Gillen's Birth Story

Sunday the 26^th I had some contractions in the afternoon. Nothing horrible, just some cramping but clearly a new level of uncomfortable aside from the general pains of late pregnancy. Our little family went to a street fair and the cramps timed out to one every eight minutes or so for a few hours and eventually faded. We took a nap, had enchiladas for dinner and headed to bed early. I continued to have mild cramping and back pain all night but changing positions seemed to help me get some sleep. Maybe this was something, maybe it wasn’t. 

I woke to Owen calling for me over the monitor at 9am the morning of August 27^th. I quickly glanced at the calendar and whispered a silent ‘thank you’ for making to 39 weeks. As I waddled to the bathroom, I noticed the back pain was a little more intense than the day before and I had clearly lost my mucus plug. We had a park play date scheduled and as I brushed my teeth I had a vivid flash of giving birth in a pile of mulch next to the curly slide. I decided to call my doula. We were on the phone for twenty minutes, discussing whether or not I should go to the park and plans to shower and feed Owen. By the end of the conversation she said, “No park. You need to call Jeremy to come home, get someone to take Owen, and head to the hospital.” I told her I didn’t want to assemble the troops for a false alarm and she said, “Since we’ve been talking you’ve had a contraction every two minutes. It’s better to be at the hospital at this point.” 

It was 10am.

Our neighbor, Kristen, left work and came over to feed Owen breakfast while I showered and frantically realized he had no clean clothes. Kristen grabbed his dirty laundry basket and handed me a banana, “Eat this, he’ll be FINE. I know how to wash clothes.” I finished getting ready and ate a bowl of Cheerios and some soy yogurt. The intense cramping and back pain had me stopping to breath. At that point it became clear – I’m a Mama destined for back labor. 

Jeremy arrived home at 10:30 and we threw the rest of our stuff together. Once he saw my contractions were coming pretty frequently he kicked it into high gear and we jumped in the car. He drove like a felon  through mobs of Pitt students on the first day of classes as I squeezed his hand through each contraction. 

We handed over our keys to the hospital valet at 11am.

Jeremy ushered me through the door and into the elevator. “Close the door and push the button!” I thought over and over again as people kept piling in. I tried to hold in the pain of a huge contraction while an elevator full of people backed away from me. The doors opened and we rushed past the people wishing us luck and surely thanking God I didn’t give birth in the elevator. 

[We rushed out of the house so fast we left without a single camera. I realized it the moment we arrived at the hospital and felt enormously guilty - we had such beautiful pictures of Owen's birth, I needed to capture this little one as well. We called our photographer friend who had agreed to photograph the birth if timing worked in our favor - Jeremy texted her "Tam says, COME NOW"]

We checked in and met up with our doula. An older doctor met us in triage and asked what brought us in. I grimaced through a contraction and managed to mention I was in labor and after a quick exam his bushy eyebrows raised as he declared I was seven centimeters dilated and needed to be brought to labor and delivery. Jeremy informed the snarky nurse that I didn’t want pain medication and I’m sure she rolled her eyes doubtingly as she returned to the nurses’ station, “we’ve got a ‘natural’ in room ten.” 

So much of the next part is a blur. The back labor was intense and coming about every minute or so. My doula showed Jeremy how to put counter-pressure on my hips during contractions to ease the pain and move baby into the birth canal. I leaned over the bed as he helped me through each wave. Nurses were telling me to get into bed and running antibiotics through my IV. My doula whispered into my ear, “You’re fine to ignore them, you won’t be here long. This baby is coming very, very soon.” 

Jeremy and the doula took turns with the counter pressure and rubbing my back as we listened to our birthing playlist and laughed between contractions. They helped me sip Gatorade and put cold rags on my neck. My arms were exhausted from being on all fours through intense pain so I tried to lean on a birthing ball or have Jeremy hold me up. The contractions were closer together and longer each time, it felt like someone was taking a sledge hammer to my tailbone. With each surge Jeremy encouraged me endlessly, telling me how proud he was of me and what an amazing job I was doing. My doula reminded me, “each contraction is one step closer to baby.” Once the antibiotic bag was empty Jeremy asked the nurse to lock off my IV and despite her protests, he said, “this is what she wants.” I was so proud of him in that moment, because even though I knew he thought I was crazy pants for wanting an unmedicated birth, he supported me. 

Amid the madness I was checked, still seven centimeters and my water hadn’t broken. Shortly after, nine centimeters and the water bag was too tight around his head to be broken. My entire body shook with visceral pain and for a split second I told myself I was an idiot for birthing without drugs and then suddenly, “I HAVE to push!” People whirled about the room talking about possibly checking me again and I roared, “I’M PUSHING MY BABY OUT NOW!” and on all fours I pushed as hard as I could.

It was 2pm.

Moments later I was on my back, squeezing Jeremy’s hand and begging them to take down the GIGANTIC mirror that magically appeared over my head. I wanted a natural birth; I didn’t say I wanted to watch it. I shut my eyes as tight as I could, pushed again and then told myself, “You will meet your baby with this next push, it will hurt like hell, but you will meet your baby.”

Less than three hours after arriving at the hospital, I pushed a third time and my beautiful 8lb 3oz boy was born followed closely by a gush of amniotic fluid. 

It was 2:10pm.

They placed him on my abdomen and I reached down to grab my son while nurses encouraged him to cry – and cry he did. He wailed in my arms and I felt Jeremy’s tears trickle onto my face as we marveled at the newest addition to our family. He was perfect in every way and even as my doctor stitched a second degree tear, I smiled. I felt more joy and pride than I have ever felt in my entire life. My body made this person and I bravely and confidently gave birth to him on my own terms. They say you don’t get a medal for birthing naturally, but you actually get more. I have never felt more powerful, confident or feminine than I did on that day. 

My firstborn made me a mother and my second child made me an even stronger one.

Happy birthday, my love.  Three hours, three pushes, then you.

An abbreviated version of our birth story was also published here on Kveller.com and has almost 200 shares on Facebook. I hope to inspire other women to learn as much as they can about birth and birth options and perhaps even have enough confidence in their body and themselves to birth naturally.