Freya's birth story

Wednesday, March 7th -
appt with Dr. Susa @ 38 w; Dr. Hartung out of town. Blood pressure 150s/90s and won't go down. Starting to think about induction sooner than later; 2cm, 50% effaced, and soft. Made an appt for Friday w/ 24 urine.

Friday, March 9th -
3:00pm - assuming I will probably be induced, mom comes to the appt and we bring my hospital bag. Protein and BP both down, but after talking with Susa (Hartung booked) we decide it's probably time to move on this.

4pm - admitted to hospital for induction. The plan is to break my water first, then start pit if necessary. Mom is with me and Erik is planning to come after work.

5pm - they inform me that due to low staffing overnight and two moms in labor (one with twins), we can't start the induction until morning. Susa says I can stay in the hospital and they'll break my water at 6am, or I can go home and come in for a 7:30a induction. We opt for me to stay. Erik stays the night with me; mom and dad and Ren stay at Diane's. I take advantage of the big birthing tub and E and I watch some Arrested Development. Try to get some sleep but the bed is really uncomfortable.

Saturday, March 10th -
3am - regular contractions start spontaneously and I'm too excited to sleep. Walk the halls and watch TV for a while. Contractions are very mild and breathable, like the ones I've been having for a couple weeks. They don't get stronger and closer, but they don't go away either.

7:30am - Rachel arrives, Erik leaves. We are informed that the twin mama is still laboring and they can't induce me until she's done. The nurse says, "Your induction WILL be some time this morning." I think, does that mean I might have to wait until noon!? Little did I know...

morning - hang out, eat breakfast, check out the art in the halls, breathe through prodromal contractions...

At some point mom, dad and Ren visit and we play in the rock pond in front of the hospital in the unseasonably gorgeous weather. By noon the twin mama still has not delivered ("She's pushing! She's *this* close!")

It has been exactly six weeks since I sat sobbing in my car in the driveway after Dr. Susa called to tell me I have pre-eclampsia again.

around 1p - Susa walks in and says that even though the twin mama is still laboring, he wants to get the show on the road. I'm still at 2cm, 50% effaced, baby at station -1. I'm nervous. Rachel and I listen to the second movement of Mozart's Sinfonia Concertante (the 1982 Perlman/Zuckerman live recording) and it helps calm me down.

1:45p - Susa tries to break my water (REALLY PAINFUL!!), but baby's head is so engaged it's hard to tell. We call Sarah to come. Contractions continuing, slightly stronger than before? Or wishful thinking?

afternoon - Walk the labyrinth outside the hospital. Walk the stairs. Look at art. Sarah arrives. We chat. I labor. Contractions still regular, but have not picked up much.

After dinner we're going to start the pitocin. My saline lock, which was inserted over 14 hours ago and has never been used, is not working and it takes five more attempts to place a new one.

7:30pm - we start the pit, and try again to break my water (ow), since we're still not sure if it's broken. The pit plan is to start at 2 and increase by 2 every 15 minutes until I get a regular pattern. The contractions get stronger. I'm feeling good, laboring well. With the pit at 8 we seem to have reached a regular labor pattern so we stop increasing.

Walk the halls. Nipple stim. Excited and labor is kind of fun. Susa wants to know when the ctrx get "uncomfortable" but I'm not sure what that means because I'm hoping I'm such a rock star that they never feel awful; this was supposed to go fast because I'm a second-time mom! ;)

Sunday, March 11th -
Around midnight - cervical check finds little to no progress. Up the pit to 10, then 12.

2a-3a - The lost hour: DST starts!

4a - still no progress, utterly defeated and scared to death that this induction is not working. We turn off the pit and try to get some sleep. We'll start again in the morning.

around 7a - we discuss options, including the possibility of heading home and coming back... when? That seems pointless. Susa wants a more aggressive pit schedule and internal pressure catheter, trying to break my water yet again, and to change rooms. I say OK to the pit but no cath because I'm concerned it's too invasive to start, and I'll want to be able to labor in water. I'm really scared that it's not going to work. The plan feels "woefully inadequate" (my words) because it's pretty much just more of the same on top of a change of scenery.

10a - after moving to a bigger, nicer room and a breakfast of Belgian waffles, a shower and a visit from Erik, we start the pit again. Up to 8 or 10 quickly, then continuing to increase, ultimately to 16.

midday - labor is great. We're having fun. I love being aware and present in my body. Contractions are much more intense, but still breathable.

1:20p - another cervical check: 2-3 and more effaced. Some progress, but still disappointing...

I keep saying, "This is so much different! This is fun!" Walk the halls a little...
Some quotes:
K: Hello, chickadee! R: Is the baby moving? K: No, [pointing to the bird feeder outside] I'm talking to a chickadee!
Dr. Susa: Only in this hospital do pre-eclamptics get Chipotle.

3:12p - more nipple stim; I'm producing enough colostrum that it's worth saving.

6p - still at "a good 3". We decide to get the pressure catheter to gauge where the pit is at. In the process, my water breaks, and all of a sudden things kick into high gear.

evening - my uterus takes a while to calm down. I'm very emotional and releasing a lot of stuff from Ren's birth, too. I must vocalize through all contractions now. This is still fun, but very, very intense; I am so grateful to be able to experience true labor without the awful effects of magnesium-sulfate: "It's just so joyful; I don't know why anyone would want to numb this." I request the birth tub, and wait to be able to labor in the water.

7:45p - dad comes to visit and labors with me for a while. It's taken a while to adjust to the new intensity, but I'm in a good space. It has started raining. The labor is going well enough that we can stop the pit, take out the catheter and I can get in the water. Dad leaves and I head for the tub.

