The final birth story

It's been ten days and six minutes since my son was born.

It did not happen how I was hoping, but it happened. He's here, and he's beautiful. He's also the calmest baby I have had, and that's saying something because my babies have historically (both? :P) been pretty chill.

OK, no more avoiding. Time to dive in.

I felt the first contractions shortly after my doctor's visit, around 3pm on Wednesday the 7th. They were very light, just some cramping. But they kept happening, each one bringing a flutter of excitement, although I tried to calm myself, aware that they could stop at any moment and either way it was probably a long journey ahead. Trailing four little ones, I walked to a small park near my friend's place and let them play while I paced. Sure enough, mild contractions every 5-10 minutes. I was sure around 4:00, and counted my labour beginning there. Called people, got all excited, and went home to be unusually grumpy with my children until my wonderful cousin came to help distract them.

Nothing much happened that night. I went for a long walk, contractions shortened to every five minutes. I sat down, then lengthened to every ten to fifteen. I walked, and walked, and finally decided to sleep. Contractions stretched to every twenty minutes, then dropped off almost entirely, giving me two stretches of about an hour and a half, before picking up to every twenty minutes, then around 4am they became consistent ten minute intervals. I thought that was it, the baby would be making an appearance today.

I got up and walked again. Walked, and walked. Had a couple much stronger contractions, had the consistent every 3 - 5 minutes. Picked some mushrooms, got home and sat down, they stretched out to 7 - 10 minutes.

Eleah came to get me that morning, after I walked for another hour or so, and we visited some thrift stores and then went for another power walk. We hit steady 3 minute intervals while I was walking, but 5 - 7 minutes apart when I was sitting, or if I'd recently been sitting. Finally I was sick of it and we headed to the hospital to check my progress. God knew what He was doing, because at that time in the afternoon, they were sending women all the way to Burnaby, because all the spaces were full. Lots of babies born that day! By now I'd been in labour by my reckoning for 22 hours. *sigh*

The nurse was optimistic, I was technically no closer to a baby than I'd been 24 hours before at my appointment, but she said things looked favorable, and she was expecting to see me soon.

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Thus my original post ends. This entire experience was very difficult for me, and I have not, in 3 years, brought myself to complete this blog post. The story is simple enough, but I have a history of avoiding unpleasant emotions, and they well up in me as I write already Fear, shame at the state of myself, (although I know I wasn't at fault), and some disappointment that my final labour went so poorly, and that I hadn't the presence of mind to request the tubal removal while there, and ended up back in hospital in 6 months for an operation that would not have been necessary, had I thought to expect a C. The following will be more vague, but I appreciate myself for writing the above.
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We walked all afternoon. Grocery shopped, hit Mill Lake Park, walked and walked. I was determined to walk this baby out of me. I don't remember if I ate, but I have the strangest feeling I had a sandwich? As the evening approached, we found ourselves at the hospital. I sent Eleah home, assuring her I would text both her and Phil as soon as something changed. The nurse there checked me over, and said again that I was close but not ready to be admitted. It sounded dishearteningly like the previous visit, now 3.5 hours ago. This nurse though was fun and friendly, making jokes. She gave me a sweep and sent me on my way.

Walking up and down the hill on the side of the hospital in the dark, I stopped tracking them. The night was beautiful and I came to a place of odd calm, probably at least in part due to my lack of sleep. Contractions came and went, but nothing changed. I walked. I took a picture of the moon, which was full, or was close enough that my simple thoughts believed it so. The light of the hospital was pretty. The stars were pretty, and the clouds drifting past them. Little ones. I remember thinking I could hardly feel my legs from all the walking and that maybe that would make "real" labour easier.

It was almost 9pm that I went back up for another sweep. 28 hours. We smiled at each other, and I told her I knew we were almost there, because I'd almost hurled. One more sweep and she sent me on my way.

I made it outside the hospital before I puked, thank God! I've never been happier to see regurgitated food in my life, and who cares who saw me puke in the garden bed, I'm at a freaking hospital and obviously preggers. Here we go baby! Stage 2 labour here we come!

I texted the pertinent people as I made my way up to triage. The contractions were stopping me now, and I had to ask for a dish when I got there, but oddly I don't remember puking again. I don't know if it's just blocked out, or if it's because things were different this time.

They were different. My last labours were characterized by self-deprecating humour, lame puns and jokes between puking in dishes. Obviously I got the point where talking sucked and I was crazy grumpy, but for the beginning hour or two of stage 2 I was still all there. This time I couldn't talk. Even between. I was crying already as I saw that Phil had texted me back, I hardly heard the nurse when she told me to follow her from the triage to a room. I don't remember getting to the room.

I remember being on the bed. I remember I wasn't wearing anything, and I didn't care. Was I in a gown? I remember them asking me to move, and thinking how? How do I move right now? "We can't hear baby, you need to turn" I turned.

That part is all a blur. I knew Phil was there, I knew when Eleah showed up, but I couldn't open my eyes. I don't know now if I had moments of ease, if I did manage to smile at them, attempt a joke or a welcome. I don't remember, it's all been overcome with memories of pain, and blackness.

I was screaming. Not high-pitched, but a loud, monotonous cry. I remember it coming from me, and I didn't know how to stop it; didn't care. Our pastor's daughter had just finished her labour. She and her mom told me they heard me being wheeled past.

The words: "Baby's crashing."
The bed moving, quickly.
"Doctor, we don't have consent!"
"We don't have time for that."
"...I consent...: It was a hoarse croak, but he heard me.
"Rebekah consents, now let's go!"

The next thing I remember, I was opening my eyes in an unfamiliar place. The NiCU? I don't know, I don't think so... I just remember one room with three incubators, two empty. One held my baby. A boy, and he was doing fine, needed no intervention. My sister-in-law had made it out, and been able to take some amazing pictures. Lee and Phil were both there, both happy to see me OK. I wonder now if I must have woken up earlier and been brought there, but I only remember being there with everyone. They handed him to me, and he ate. He was so perfect, and I knew, with a deep and profound sense of satisfaction, that I was done.

My cousin found me the next day with a gift and some information, she worked in the lab. They were doing tests on the placenta, but there was never an explanation. It had calcified, which usually happened when someone was overdue, which we were not (except by 3 days, once all was over). It was tearing apart inside of me.

Apparently one nurse was in tears. They had him out 4 minutes after the doors closed to the ER. I was under a general anesthetic because I only spent about 30 minutes in 2nd stage labour, so there was no time to get tired and ask for an Epidural. The recovery was longer this time, I assume that completely exhausting myself had a little to do with that. The entire labour time clocked in at 30 hours.

Asher David Isaiah Duprey, 7lb 2oz was born at 9:59, October 9, which I think was a nod from him to my original plan. I'd wanted him either on the 8th so I'd have an 8, 18 and 28, or on the 10th so he'd be 10/10/14. Little rebel. His name means "Happy/blessed" and every Thanksgiving I know that I have something to especially be happy about, blessed by, and thankful for.