Carson Jay Carnett made his debut at 12:05 am on March 17th (St. Patrick's Day)!
He was 20.5 inches long and weighed 8 lbs, 3 oz.
I had an unplanned c-section with Claire and the recovery was brutal, so I was hoping for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) with Carson. I switched to an OB practice with very high VBAC success rates and even hired a doula (labor coach). I wasn't really planning on an all natural birth - I just wanted to get further along than I did last time before getting an epidural. I also wanted to labor at home as long as possible because I didn't have the best experience in the hospital when Claire was born.
I started having painless Braxton Hicks contractions around 35 weeks. At 37 weeks, I had some bleeding and slightly painful contractions, so I had to spend a few hours at the hospital for observation. The doctor checked me for labor progress and found I was 2 cm dilated, 30% effaced, and baby was at -3 station. I was already closer to labor than the morning they induced me with Claire! But, I didn't make any more progress over the next few hours and the contractions stopped, so they sent me home. I was sure I would be in labor by the weekend.
Imagine my disappointment when I lugged my very pregnant belly to my OB appointment the following week. I reminded myself that Claire was 5 days late when we induced and decided that I would probably be late again. When the doctor checked my progress, though, I was 4 cm dilated, 70% effaced, and baby was at -1 station! All our friends said we wouldn't make it through the weekend, and they were right.
Claire's preschool was on Spring Break that week, so we planned some special activities to enjoy our final days as a family of 3. We had mommy and me manicures, visited the bounce house, and went to the zoo. I noticed that I was having LOTS of Braxton Hicks contractions all day at the zoo on Friday. They were coming more frequently than normal and were a bit stronger (but still not really painful). Josh started asking if we needed to call our family, since they live 6 hours away, and we needed to be sure someone would be here to watch Claire. I told him to wait. It couldn't be labor if it didn't hurt.
That night, I began to think I might actually be in early labor. The contractions became more regular (though still far apart) and they began to feel slightly painful. Still, I remembered how my contractions had just stopped on their own the week before and I wasn't ready to sound the alarm just yet. So we went to bed. I woke up a few times feeling contractions, but they were still mild and far apart.
On Saturday, I noticed the contractions getting a little stronger and closer together, so I worked on packing the hospital bag. We went to Target for a few last-minute necessities and went out to lunch with Claire. I could still talk through the contractions easily and I didn't feel they were close enough to start timing yet, so we just enjoyed our morning. By mid-afternoon, I had to start reminding myself to relax through the contractions. I sat on our back porch swing enjoying the beautiful spring weather, closed my eyes, breathed and relaxed through each contraction. As they got stronger, I started imagining I was at the beach (my happy place). I finally decided to start timing the contractions and was surprised to find they were 8-10 minutes apart, lasting about 40 seconds. It didn't feel like they were lasting that long and I had thought they were still about 20 minutes apart. After some debating with Josh, I finally agreed to call my dad so he could start the 6 hour drive to come take care of Claire when we went to the hospital. I honestly thought it would be the middle of the night or even the next day.
The contractions continued to get stronger, longer, and closer together. After dinner, I reached the point where I had to focus to breathe through each contraction, standing up and swaying until it ended. They were coming every 5-7 minutes by then, but I still thought it would be awhile before we headed to hospital. I remembered how painful the contractions were when I was induced with pitocin for Claire's birth, and these were no where near that painful, so I thought I still had plenty of time. I didn't even feel the need to call our doula yet.
Josh gave Claire a bath and put her to bed. My dad was on his way, so we figured she could just go to sleep and we would probably head to the hospital overnight, sometime after he arrived to stay with her. I was tired, so I decided to lay down and rest for a few minutes. As I lay in bed, another contraction came, then another. During the second contraction, I felt a "pop" and the second half of the contraction became much more painful. "I think my water just broke," I told Josh. Then I remembered stories I had read about how labor can move very quickly after the water breaks, so I directed him to start getting our things ready to go, just in case. I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and waited for the next contraction, which confirmed that my water had broken. I suddenly realized that contraction came only 3 minutes after the last one (and was much stronger). I watched the timer while Josh started loading the car. My contractions were 2-3 minutes apart and over a minute long!
When Josh came back upstairs, I told him I thought we needed to call someone. "Like the doula?" he asked. "I think it may too late for that. I think we need to call the doctor and let her know we're coming to the hospital! We need to get to the hospital!" I realized I was in transition (the part of labor that comes right before you start pushing). It was time to go. He called the doctor, who agreed it was time to go. My dad was still driving, so Josh got Claire in the car, put on a movie, and asked her to be really quiet for the car ride. I worked my way down the stairs and into the car between contractions. I was dreading that car ride and it was definitely the worst car ride of my life. Sitting, belted in while trying to work through those contractions was miserable. And then, half way through the 20 minute drive to the hospital, I felt the urge to push.
This natural instinct is not easy to ignore. When it's time to push, it's time to push. Fighting the urge made the contractions hurt much worse. So, with a few turns still between us and the hospital, I began bearing down lightly. I told Josh what I was feeling and I guess he noticed when I started bearing down a bit. He firmly told me not to push. I pretty much ignored him. Thankfully, we pulled up to the hospital door minutes later. "I'm not going to have the baby in the car! Yay!" I thought.
Josh got out and opened my door so I could get out. He actually seemed surprised that I refused to move. I told him I couldn't get out and walk into the hospital. The contractions were too strong and fast. He got a wheelchair, but apparently I continued my unreasonable refusal to hoist myself out of the car. He hit the intercom button at the hospital door, but no one answered. Thankfully, my husband was persistent (and probably a little concerned his wife would have the baby in the car after all). Eventually, someone answered and a nurse came to help. When she got to the car, she started asking questions. By that time, I had to stay focused on the labor. I couldn't answer her. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even open my eyes. I had to stay focused to stay on top of the pain. I only managed to sputter out that the baby was coming now. That effectively freaked out the nurse, so she called for back-up.
