Scarlett Rebecca Stucky
This is the long awaited grand finale to our pregnancy tale. Our birth story.
After weeks of having false labor with Scarlett, Spencer and I were both praying for my water to just break already. If it did, at least we’d have a solid reason to be admitted into the hospital - a solid reason to believe that we were definitely going into labor that wouldn’t taper off for the six dozenth time. But I knew that only about 15% of women are “lucky” enough to have their water break prior to the start of labor. So when I started folding that entire weeks worth of laundry Tuesday afternoon, I never expected it to actually happen.
To help prepare for the new arrival, I wanted to have the entire house’s laundry done prior to me leaving for the hospital to have the baby. I washed load after load until there was a good three and a half hampers worth of clean clothes piled onto my bed ready to be folded before Matthew woke up from his nap. I got almost halfway through, when it happened. Just a little gush - but a gush - right into my maternity pants. Wanting to get a better look, I hobbled up the stairs as fast as I could and shut myself in the bathroom. If it was my water breaking, I knew from reading that the baby’s head can “cork” the water from escaping if you’re in a standing position, so lying down will give you a clearer idea of what it is you’re experiencing if you think it may have happened. So I laid down in the dry tub to wait for more of a gush… and quickly got one. Unfortunately, Matthew noticed me shutting myself in the bathroom - something that doesn’t happen unless there’s company in the house - so he followed right behind me. And when he couldn’t get into the bathroom because the door was locked, he panicked. He started pulling frantically on the doorknob and crying for me to let him in with me. Not wanting to scare him any more, I had no choice but to get my pants back on and share the bathroom.
I called my mom, then Spencer, then the doctor and was told to admit myself into the maternity ward. When I hung up the phone for the last time, my very attentive two-year-old told me “It’s okay your water got broke Mommy. Daddy will come home and fix it for you, right?” For the next few hours, while I waited for Spencer to get home from work, for my parents to come pick up the kids, and for myself to finish tying up all the loose ends around the house/packing for the hospital stay, my water continued to leak. Sometimes kind of a lot, but nothing that a maxi pad couldn’t handle.
When we got to the hospital and had the exam, I was told that my water had definitely started to break. Unfortunately, one of the three tests done for amniotic fluid came back inconclusive - and since the doctors need proof from all three tests in order to admit me, I’d have to walk around for about an hour and half in hopes of producing a little more “leakage” for a second test. The nurse suggested stopping in at the cafeteria to grab something to eat while I’m at it, reminding me that it’ll be the last opportunity I’ll have to do so until after the baby’s born.
So after walking around the outside of the building for about twenty minutes, Spencer and I realized that we didn’t want to waste valuable walking time eating in the cafeteria… So Spencer suggested hiking to the nearby WaWa for a small hoagie and some light snacks. The weather was absolutely beautiful for a long walk and it definitely beat cafeteria food so I agreed. It was definitely a hike, and we had to kind of hustle to make it back in time, but it was perfect for “shifting things around” in there like the nurse had wanted us to do. After walking up and down hills, through little trenches and across the Bank of America lawn, we made it to the shopping center just as the sun had gone down. Spencer was starting to feel doubtful that anything was going to happen and started saying something along the lines of “Well, I kind of think that if your water really broke we wouldn’t have to --”
But he didn’t have a chance to finish. Midway through his sentence, it happened. My water broke entirely right in the WaWa parking lot! Luckily the nurse equipped me with one of those special pads which was able to absorb it all for the test, sparing me any humiliation while we grabbed our pre-game snacks. We loaded up on ice cream and sandwiches and rambled on excitedly to the cashier about this being our last meal before the birth of our daughter. On the way back it was completely dark. This time when we crossed the Bank of America lawn on the way back to the hospital we weren’t able to see that it was soaked and swampy. Our flip-flopped feet were drenched halfway across. I was trying my best to eat while we walked, but I couldn’t stop laughing. And whenever I can’t stop laughing, neither can Spencer. I remember saying to him as we reached the Maternity ward that this’ll make a really good story for her someday.
By the time we got readmitted and examined again, I didn’t need to time my contractions to know that they were on a regular pattern. They started out less than five minutes apart and for ONCE, never slowed down. At about nine-thirty we were taken to the labor room where my contractions were timed in at being only two minutes apart. Since I was laboring well on my own the doctor decided to give me until morning before seeing if I needed Pitocin. All night long, from nine in the evening to four in the morning, I contracted every two minutes, dilating only a single centimeter in the process (making me a 4). I did my best to sleep but needless to say it wasn’t a restful time. At the fateful hour of four a.m. the nurse started the Pitocin… and that’s when things started to happen.
