In keeping with the birth and labor stories of Jenny and Aliya, I wanted to share my story. I always enjoyed reading other women’s stories - that is after I had my own experience. Before PJ, I didn’t truly understand. I wasn’t a mom then.
When I tell my story in person, I usually say a couple of things.
1. Our birth plan was to get over the 59th Street Bridge.
2. It was a natural birth.
3. Surgery was a bitch….
In honor of PJ’s 2nd birthday, I present my birth story.
The Birth Plan
I only half joke about our birth plan. I didn’t have anything elaborate and almost didn’t even consider having a plan. Maybe I’m naive, or maybe I recognized that all birth plans change in the moment. What I did have was a mantra that I’ve heard my mom repeat many times over the years - Fear causes tension. Tension causes pain. Pain causes fear…. And the baby is going to come out one way or another.
John and I joked that as long as we could get over the 59th Street Bridge, we were set. Of course, if I went into labor during the day, I could just walk to the hospital. (My dear friend Erica was my designated chaperone until John could reach me. At which point, she may have been sent to the apartment for the bag, yada yada yada…) I was more concerned about the night. Rush hour traffic on the bridge is horrible. And this was also around the time of Obama campaigning for the 2012 reelection. If I went into labor when he was in town, I was pretty sure I would be stuck at home or at a second rate hospital in Queens. So every day I would talk to the baby. Not today...Obama’s in town. If I get home to Queens, I’m not getting back into Manhattan. Even so, we took Lamaze class at the hospital. We were limited to this particular class due to our crazy schedules of performing and my tickets to the Wagner Ring Cycle at the Metropolitan Opera (I had purchased the tickets long before I was pregnant).
During those classes, I realized how much I DID NOT KNOW about labor and delivery. This is also where I met my dear friends who helped me prepare for my labor and become the mom I am today. Before I knew their names they were affectionately known as “Swedish Couple,” “Walk to the Hospital Couple,” “Quiet Couple,” “Indian Couple,” “Clark Kent and his Wife,” and “Forrest Hills Couple.” (This is was not in any way meant to be racist, nor were we the only ones who had nicknames for each other.) We bonded in our funny cohort and kept each other laughing through the anxiety of what was to come. And I started to understand that some people have very elaborate birth plans. For us, it was all about getting across the bridge.
The Labor and Birth
I was convinced that he (yup) would come early. No real reason, just that the few moms I knew delivered had early. (As for why I thought I was having a boy...I think I was just preparing for the possibility. John was convinced, rightly so, that we were having a girl.) As my due date approached, I worried it would happen before I finished working. I said I would work until Friday and I did. I had made a lot of deals with the baby to not come (much like my Obama request) on specific days when I had important work obligations and when John had tickets to Game 2 of the Stanley Cup in Newark, which I had called the arena to get direct phone numbers to the closest customer service person in case John’s cell wasn’t getting reception. So I remember leaving that last Friday and thinking “I might not be back for a while…”
Saturday was my due date. I got my nails done.
Sunday was my cousin’s son’s first birthday party. It was also the final concert for work. I told my colleagues that if I hadn’t had the baby, I would be at the concert. I emailed midday to say I had the tickets. It was a very hot day. We took the train into Manhattan and walked to the party. I was going quite slowly and John was anxious to get into the air conditioning. When we arrived, there were so many of my extended family present. There were kids running around and lots of food to eat. John put on a 40lb. empathy belly and remarked, “Wow. This is heavy. My back hurts.” Ya think?!?! (The party was at the Museum of Motherhood, hence the random empathy belly available. My family is weird, but not weird enough to travel with 40lb. empathy bellies at birthday parties). Here is a photo proof:
As we made our way downtown for the concert, we hailed a cab. I was too tired to walk. I remember not eating much at the concert. And I remember hearing this version of In My Life. John and I sang that all night (or I should say we attempted, but couldn’t remember most of the words). We were home and in bed by about 10PM.
