The Arrival of Baby Ezra

I wrote this two days after his birth while we were still in the hospital. 

Ezra's Birth Story

Labor was intense and a lot different than I expected. We tried all of the tricks, and I finally started contracting on Thursday, September 18th at around 8 a.m. A few hours later, we made the call to go to the hospital. I was 3.75cm and having contractions every three minutes. The midwife asked if I wanted her to make it continue--as in, if I wanted her to give me pitocin and break my water if things started to slow down. To which I replied an emphatic yes. And so they did.

I am fuzzy on the time details, but I got pitocin a around 11. It was nice, but contractions slowed even as they upped the dose.  My parents arrived around 9 p.m. and that's when Jason decided to go get a cheeseburger with my dad. While he was gone, the midwife asked if I wanted her to break my water, which would surely bring my contractions closer together and harder. I agreed, though I immediately wished Jason were there with me again. I wanted him with me every time something happened. She opened me up (only 4cm), stuck a long crochet hook in me and poked around for about a minute (it wasn't painful at all) and then there was a huge gush. The midwife cleaned me up and left, and I was fine for a few minutes and then Oh. My. God. I made my mom go find Jason because the pain was unbearable. The contractions got worse and worse by the minute. Jason finally came to me and held my hands and rubbed my back and my head and whispered sweetly into my ear--and five minutes later, a nurse popped by and I asked for my epidural NOW. I had to wait 45 minutes for a bag of fluids to go through my IV and for them to order the epidural and that was the worst 45 minutes of my life. Literally, the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I was crying and shaking and Jason was there, solid as a rock, knowing exactly what to say, petting me and loving me and getting me through each contraction, which were seconds apart and minutes long.

The epidural. 

I have yet to hear a positive story about getting an epidural. Almost everyone (everyone?) said that having it put in was miserable, having it work was miserable, the whole thing--miserable. That was not the case for me. My anesthesiologist was no nonsense. Jason and a nurse had me lean forward and tell them when I was contracting so they could tell the anesthesiologist. She pushed on my back, told me I'd feel a pinch and some burning, and maybe that was the worst part, but it was about as bad as getting my IV (which was nothing). Then she told me I'd feel the needle, the catheter, and then nothing. And it was nothing. 2 minutes later, my toes were tingling, then my knees, my hips, and then I couldn't feel anything below my breasts. From then on, a nurse would come and flip me into position, lift my leg here, lift my leg there. They spread me open like a baby getting a diaper change to put my catheter in. You can't have any shame when giving birth. Girlfriend saw everything. All up in my business. 

And then no progress. I was happy, feeling wonderful, but no progress beyond 7cm. I slept on and off throughout the night, when I woke, I made Jason get himself some breakfast.  He tried to fight me, saying he'd go hungry in solidarity, but I wouldn't let him.  I’ll allow him to be hungry or tired, not both. By 28 hours, I was starving and so tired and nothing was happening and I started to get emotional and tired and hormonal--and my midwife came in and gave me a straight talk about a c-section. And I burst into tears and lost it in front of everyone. The midwife said we'd try a few things, but the baby's heart rate was dropping after each contraction, and his head was turned the wrong way, making it hard for him to get out of my pelvis. So she got me a giant inflatable peanut and had me lay on either side for an hour, hoping he'd turn and de-stress. During that time, the OB came in to introduce herself and again, give me a straight talk about the csection. Which I cried and cried through. My family seemed to really support the csection and my mother, after everything, said she really wished she would have fought harder for the csection. I’ll get to that later. While we were waiting for some change and some hope that I could push, I sat upright in my bed and just cried. They would ask me what was wrong and I would tell them that I was scared and sad and hungry and tired and anxious and I’m not sure if I’m really ready to be a mom and I’m scared and sad that things aren’t going how I wanted them to go, and anxious because I want Ezra to be okay. And Jason would hug me and kiss me and comfort me, the nurses would tell me it was going to go exactly how it was meant to go, and that I’d end with a beautiful baby, no matter how he was delivered, and everyone else just kind of looked at their feet—uncomfortable with me crying (because it’s happened approximately 7 times in two decades, and now the waterworks wouldn’t stop).