I was off to a very confident start. I’d already spent seven hours contracting aggressively every two minutes. To put things into perspective, I remembered that contractions that close together during labor with Matthew brought me to my knees in pain, so I was proud of how well I was able to handle myself so far. I was strapped to the bed with all the trimmings of I.V. tubes and fetal monitors running off of me, and I was told that unfortunately it wasn’t advisable for me to be up walking around anyway. Apparently, when there’s a break in your water so early on it puts you at a higher risk for … I don’t remember - something like placental abrasion or cord prolapse. In fact, the nurse on duty told me that the next nurse coming in may even want to stop me from walking to the bathroom on my own! I wanted to be aggravated and part of me even wanted to argue with her, but I guess I was too preoccupied to really dwell on it that much. I knew that this would make a natural delivery that much more difficult, but safety had to come first. I was fine to just roll with the punches.
Slowly, the Pitocin took effect to make the contractions stronger and to last just a little bit longer, leaving me with less than a minute to gather myself between them for most of the time. With each half hour that passed there was a noticeable difference in the way that I had to breathe through the pain. I’d heard that changing positions was an important part of managing the discomfort, but I didn’t want to stray too far from what was already working well - especially because I had so little time between contractions to readjust myself back into my original position if need be (which was sitting up with my legs folded Indian style, holding onto my knees when I needed leverage). And getting caught in a contraction halfway through switching positions brought about some of the most extreme pain I’d ever felt in my life, even pretty early on when the contractions were otherwise fairly easy to manage. Preparing myself physically and mentally at the very start of each contraction was crucial to getting me through them once the Pitocin dosage was elevated a few times.
After one of the times the nurse up’ed the dosage, I noticed right away that my preparation time during the building of each contraction was wiped away almost entirely. Suddenly the contractions stopped building and just hit like a stab in the gut. It felt like being sucker punched every time. By the time I felt it coming on, breathing put too much of a strain directly on the places the pain was most concentrated, so I had to find a new strategy - and fast. I had no choice but to freeze and exert every ounce of concentration and energy in me toward relaxing the necessary parts of my body… Not an easy task to accomplish when you’re already in the peek of the contraction. It felt like working backwards.
Obviously, it only gets worse before it gets any better. And this is where it gets really bad. With about two hours of Pitocin in my system, I finally called for Spencer to wake up and come to my side -- To which my loving husband gently responded, “Oh, you don’t need me. Come on, let me sleep. You got this.” Of course he was joking and of course, I didn’t think it was funny. The contractions were overwhelming, coming one right on top of the other now with virtually no breaks between some of them. There were times I felt like I was drowning, being barely able to sufficiently catch my breath. When the contractions came now, they were paralyzing. It helped tremendously to just have Spencer’s hand there for me to hold now, but only emotionally. Physically NOTHING helped. The only thing that didn’t make it any worse was completely shutting down at each contraction. When one would hit, my body would involuntarily tense, I’d freeze, concentrating every effort into visualizing the muscles in my body relaxing, meanwhile very, very gently taking in air as slowly as I could, so as not to put any unnecessary strain on my abdomen. If I breathed too hard or too quickly, the pain was enough to make me fall apart.
The next phase of contractions were, again, worse still. After hours of experiencing more contractions than there were breaks between them, my body began to tremble, even during the rarity of a break in the pain. I spent so much time in a frozen state of “concentration” that I was completely removed from the reality of being in that room with my husband or any of the nurses. The only noise I could make was “shhhh” to my husband almost any time he even opened his mouth. Or low, deep moans that felt like they helped to relax my muscles. And once in a while, a completely pathetic whimper when I felt like the contraction was really defeating even my best efforts. If it weren’t for my knowing that it would only worsen the pain, I would have definitely cried. I lost complete control of my body at this point. When the contractions came, they were downright volatile. I just shuddered pitifully and squeezed the living hell out of Spencer’s hand, (surprisingly he instinctively knew to squeeze back with the same intensity which was the one thing I remember actually being a real physical comfort). I was gritting my teeth and making noises I don’t even think existed before that day. I had to keep whispering “Just get through this one. Just get through it. Just get through it,” to myself. Spencer tried to help too, but the poor thing kept being shushed back to silence. Then, I guess from all of the trembling, my stomach started to turn, my whole body felt like it was on fire, I started to sweat, and then I realized that I needed to vomit. I was suddenly petrified. I knew that I’d never be able to empty my stomach in the few seconds I was allotted between contractions to move. I could only imagine the kind of pain that would result from me straining my stomach muscles enough to throw up during a contraction. I seriously thought I might pass out from that kind of pain. Sweat was consuming me now. The nurse gave me an ice pack that I’m pretty sure lost it’s coolness the second it touched my skin, but it gave me something inanimate to squeeze or dig my nails into. I don’t know if it helped, but I know I was afraid to let it go once it was given to me.
