Seven weeks after giving birth, I am finally writing the twin’s birth story (as I breastfeed Maxine, btw).
I’d been having contractions for weeks, but they would go away and I would talk myself out of the fact that they were indeed conatractions…fairly uncomfortable ones. I would just lay down and take it easy. At 34 weeks, Dr. W made me start twice a week Non-Stress Tests where I had to go deal with a lady whose mood was volatile and sit for at least an hour so I they could track each baby’s heart and check the fluid in the sac. During these exams I was told that I was having pretty regular and strong contractions, but I couldn’t feel them.
(2 days before the birth)
I went to my NST on Monday, 7/13 and the nurse said the fluid was fine and that neither baby had descended into the birth canal. Baby A was still breach.
My appointment with the OB was immediately after. While sitting in the lobby, I asked the receptionist if I could have the name of the anesthesiologist on staff. I started telling her how Dr. W was insisting that I have an epidural in case of a c-section and I was insisting that in case of an emergency c-section, I could get a spinal. I didn’t want to any drugs if I was going to have a vaginal birth. Dr. W was insisting that I needed to get the epidural. A few minutes after talking to the receptionist, I noticed my OBs wife was in the back office.
Oh great, I thought,
she’d heard everything I'd said.I weighed in at 196, figuring I’d reach the 200 mark before the birth. This was week 35.
The OB did a very uncomfortable and long pelvic exam, where he was trying to see how dilated I was. He was wiggling his finger and trying to see if he could see the wiggling in the ultrasound… True story.
Then he brought up my issues with the epidural, still insisting that one was necessary, but promising that before anything would happen, we could conference about it. I’m thinking his wife gave him a heads up from the conversation she’d overheard. I assured him that everything would be going so smoothly during my labor that there would be no need to even conference about it. He laughed, told me I was headstrong, patted my head and walked out of the room.
By the end of that exam, he said I was 1 centimeter dilated and not to go shopping in the next county.
“Stay close to home,” he said as I walked into the lobby.
We went to the mall to buy my “Courage” ring (my engagement and wedding rings had to be cut off the previous week because my fingers were so swollen) and I really could barely walk, but I put on the brave face and made it home okay. I don’t remember what I did that night, besides lie on my side…but I woke up to a POP and a gush of water around 1:45 a.m.
I woke Ben up and said, “Hey, my water just broke.” I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that it was time to rock and roll. I literally said, “It’s time to rock and roll.” Who says that? Ben got up, lookin’ worried, and said, “OK, what do you need me to do?”
My first instructions: “Pack the laptops.”
In the next few minutes, I found my to-pack list ( I was only partially packed), called Midwife and the OB. Ben went to wake up my sister who got up looking at me with fear and dread in her eyes. I told her and Ben to please relax. Everything was going to be fine. This was good.
When I spoke to Midwife, she asked, “Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“Um, no…”
“That’s what I thought. Just hang out at home for a little while…”
I continued telling her the latest that I’d found out from my last visit (breech, location, dilation). She was concerned that because baby A hadn’t descended into the pelvis, I could have a serious situation with the cord coming out first. She advised against staying home to labor and said to go to the hospital and she’d meet me there.
We hadn’t intended to take 2 hours to make it to the hospital, but that’s how long it took to get out of the house. My sister the candle from my mother blessing and started snapping photos. I took one last look at Maxton sound asleep in his crib, knowing that his life was about to change dramatically.
I asked my sister to call my parents and I called my brother on the way to the hospital. He was very encouraging and “ra ra.” I tried to twitter, but the contractions were kicking my butt. I decided it was better to concentrate on the relaxation techniques and put the cell phone down.
Ben parked illegally. It was 4 a.m. and I wasn’t gonna climb up the stairs and walk a whole bunch.
The nurses at Glendale Adventist Medical Center had no sense of urgency. They seemed to lollygag as I was checking in, asking me questions as I was clearly doubled over in pain. It took me forever to change out of my clothes ‘cause the contractions were knocking me out. While I was in their bathroom changing, Ben went to park the car and get our stuff… (that’s when he got the return call from Dr. W). He forgot my camera in the car, most likely thinking that he’d have time to go get it later.
