Childbirth

The anesthesiologist tried 3-times to get the epidural working, but it only numbed me from the navel up (the anesthesiologist was very concerned when he came in to check on me and found me doing Lamaze for all I was worth--he kept saying that he should be able to do better for me). The epidural did help a little, so they kept it going until I was fully dialated, then I asked for it to be turned off so that it would have worn off by the time the baby was born. Because I did have the epidural they had to catheterize me this time, which was very painful since the epidural hadn't numbed that area.

The doctor, who had broken my water, had gone off-duty during the morning ( unfortunately, the practice I used no longer had midwives, and I hadn't changed practices because of the preterm labor problems). When I was ready to push, they called for another doctor--the one on duty was busy and they had to call someone else in. They kept telling me not to push until the doctor arrived.

He arrived, told me that I could push now, and wandered off again. I insisted on lying on my left side (as I had been for my first birth with a midwife)--they had assumed I would be on my back but I had dislocated my kneecap a week earlier and my sore knee couldn't take it. I had a wonderful nurse who guided me in how to push effectively, and after about 20 minutes the baby was moving and the doctor was nowhere to be found.

There were several frantic nurses trying to get a doctor into the room. They finally got the house doctor in just in time to catch the baby (not in time to do an episiotomy--I tore significantly though not terribly). The doctor from my practice arrived in time to sew me up.

Elizabeth weighed 10 lbs. 1 oz., and I have always wondered whether the doctor realized I had a big baby and assumed that I would not succeed in delivering this baby. One of the more satisfying complaints I have ever made was the angry letter I wrote to the senior doctor of the practice about what had happened. I never got an apology from the doctor who didn't get there, but I did get one from the senior doctor.

I didn't get to hold Elizabeth right away. They were quite concerned about suctioning her and getting her wrapped up. She didn't leave my room, even for the xray that revealed that she did have a broken collarbone. I was able to go home the next morning. I felt triumphant. At one point a cleaning woman came into the room and asked me how big my baby was (you could see she was big--the newborn diapers didn't fit her and they had to go get larger ones). When I said 10 lbs. the cleaning woman said "You are quite a woman." That amused me at first, but it really was how I felt.

I was able to enjoy her dependence more than I had with my first child, though I certainly still felt at times that I had given more than I had available. I could hardly hug with my husband. I tended to feel that I had had all the touch I could give and/or take from our children.

I was very proud of how much milk I had. I remember one morning after she had slept 13-hours (which she started to do about 2 months--though later she went back to needing a feeding at night), I pumped 10 oz. of milk from one breast while she nursed from the other. I also had the teacher at daycare tell me once that my milk had more cream on top than the breast milk sent by other mothers. I nursed her until 11-months, then weaned to a cup.

The pattern I can see in all these details is that childbirth and mothering were very healing for me. I felt proud of being a woman for the first time. And I was able to love my children in a much more healthy way than my relationship with my husband (in particular, I can give them more affection). He says that when he sees me with the children, he can see what I will be like when I am healed. When I feel the baby inside me, who is so needy and greedy, sometimes I remember how I had enough milk, and that becomes a symbol of having enough love.

next: Pam(12)'s Page