Our Birth Story: MonkeyMan

St. Francis Hospital, where MonkeyMan was born.

One thing I've noticed in all my reading of online mothers' boards or groups is that people really like talking about the day their kids were born. I've also seen a certain pattern emerge. Stories of natural birth, particularly homebirth, are long, detail filled, and often use very descriptive language. Stories of hospital birth, particularly c-section birth, are often shorter, less detailed, and often the mother writing sounds quite unhappy or even traumatized by the birth of her child. Now I know that this is not true of 100% of birth stories. Blogs like Happy With Hospital Birth and Hurt by Homebirth show that my simplified analysis is not always true. That said, I've decided to share my 3 birth stories over the course of 3 individual posts. Here's the story of MonkeyMan's birth, as best as I can remember it 11 years later.



Back in '00, Mr. P. and I were not yet married. We were 19 and 20, and madly in love. Deep in my heart, I knew he was "the one". Looking back, we both agree that we were headed towards marriage. In August of that year, I found out I was pregnant with our first child. Neither of our families were thrilled but we didn't care. Although I had planned on remaining childless, it didn't take terribly long for me to get excited about becoming a mother. Right from the start, I just knew my baby was a boy.
I asked my regular doctor for a recommendation for a doctor to handle my pregnancy. She told me that their practice was more than equipped to handle my birth. I was excited that I wouldn't have to start over with a new doctor, that I could stay where I was already comfortable. I had my 1st episode of bleeding at nearly 7 weeks.
I was told to drink some water, and lay down with my feet elevated above my heart, but also warned that at that early stage, there really wasn't much to be done if I was going to miscarry. Mr. P. held me while I cried, worried that we would never meet our child. The bleeding stopped the next day. We never did find out the cause though. I tried my best to take it easy, but my job at the time required me to be on my feet the whole shift. Eventually, we decided that the risk wasn't worth it, and I quit.
The pregnancy was fairly uneventful. I had chronic asymptomatic UTIs but nothing else seemed awry. I read all the mainstream pregnancy books I could find at the library. Honestly, a c-section birth never crossed my mind. I learned what to expect from labor and how I might feel in the immediate postpartum period. Having never held a baby before, I tried to learn as much about infant care as I could. We subscribed to Parents magazine. We bought little bitty baby clothes, and talked about names.
At 19 weeks, I woke up to a small puddle of bright red blood. Off to the ER we went, trying hard not to panic. After an exam, a quick listen to baby's heartbeat, and questioning about my symptoms, we were brought back to the ultrasound room. There we saw our baby for the first time, healthy and moving. What a huge relief! Afterwards, the oncall doctor told us that I had a "2cm tear in the membranes" and was ordered onto modified bedrest for the remaining months of my pregnancy. We were told to come back at 26 weeks to check on the tear.
At 23 weeks, we had yet another episode of bleeding, and another trip to the ER. This time we learned that I had placenta previa that was not mentioned to us during the last scan. The good news was that it was now a partial previa. I was to continue with bedrest, and my regular check-ups. I once again read through my pregnancy books, this time looking to learn more about my condition.
I was due on April 10, 2001. As the end of my pregnancy neared, I ballooned up with water retention. I went through bout after bout of upper respiratory infections. I could no longer breathe laying down and slept in my rocking chair at night. I was utterly miserable, and just wanted the pregnancy over. My due date came and went. I will never forget moaning to Mr. P. on the day after my EDD that I was so unbelieveably done. His response? "You're not that overdue." The look I shot him made him clam up fast.
We got all the typical comments from relatives. "You haven't had that baby yet?" and all the other fantastic remarks that make it seem everyone else is more anxious for baby's arrival than the expectant mother. On my way to my 41 week prenatal visit, I hoped for the blessed word "induction" to be mentioned. After listening to baby's heart, weighing in, peeing in a cup, and all the other fun things a pregnant woman does at her appointments, I was told that my induction was booked for the next day.