They were still nervous after all of my positions and moving, but at 100% effacement and 10cm, they decided to let me push and see how it went. Up until the very last minute, I spent the whole time thinking they were going to go “NOPE,” and wheel me into the OR. I was so tired from 30+ hours of no food, no sleep, and just being emotionally drained, but I would have gone 30 more hours if it meant no csection. So they grabbed my ankles, I’d have a contraction, and they would push my ankles towards me, and I pushed as hard as I could, while holding my breath, to the count of ten, three times each contraction. I asked for a light at the end of the tunnel and the midwife said I could be pushing anywhere from 3-5 hours and I said, “Oh hell no.” And after every other push, I gave it everything I had. My whole body was shaking, I was crying, and I was later told that my lips and face would turn blue and veins were popping out of my neck and face. Time went by so quickly. Each push seemed like hours, yet minutes when they were done. They filled me full of apple juice until I thought I might throw up, so I traded for ice chips instead. My mouth and lips were so dry and the ice was something to focus on in between contractions. Sometimes Jason and a nurse would hold on to my legs while the midwife put her fingers into my cervix to see where and how Ezra was coming out (was his head turning the right way?). I’d push and she’d look deep into my vagina and nod. I finally had the courage to ask her if he was face down like he ought to be and she said, “No, I wish you wouldn’t have asked that. He’s posterior,” (meaning sunny side up. Babies are supposed to be born face down, and being posterior means for a longer, harder labor, more tearing and hemorrhaging for moms, the head may have a hard time, if the ability at all, to leave the pelvis—and many doctors will only deliver posterior babies via csection because of the complications that can arise.). “But it’s okay. You’re pushing perfectly.” And that was the only commentary I got on the subject. The midwife wanted me to calm down and stop asking questions and just know that it was going perfectly and when it wasn’t going perfectly, she’d let me know. I think that was really good for me. I needed to stop worrying, though I knew I wouldn’t until I saw him. So I pushed. And I pushed. And I pushed. And after an hour and a half of pushing, they were no longer feeling inside my vagina—just looking inside of it and nodding. Then the midwife and the head nurse gave one another a knowing look, the nurse disappeared and reappeared with a team of at least 8 people. They brought in tables and scales, they laid out blankets and suction cups and tape measures and ink pads. One of the nurses began dressing my midwife. The nurses put on glasses and everyone was covered in blue plastic gowns and snapping on gloves. I gave it another push and the midwife looked at me and said, “This is it! Two pushes away.” I was flat on my back and the nurses lifted and pushed on my legs so I was at a 90 degree angle. The midwife put her hands on either side of my vagina, the nurse put her hands going the opposite side, almost like a # around my vagina. She said “Slow push” and lightly pushed on my vagina (his head came out), and then “BIG PUSH” and the two women said “1, 2, 3,” and with all of their weight, pushed down on the sides of my vagina and the baby popped out like a poptart (and though I didn't feel it, my worst fear came true.  I tore.  A lot). So many things happened simultaneously. Jason and my mom gasped, the nurses and midwives shouted "TIME!  TIME!  5:01!," I felt like my whole insides were just flushed right out of my body, Ezra screamed his little cry, and I let out a huge, long cry, followed by sobs from relief, fear, happiness, and a thousand other emotions I didn’t know I could feel. They held him up in front of me—he was blue and sticky and had a long white umbilical cord, and he was pulling all of his little limbs as close to his naked body as he could, just screaming his heart out. The only thing that came to my mind and out of my mouth was, “He looks like he’s from x-files!” Jason and I had just recently watched an episode with alien babies in jars of blue liquid. They asked again if I wanted him on my chest, but I wasn’t ready and I just wasn’t myself so I said no and sent Jason to see him while my mom held my hand and talked to me. I don’t even remember what she said.

