Welcoming Luke (Part 2)

The amount of time that has lapsed since publishing Part 1 of Luke's birth story clearly indicates I won't be returning to blogging any time soon. I had it all written weeks ago but had trouble cropping the pictures. And they NEEDED to be cropped. So enjoy part 2 with its many decent and non scandalous pictures.

As the evening progressed things started getting a little slow. The midwife suggested getting on all fours to help the baby get into a better position and hopefully speed things up a bit. I tried it but hated it. I immediately had flashbacks of Paul’s labor and started to get upset. I avoided any position that I was in during Paul’s labor, even if someone thought it would be helpful. Despite my appearance as a calm and collected birthing woman, I was in turmoil on the inside. The fear of Paul’s birth replaying itself would not subside. I didn’t voice it in the hopes that it would just go ok (which is never a good idea!) so no one really knew how much I was struggling.

In the weeks leading up to labor, I couldn't get Paul's birth out of my mind. I re-read his birth story and then read Hannah's after that to try to remember the more positive birth experience over the negative one. I talked a lot about Paul's birth but Ted didn't pick up on my anxiety. I knew going into labor that I was on thin ice mentally and kept trying to get the memories from Paul's birth out of my head.

I got checked at 9:00pm and was 8 cm. Then again at 10:30 and was a 9. The midwife wanted to break my water but I declined. After she announced I was 9cm I went to the bathroom alone for a few minutes and wrestled with the emotions I had been trying to hide from. I still hadn’t said anything to Ted or AC, but the farther along I got into labor the more terrified I was becoming of things ending up the way they did for Paul’s birth. I tried to push the fears and feelings down deeper and deeper in the hopes that they would just go away. I wanted to be healed from Paul’s birth, but I knew I wasn’t. I tried to pretend I was and it wasn’t working. Rather than being excited about being 9 cm, I was overwhelmed and anxious. All I could think about what the hours and hours of pain that I still had to endure after I made it to 9cm with Paul.

I came out and tried to find the words to explain all of this. At first I said, “I’m bored,” and AC gave a few suggestions for lifting my spirits. But I wasn't bored. Finally I was able to admit that I wanted an epidural because I was scared. I told them I was mentally not allowing the labor to progress and that physically I was holding back from what I knew my body needed to do. I knew I need to walk more, squat deeper, but when the contractions came I froze and hoped like hell I wouldn’t progress, just trying to keep this baby inside. Ted tried talking me down and reminded me that I was in transition but I knew it was bigger than that. He told not to write this labor off just yet, to give this baby a chance to have his own birth, and to take one contraction at a time. But all I could think of was getting back up on that bed to push and having a panic attack. I felt like my sanity was holding on by a thread that was about to snap at any moment. If it snapped, I at least wanted the epidural to catch me when I crashed.

It took a while to convince the nurse I meant it. She tried a few tricks to deter me because she knew my goal was to have a natural birth. I thought she was sweet but I saw right through it. I had checked out and wouldn’t rest until I got some relief. The anesthesiologist came in and we immediately recognized him from Paul’s birth. I told him that he pissed me off last time and told him the story. He said, “Yeah, that sounds like me,” and looked up in my chart whether he was the one who gave me the epidural for Paul. Sure enough, same guy. This time was a little different and I didn’t yell at him.

The medicine started around 10:45 pm and I sadly realized this baby might not come on the 11^th and would miss the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes. I still held out a shred of hope as the pain of contractions lessened as the drugs took over. I got checked again and was 9 with a "tiny bit of lip." That damn phrase! I immediately started to worry I would get stuck again. The midwife brought in the peanut ball to try to finish the dilation and flashbacks of Paul’s birth got worse. I just wanted to be pushing and yet, here I was, laying in a bed with my leg up on a giant peanut shaped ball with a body that just won’t finish dilating in order to push my baby out. Again. Since I had to be on my side, the epidural stopped working on whichever side was on top. My back started to hurt intensely and I asked for a heating pad. I continued to labor like this, in the bed with all the pain on one side, for more than two hours. I hated laying down but I knew I did this to myself when I chose to get the epidural. I wanted to take it back and try again. I wanted to get out of bed and find the courage somehow to meet the end of this birth head on. But I was still so scared and deeply scarred.

Finally, at 12:50am on the 12^th, my midwife checked me and said I could start pushing. I was disappointed that I would be pushing with the epidural but incredibly happy this was all coming to an end. I asked for the mirror (I know I’m in the minority, but I LOVE being able to see my baby being born!) and started to push with all my might. 

Once again, I felt confident in pushing and was able to push at least three times with each contraction. I pushed for 19 minutes and at 1:14am a little head emerged. The excitement of the head coming out stopped me from pushing and before I could finish my thought of, “I’m about to meet my baby!” the midwife had brought him the rest of the way out and was already clearing his airways. I couldn’t see him but Ted could and for the first time got to announce the sex, which is what we had tried for each time. 

“It’s Lukey!” 

Rather than get exited, I was still just in shock that he was already here. I felt like I needed a second to prepare for his arrival and wasn’t fully realizing that he was already here. I was expecting a moment of recollection before that final push but he snuck up on me. They put him on my chest and wrapped us up in warm blankets and he cried just enough to let us know he was ok but then quickly quieted down. He had dark hair just like the other two and I remember thinking how small he was compared to Paul. (Later when he was weighed and announced to be 8 lbs, 8 ounces I laughed at what I now consider a “small” baby.) 

AC gave Ted a celebratory Dr. Pepper she had been saving for the occasion and I called my parents, who were just a few hours away from town. I tried not to tell them the gender so I could surprise them in person but it slipped out just as I was hanging up the phone. I saved the name for their arrival.

Luke Robert. Luke: my favorite Gospel writer, friend of Mary, and closest companion of Paul. Robert after my dad and St. Robert Southwell.

The days following were some of my fondest memories of motherhood. I stayed in the hospital as long as possible to give myself some time to bond with Luke before heading home to the other kids. And seeing Paul and Hannah meet their baby brother was something I’ll never forget.

It wasn’t the birth I was expecting, but none of them ever are. And that’s how we became a family of five.