Several minutes before 2AM, I felt my water break. At first I thought I had peed myself, but I hadn’t had any issues with incontinence, so it didn’t make sense that it would start now. I went to the bathroom and assessed the situation. I thought that perhaps the contractions were regular, but wanted to track them to be sure. When I went back into the bedroom, John asked if all was OK - his usual inquiry after my mid-night pees. “I think my water broke.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wake up so fast! He remembers waking, hearing me announce that my water had broke, and then thinking, “I’m going to be a dad...The Devils are going to lose the Stanley Cup tonight.” It was game 6...He was right.
We tracked the contractions until I had a better understanding of how far apart they really were. Somewhere around 4AM I called my OB, who was on call, but was clearly sleeping. While I waited for her to call back, John took the opportunity to grab a shower, and to start cleaning the shower drain with some much needed Drano, just in case we had company in the next few days and they needed to shower. Seriously? When my OB called back, she suggested staying home a bit longer, but not waiting until rush hour to get to the hospital (there’s the bridge again…). When I vomited, I knew it was time. That was the moment when John really believed I was in labor. We packed up sometime around 5AM. Much to my dismay, I did not have the song In My Life on any of the 3 ipods we have. Again, we made up our own words. There was no traffic on the bridge. When we made it Manhattan, we cheered. WE DID IT! Birth plan completed!
As we parked the car, the parking lot attendant asked me, “How long will you be?” I gestured to my belly, “As long as it takes.” When I entered through Emergency (at that time of morning the front door is locked), the security guard said, “You know where you’re going…” “Not really.” “Through those doors, take the elevator to 11. Good luck!”
When I was taken into triage, I explained that my water broke. The nurses didn’t believe me. I vomited again. The contractions were definitely getting worse. They asked me about some tests that were run in my first trimester, which I had all but forgotten about. Finally someone announced that I lost my mucous plug and that I was in labor. (NEWSFLASH!) I was moved into my room and I remember seeing the sun rising.
Around that time, John excused himself to go to the restroom. He felt faint and sick. I told him to go and to get back as soon as he could. He later told me he splashed water on his face and slapped himself. I believe his pep talk went something like this, “GET IT TOGETHER!”
I don’t remember a lot of the details on the labor. Here’s what I do remember:
Doctors came in and told me the risks, such as nicking the uterus, to which I replied, “But you’re not going to do that, right? You won’t screw up, right?” I think I was most scared when they asked if I was an organ donor. This is not something you want to think about minutes after you bring life into the world. As they wheeled me into the OR, I was exclaiming, “I JUST HAD A BABY!” Everyone ignored me. John was left in the room holding PJ watching an orderly mop the blood off the floor. He was left thinking, “What the hell do I do now!?”
When I was moved from the L&D bed to the OR table, I lost more blood. The doctors decided to give me general anesthesia (originally they were planning to give me local). I was scared. So I did what I do when nervous or scared or generally uncomfortable. I talked about the Devils. And the Mets. About how I don’t watch basketball. If I had any energy, I would have been singing to calm myself. My last thought before the anesthesia took over was, “You gotta pull through this for John and PJ.”
After the Surgery
In a very groggy state, I awoke to hear the words “blood transfusion.” I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. Some time later, I woke and began to comprehend what had happened. I had an IV in one arm and a bag of blood flowing into the other. I was hooked up to oxygen and to sensors and tubes. I could only focus out of one eye at a time. I could barely move. Little by little, I came back to life. John was right there standing by my side, complaining of hunger and sore feet (he wore slip on dress shoes...to make a good first impression on our child). I sent him out for food. PJ was comfortably resting in the nursery. John accompanied her for her bath and her first bottle. At that time, there was concern if I would be able to nurse in the first two weeks since I had lost so much blood. Everything was a little blurry….