When I arrived home, Mr. P. told me the office had called and that they had made a mistake. We were to be at the hospital by 10pm that night! The flurry of phone calls and bag packing began. My mother brought us up to the hospital, and we got checked in promptly. I changed into the hospital gown, and the nurse placed the Cervidil, and told me to rest up while I could. I woke around 8am to begin the second portion of the induction. Mr. P. and my mom both left for the day. Mr. P. had just gotten hired at a new job and was unable to change his start date. Mom had to work that night but promised she'd be back as soon as she could. By 9am, the Pitocin was started. Each hour it was turned up until finally around noon, I began to feel something. It was scary and boring all at once to be alone during this. Mr. P. and Mom arrived by 7pm, and at that point I was in a whole new world of pain.
Our experience with the hospital staff was not pleasant to say the least. I still feel because of my age and unmarried status, both my wishes and Mr. P.'s attempts to advocate for me were ignored. They continually asked my mother what to do, despite her not knowing my wishes. As the Pitocin was cranked up higher, my pain skyrocketed. I was not allowed to leave the bed except for bathroom breaks. I asked for an epidural and was ignored. Around 5pm, my water was broken in an attempt to help me along. By 10pm that night, I was allowed a bit of Stadol. After that, I honestly do not remember much of the next 24 hours. I felt completely stoned out of my mind. Mr. P. and Mom tell me that I repeatedly tried to walk around, claiming every few minutes that I needed to use the restroom. I take their word for it because it was all just a blur.
The next day, I was still only at 3cm and 50% effaced, despite the drugs given to me. Around 6pm, my mother finally convinced someone that I could have an epidural. The epi never took completely. I suspect it was due to my weight, making it difficult to properly place. Although not fully effective, it was enough to allow me some sleep. I was woken at 9pm, checked for dilation, and disappointingly discovered that nothing had changed. Because I had surpassed the 24 hour mark since my water had been broken, it was decided that I would have a c-section.
The nurse prepping me made a derogatory comment about my pubic hair. Mr. P. was not allowed to come back to me until I was laying on the operating table, and I was more afraid without him. Once he was allowed back by my side, I thought things would be better. After all, we would finally be meeting our baby soon, and this nightmare called birth would be over. The doctor was not my own, and not even part of the group I saw. As he tested to see if the epidural was working, I told them I could feel the pinching. The doctor told me that was not possible, and began cutting me open. I screamed, and was told I was being a baby. I could feel every cut, pull, and ripping sensation on one side. I did my best to keep it to a whimper through the rest of the surgery. Mr. P. became very pale, watching my blood circle down to a container near his feet. I'm still surprised that he did not faint.
Sooner than I thought possible, we heard our baby's first cry, accompanied by the announcement that it was indeed a boy. Mr. P. and baby were wisked from the room as they stapled me up.
As I was wheeled from the OR to the mass recovery room, MonkeyMan was placed in my arms, all bundled up. The enormity of it all hit me. I was now responsible for this child. We were joined by Mr. P. and my mother. I have never felt quite as relieved in my entire life.
The following days in the hospital were awful. I was in tremendous pain, and developed an infection that was not properly managed. My son was kept from me most of the time. My shoes were stolen, of all things! After 8 days in the hospital, I was so very glad to be discharged and on our way home.
Although I was joyous to have my new son, I felt like I had failed. Between the enduring pain and subsequent abcess, the PPD, and the exhaustion, much of his 1st year is a blur to me. I spent that year educating myself, learning exactly what happened that caused this whole parade of fail to happen. I did not know that the doctors I had chosen were general practioners, not OBs. I didn't know about favorable conditions for an induction, or the increased risk of c-section for obese patients. After all was said and done, I swore I would never go through that again.
That was all 11 years ago, and they say hindsight is 20/20. Despite all that went wrong, and all the pain I endured, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, exactly as it went down. My firstborn son is a joy, and I am so proud of the man he is growing to be. My sweet little baby is now only 3 inches shorter than me! The time has flown by so very fast.
The take away message from his birth, for me, was buyer beware. The births of my other 2 children were so different from MonkeyMan's. I'd like to think I learned valuable lessons from his birth. Although it was definitely what I would consider traumatic, it really taught me a lot about myself and what I can survive. I'm proud of both of us for getting through that mess. I'm proud of how far we've come. And the best part is that his birth no longer bothers me. It has been filed away in my memory, and I no longer feel guilt about how he entered our world.