My Labour Story

Even though I suppose I’m somewhat of a writer, I never thought I would be one of those women who documented her own labour story for the world to read. That was only for those really intense moms who exchanged placenta recipes and kept their baby’s umbilical cords in a jar on the shelf.  (I realize that’s not actually true, and lots of women write their labour stories on blogs and forums. I just didn’t think I would be one of them.) But halfway through my pregnancy I became very intrigued by labour, and actually got really excited for it. I told many people that I was highly anticipating labour and was psyched up for the challenge. I wanted to conquer something that intense and feel like a superstar after. Some people compared it to the intensity of my competition and encouraged me that I would totally have the strength to rock it and have a great experience.  

I asked a lot of other women about the details of their labour stories. I took an excellent labour and delivery course at Southland church called “Labour of Love”. I read the labour section of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with more interest and intensity than the entire rest of the book. I was fortunate enough to have a midwife, and talked to her about my eagerness for labour and she gave me a million more tips and suggestions. I didn’t really have a birth plan – just no medication unless absolutely necessary, Justin would be my main coach, and I would bring some music (relaxing jams like Ben Rector and Amanda Cook for when I needed to chill out, and pump up tunes like Lil Jon and Beyoncé for when I needed motivation to be tough. I used both of these playlists, by the way). I took a tour of the hospital in Steinbach where I planned to deliver and we both fell in love with the facility and staff. I was so ready.

Every labour is difficult in one way or another (actually in every way). I mean, you’re pushing a human being out of a small hole in your body, and you actually live through it. Whether your pain lasted three hours or three days, you are an absolute goddess in my opinion if you have given birth. My story is in no way meant to be a woe is me, sob story. But it was hard, even traumatic, and I would like to share it.

Wow, take it easy with the preambles, Melanie.

I knew I was going to have an overdue baby. My mom was overdue with my brother and me, it was my first baby, and my midwife told me to expect to be at least a week late. Being the planner that I am, I still took three weeks off work on maternity leave before my due date to make sure I had enough time after our big move to unpack and settle. I was ready a week early just in case. His due date came and went, and I was totally fine with the extra time, even a whole week. By day 9, I was still feeling great, by day 10 I got a little antsy, and by day 11 I felt a bit like a crazy person. I had refused to do anything out of the ordinary to induce labour because I didn’t want to feel nuts, but I had not heard of many people going more than 11 days overdue, so I started to freak out a little. I had gone on lots of walks, eaten spicy food, a whole pineapple, and yes, had some fun with my husband. Other people will be just as or more anxious about the arrival of your little one as you are, and everyone has a suggestion to speed up the process. But nothing works. I’m still convinced of it.

In my middle of all this, my sweet grandma and my only living grandparent passed away. We were quite close and I was devastated. Her funeral was going to be two weeks past my due date, and I was determined to make it there. It made me even more anxious to go into labour, so I could have my baby soon enough to recover and attend the funeral.

I finally caved and bought some castor oil on Wednesday, April 27^th and it kicked in around 5:00pm that evening. Side note: this was not nearly as big of a deal as the Internet tells you it is. Maybe that’s just me with my messed up digestive system, but it was not a distressing experience by any means. Just empties the ol’ large intestine after a few bathroom trips and you’re good to go! I don’t really believe it helped me with labour though. Around 6:00pm I thought my water had broken so I got all excited. I later found out that I had probably just peed my pants or something, so it was all for nothing. But I started having real contractions around 8:00 that evening and they picked up throughout the night. After about 8 hours of that (one of which was spent walking around town at 3:00am, which was quite lovely), we went to the hospital just to see what was up. My midwife met me there and checked me: only 2cm dilated. Rather exhausted, I wanted to just fall asleep on the hospital bed and hope things would pick up enough to warrant me being there, but they didn’t, so we went home and slept a mere four hours.