By the time the nurse checked me, I was dilated 5-6 cm. “I guess I’m not going home, eh?” I told her. Ben could not believe I was cracking jokes.
All the joke cracking stopped when she started offering me and epidural.
“No, and don’t ask me again.”
When she finally talked to my doctor, she came back and told me that he ordered and epidural.
“Good for him, give it to him.”
I was so annoyed. Less than 24 hours before, the OB promised that we could discuss it. Now he was just giving phone orders to the nurse and expecting me to comply? Don’t think so. She kept insisting and I kept telling her to leave me alone and I didn’t want to hear the word epidural. I was not mincing words.
The labor was intense. I was up out of the bed, squatting through the contractions, breathing deeply. I was in my head. I was in the zone…. Interrupted by squabbles with the nurses. They were mad that I wouldn’t sit still for them to start the IV fluids. She wasn’t working fast enough to get the thing in my arm between contractions. Focus, nurse, focus.
At one point, I remember the nurse coming back telling me another scare tale from the doctor.
“Dr. W says if you don’t get an epidural, you’re going to have to have a c-section.” I was squatting on the side of the bed when she came with that one and I remember hitting the bed with my fists. “I knew this mess was going to happen. You tell Dr. W that he can come tell me that himself, but I’m NOT getting an epidural,” I said, almost screaming.
I’m pretty sure Ben was embarrassed and willing to give me an epidural himself. “Baby,…” he said. I stopped him in his tracks…knowing I could not deal if he’d decided to side with the nurses and ask me to stop acting a fool. I still don’t know what he was about to say at that moment. I should ask him…
They finally got the IV in, got me on the bed and started wheeling me out of the triage. They were all scrambling back and forth, saying, “take her to her room… no, take her to the OR… is she having a c-section?”
“NO, I’M NOT HAVING A C-SECTION. Try again.”
I was in the hallway by this time and I looked at Ben and saw a face of relief. I may have even seen a smile. Midwife had arrived. “What’s going on?”
“Midwife!” I raised my finger as if I were leading a revolutionary march in the streets. “These people are crazy. I am not having a c-section. I am not getting an epidural. HANDLE IT.” Midwife took one look at me and knew that I was in transition.
Apparently she helped them decide that I was going to be wheeled into my room ‘cause that’s where I ended up.
Midwife was awesome, helping me breathe, while advocating for me at the same time. They kept insisting on the epidural and Midwife kept telling them I didn’t need one.
Dr. W finally showed up and checked me and I was 9 cm.
He started telling me some scare story about breech baby risks and why I needed an epidural…I promptly stopped him and told him I wasn’t going to listen to scare tactics and horror stories. In a loud and stern voice he told me that I was getting an epidural or he was going to have to section me.
“You lied,” I told him.
“No, I didn’t lie,” he interrupted. I’d never heard him raise his voice like that…didn’t even think he had it in him.
But he had lied. He said we could talk about it, and from the beginning, all I got was orders for an epidural. Some conference. Some talk.
In all this chaos, I remember praying aloud, “Lord, give me your Spirit. Give me your Spirit.” I felt a sense of calm, a rush of calm, as if I was being assured that all would be fine.
But I was still soooooo mad. I was going through the contractions, breathing, staying strong, holding Midwife’s hand, peeping at Ben. Through the drama, I said, “I want to get out of here. Midwife, get me out of here. Let’s go to the birth center.” She looked at me as if to say, “Are you serious?” I was ready for anything. Ready for a parking lot birth, if necessary. I just wanted to get away from the dumb medical establishment.
Witnessing all this was the anesthesiologist who wanted to add his own twist to the fight by saying that he would not administer an epidural unless I consented. Well, that’s a deal, I though. I just won’t consent. So, now there are 3 people arguing in the room. They brought the consent forms and asked me to sign. I’m in serious labor..can’t hold a pen in my hand and concentrate on writing….plus, I don’t want to sign the thing anyway. I looked at Midwife and I can see the look on her face that is telling me that this is a fight that I can’t win. “Just do it?” I asked, saving her from having to say the words herself.