Labor in the water is disappointing... the tub in the bathroom is shallow (the bigger tubs are not available), and I can't find a good position that still provides some coverage with water. Contractions are quite intense, and I decide to get out.

Once I'm out of the water, things ramp up more (pit is still off). I hit what feels like transition. My mind goes away. I cannot speak. Sitting on the ball, I rest leaning forward between contractions and throw myself backwards into Sarah's arms during the contractions. I try to relax, release and let them wash over me, but it is the most intense pain I have felt so far. Scary, big pain that is so hard to submit to over and over and over. I am at sea. I am Odin on the tree. I cry and shake and try to surrender to fear and pain.

Eventually, it wanes. I think I must have come through the veil. I come back and my voice returns. I am certain I am near complete. I am certain it is the quiet time before pushing. I rest in the bed, once again able to just vocalize through the contractions, which feel very different: a spreading and stretching in my hips and pelvic girdle.

Rachel feeds me strawberries.

Around 11p - my nurse Brooke tells us that Dr. Susa wants to check me so he can plan his evening, but I don't have to get checked if I don't want to. We discuss the pros and cons, but decide to let him check me but NOT tell me. After the check, Susa starts asking about the intensity of the contractions, talking about starting the pit again, and although he insists "I wasn't insinuating anything" I know I must not be complete. I ask them to tell me how far I am.

Six centimeters.

Devastated.

I'm so tired, and so crushed. I was sure I was so close to pushing out my baby, and to hear that I still have to get through transition, when I thought I had been to that place and back, I know I can't do it again. I cannot go any farther. They tell me I can start the pit again and get things done faster, or just keep going and taking things as they come. Both options fill me with dread and terror. I know I can't do it. It's been 55 hours since I started this journey, and I've had very little sleep. I ask about getting an epidural.

I feel guilty and frightened and defeated, but I feel it is the only way to keep going. Rachel and Sarah both assure me that it is the best option. Nothing has turned out the way I thought; almost every decision, every turning point, every stage, has involved some reversal or unexpected snag. Waiting for the epidural is hard, but not as hard as my "transition" was.

Monday, March 12th -
12:15a - the epidural is placed by a very, very nice anesthesiologist in Harry Potter glasses.

1a - I'm feeling no pain; mom and dad, who have been waiting in the waiting room for hours, come by to see me for a couple minutes. After they leave, I fall asleep.

2a - I start to feel the contractions again, although I can sleep between them. I start to wonder if I should ask them to turn the epidural up. The point was for me to get some rest, right?

2:30a - feeling more pressure with each contraction, and even some in between. The pain of the contractions is getting intense and I have to vocalize through them again. I tell Brooke about the pressure, and she asks if I'm feeling the urge to push? Not quite yet.

2:42a - a big contraction hits and I push a little with it, which helps ease the intensity somewhat. Brooke asks again if I'm feeling the urge to push, and I explain that it's not so much an urge but that pushing makes it feel better. Brooke checks me: a slight lip, but almost complete! I try not to push through the next few contractions ("Ha! Ha! HA! Ha!").

2:55a - Brooke checks me again; I am complete!

They call Dr. Susa and I think another nurse comes in. They turn off the epidural, but I can already feel almost everything. The urge to push becomes INCREDIBLE; the most primal force I have ever felt. Not pushing would be an impossibility. It hurts a lot, completely different than pushing was with Ren. I am laying back, and ask to have the bed raised so I can sit up more. I am scared: of tearing, of blowing out my poor bottom, of having this take another four hours. I try to ride the waves and modulate them at the same time; to release my fear and push through the pain without allowing the pushing urge to simply tear me apart. At some point I ROAR through a contraction, in frustration and pain and fear and joy and relief. I am trying to prepare myself for another marathon, when Rachel says, "Reach down and touch your baby." I reach down and feel her little wrinkled walnut scalp just starting to crown. Another push or two or three and then the big one comes and I feel my baby push through and out. Sarah says, "Open your eyes and look down to see your baby" but I shout, "I can't!" I am too deep in concentration to come out. But then I open my eyes and look down and see my baby for the first time.

3:09a - Freya Elizabeth Dawn Hanson is born.

I reach down with both hands and catch my daughter, pushing a little and guiding her up onto my stomach. They tell me the cord is kind of short, so I cannot bring her higher. I quickly check to make sure she is, in fact, a girl, something I had doubted since my ultrasound almost 20 weeks ago. We wait for the cord to stop pulsing, then Rachel cuts it. I hold Freya to my chest; she won't leave my arms for almost an hour; they never have to take her away from me. I'm a little worried about the contractions picking up again so I can deliver the placenta, I am so done with pain, but it slip-slides out easily.

At some point Erik arrives. They clean me up (no tearing means no repair) as I try to get Freya to nurse. She is perfect and beautiful and amazing; totally alert. At 3:43a, she latches on for the first time. Sarah has to leave, so I let her hold Freya before she goes.

The next hour or so is blurry: I finally let them weigh and measure Freya (8lbs, 1oz and 19.5 inches); I get up to use the bathroom; Rachel leaves; I try to get a little sleep.

In the morning, Mom and Dad and Ren come to meet Freya. Ren is over the moon about her little sister, wanting to hold and cuddle her. Liz and Donna come a little later to visit. Erik and Ren come back for dinner, bringing Chinese food. Matthew, Jenny and Kendra visit after dinner. Mom stays with me overnight. In the wee hours of the morning, Freya gets so hungry her tummy is growling; mom syringe-feeds her the colostrum we pumped during labor so that I can get some sleep.

Tuesday, March 13th - we head home as a new family of four.
One last quote: Dr. Susa, "That was the first time I ever read a fetal heart monitor with a candle."

Freya at home