom to bring my other daughter to the hospital in the afternoon. After being hooked up to the monitors, it was clear that there was no labor going on by itself. Instead of pitocin (which I had with my first labor), my midwife opted for miso (misoprostol). After the nurses inserted a port into my arm (no I.V. though, thankfully), and everything was ready to go, my midwife arrived. At 9:45 a.m., my midwife inserted the miso which goes "where the sun don’t shine," if you know what I mean. I started contracting once an hour. I was 1.5 cm dilated, 60% effaced and the baby was at -1 station. Not bad, I thought. After four hours of continuous monitoring which only allowed me to get up to go to the bathroom, I was finally able to get up and move around. (With miso they require several hours of monitoring because labor can progress extremely fast. They need to make sure that the baby is not under any stress.)
The reprieve from the bed was a welcome one and my husband and I began to walk the halls. There were only a handful of women in labor at the time so the halls were empty. All the other Mom’s had drugs and were therefore confined to their rooms. We did laps for 45 minutes, with me trying to retain my modesty as much as one can while wearing a hospital gown, and with cords from the monitor straps around my belly wrapped around my neck. After 45 minutes of walking, I was required to be hooked up to the monitors for 15 minutes of fetal monitoring. My contractions were now coming every 3-5 minutes. They weren’t a big deal though. They were a tightening that wasn’t painful; and I did not have to breathe through them. I remembered from childbirth classes five years before that you shouldn’t start with the breathing until you absolutely have to in order to keep from getting too exhausted. We went on like that: 45 minutes of walking, 15 minutes of monitoring for several hours, until about 3 or 4 p.m.
A resident came in to check me at this point. During my first birth, it felt like even the janitor was getting some action, because they were checking me constantly. My midwife made sure that unnecessary checks were eliminated. But, my midwife was at the birth center and needed to know where I was. By this point, my husband and I had probably walked miles up and down the hospital halls. The resident said I was 3 cm, 80% effaced, and the baby was at -1 station. I would by lying if I didn’t say that I was EXTREMELY disappointed with this news. I was hoping for a big jump. This labor was progressing like my first and it was frustrating. My midwife was going to start pitocin, but she was happy with the progress I made and content to let me keep walking and laboring on my own. For that, I was thankful.
Instead of a dinner time visit from my family so they could greet the new baby, my dad arrived with sandwiches for later in the night. I was able to eat only things like jello and broth, just in case of problems, so I knew I was going to be hungry. I didn’t want to have the baby in the middle of the night and be stuck without something good. I was a gestational diabetic and I was ready for a good meal that involved no carb counting.
A little after 5 p.m., my midwife arrived back at the hospital and checked me. Apparently I had a generous resident, because my midwife said I was only 2.5 cm. and 75% effaced. She said it was either break my water or start pitocin. I chose to have my water broken. I wanted NOTHING to do with pitocin.
Instantly, my contractions went from minor annoyances to hurting bad enough that I had no choice but to breathe through them. My husband and I started walking again. The contractions were now coming every 2-5 minutes and they hurt and badly. I had to stop walking and hold on to the hallway railing for each one. I felt like my stomach was being twisted. During one particular contraction as I leaned against the railing with both hands, head down, I was having issues with too much saliva and I actually drooled onto the floor. My husband and I got hysterical. Try hysterically laughing while trying to breathe through a wicked contraction. . . not easy at all.
By 7:30 p.m. I could no longer walk through the contractions and opted to sit straight up in bed instead. I could not get comfortable. I tried several different positions and all of them were miserable. I knew if I stayed upright, I’d have this baby faster. I needed the pain to stop so I stayed upright despite the pain. I wanted to get it over with. My midwife checked me and I was 5 cm, 80% effaced and the baby was at 0 station. It was around 9 p.m. It would be the last time that I was checked. I knew I still had a long way to go.