I cried. “Midwife, I can do this! Why won’t they let me do this! Midwife, I KNOW I can do this.” I cried some more. She held me close and affirmed me.
Is the choice between an epidural and a c-section really a choice?
At some point in all this and by some miracle, Ben and Midwife ended up being the only people in the room for a split second. Midwife sprung into action and told me that she wanted to do her own exam to see how dilated I was. I said okay. The nurse and the head nurse walked in just then and the head nurse lost her mind and started arguing with Midwife. Midwife argued back as she did the exam. The nurse stormed out of the room to go tattle tell to Dr. W. Midwife confirmed that I was completely dilated. I told her I felt like pushing.
They came in with the stuff to do the epidural and started arguing among themselves about the best position to put me in. Focus, people, focus. The anesthesiologist was still insisting that I consent (with a smile, I think). I told him that I was not consenting to an epidural, but I was declining a c-section. I was consenting to a vaginal birth…that’s what I was consenting to. He wanted to argue back with me and proceed to sucker punch a pregnant woman. Ben signed the form. I hunkered down while Midwife held me still and encouraged me in one breath and told the Dr. to hurry it up, in another.
I cried.
Almost instantaneously, it was over. My legs and feet started to tingle. My contractions were gone. One minute I’d been in active labor, the next minute it was over, but I was still pregnant. I’m tearing up just writing it.
You see, I was working it. I was flowing with my labor. I was in the zone. I was ready to do the thing and bring my girls into the world with the power that God was giving me. Throughout the labor I kept repeating, “I can do this! My body works. My body works.” But in an instant all that was over. I was transported out of that other world where my mind and body where one, to the sterile, inhuman, one-size-fits all world of modern medicine. In this world it didn’t matter that my body worked, they preferred the medicine to work. I felt powerless. My body still worked, but it was handcuffed—not allowed to work. I was angry. Visibly angry and on the verge of tears. If I’d had enough feeling in my legs, I would have kicked the doctor in his face. (just being honest.)
"I miss my contractions," I told Midwife.
As I was wheeled into the OR, I prayed, surrendering to God for whatever was going to happen next, while I was drugged and at the mercy of these people that I didn’t know, like or trust. The reason I was in the OR is that they claimed I needed to labor there (all twins are delivered there) just in case there needed to be an emergency c-section. I was laying on my bed for a while, crying to Ben while they figured out how to put the dumb stirrups on the operating table. My labor, which had been progressing at break-neck speed, was slowed to basically nothing…so the nursing staff could lollygag some more, trying to figure out what they were doing at their own pace. It was very disorganized, as if it was everyone’s first day. Hadn’t they done this before? The main nurse chick that would have probably coached me through the contractions had Midwife not been there, was on my very last nerve. She was barking out orders about her other patients asking other staff to relay messages to other staff, etc. I wanted to tell her to shut up and just be present in my room (if it wasn’t too much trouble…), but I didn’t have any fight left in me. I just wanted my babies and I wanted to go home to cry.
Ben didn’t have a chance to go get the camera in the car. He had plenty of time, but we were afraid he wouldn’t be let back in the sterile OR area. I really woulda been pissed then. Heck, I wasn’t doing anything, at that point, I really coulda taken some great photos.
The rest of the time, Midwife would tell me when my contractions were coming, when they had arrived, how intense they were and when and how long I should push. I just followed instructions and stayed quiet, not being able to feel a thing, but trying not to be so zoned out in my anger that I would miss my girls coming into the world.
A few minutes after 6 a.m., Baby A came out, butt first. I love my girl for mooning the doctor on my behalf. The only thing I could see was feet. Dr. W kept giving instructions and maneuvering, narrating where the baby was and what direction she was facing. I learned later that he used forceps (I read my chart). When she came out, she was totally quiet and a little limp. Midwife said, “she’s fine, she’s fine.” I could look at her and tell she was fine… she wasn’t blue. They bagged her and she immediately started crying. Ben left my side and wentto check out his girl.
*Maxton receives news that Baby A has arrived.
