A VBAC Birth Story
A mere 17 months after my cesarean, I was once again due to have a baby. I had spent a lot of time during my pregnancy educating myself about VBACs (vaginal birth after cesarean), and had enlisted an awesome doula who went on to become a dear friend and attended all my other births.
At the time I was still a full time middle school teacher, and I stopped work one week before my March due date. The following Thursday afternoon I started having contractions but wasn’t sure anything was “really” happening. (Remember, while this was my second baby, it was my first labor. I was clueless.)
Around 6 p.m. the contractions came regularly about 6 minutes apart and 1 minute long, but still weren’t very intense. I called my parents at about 8 p.m. and they prepared to make the 4 hour drive down to our house. My in-laws (who live just a few miles away) were put on notice.
I thought the contractions might subside at night, but no such luck! They didn’t get closer together but they became significantly stronger around 2 a.m., about the time my parents got to our house. We all tried to sleep, but I didn’t have very much luck. I took a couple showers to relieve the pain, but otherwise it was sleep-contraction-sleep. I’d have a contraction, wake up and get on all fours, and then immediately lay down and fall asleep again when it went away. Any mama will tell you, this is the oddest thing: to go from asleep to wide awake to asleep again in just seconds.
At 6 a.m. my water broke. It took me a minute to figure out what that was, and in the interim I had a flash of panic that I was bleeding. After I saw that it was indeed amniotic fluid, and that it was clear, I alerted everyone, and the whole mood in the house shifted. My mom, who gave birth to 11 children, was anxious for us to head to the hospital. Meanwhile, my contractions slowed down a bit and I was smiling non-stop. I knew we were well on our way to a VBAC and that thrilled me to no end. My in-laws arrived a few minutes later and took over care of Gianna. The rest of us decided to make our way to the hospital. I called my doula and she said she would meet us there.
Enter The Hiccups, 1 and 2: 1) We found out on the way to the hospital that my least favorite doctor was on call. Bummer. Big bummer. I had an inkling that she had an itchy c-section trigger and worried about what that would mean for the VBAC. 2) In the car, I had sat on a waterproof hospital pad. When I got out I noticed that the amniotic fluid was no longer clear and I knew that meant meconium.
Cue the foreboding music: dun dun DUN
When I arrive at the L&D wing, the nurse glanced at my chart and then directed me to a room to prep me for a c-section. I was in the throes of a contraction and laid a death grip on my husband’s arm. He calmly said, “Um, no thank you. We’re planning a VBAC.” In that moment we became “those” patients: the troublemakers yet again. The nurses eyed us warily from behind the desk as we made our way down the hall to our room. I knew they were calculating the amount of fuss I would put up in the labor room. At that point though (7:30 a.m.) I was deeply involved in my labor and didn’t care all that much about what their perception of me was. Fortunately our nurse was an angel of sweetness and light. There weren’t many babies being born that morning so she was in our room almost the whole time, yet gave us plenty of space to labor.
My husband called the OB to let her know about the meconium but she didn’t seem worried, praise be to God. I ended up being monitored the whole time so they could watch the baby’s heart rate, but I could get up and move around the room, and I was already too far along in labor to want to walk the halls, so that ended up being okay with me. My doula was such a pro that anytime the nurse got methods about our baby’s heart rate dropping, she just stepped in and adjusted the monitor, reminded me to breathe, etc. She consistently assured me that the baby was doing fine so I was able to focus on my contractions.
I want to take a moment and talk about my husband in the delivery room. At that point in our marriage we had never been more intimately connected than those moments when his face was inches from mine, encouraging me, supporting me, loving me. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. I was a sweaty ball of whining and curses, and yet he never stopped telling me how beautiful I was. With our eldest daughter’s birth, we missed out on that intimacy. I am blessed beyond measure to have had him there. Our doula called him a “perfectly texbook Bradley dad!” and she has since mentioned that if ever there was such a thing as a male doula, my husband would be a perfect candidate. I’ve enlisted him to co-teach a couple a of my birth classes with me. He’s really that good.
When I got there at 7:30ish a.m. I was dilated 5-6 cm., by 9:15 I was 8 cm. 20 minutes later, my doula asked me between contractions if I had begun pushing. I don’t remember my exact words, but I believe it was something along the lines of, “Ummmm, I don’t really knoooooooow?” She called a reluctant nurse over to check me again. Boy was that nurse surprised when I measured at 10 cm. The nurse firmly ordered me not to push though, because the doctor was finishing up surgery upstairs.
I looked at my doula with what I’m sure was a panicked look. Not push? Is that even a thing? How, pray tell, does one override that primal instinct? I’ll never forget the serene smile on her face as she said, “Micaela, someone will catch the baby. You go ahead and push if you feel like it.” God bless her.
Did I mention that aside from my husband, doula, and I, our birth room also contained my mom and dad, my MIL and FIL, plus my nurse and a NICU team (because of the meconium staining) were all in the room? The grandpas kept a respectful distance over my shoulder and everyone was really quiet. While I had planned to only have my husband, my doula, and my mom in the room, at that point, I didn’t care. My doula quietly asked me if I would prefer it if everyone left. I answered, “They know what they’re getting into. If they want to leave, they’re welcome to, but I couldn’t care less.” I'd later learn that this loss of inhibition is hallmark of late active labor, but it still makes me giggle.
I started “officially” pushing at 10:12 and tried several different positions. Our second baby girl was born at 10:32. She weighed 9 lbs, 0.3 oz and measured 21.5 inches long. I looked at my mom and croaked, “I did it.”
Not that there weren’t any complications, though. I sustained a fairly unusual tear during birth called a sulcus tear. As a result of it, I lost a lot of blood and my doctor— who did, after all, breeze in at the last minute and catch the baby—had to do some serious stitching. My blood pressure dropped and I became dizzy and weak. I received IV fluids and drank, drank, drank water and juice to get my BP back up.
Meanwhile the NICU team was suctioning our baby’s stomach and lungs to prevent meconium aspiration. All in all, the post birth experience was quite a bit more nerve-wracking than I expected. I didn’t try to stand up for 2 hours, and when I did get up, I almost passed out, so I returned to bed for another 2 hours. One of the sweetest memories of that foggy time was waking up to see my husband curled up on the delivery room couch, all 6’2″ of him lovingly cradling our newborn miracle. What a perfect dad, birthing room and otherwise.
The end, finally.