The next 45 minutes were terrifying for everyone in the room, I think. I looked between my knees and the OB and my midwife and turned a shade of white and were whispering to one another in worried voices. One would nod and run out, and two would come back with this that and the other. I delivered the placenta almost immediately after the birth. And then I shouted that I was going to throw up. Jason and my mom switched places—him at my head, my mom with the baby and a bag almost didn’t make it to my face in time and I threw up everything. All of the juice, all of the ice chips, fluids I didn’t even know I had in my body—just flying out of my mouth. And while I was doing that, I felt huge gushes coming out of my body. Every time I wretched, another half-gallon of liquid would flow down my legs and butt. The OB whispered, “It’s not working,” and left the room. I started convulsing a little and I wasn’t thinking straight anymore. Jason asked the midwife if I was okay—that my face was white. She nodded. The OB came back and said, “Ashley, you’re hemorrhaging. I’m going to insert something into your rectum to stop the bleeding.” I was so light headed, I don’t think I even responded. My mother would later recount that she thought I was dying. She looked over and saw the amount of blood, and then saw my face, and and really thought they were going to lose me. Jason kissed my head and told me about our son. That he was beautiful and that I was a mother and he was a father and he was so happy, and a nurse moved out of the way and he pointed to my mom and Ezra in one of those clear bassinets. They were stamping his feet and Ezra had my mom’s fingers gripped in each of his hands and was just staring at her. He kept whispering that he loved me and he was proud of me and I just cried and cried. Mean while, the nurses and doctors slowly regained their color. They sprayed me with some solution and then the needle came out and they began sewing me up. I didn’t feel anything but sensations of warmth and cold. And then my mom brought a bundled up Ezra to my chest (at this point, it’d had been about 30 minutes and I still hadn’t held him) and I burst into even bigger tears. I don’t know what happened to my vagina after that. I just looked at him and he looked at me and I cried in his beautiful little face and loved him instantly. Then, my mom picked him up so the nurses could sit me upright. I suddenly had stitches, underwear, and the room was emptying. The midwife held my hands and told me I had done amazingly. The head nurse got me some water and asked if I wanted my family to come in. I told them I wanted a minute with the baby. My mom left to tell everyone in the waiting room, and I tried nursing him while Jason sat beside me. He latched immediately and we had about 10 minutes of an attempt before we let people come in (they had all waited a long time and really wanted to see Ezra—and my dad had to leave soon). So I leaned back in my bed and everyone passed around my new son. They all loved him, and looked at him so sweetly and rubbed his face. For 30 minutes, I let everyone love my baby and I felt so happy that Ezra gets to be around so many people who have waited for him for so long and who love him so much.

I didn’t get to hold him again before the nurse said it was time for Ezra and Jason to go to the nursery so he could get measured and get his vaccinations. They left at 6:15ish. And then they moved me to my recovery room. I had to switch beds which was so painful and difficult and was wheeled down the hall to my new room. All of the nurses congratulated me on my way, told me how beautiful my baby was, and that they were sorry my labor was so long. My new room was smaller and I still couldn’t move. My head hurt from the drugs wearing off and I was still on an IV of Pitocin to keep my uterus contracting. Holy hell, those postpartum massages… I got about 8 of them, and screamed every time. But when they were done, the pain was gone instantly. I laid in my bed and my family watched the nursery from a window down the hall, and my mom helped me settle in. Jason (and everyone) reappeared at 6:45 because the nurses were having some emergency meeting and kicked everyone out. He said they’d bring the baby by in about 10 minutes. In the meantime, Jason entertained us with all of the things he saw. How the nurse told him he didn’t have to watch as the baby was having blood drawn (which he said was the saddest thing ever!) and him getting a shot, and measuring his feet and arms. And how Ezra glared at the nurse who measured his skull. By 7:45 and we still didn’t have the baby. I called the nurse and she assured me it would be another 10 minutes only. I sent people to see what was happening, and they would come back with a report like, “he’s having a bath” or “warming under a heat lamp.” His cart came in at 8:15 and I burst into tears. Big, ugly, uncontrollable tears. I didn’t realize how much I missed him and I just couldn’t keep it together. They couldn’t put him in my arms fast enough and I just exploded with tears and melted to mush holding him. I felt like it was the first time. He was all mine and instantly became my everything. And he just stared at me like he knew me. We were both in awe of one another.

And since then—Jason and I have just been weak kneed and starry eyed at his every blink, every coo, every whimper. My heart feels like it’s three people. I didn’t imagine being able to love and be loved and feel so MUCH love. My love isn’t divided, but just gotten bigger. I love Jason more than I have ever loved him, or anyone, in my life. And loving this baby is just unimaginable. I can’t even think about it without crying. The sheer amount of love just moves me to tears.
Motherhood is everything I thought it would be and so much more. I’m so happy. Jubilant. And I can’t wait to do it again.

Ezra was 8lbs even, 20.5 inches long, born September 19th at 5:01 p.m.  He came out crying and so alert, and with a full head of hair.