I heard the doctor order Pitocin. I objected. They gave it to me anyway.
Twelve minutes later, Baby B arrived after a similar pushing effort and forceps. She wasn’t even out all the way and was already wailing.
After the birth, before Midwife left my room, we had a short debriefing where she told me that I was at no time in any danger (the scare tactics were just that, scare tactics) and they could have handled my birth at the birth center, had I reached 37 weeks. She’d been tempted to get me out of there when I suggested it, but I had progressed too far and would have had the babies on the freeway.
PROCESSING IT ALLI wish I had a way to convey how angry I was this entire time. I was annoyed that Ben said “thank you,” to the doctor and that Midwife told him he did a “masterful job.” I was annoyed that I had to spend an hour in the recovery room even though I hadn’t had surgery. I was annoyed that the nurse in the recovery room told me that I’d had a spinal and not an epidural (does anyone in that hospital know what’s going on?) and insisted that I sit up.
I was annoyed that the nurses again seemed to lollygag through their procedures instead of handing me my babies and letting me breastfeed them. I prayed that my anger wouldn’t turn into post-partum depression. I prayed that my anger wouldn’t be misinterpreted as ungratefulness for 2 healthy, beautiful baby girls delivered vaginally and able to go home with me 2 days after birth.
I know how blessed I was/am. I’ve been on the other end of having to leave a baby in the hospital NICU. I didn’t want to overdramatize the situation. I was well aware that many women endure much worse than an epidural.
But it didn’t change the fact that I was angry and I needed to be in that anger. I did not want to brush it aside because it wasn’t pretty. I knew I would have to deal and not ignore it or it would have the power to haunt me forever. I needed God to minister to me and deal with my anger. For days after going home, even several weeks after, I would cry in the shower. Replaying the whole event and feeling empty, like I was unable to complete a task, like something was missing. I felt violated and like I was rendered powerless and because of it, I was unable to give something priceless and irreplaceable to my girls. I knew it wasn’t my fault and my complete anger was directed at Dr. W. I cried, I cried, I cried. I planted my head in Ben’s chest, he held my head and I cried.
I begged God to show me the lesson in this mess. I wanted to understand why it went down like this. Was it my pride that was hurt? Was this about God dealing with my pride? The pride I would have had for delivering twins without medication? I didn’t think so, but I was willing to deal with that in order to get through my anger. I didn’t feel like I had something to prove, nevertheless this was important to me. I had prepared for this moment, trained my brain, trusted my body, trusted that God had created me for the moment. And I’d been forced to fail.
In all my tears and replaying of the events, I started to understand things from Dr. W’s perspective a little. I realized that it wasn’t about me (and I think I knew that at the time, but it fueled my anger). It was about him, Dr. W, and his inability to do a breech twin delivery without interfering with the birth process and dis-empowering the woman. He couldn’t have done it with me moaning and talking and moving around and experiencing labor. He needed me still. He needed this to happen on his terms, in his time, with him in control, but not because something was wrong with me, but because he didn’t trust himself to be able to do it any other way.
I don’t cry about this anymore. It is what it is. I don’t dismiss it by justifying the whole ordeal as a means to an end. Dr. W would like me to be content that everything went well and we all got what we wanted, but I disagree. I don’t believe things would have gone awry had I been allowed to give birth. I know that I would have still had 2 healthy girls in the end.
Slowly, every day, I have a little more peace about the situation. I’m not angry like I was. When he would come visit me in my hospital room, I would give him the cold shoulder. I vowed I never wanted to see him again. But last week, I went back to him for my 6 week appointment and I managed to be decent and cordial. I didn’t bring up anything regarding the birth. Honestly, the only reason I went back to him was because I couldn’t afford another out-of-pocket visit with Midwife.
I don’t know if this will be my final birthing experience. All I know is, I’m tired of the fight.
Here are my two beautiful girls, Maxwelle and Maxine.
Maxwelle Magdalen (baby A)
born: 6:07 a.m.
5 lbs. 6 oz.
19 3/4 inches
Maxine Malie (baby B)
born: 6:19 a.m.
5 lbs. 4 oz.
19 inches