The next day my contractions had all but subsided and I was quite frustrated. I kept busy by hanging photos on my walls and watching LOST, and eventually they picked up again, but only about every 15 minutes. We went to Winnipeg for a second fetal assessment to make sure Mr. Latecomer was still doing all right in there. We went out to dinner, and absolutely delighted our waitress with the news that I was in labour. We then decided we would be able to make it to my Grandma’s viewing in Steinbach, which would be quite similar to the funeral. I was so thankful to be a part of it, and even gave a tribute with some of my cousins. While one of them was speaking, I had a contraction on stage, but I think I played it pretty cool. We hung around Steinbach as long as we could, chatting with family, and hoping to go straight to the hospital. By 10:00pm I was completely wiped out, and things weren’t progressing, so we went home to bed.

After two hours of sleep, I woke up with much stronger contractions, so I walked around my house, ran up and down the stairs, and tried to keep them going. After about three hours of this, I broke down and woke Justin up. Through tears I exclaimed that it had been 30 hours of contractions with no real progression. I had also only slept six hours in the past two nights. I was a mess. He stayed up with me for a while until I got it together, and finally over the next few hours, things picked up. My contractions became seven minutes apart, which gave me about five minutes to lie down and “sleep” in between each one. Justin got up around 7:00, we watched some more LOST, and by 9:30am we were ready to go to the hospital with contractions at three minutes apart.

When we got there, my midwife checked me right away and happily announced that I was 5 – 6cm dilated! Without wanting me to get my hopes up too much, she did say that things should progress smoothly from here, which was such a relief to hear after 36 hours. However, the next 12 hours is where things really got intense.

We quickly realized that I was having very bad back labour, and there was only one form of relief: Justin’s epic hip squeezes. For ten hours, Justin pressed on my hips with all his strength through every single contraction. My midwife would sometimes jump in to help when he just couldn’t do it anymore and his entire arm was cramped up, but he was the absolute pro. She even asked him if he could come help with their other deliveries in the future. They thought baby’s head was turned the wrong way, so we tried some incredibly painful maneuvers to flip it around, including lying on my back on an exercise ball on the bed and bending backwards through three contractions. I about died. I laboured in every position possible, trying to make things move along.

Around 4:00pm (six hours later), we discovered I was only 8cm dilated and still had a ways to go. I was so exhausted, and my midwife offered me laughing gas. I quickly accepted, but almost cried when she told me it didn’t help with the pain, just kind of took the edge off. I thought it was better than nothing, and when they gave me the mask I took three huge breaths, despite the nurses telling me to go slowly. I looked at Justin and said, “I feel drunk,” and flopped down on the bed. Sometime after that, they decided to break my water, to which I yelled, “Gross! Sick! That was disgusting! Why was that so hot?! It felt like hot diarrhea! Gross!” Everyone laughed at me, but why did no one prepare me for that? And why is it hot? I still don’t understand.

The next three hours are a wild blur, partially because of the gas, partially because I started to lose it. My contractions started to pick up like crazy with incredibly short breaks in between. They were each at least two minutes long, sometimes up to ten minutes, and I had one that lasted nearly 20 minutes with just a few seconds in between to catch my breath. It was horrendous, I was exhausted beyond belief, and I felt like I absolutely couldn’t do it anymore. At one point I said to Justin, “Next time I’m getting an effing epidural!” (More on that later.) They checked me again at 7:00pm and I had only progressed one cm. One! In some of the worst three hours of my life, I only made it one cm! Then they discovered a bit of a cervix lip on baby’s head, which was preventing him from moving any farther down, and meaning all those contractions were basically for nothing. I laboured for another hour like that, but never got to 10cm. I pushed ineffectively (because I didn’t really feel the urge, I just couldn’t wait anymore) for about half an hour, but it only caused my cervix to swell and be counterproductive to the process. Great work, Melanie.

Finally by 8:30pm I started pushing for real, but the lip was still there and was stopping his head big time. So here’s where it gets real fun. They took away my laughing gas, which made me want to kill someone. I was that crazy lady sucking on a mask attached to an empty canister not wanting to give it up. Again, wasn’t really doing much to help me, but I felt like it was something keeping me alive. Then, in order to push the cervix lip back, my midwife stuck her fingers up there and moved it out of the way while I pushed. She also stuck her entire finger up my rectum to help stimulate contractions. These are officially the worst two hours of my life. I have never screamed so loudly and so intensely before. I had half the mind to worry that someone else giving birth would hear me and be freaked right out.