Finally, tremulous and sick and swimming in my own sweat, I called out for the epidural like I was waving the white flag. I knew that without being able to catch my breath, she was losing oxygen too and that between the suffocating heat and this insatiable need to throw up, my body was taking a beating I just wouldn’t be able to deliver through. Spencer asked the nurses to check me before calling the anesthesiologist, and I was a 5. Whenever Spencer would ask me earlier on if I was sure I didn’t want the epidural, I kept telling him that 5 was our goal. That if I could make it to five centimeters without an epidural, than I wasn’t getting one. I knew that things would progress quicker once I hit that fifth centimeter but I’d already taken hours more than I ever thought I could handle. That Pitocin was kicking my ass and there was no getting around it anymore.
You would think that would be the end of it. But the epidural only took to one side. It took twenty minutes for the contractions to start dulling on my right side - which was when I noticed that the epidural had all the time it was supposed to need to take effect, and I was still in every bit as much agony -- the pain was just concentrated more to the left. The nurse suggested I lie with a pillow propped under my right side, so that the medication could flow to my left. I lied there for about ten minutes, contracting almost violently the whole time -- when all of a sudden, it was time!!
Suddenly, it felt like a bowling ball was making it’s way down my intestinal tract. And not slowly. There was no mistaking that Scarlett was ready to make her debut. It might have been a more celebratory moment, if there had been anyone around other than my husband to tell. I lied there writhing around in the sheets, digging my heels into the edge of the bed, calling out for a nurse, but not being real sure what to say. I moaned and groaned and tired to pant like they tell you to in the books when you’re waiting for help, or you’re not fully dilated. I knew that it could be dangerous to push without knowing for certain that my cervix was fully dilated, so I tried everything in my power to stop myself from bearing down. I wanted to just scream out “HELP!!” but I was gritting my teeth too much to form words so all that came out was noise.
Nurses eventually shuffled in and started yelling at me to pant and blow and not to push… They were agreeing aloud amongst themselves that I was definitely ready and then they told me that we were just waiting on my doctor. (Same exact scenario as my labor with Matthew, except at least then I had an epidural that worked). I wasn’t having it. I yelled that I’m not pushing, and that she’s coming with or without my help! I told them someone needed to get down there now! I heard one nurse repeat what I said to another -- and then I realized that the “other” nurse wasn’t a nurse. She was a wonderful, amazing, Heaven-sent doctor who could deliver my baby right then. She introduced herself quickly and assured me that as soon as her gloves were on, we were having a baby. I could have kissed her.
And before I even gave the first push, Spencer took my right leg and said, “Oh my God, she’s right there, babe! I can already see her head. I’m looking at the top of her head right now!!” I’ve never heard him sound so excited.
Pushing was an experience. I felt every clench of the contractions, every pound of pressure, every tug, every stretch and every pull. I felt everything that the nurse and the baby and my body were doing together. I pushed like the world was ending and life depended on me getting this baby out. Three pushes got her head out, and everyone cheered. Spencer choked up and gave me a play by play of everything he could see. They all told me I was doing beautifully. The nurse told me to give “little baby pushes,” from there but with all of the adrenaline going and me feeling - you know, like I had a human being sticking halfway out of me - the only way I could push was all or nothing. I vaguely remember Spencer telling me to slow down, but it still felt like there was a thousand pounds of pressure forcing the rest of her body out. I wasn’t about to stop pushing until I had a baby out of me. Then, everything slowed down and I remember the doctor smiling up at Spencer, asking if he wanted to cut the cord - which, of course, he did. And with the next push, she flopped out into the nurses hands.
The End.
Our Beginning.
Welcome to the world my beautiful daughter
