Growth
The growth I’ve experienced the past two weeks is almost shocking. T-shirts that fit not too long ago barely stretch over my belly. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything different. I figured it was typical eighth month growth — the baby is supposedly gaining 1/2 a pound a week. But then at my last OB visit, I learned I had gained six pounds in two weeks! My OB was not sympathetic. You’re eating too much, she said. No, not really, I said. I even keep a food diary because I had been gaining weight too quickly and it helped me keep things in check. But I really didn’t think — no, I know — I didn’t eat enough to gain six pounds in that stretch. Don’t eat that danish in the morning, she told me. What danish?? I haven’t even had a donut during this pregnancy. Okay, one day I asked R. to buy a cinnamon bun and I had a few bites. But six pounds?? Now I’m trying to not gain at all. The baby will grow without my ass growing, I suppose. And Dr. L doesn’t seem concerned about reducing the amount I’m eating (which really isn’t a ton, I swear). She is more concerned with me having a difficult delivery because of the extra weight (compounded by my vein problem). She said my metabolism is so slow now that I have to eat less. And just when I was getting hungrier.
My yoga teacher says that during pregnancy you have growth spurts. One day you wake up feeling uncomfortable with some new ache or development that you have to adjust to. After a week or so, you’ve adjusted and you might have a good week or two, and then one day you wake up uncomfortable in a new way. And it starts over. This used to happen every couple of weeks. Now it seems to happen every two days. I’m not sure what to expect during the next few weeks. I’m 35 1/2 weeks and 37 weeks is considered full term. A new anxiety is setting in — I’m less concerned with what is going on with my body and more worried about what is going to happen once the baby is here. I haven’t been able to sleep much at night — going to bed at 11pm but still awake, mind racing at 1am. I started taking Benadryl, the recommended sleep aid, and I’ll suffer through the grogginess if it allows me a few good hours sleep at night. I figure my mild insomnia is training for being up all night with a newborn.
Childbirth Education wrap up
Last night my parents commented on how knowledgeable R. was about labor and delivery. We figured after 20 plus hours of childbirth education we should know a thing or two. Was it too much? It felt like it but I’m glad we were exposed to two perspectives: the hospital view and the more natural view. If I had it to do over again, I would have spread the classes out over two months instead of three weeks (but that would have meant advanced planning which we know I’m not good at).
After the first Columbia-Presb class I was deflated, sure that I’d immediately be whisked down the hall to the OR (as they sharpened their scalpels) after an hour of labor because they needed my birthing room. Then we attended our last Real Birth class where Bonu, our instructor, walked us through what might happen at the hospital. I do feel that Real Birth does a fair job of emphasizing the advantages of a vaginal birth versus the quick route to c-sections (which has increased over the years). They also spend time outlining the pros and cons of having an IV (standard at most hospitals), continuous monitoring (standard at CP), induction, augmentation, pain meds and a surgical birth. The thing that annoyed me slightly is that they make you feel that if you have a c-section you’ve failed or succumbed to modern medicine. But I do feel more equipped to try to avoid one if I’m just not progressing as opposed to the baby being in distress.
Real Birth class ended by showing the dozen fearful couples a fifteen minute video called something like “Birthing in the Squat Position,” filmed in Brazil in 1979. The grainy, National Geographic inspired video brought back memories of old science films — the over heated classroom, the monotonous tone of the narrator, the ominous music, the head bobs. That is, until they started cutting away to female faces in distress, panning down to their hospital gown covered mid-sections, and their knees bent out in a squat over a sheet. The narration stopped and it became a montage with music of several women pushing out their babies while squatting. And they were big babies — about nine pounds — so they were big heads pushing through the openings. I wouldn’t say it was beautiful. It was natural, sure, and I can see how that position is advantageous, with gravity working in your favor and all. But after the last head pushed through I turned to Rob and said “A c-section doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”
Now, with all five classes behind me, I feel open to whatever will happen. It will be fine if I have a surgical birth. It will be fine if I have an epidural. I’ll be shocked if I have a natural birth. The closer the time comes (today is my official start of week 35), the less I care about “my” experience and the more I just want to deliver a healthy baby with minimal stress and fanfare.