Unless my midwife took her fingers out of me, I wouldn’t stop contracting, so I had to beg her to stop so I could have breaks. Again, I pushed in so many positions – with my knees up, pulling on a sheet at the edge of the bed, on the toilet, having other people hold my feet up. While on the toilet (the most painful position by far) with two nurses and the midwife, I completely lost it again and begged them through tears to cut him out of me or use forceps or something. I was convinced he wasn’t going to come out without intervention, so I wanted to just get it over with. Justin came running to my side, grabbed my face, and gave me some sort of pep talk that I don’t remember because I was entirely insane by that point. I have a memory of his blurred face and some words, but that’s about it. It must have worked, though, because I kept going, and eventually made it back to the bed where he finally started coming.

The burning ring of fire is something lots of women had talked about, but I think I had assumed it only lasted for a few minutes. From the time the nurses could see a loonie sized spot of his head and the fire started, to the time he actually came out was about 45 minutes, and I was pretty sure my vagina had split like the Red Sea by the end of it. After his head came out, my body went into some sort of euphoric state. I knew I only had one more contraction to push out his body, and I was just so relieved the horrible part was over. I sat with just his head out for about four minutes before I finally had another contraction, and eventually gave birth to an octopus. Seriously, the body coming out is the strangest, grossest feeling in the world. It’s all wriggly, slithery limbs and fluids and the biggest relief of your life.

But then, at 10:20pm, they placed him on my chest, and while simultaneously thinking, “It’s finally over,” I had all the new mom feels of “You’re actually here, in my arms, and I am so in love.” Justin says I didn’t say much of anything for a long time, probably because I was in quite a bit of shock due to the last 50 hours. I finally looked at Justin and said, “This is Roman Sawyer Giesbrecht,” to which we both started crying and were so overwhelmed.

I still needed to deliver the placenta, and despite getting a shot of oxytocin to speed up the process, it took nearly 20 minutes to come out. They could finally cut the cord, and start stitching me up. Even though I only had six stitches (praise the Lord), it took over an hour to sew me up. During that time, I got impatient and we FaceTimed our parents while I was getting stitched to tell them Roman was finally here. My parents and Justin’s mom quickly came to the hospital, with McDonald’s in hand! The only thing I had eaten in the last 12 hours was two small bowls of pudding, so I was incredibly grateful. They left shortly after, and Justin and I spent the next while just staring at our precious baby boy.

So that’s my story, with most of the gory details, but what I still want to mention are the things that I am ridiculously thankful for through my awful experience. Justin was a hero. He was the best labour coach I could ask for, and I mean that with all sincerity. He did anything and everything that I needed him to, and supported me in a way I didn’t even know he was capable of. Men deserve so much credit for supporting their wives in labour, and I want to give props to all dudes who do it well. You guys rock. I also can’t possibly thank my midwife enough for going through all of that with me, and helping me in every single way. Midwives are the bomb, and I can only hope and pray I have one the next time around. I have no idea how I would have managed without her there the entire time, as opposed to having someone come in and check on me periodically. The nurses were also amazing, and I was lucky enough to be the only one in labour at the hospital, so I had all of their attention for 12 hours. Steinbach hospital is the bees knees, and I’m so glad I delivered there.

A number of people have asked me why I didn’t get drugs of any kind, and there are two answers to that – I didn’t ask and no one offered any. No one offered them to me because I had previously said I didn’t want drugs. I didn’t ask because even in the most horrific moments, it didn’t really occur to me that it was an option. I kind of forgot epidurals existed. When things got really bad, I also had it in the back of my mind that it was too late to get one for some reason. I found out later that wasn’t true, but I’m grateful it didn’t happen and I went through all of that naturally.

And obviously, I am so very thankful for my sweet little Roman. I honestly couldn’t ask for a better baby. He is smiley and fun, eats and sleeps like a champ, and is all kinds of cute. He is my reward for 13 days of waiting, and 50 hours of labour. The theme through the whole experience was clearly patience, as every stage took double or triple the average time frame. I still can’t believe everything took as long as it did, and was as excruciating as it was, but I also can’t believe I get to be Roman’s mom and Justin’s wife. Sometimes life just isn’t fair ;)