Katie, the main nurse who helped deliver PJ, came by to see me. At that moment, my manners returned and I asked if she was a mom. Twice. How did I neglect to ask her that sooner? I should have known by how patient she was.
I stayed in recovery for hours. John and the nurses asked if I wanted to see PJ. Of course, but I was so beat up from labor and the surgery, that I wasn’t thinking. They brought her down to me. I sang to her Tupelo Honey and Feels Like Home. And probably any other song I could almost remember the lyrics to.
Visiting hours at the hospital officially end for new fathers around 9PM. I was still holed up in recovery waiting for the second transfusion to finish. I asked my doctor if John could stay. She suggested asking the nurses very nicely. There were some women who were very curt with the nurses and I knew that the nurses didn’t appreciate that. So I was very mindful of my manners. Please can you bring me some water? Please may I hold my daughter? Can my husband stay longer? Please? Thank you….
The nurses on the maternity floor must have felt sorry for me. It was close to midnight when I finally was moved. I was rolled into an empty room with a view of the Hudson River (and my old office building). I was ready to sleep. Again, both John and the nurses asked if I wanted to kiss PJ goodnight. I held her for a few minutes before I asked them to take her back to the nursery for the night. At that time, I couldn’t think of diapers and breastfeeding. I only knew I had to heal before I could focus on being a mom.
The next morning, the catheter was removed. The packing was removed. Someone helped me out of bed to the bathroom. PJ and I started to bond. A few friends came to visit. My vitals improved greatly. I got a nice roommate, who both she and John swear they knew each other even if they couldn’t place from where. John bumped into our Lamaze instructor who stopped by to get the scoop. It took more than a few days in the hospital to heal completely. It took us more than a few days to figure out what we were doing with breastfeeding. (You can read more about our adventures coming home here.)
Life as we (kinda) knew it continued and our new life began…
But first we had to get back over the bridge.
I only half joke about our birth plan. I didn’t have anything elaborate and almost didn’t even consider having a plan. Maybe I’m naive, or maybe I recognized that all birth plans change in the moment. What I did have was a mantra that I’ve heard my mom repeat many times over the years - Fear causes tension. Tension causes pain. Pain causes fear…. And the baby is going to come out one way or another.
John and I joked that as long as we could get over the 59th Street Bridge, we were set. Of course, if I went into labor during the day, I could just walk to the hospital. (My dear friend Erica was my designated chaperone until John could reach me. At which point, she may have been sent to the apartment for the bag, yada yada yada…) I was more concerned about the night. Rush hour traffic on the bridge is horrible. And this was also around the time of Obama campaigning for the 2012 reelection. If I went into labor when he was in town, I was pretty sure I would be stuck at home or at a second rate hospital in Queens. So every day I would talk to the baby. Not today...Obama’s in town. If I get home to Queens, I’m not getting back into Manhattan. Even so, we took Lamaze class at the hospital. We were limited to this particular class due to our crazy schedules of performing and my tickets to the Wagner Ring Cycle at the Metropolitan Opera (I had purchased the tickets long before I was pregnant).
During those classes, I realized how much I DID NOT KNOW about labor and delivery. This is also where I met my dear friends who helped me prepare for my labor and become the mom I am today. Before I knew their names they were affectionately known as “Swedish Couple,” “Walk to the Hospital Couple,” “Quiet Couple,” “Indian Couple,” “Clark Kent and his Wife,” and “Forrest Hills Couple.” (This is was not in any way meant to be racist, nor were we the only ones who had nicknames for each other.) We bonded in our funny cohort and kept each other laughing through the anxiety of what was to come. And I started to understand that some people have very elaborate birth plans. For us, it was all about getting across the bridge.