Childbirth education at Columbia-Presbyterian
On Thursday night we had our first childbirth education class held by Latifah, one of the nurses at Columbia-Presbyterian. That’s right, we are taking two series of childbirth classes. Latifah’s class is held at the doctor’s office for two three hour sessions in the evening (as opposed to the three five hour sessions at Real Birth). My gut told me it wouldn’t be that comprehensive and that it would focus on what to expect at the hospital. I was right on the second count, and I do think we are learning more about natural pain management at Real Birth, but I wouldn’t say Latifah isn’t comprehensive. Just fast. About eight or so couples sat around the 4th floor waiting room listening to Latifah present the very high school biology diagrams as she flipped them over a standing easel. The first shot I caught was of the crowning head sneaking down the cervix, fully dilated at 10 cm. Hard to imagine my body dilating that much. 10 cm. is pretty big. Measure it. It is.
We went around the room and introduced ourselves (only name, number of weeks and doctor (unlike the ten minute intro we gave at RB). But the quick intro was fine. After working all day, I’m sure most people felt the same as I did. I want to go home. Hurry up. Why is it so hot in here?
The instruction here was more clinical and some of it felt like review — always a good thing for retention. I wouldn’t want to forget what effacing means. And my fears were confirmed. Columbia is a high intervention hospital. They have a high rate of c-sections, as well as use of forceps and suction. As the evening wore on, I became more and more deflated about those natural childbirth options. Last week I had visions of rolling around the birthing room on my exercise ball, pacing the halls while leaning on R., trying out any of the numerous contortions Bonu, the doula at RB, taught us. Not at Columbia. Stay home as long as you can, Latifah said, because once you are checked in we hook you up to the monitor and IV. I felt like the dissenter in the class, raising my hand, righteously asking how they could keep you hooked up when, after all, wasn’t it best to keep moving in labor? To deal with the pain? To help move the baby down? She repeated, stay at home as long as you can. Yeah, I get the message. Since that night, I’ve almost resolved with myself that I won’t be having a touchy feely birth experience. Working with a doula seems pointless now. But maybe I’m just warming up to the idea of an epidural and allowing myself to not try to endure excruciating pain if I don’t have to.
But the philosophies of the two classes conflict and I’m a bit confused. I saw my friend, Eddy, yesterday and he recounted his wife’s three labors. The first was med-free — he admitted he thought they’d get a medal for doing it. And he admitted he was proud of their (er, her) effort, how she labored for hours with breathing exercises and elements from her yoga practice. But afterwards, he realized that no one really cared. That putting themselves through the drama didn’t garner them a prize. For baby number two, she decided to have an epidural as the pain was more intense. Eddy said it was a very different experience, that his wife was more present for him. Okay, I thought that sounded selfish, but I know he meant that the first time she was in her own zone. He couldn’t participate. She was checked out and he could only watch. The second time, she was present. They laughed, they went through it together. The third time they opted for an epidural as well, but not a doula as they had the first two times. He said he felt that the doula didn’t add much and that she was almost in the way. Knowing Eddy, he wanted to be as fully involved in the birth as possible. He’s one of those guys who really would give birth if he could. But it made me feel better knowing that this super couple had opted for the drugs. And that it worked out well.
During the last half hour of the class, each couple was handed a soft-bodied doll, fully dressed in layette and diaper. The mothers-to-be practiced various breastfeeding holds (I realized I have short arms). The parents-to-be handed the babies back and forth as Latifah scolded the men who failed to hold the heads and necks. We took turns undressing the doll, changing the diaper, giving it a sponge bath, dressing it again. By this time, I was exhausted, sweating, and my feet had swollen up like sausages. I committed my tasks in a haze. But R. took it all so seriously and it was very sweet to watch. He’d told me he’d never changed a diaper before, which I found hard to believe. But he handled the doll carefully, gently, and paid attention to everything Latifah said. At one point, we all sat back in our chairs, but the dolls had not yet been taken from us. Across from me, I noticed that one father had placed the baby doll at his feet. Another had scooted it under his chair. I turned to R. and he still held the baby in the crook of his arm, head supported. It broke my heart, but I was proud of him and glad that he will be taking care of bambino with me.
