Betty's Birth

I have not written for a while, not because of a lack of material! But rather, I've been processing all of the events that have been swirling about and trying to sort through my experiences.

I have so many things I could write about, but I am leaning toward my experience of labor because it's something I've been replaying in my mind since it happened. Labor stories for women are like war stories for soldiers. I never get tired of hearing or telling them. And obviously, despite how common labor and delivery is (currently, 6.9 billion people common), there is something so miraculous and fascinating enough that whole shows are dedicated to these stories. Betty's birth for us, is no less fascinating.

After a relatively easy labor at home starting at about 7PM on June 4th, I told Mark it was time to head to the hospital, so he'd have to peel his eyes off of "Everybody Loves Raymond" (we're nerds and love that show). He was not overly convinced I was in labor (probably because I wasn't overly convincing, in my great efforts to maintain self-control). As a side note, in my past labors, I have recognized the role of my voice in labor. The louder I allow my voice to get, crying out in pain, the more I let down and the pain seems harder to bear. I actually mental noted this for myself for this labor, and like a good Scientologist, I was determined that I would try to maintain my composure all the way until I could get my lovely epidural. I have had success in graciousness through all of my births, praying that I would always be gracious to my hubby and all attending medical practitioners, that I might not regret the way I labored. And I am thankful that I was able, again, by God's grace, to do this. However, I have not been as successful at maintaining my composure- crying out at contractions and saying things like: ACH! I NEED SOMETHING TO TAKE THE EDGE OFF! But this time, I knew better!

In fact, my self-control exercises were going so well, that I nearly had Mark sold that I was not in pain and he was telling me on the way to the hospital that they were going to send us home, expressing doubts that I was dilated to anything more than three centimeters. I did my best to walk quickly from the parking garage, down the stairs, and to the hospital, telling Mark how pleased I'd be when the attending triage nurse would tell me: honey, you're at a six. And I would in turn tell Mark: HA! A SIX! But actually, this was definitely more fantasy because I just wasn't sure how far along I was. When I was laboring with Judah, being dilated to a four was nothing. I thought: I can make it to a 15! Well, I didn't:) And with Haddie, I labored at home for a while and was CERTAIN I'd go to the hospital at a nine, only to have them tell me that no, sadly, I was at a four! Argh argh argh!

When we checked into triage at 12:15AM on June 5th, I told the nurse that I was in labor. She had a very calm demeanor and slowly helped me into my gown, onto the bed, strapping on all of the monitors and having me fill out endless paperwork. I told her a few times that I'd have to stop because I was experiencing contractions. Only after she looked at the monitor did anyone finally believe me: I was having painful contractions! She glanced up and said: wait, these are coming much faster than I expected- so rather than wait, I'm going to check your cervix now. She quickly checked and informed me that I was at a six! Mark gave me a sheepish look and I cracked up- HA! But really, more than gloating, I was feeling grateful that I'd gone so far.

And my brain started in on my secret thought: I'd like to TRY without an epidural. But I also have always wanted to be very careful about this. I don't want reasons for not getting an epidural to be a result of pride- I am woman, look what I can do! That's just stupid. And if I was to make it without an epidural, I didn't want to wear it like a badge of honor, as if I had accomplished something great in my lifetime. And if I didn't make it without an epidural, I didn't want to be disappointed, like I had failed, because pride would have me thinking I was something only if I could do it. Anyway, all of these thoughts were swarming my head, and I put them aside and recognized that I would want to try without an epidural just to feel the true extent of labor for no other reason than the experience alone. I didn't share these thoughts with Mark because I was still processing them the entire pregnancy all the way to the point when the triage nurse asked me: do you want an epidural? I didn't answer. Mark did. He answered in the affirmative, without thought. He's so sweet and wanted to shield me from pain, knowing that it would be better to try and have a restful labor than to try to do something for pride's sake. I quickly expressed my desires to him and we told the nurse to let me have a go at labor without the sweet nectar of the gods pulsing through my spine.

She quickly had me get up and took me to a delivery room. The midwife came in shortly thereafter and I told her that my intentions were to labor standing up (again, I learned in my last labors that for me, there's nothing worse than being confined to a bed in excruciating pain). So as soon as they strapped on all the monitors, I paced around the room, Mark in one hand, my saline stand in the other, enduring contraction after contraction as quietly as possible. I wasn't doing so bad. This might just work, I said (in my head only).

