birth story. in Drifter in Zion

H and L entered the world without too much drama, and I imagined our third and final would be the same. After three weeks of prodromal labor, I was a-okay with a boring labor: boring is great; boring is good.

At 3 in the AM, at 38 weeks and 1 day, we loaded up the car, and headed to the hospital for my induction (due to autoimmune issues and gestational diabetes). I was calm and happy, and the anesthesiologist doing my epidural exclaimed, “Thank you for not screaming while I do this!”

My nurse let me crunch on ice, (which everyone knows hospital ice is the BEST EVER), and we all made guesses on what time my baby would be born: 11:15, 11:24, 11:45, and 12:00.

I was told to rest, so I bunkered beneath warm sheets, while Tyson relaxed on the uncomfortable pull-out sofa. And we waited contently and quietly as the minutes passed.

Some time later, two nurses quickly entered the room. I sat up in bed, as they lingered over the monitors with wary expressions. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Well, baby’s heart rate is dipping,” I was told, “So we’re going to stop the pitocin for a bit and call your doctor, okay love?”

I’d like to tell you I wasn’t concerned. The same thing happened throughout my 32 hour labor with H, yet remained uneventful. She was born happy and healthy and hungry, but something felt different this time - something that lurched in my stomach and caught my throat with panic.

Though was another two hours before the decision was made, I instinctively knew this would end in a c-section. (My OB guessed (correctly) the cord was wrapped around baby’s neck, which typically isn’t a problem, but it was also wrapped around baby’s arm, so every time he’d descend, he tugged at the cord and began choking.)

They handed S a surgical gown and cap, while I fought off tears and tried to make sense of the sudden hubbub of nurses prepping me for surgery.

Goodbye, boring!

“Hello, again! Sorry, we were all wrong on our guess times,” the anesthesiologist joked, while putting oxygen on my face and patting my head. S stood next to me, holding my hand, and, before we knew it, our little C was crying out.

I cried, too.

I cried out of relief, out of worry, and out of a sudden overwhelming sense of exhaustion. My body felt heavy and weak and shaky.

In recovery, my blood pressure kept dropping; it took several shots of ephedrine and over an hour to steady me enough to finally move to a regular room, where I held and loved on our little-man with gratitude.

Boring is great and good, but he was safe in my arms, which is what mattered.