Childbirth Class #1
Yesterday R. and I attended the first of three five hour long childbirth classes at Real Birth in Manhattan. We were not happy about spending our beautiful fall Saturday (the first of three!) inside, taking notes and, horrors, possibly learning breathing techniques. R. is frustrated by “how much we have to do” and how he just wants to “enjoy” the weekend and how he feels as if he doesn’t “accomplish enough on the weekend.” I settle back in my roly-poly self, place an ice pack on my crotch, and wistfully remember feeling that way about week four in the pregnancy. I long ago gave up any feeling of productivity. Perhaps unkindly I reminded him that I’d been feeling the same way for seven months now and that in the future, once bambino arrives, our weekends (let alone weeks) will offer us even less free time. But he will have to see for himself. I feel that I have an unfair advantage in this child preparation thing. I’m living and breathing it. It’s still not a reality for him.
But back to the class. We spent the first hour or so introducing ourselves (about eleven or twelve couples) and I was happy to see that the December bellies looked about as big (if not bigger) than mine. I can’t help but compare. I feel so huge, I am sure I am a freak. Those women at prenatal yoga seem to be a bit on the small side, but at Real Birth the bellies suddenly seemed on par with mine. I felt a similar kinship that I had when I started a writing program a few years ago, or an all women writing workshop a couple years before that. My people! I thought. Sitting in the same room a bit lost as to how to go about accomplishing this thing in front of us, but no one needing to explain how we got there.
There was a lot of discussion about natural birth vs. pain medication. A few of the women were pretty militant natural birth believers noting that for years women gave birth without analgesics. I never thought I’d have an issue with pain medication — and on principle I don’t. But the more I find out about it, they more it sounds less desirable. Call me ignorant, but I had not idea an epidural left you numb from the waist down. So, after the epidural, no walking around. Which might not be a problem if you are in the active stage of labor. But I don’t like the idea of not feeling my legs. Of course, I don’t like pain either and I’ll have to see what appeals to me less at the time. I also have had bad experiences with anesthesia this past year — coming out of it my blood pressures dives and after one procedure I even fainted.
I like to think I will be brave during childbirth. But after watching what the instructor called the “mild” birth tape, I’m not so sure. Damn, it seems like a lot of exhausting work. I’ve been thinking about how to get through it. R. and I are arguing about whether or not to have a doula. I say yes, but he thinks they will interfere with the doctors. I know his greater fear is that this person will nudge him out as my main support. I know that won’t happen. I want someone there who isn’t going to lose their head. Who has been through it before and will guide us; who will let us know what the doctor’s might be about to do. I also like some of the stats: having a doula reduces the need for a cesarean by 50% and reduces the length of labor by 25%. I think those numbers are worth it. I don’t know why I am even arguing about this with R. Isn’t it ultimately my decision? I’m the one who is going to be giving birth. But I want him to buy into it so he won’t hate the doula.
Back to the class. We learned about fun things like the “mucus plug” and “bloody show.” One of the husbands told us that he’d worked in a hospital in high school and that his job was to hold the placenta bucket in the birthing rooms. He ended up going to law school and was one of the more squeamish in the class.
One woman said she had wanted a home birth but she has two metal hips and decided to give birth in a hospital in case one of her legs popped out.
One couple, the most enthusiastic about natural childbirth, smugly told of their plans to have a hypno-birth. The instructor, a doula, warned that while the hypnosis techniques might be helpful in the early stages it would still hurt like hell in the active stage. I could tell the woman did not like this feedback. Perhaps it was putting a crimp in her plans for a “beautiful experience.” I noticed they didn’t come back after our lunch break.
My conclusion after class #1: childbirth will be painful and bloody; it will hurt like hell and I will not care if my ass is exposed for all to see. I will probably not care if a sixteen year old is at the foot of the birthing table holding a bucket. I will probably be yelling for an epidural, and even requesting the ether they gave my mother when she delivered me (I don’t think they do that anymore). But I’ll also be relieved and thrilled when it is over, and the baby is lying on my chest (if all is well), screaming it’s head off, wondering what the heck just happened.