It didn't take long for the midwife to come back in the room. She checked me again, noted that I was at a 7.5 or 8 and asked if I wanted my water broken. Having no idea what I was in for, I blithely agreed. Oh happy day! As soon as she broke my water at 1:08AM, the pain kicked up several notches and my pacing around the room became more maniacal. I was closing my eyes and walking rapidly, banging into my bed, the wall, or the door as I sought haven from my affliction. After one of the excruciating contractions, I remarked in my delirium (again, when Mark and I were the only ones in the room), that I was not sure how martyrs endured their deaths or how Christ hung on the cross for three days- yes, I said it- three days! Mark withheld his comment to the end of that contraction, only then to note, "Amy, your theology is breaking down. Jesus did not hang on the cross for three days." I actually laughed and acknowledged my error only to speed back into a contraction, except this one felt different.

The nurse came back into the room and Mark asked her how much longer because the intensity had increased. I was doing my best not to yell out, especially when she said: possibly two more hours. WHAT?!? I'm sorry- the pain that just kicked in could not last two more hours. Bring on the epidural, we told her, in no uncertain terms. She rushed out of the room and had no sooner (literally) swung the door closed than I released the first of many shouts. Yes, the closed gateway had been broken, but it was because there was something different about the way I felt. It stopped me in my tracks and I didn't want to move. I just wanted to convulse. I felt myself heave and looked for the nearest receptacle. But I barely found it before a nurse came rushing in (undoubtedly at the crazed shouts of a self-diagnosed-dying-woman). She was not very kind as she actually raised her voice at me (maybe it was because I let out a shriek in her ear), telling me to get on the bed. I apologized to her for yelling in her ear (yes, on the spot) and I told her that I was not going to lay down, that I couldn't, that SOMETHING was happening and threatening to rip my body in two. Again, in a not-very-understanding way, she yelled at me to lay down because the baby could fall out. HUH?!? But the other nurse just told me it would take two hours. I didn't want to argue and I did my best to get on the bed. The yelling nurse was right. I needed to lay down because baby girl was making her entrance into the world.

At 1:13AM I layed myself down on the bed and started on what has since become Mark's favorite story to tell. In between alternating shrieks and apologies ("I'm so sorry for yelling"), I ALLEGEDLY began to say things like, "Help me Lord," and when the midwife pulled Betty's head out, I MAY have repeated some zealous pleas to "Get her out of me." But needless to say, it all ended minutes later when at 1:15AM, I gave birth to our darling baby girl. She was a whopper at 9 pounds, 3 ounces. But she was OUR whopper!

The love and relief that filled my heart was indescribable. Bethany Barbara entered the world to a shouting mama (I'm sure that's the last time she'll ever hear me shout- har har). We named our little doll-face Bethany because it's a cool place where Jesus performed great miracles. And her middle name hails from my sister, a great girl, and one of my best friends, who was named after my grandma, another great person who loved the Lord.

So yes, I did it epidural-free. No, this does not make me good or mark me as some wonder woman. Anyone and everyone could do it epidural-free if they needed. It's a shame that it is used as a badge of honor in some circles shaming those who get the epidural, because people forget that long before they existed, no one used epidurals for childbirth. Would I do it again? Yes! But I would also do it again with the epidural. I have no qualms about it. But I am so thankful that God got me through it all, even with my broke-down theology mid-way through:) He's the one who gives strength and commonly graces us to get through. I am not proud of the shouts of agony that I APPARENTLY let out in the end, or of the way my goober husband loves to tell the tale. But it's part of the story, no matter how embarrassing or nutty. Yes, I did yell frantically, "get her out of me." And I did act for a moment like somebody who had lost her tenuous grasp of her wits. But I'm thankful still, that God gave me the grace to get through and experience something I wanted to experience long ago. Him receiving the glory for this is absolutely essential. The Doxology is the song I most relate with Betty's birth. It's a song we sing to our kids every night, and one that greatly moves me and reminds me of His provision in my life:

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.