During each contraction, I went to Nags Head in my mind and sat deep breathing on the beach. In between contractions I dozed off as much as I could. I was in such a zone. I did not want any distractions and the midwife made sure I didn’t have any. The room was kept quiet; the lights were kept dim. My midwife and nurse were wonderful through the next few hours. They kept checking on me to make sure I was o.k. They would bring me hot water bottles that I would use for 30 seconds and then throw to the end of the bed because I was too hot. Two seconds later, I’d be telling them to position it behind my back again. They did whatever I needed. They were continually encouraging.
My midwife would sit quietly on the end of the bed, place her hand on my leg and speak so softly, telling me I was doing great, keep breathing. I think she was very calming for my husband as well.
Around 12:30 a.m., my midwife asked me if I had been to the bathroom lately and if I felt like pushing. I told her that I felt pressure, but not the urge to push. I told my husband later that at this point, (and I know this sounds silly) I only felt like getting up and running away from the pain. The contractions barely gave me a break and they were intense. Even though I said I didn’t have to go, my midwife, husband and nurse helped me out of bed and sent me off towards the bathroom. I toughed out a wicked contraction while holding onto the sink. When I came out of the bathroom, my midwife suggested I lie down to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling. I was discouraged when she said this and thought she was telling me to lie down because the baby was still hours away from making her appearance. I figured I had better listen to her and lie down to conserve energy. I didn’t know then that my midwife had been reading all the signs and knew that the final phase of labor was just around the corner.
It only took one contraction and it was very clear I had to push. My midwife, without checking me, without turning on any lights, without making a big ordeal of it, simply told me to go ahead and push. So, lying on my right side, with my nurse and husband barely holding up my left leg that felt to me like it was about 5000 lbs, I pushed. My midwife checked and the baby’s head was already coming down. The lights were kept low and the nurses getting the room ready for the baby were quiet. I, on the other hand, was not.
I remember reading something somewhere about childbirth and that making noise actually helps with the pushing. It releases tension and helps the baby come down, or something like that. It wasn’t like I made a conscious decision to be loud; it just happened and at one point I heard one of the nurses tell another one to close the door.
I pushed when I wanted and as hard as I wanted. I really concentrated on trying to go slowly, and no one told me to push, or pant or gave me any instructions. There was no counting or holding my breathe. It was very relaxed and very much at my own pace. After a couple pushes, my midwife told me to reach down and feel my baby’s head. Her head felt wet and I was shocked to feel hair on her head. The first inch of her head was out and I held her there with a steady push, not wanting her to slip back. Three more pushes and her head was out completely. I did it on my own and gradually, without an episiotomy like with my first.
The midwife suctioned her nose and mouth and I was relieved to be rid of the ring of fire. It did burn, but not as bad as I had thought it would. I pushed a tiny bit and her shoulders came out. My baby was born with a fist clenched underneath her chin (she had probably been sucking on her fingers like in all the ultrasound pictures, right up until the big squeeze). My midwife told me to reach down and grab my baby. I reached down with one arm and the midwife giggled a bit and told me I’d need two. I was just so tired. I reached down with both arms and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her the rest of the way out onto my stomach. It was 1:05 a.m. on October 4th and my sweet baby girl was born. She had held out one day past her due date. No baby of mine would ever choose to be on time.
She was just so amazing, so bright-eyed and just staring right up at me. It was an absolutely amazing experience to pull her out on my own. The midwife left her on my belly for a while, and didn’t cut the cord right away. She was just beautiful, with a ton of dark hair (so shocking as my first was a baldy). Unlike my first, she was covered in vernix. I knew right away that she was a tiny baby, compared to her sister. My first words when I saw her were, "Oh My God, she’s so tiny."
Eventually, the nurse took her and weighed her. They did let me hold her while they put the drops in her eyes. The entire time, she stared at me. We had an instant connection, me and this baby that had taken 14 months to conceive. Me and this baby that had put me through four finger sticks a day, twice weekly non-stress tests, and side effects from the glyburide that I was prescribed. When they hit the conversion button on the scale, I couldn’t believe it. Despite the fact that a growth scan had said she would be 9-10 lbs., my baby was only 7 lbs. 10 oz., a mere 3 oz. less than the weight I had guessed she would be and had told my midwife as she had broken my water.
