Orianna’s Story

By her mom, Dani

I got up in the morning and went to relieve the pressure the baby was putting on my bladder and made a discovery. “I HAVE SHOW!!!” I hollered from the bathroom before I mentally processed it myself. My husband asked sleepily from the bedroom, “What? Your water broke?” So I explained to him that no, my water hadn’t broken and reminded him what show meant. I told him that since it could still be days to weeks before the baby would come. Show more or less meant nothing specific, but that it was at least “something” as far as “progress” was concerned. So I excitedly crawled back to bed and proceeded to be robbed of my sleep by the excitement of my body’s latest development.

Later that Tuesday I had my 40-week check with the midwives at the Greenhouse Birth Center. I shared my good news of having show and realized that aside from the first little bit, there had been no additional spotting throughout the day. I still felt good with the pregnancy and was in no hurry to have it over, so I wasn’t at all bummed when I heard that it could still be another two weeks. The baby hadn’t really dropped, wasn’t engaged, was still posterior, and seemed to be as happy in her place as I was having her in there. We were sharing my body and couldn’t be happier. 

I remember thinking to myself about how many women I knew who complained at the end of their pregnancy. They hurt and were tired and cranky; they just wanted it over with. I knew I didn’t feel this way and figured the baby would come late since I wasn’t to the miserable phase yet. I still loved being pregnant. I felt great, and knowing the baby was healthy inside me made me feel even better. We were one, and I didn’t want it to end. I knew my job of mothering would only get harder after the baby was born. I’d had a beautiful pregnancy and was still loving every minute of it.

After my visit at the Greenhouse I met up with my husband and brother-in-law to go bowling. I hung out chatting with the guys and noticed I was feeling a little crampy. I’d been having “contractions” for months, so I didn’t think much of it. I had a real hard time finding a comfortable position sitting. I knew these contractions felt different and wondered, laughingly, if I was in labor. I kept shifting my weight and hoped nobody would notice that I had my pants completely undone and pulled down as low and as far away from my abdomen as I could. I was leaning forward in my chair, pants pulled forward, with my maternity shirt working as a tent to cover my goofy pose. I became pretty certain this was labor.

We got home that night and I told Tim that, all joking aside, this was different and I was pretty sure I would have the baby in the next few days, “if this doesn’t stop soon.” The sensations weren’t that different from the contractions I had been having throughout my pregnancy. I had yet to have the surge of energy that I could call “nesting.” But this was my first pregnancy and I knew it would probably take a long time, maybe even days, to progress. I spoke with Kip just to let her know how I was doing and to see if everything sounded okay to her. I assured her I was fine and would call her in the morning to let her know how I was doing. I also called my aunt/godmother who is a nurse and a mother of two to collect her wisdom. She assured me that I “had a long way to go.” She said that if I was talking and laughing with her like I was, then I wasn’t very far along in my labor and I should go ahead and go to bed, get some sleep, and get rested up for the delivery she expected to happen the following day or night.

So I did as common sense and experienced minds said and I went to bed and tried to sleep. I was restless. I watched as my husband scoured the internet for the grandest Lego creations he could find. I knelt, resting with my knees on the floor and my upper body resting on a glider ottoman. I swayed on the ottoman, letting my belly hang freely, hoping gravity would help pull my baby from the posterior position. As the contractions became more intense over the hours, all I could think was, “OK, after this one I’m gonna crawl back into bed and get some sleep.” I spoke with Kip again to see if I “should” go in to the birth center. She said it was up to me. At that point I was getting frustrated; I was sooo hoping someone would just tell me what to do. My husband wouldn’t. The midwives wouldn’t. Everyone was telling me to trust my instincts and decide what I wanted to do.

Secretly I knew what I wanted to do. It was time to go to the hospital, get drugged out of my gourd, and end all of this nonsense. As I lay draped over my ottoman, groaning, all I could think was, “This is stupid, there’s no reason to go through this!? I’m not in a third world country. I have access to health care and the best pain meds available to mankind. What was I thinking?? Natural birth? This sucks. I don’t wanna hurt any more!” I finally realized that my first labor might NOT take “forever,” that I WAS really in labor, and that I WASN’T going to be able to sleep and leave it all ‘til morning.

I called my brother and sister in law to let them know I was in labor and that if they wanted to make the drive up to Lansing from Indianapolis, they’d better get in the car now. (They wanted to be there for the birth.) I’d thrown the phone down mid-sentence and groaned through another contraction. My brother (who has never witnessed a labor/delivery) listened on. He tried to lighten the mood by cracking a few jokes. If I’d had him in the room with me, within arm’s reach, there’d have been some other cracking sounds. It was my first child, so Brad decided to sleep ‘til morning before he and Chris would make the drive, “knowing” that first deliveries happen so slowly.

I stayed up with Tim some more, and he tried to be helpful. He played music for me. He reminded me to breathe. He tried to be encouraging and then made, quite possibly, the worst statement possible to make at the time.