The three nurses now standing at my car door wanted me out of that car. But I couldn't move during contractions and wasn't about to let them try to move me during one either. I was clinging to the bar above my car door. I wasn't going anywhere until I was ready. I soon realized I wasn't going to feel "ready" to move anytime soon, but I was going to have to move anyway if I didn't want to deliver the baby in the hospital's circle drive. So I consented (and sort of helped) to move myself onto the wheelchair.
Claire, who seemed to be relatively unphased by all of this, was already out of the car with Josh. A very nice nurse offered to take her to the nurse's station until my dad arrived to take over. Meanwhile, they wheeled me up to Labor & Delivery. My eyes were still closed and all the movement and sounds around me felt like a dream. I heard someone say they didn't think I needed to go in triage because I seemed to be pretty far along in labor already. "Yes," I thought, "The babies head is about to fall out, so I am rather far along."
My doctor was in surgery, so they had some random doctor in the room when we arrived. They told me not to push until they checked me. The doctor needed to see how dilated I was first. "I'm a ten, trust me," I thought. But I couldn't spare the focus to speak the words aloud. And besides, I was still bearing down (just a little) during each contraction anyway. Random Doctor checked me while a nurse put in my i.v., which was kind of a mess due to the urgent circumstance - I had bruises for weeks from that i.v., but I barely even felt it in the moment. Random Doctor proclaimed that I was indeed 10 cm and, now that I was inside the hospital, I was free to push. Thanks for your permission, doc. Just then, my awesome OB arrived.
At that moment, I suddenly realized what I was about to do (um, push what out of where? Can we numb that up first?). It was the only time I really felt any reluctance to push. "I guess it's too late for an epidural?" I asked, only half joking. The doctor and nurses laughed. "The baby is going to be here before we could get an epidural in." Okay, I thought, time to commit. Besides, I came in already pushing, so I fully expected to have that baby out soon. Every time I heard stories about women who arrived at the hospital pushing, they always ended with something like "three pushes later, I was holding my baby." Surely I was only three easy pushes away from meeting my little guy.
But I wasn't. I was still two hours away from that moment. Pushing is hard work, and by the end of the first hour, I was exhausted. I started to wonder if it was going to work or if I would end up with another unplanned c-section for failure to descend. But my OB told me everything was going well and that I just needed to keep pushing. As tired as I was, it didn't take much to convince me to push because pushing didn't hurt. It was exhausting. It was hard. But it also came naturally. My body wanted to push and it helped me get through each contraction. If I didn't push, the contractions were excruciating. Plus, there was really only one way out of this predicament - get that sweet baby boy OUT!
Just in case I needed a little extra motivation, though, my little guy started kicking during the contractions and pushing. Those little kicks I had so eagerly enjoyed for the last several months were now so painful I was mentally begging him to stop. "He's pushing back!" laughed the OB and nurse. Yes, pushing back... ha ha ha (no mother in natural labor said, ever). That was enough for me. It was time to get him out. I pushed harder than I thought possible. And then I did it again and again and again. I felt the head. It hurt, but it was motivating. Another push and the head was out. I knew what came next. I had read about that feeling when the rest of the baby just slides out and I knew the hard work of birth was over. But that feeling didn't come, and suddenly all the nurses rushed to my doctor's side and began pushing and pulling on the baby and me. I have never felt pain like that in my life. It felt as though someone had reached inside of me and was tearing out my organs. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't know if I should be still or keep pushing. I realized I was yelling out in pain. The doctor told me the baby was stuck. The horrible pain continued. Then, at last, that feeling I read about. The baby was out. They laid him on my chest. Surprise, joy, relief. He was here and he was perfect.
They took him to get cleaned up, diapered, and wrapped. I waited patiently to hold him again, relieved that all the unpleasantness for me was pretty much over. Wrong again. I needed stitches, lots of stitches for a third degree tear (fourth degree is the worst, so it was a pretty bad one). They numbed me up. I felt the sharp stick of the needle. More numbing. Felt it again. And again. I wondered how much longer it would be before I could stop worrying about what was going on down there and start enjoying my new baby boy. It felt like forever, but I eventually got to cuddle my little man.
My dad had arrived and was in the waiting room with Claire. They came in and met our newest member of the family. I had looked forward to introducing Claire to her baby brother, and her tired little smile was a precious sight. They went home to bed (I think it was almost 2 AM by then), and then it was quiet.
I thought about what had happened. I couldn't believe I had just had a natural childbirth. That didn't sound like something I would do. Then again, a year ago, I wasn't sure I would be able to do any of this. After so many losses, this really was a miracle. The doctor told me later that the medical term for how my boy got stuck is "shoulder dystocia". Apparently, it is an emergency situation that can result in nerve damage or even death because it often pinches off the umbillical cord. They will do anything to get the baby out when this happens - even break the baby's clavicle. Carson was stuck for a full two minutes, which the doctor said is a long time, but he was healthy and unharmed. His head was bruised, swollen, and misshapen, his shoulder was sore, but he had no serious problems from the shoulder dystocia.
As I laid there holding my healthy baby boy, I remembered the dream I had the night before my last miscarriage was confirmed. I always felt God sent me that dream to comfort me, to give me hope. It was a promise for the future of our family. And there I was, early Sunday morning, holding that sweet little promise in my arms. What an incredible gift.