My midwife checked out the damage while they swaddled my daughter and tried to clean her up a bit. I had only three minor tears, none requiring stitches. My midwife assured me they would heal within a day or two and she was right.
Despite the gestational diabetes and having my birth plan turned upside down, this birth experience was amazingly relaxed. I did not have to have an I.V.; I had no drugs beside the initial miso to get labor going, and my daughter came out with a perfectly shaped head. She was just beautiful.
Despite being exhausted from a 15 hour labor and 20 minutes of pushing, I could not sleep. I sat in bed, cradling my baby daughter and just taking in everything about her. I peeled back her hat to stare at the unbelievable head of hair; I stroked her cheek that felt like warm velvet. I stared at her and felt so blessed that she was finally here and healthy.
My labor and delivery nurse moved me to my post-partum room in a wheelchair, but I felt more like a rock star arriving at a concert. The post-partum nurses were waiting in the room, and my l & d nurse delivered me amid a wave of praise for laboring without any drugs. It was the first labor and delivery she had been a part of that didn’t involve pain-relieving drugs and she was "psyched" to have been a part of it, she said. She thanked me for the experience of it all; and I had to agree that the experience had been pretty amazing. After settling in my post-partum room, my husband fell fast asleep but I simply couldn’t. When they took my baby to give her a bath, I ate my entire italian sandwich instead of sleeping. I waited until around 8 a.m. to start calling everyone and giving them the good news (Of course, my parents and daughter got the call at 1:15 a.m.). Later in the day, my mom brought my older daughter in to meet her new baby sister. The meeting went very well.
My midwife came to check on me and said I could go home right away. At 5 p.m. on the same day I gave birth, I took my new baby home. From start to finish, it was one amazing birth day.
"J", also known as "Black Belt Mama" lives in the northeast and is a stay-at-home/work-at-home mother to her two daughters, "Big I" who is 5 and "Lil C" who is now 9 months old. She writes on her blog, Black Belt Mama, and also for a syndicated (more tame) version of her original blog for her hometown newspaper’s website. She is also the editor of the Birth Story blog.
The Birth of this Blog
When I was newly pregnant, I searched everywhere for information about pregnancy, and especially about what to expect during the birthing process. I searched on the internet. I read books. I watched a ton of "The Baby Story" on TLC. It was 9 months of studying for the big event.
Because of how much I love reading birth stories, I thought it would be a great idea to start a blog with the intent of collecting birth stories from a wide range of experiences and mothers. In fact, even stories from a father’s perspective would be welcome! I hope that this blog serves as a place where new mom’s-to-be can go to read birth stories that will: inspire them to go the natural route, ease their fears about a scheduled C-section, or just give them some idea of what to expect. For those of us veterans who have already been in the trenches, I hope this site will serve as a place to read some amazing stories about how the special little ones in our world came to be.
If you have a blog and would like to let your readers know about the site and submissions, please do and thank you!
Submission Guidelines
- All stories submitted to Birth Stories may be edited. Stories will be kept in tact as much as possible. Typo’s and minor grammatical issues will be fixed; but please use spell check and send it off in a polished form. The blog owner reserves the right to refuse to publish any birth story that it deems inappropriate for whatever reason.
- You may submit photo’s to go along with your story. Four photographs are required in order to create the collage, but please send an extra photo or two in order to make the best collage possible. Photo’s can be sent as attachments.
- Stories can be published anonymously; or I will gladly provide your name and a link to your website, blog, or provide an email address if you so choose.
- Please email your stories within the text of your email, not as an attachment (until I figure out how this will work best). Please email your story to: black-belt-mama at hotmail dot com. Your story can be original or previously published on your own blog. Please type "Birth Story" in the subject line so that your story doesn’t get lost. Even if you’ve previously published your story, please copy and paste it into an email and send the pictures as attachments instead of just sending links to your story and pictures.
- Please provide a byline which includes a few brief statements about you and your child or children. See published birth stories for examples.
- If you’re a mother who has adopted a child, you also have a birth story to share so please submit your story!
I look forward to reading lots of great birth stories as I’m sure others are as well!
A blog is born