 “Just think, Honey, the next contraction is just going to be stronger and more painful.”

Was he joking? Was he sick? What WAS he thinking??!!  I said, “What’s WRONG with you? Are you SICK?! Are you TRYING to be funny?” I reminded him that yes, the next contraction would be longer, stronger, and more intense. That’s what labor is, more and more intense until that baby gets out of you. He defended himself saying that he wanted to make the next contraction sound sooo awful that the reality of what I was experiencing now wouldn’t be so bad.

I called Kip again, describing to her the kind of pain I was in, and had a contraction on the phone. I asked again if she thought it was time for me to come in. Again, she left it up to me. She reminded me about my tapping and self hypnosis exercises. I got immediate relief and thanked her while laughing at myself for forgetting so much important stuff in the middle of the hustle bustle. (NOTE: Many thanks to Mary Lawton for the variety of techniques she taught me. Her self hypnosis birthing classes made a huge difference in my life.) So I told Kip to go back to bed and that I’d try to do the same and that I’d call her if anything progressed.

My husband and I spent the next half hour tapping like a mad woman until all of our arms were ready to fall off. I was groaning and gliding on the ottoman. On hands and knees was the only position that provided any relief. Finally I gave in and realized that sleep was not to be mine that night. I was in pain. I was in labor, and all of the relaxation in the world was not going to slow down this labor. My baby was coming out, and she wasn’t going to change her mind.

So I call Kip back at about 12:30 and tell her I need to come in. We agree to meet at the Greenhouse at about 1:30. It’s after midnight and I’ve been bellowing through contractions for some time now. Then I realize, as luck would have it, our neighbor who usually travels for business is actually at home this night. So it’s a good time to get on the road. Tim loads the car as I make my way downstairs. In my current state it takes me 45 minutes to, literally, crawl from our bedroom, down the stairs, and to the door.

The car ride from Grand Ledge to Okemos starts fine. I’m using Mary’s CD and keeping myself in a relatively calm place. I breathe deeply and stay in my own little world as best I can. I want to ignore the mile markers that don’t come quickly enough, and I don’t want to distract Tim’s driving. I just want to be there. The highway went easily enough; then we got on Marsh Rd. Good Lord, what a road. In the sweetest voice I could muster at the time, I hissed out, “Do you think that the other lane might be less bumpy?!” Bless his heart, Tim didn’t say a word. He just drove in the other lane, which was of course, no less bumpy.

When we get to the Greenhouse, our previously starry night gives way and the lightest of flurries begins to fall. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but I had a lot of time to look around while we were in the parking lot. My contractions had gotten so strong that I couldn’t get out of the car. Eventually I had a break and decided it was time to try to get in the building. The midwives had already checked to make sure we were ok and Tim relayed that we were and it was just taking us a while. I then realized that even when not having a contraction, I still couldn’t figure out how to get out of the car. Every position I tried was more painful than the last but I eventually figured out a way. After I flipped over in my seat and crawled out of the car backwards, I made it inside the birth center. Ahhhhh. Now I could relax and get ready for the task at hand.

I walked into my birthing room and looked over at the bathtub, which was almost filled and ready for me. It’s after 2 in the morning. I get my bottoms off and think how good the warm bath will feel. But no, wait, it’s time for a contraction instead. Again I’m on my hands and knees, but this time on the Greenhouse’s floor. So instead I crawl. I crawl across the floor. I crawl up the footstool, and I crawl in to the big inviting fluffy bed. I stay on all fours because anything else just doesn’t feel right.

My loving husband looks concerned. He tells me how strong I am, how beautiful and amazing I am. I grunt and wail through another contraction. The midwives apply enough pressure to my lower back to break it, but it feels sooo good. The hot packs are heavenly. Kip checks me and lets me know I’m dilated to 2 cm. I think to myself, hmmm… 2cm… and I’m supposed to get to what again? But I wasn’t worried about my progress. I knew it wouldn’t be long. It couldn’t be. I felt ready to split apart and have that baby. I’m given Arnica, hot packs, massage, and pressure. I wail through my contractions. The loving support of my husband and midwives tells me everything is going well; I’m doing great; time passes.

I feel another contraction and I push even though no one has told me to. I hear a pop and feel fluid gushing down my legs. No one notices. Strangely, no one heard or saw a thing. Tim and Dawn are up by my head, talking to me, cheering me on. Finally I say, “So that’s what happens when your water breaks.”

Yes, my water has broken, and I’m feeling so much better. They check me again and tell me I’m now dilated to 4cm and everything is going great. I feel loads better now too. The pressure isn’t so bad; my lower back isn’t hurting like it had been. Contractions are stronger, but some how even more bearable. I still had the urge to push and did. All I could think was, “oh my gosh, the last thing they said was 4… should I even be pushing? I feel like I want supposed to…so I guess I will until they tell me otherwise.” My contractions came and went. I kept pushing.

I was able to talk some by this point. I would have my breaks in between contractions then says something like, “Here comes the next one.” I’d follow that up with a good amount of screaming and hollering. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was to be carrying on so loudly. I was relieved that it was the middle of the night so I knew no one else was around or listening. I think I would’ve felt like I should “keep it down” if there had been others around. While just bellowing, I would yell out things like, “help me please. Please do something. Help me. Help me. Do something. Oh god. Help me. Do something to help me.” The tears flew. I never would’ve dreamed I could be so vocal.  The arnica came periodically. They held my head. They pushed my back. They told me what a good job I was doing. I remember I was sweating buckets, but I didn’t care. My hair was wet from sweat and hung around my face as I was still on my hands and knees.

Meanwhile Tim was still speaking words of encouragement in my ear. He kept telling me how amazing I was and how much he loved me. I couldn’t even look at him. I could hear in his voice that he was crying. I knew that if I looked up into his face I’d start crying too. For some reason it felt good, knowing that he was crying. Tim’s not a particularly emotional guy, so this display of such depth of feeling assured me that he truly was “there” with me. He really appreciated what I was going through, and I knew how hard it was for him that he couldn’t do more for me. I don’t know if I could’ve loved him more than in those moments.

I had gone into active labor. I was becoming hoarse. I looked over to the bathtub and laughed to myself. I knew there was no way I was moving from the bed. My body liked being on all fours for this labor, and there was no moving me. Kip reminded me to grunt through the contractions rather than scream. This didn’t come naturally to me, but I could feel how much it helped my pushing. It felt like a much more powerful use of my energy than the higher throated bellowing.

The baby was working its way out, and I was more than ready to meet it. It was inching its way down the birth path and every millimeter of progress gave me the strength to continue. I pushed during contractions, and I pushed between contractions. I kept pushing and pushing because I was ready to have this process done. I was reminded to let the contractions do their work and to take my rest between contractions, to take a break from pushing. I relented, saying “OK… I suppose.”

Before too long I was pushing and it seemed like nothing much was happening. Being on all fours had outlived its usefulness. About the same time, Clarice realized the same thing and asked if I’d like to change positions. We agreed that it would be good for me to flip over somewhat and get on my side or back, but I was stuck/frozen into position. I couldn’t at that point figure out how to move, so despite how silly it seemed to me, I asked.  After I was reminded how to move my hands and legs, and with a great deal of help, I ended up on my side.  A few more contractions after repositioning, the baby was crowning. “Get this baby OUT of me!” I yelled as my husband told me how wonderful, how strong, how amazing I was. The midwives were telling me what a good job I was doing and that I was doing everything just right.

The frustration of feeling the baby progress and then slide back in the birth canal was nearly unbearable.  I wanted to push and push, not caring if I was ripped apart in the process. “Get it OUT!! Get it OUT!!! GET THIS THING OUT OF ME!!!” The experience of crowning was surreal. There’s nothing like it on earth. The baby was crowning, it was on its way out, but it was still KICKING! The sensations of crowning and being actively kicked in the gut from the inside at the same time were overwhelming. I felt like the baby must’ve been 3 feet tall to be able to be causing so many sensations over such a large span of my body.

The baby’s head finally quit regressing and was through. There was a sensation of heat and cold, numbness and electricity. Everything went so quickly, it almost seemed instantly that after the baby’s head was out that the rest of its little body came slippery sliding out of me. Next thing I knew I was looking at Clarice holding up this wet, wriggling, new baby. I was stunned. “Oh my God, it’s A BABY!” I blurted out as I looked on, amazed. Tim was beside me on the bed, tears in his eyes. He was speaking, but I have no idea what he said. I was in some state of something like shock.

The baby was placed in my arms, wriggled on me, and I stared in amazement. “I’m a, I’m a, I’m a, I’m a, I’m a, I’m a MOM!” I blurted, barely able to get the words out.  Somehow the many months of pregnancy hadn’t truly sunk in, the reality of my new name/title, until that moment.  After months of anticipation, I was really a mother.  I looked at this amazing little thing, laying on my torso, looking up at me. Head lifted, huge dark eyes locked with mine, this amazing baby put it’s face down on my chest and inch-wormed across my body. It nuzzled and rooted and found my nipple and latched on unassisted. I was amazed with this smart and strong baby. 

Eventually the cord was cut and the baby was wrapped up when Clarice asked, “So what did you have?” Through all of this, Tim and I forgot to check if we’d had a boy or a girl.  All the old wives tales & other “signs” indicated that it would be a boy baby. We hadn’t found out with the ultrasound. Tim checked our bundle and said that we had a girl. “Are you sure?” I asked him, as if he couldn’t tell the difference between a boy or a girl. There was some laughter in the room, and he offered to check again. I said that, yes, I would like him to check again, so he did and confirmed that yes, indeed, we had a daughter. This time I took his word for it, and happily after finishing up the rest of the delivery process, Daddy, Mommy, and our new baby girl Orianna took a much needed rest together.