The Labor and Birth
I was convinced that he (yup) would come early. No real reason, just that the few moms I knew delivered had early. (As for why I thought I was having a boy...I think I was just preparing for the possibility. John was convinced, rightly so, that we were having a girl.) As my due date approached, I worried it would happen before I finished working. I said I would work until Friday and I did. I had made a lot of deals with the baby to not come (much like my Obama request) on specific days when I had important work obligations and when John had tickets to Game 2 of the Stanley Cup in Newark, which I had called the arena to get direct phone numbers to the closest customer service person in case John’s cell wasn’t getting reception. So I remember leaving that last Friday and thinking “I might not be back for a while…”
Saturday was my due date. I got my nails done.
Sunday was my cousin’s son’s first birthday party. It was also the final concert for work. I told my colleagues that if I hadn’t had the baby, I would be at the concert. I emailed midday to say I had the tickets. It was a very hot day. We took the train into Manhattan and walked to the party. I was going quite slowly and John was anxious to get into the air conditioning. When we arrived, there were so many of my extended family present. There were kids running around and lots of food to eat. John put on a 40lb. empathy belly and remarked, “Wow. This is heavy. My back hurts.” Ya think?!?! (The party was at the Museum of Motherhood, hence the random empathy belly available. My family is weird, but not weird enough to travel with 40lb. empathy bellies at birthday parties). Here is a photo proof:
As we made our way downtown for the concert, we hailed a cab. I was too tired to walk. I remember not eating much at the concert. And I remember hearing this version of In My Life. John and I sang that all night (or I should say we attempted, but couldn’t remember most of the words). We were home and in bed by about 10PM.
Several minutes before 2AM, I felt my water break. At first I thought I had peed myself, but I hadn’t had any issues with incontinence, so it didn’t make sense that it would start now. I went to the bathroom and assessed the situation. I thought that perhaps the contractions were regular, but wanted to track them to be sure. When I went back into the bedroom, John asked if all was OK - his usual inquiry after my mid-night pees. “I think my water broke.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wake up so fast! He remembers waking, hearing me announce that my water had broke, and then thinking, “I’m going to be a dad...The Devils are going to lose the Stanley Cup tonight.” It was game 6...He was right.
We tracked the contractions until I had a better understanding of how far apart they really were. Somewhere around 4AM I called my OB, who was on call, but was clearly sleeping. While I waited for her to call back, John took the opportunity to grab a shower, and to start cleaning the shower drain with some much needed Drano, just in case we had company in the next few days and they needed to shower. Seriously? When my OB called back, she suggested staying home a bit longer, but not waiting until rush hour to get to the hospital (there’s the bridge again…). When I vomited, I knew it was time. That was the moment when John really believed I was in labor. We packed up sometime around 5AM. Much to my dismay, I did not have the song In My Life on any of the 3 ipods we have. Again, we made up our own words. There was no traffic on the bridge. When we made it Manhattan, we cheered. WE DID IT! Birth plan completed!
As we parked the car, the parking lot attendant asked me, “How long will you be?” I gestured to my belly, “As long as it takes.” When I entered through Emergency (at that time of morning the front door is locked), the security guard said, “You know where you’re going…” “Not really.” “Through those doors, take the elevator to 11. Good luck!”
When I was taken into triage, I explained that my water broke. The nurses didn’t believe me. I vomited again. The contractions were definitely getting worse. They asked me about some tests that were run in my first trimester, which I had all but forgotten about. Finally someone announced that I lost my mucous plug and that I was in labor. (NEWSFLASH!) I was moved into my room and I remember seeing the sun rising.
Around that time, John excused himself to go to the restroom. He felt faint and sick. I told him to go and to get back as soon as he could. He later told me he splashed water on his face and slapped himself. I believe his pep talk went something like this, “GET IT TOGETHER!”
I don’t remember a lot of the details on the labor. Here’s what I do remember:
- Telling John to go look for a nurse, then yelling at him as soon as he left the room. He stood by me through the entire labor, holding my hand, coaching my breathing. He was the only thing I needed during those 12 hours.
- Not wanting to move around. I tried various positions, but I was most comfortable lying on my back in bed.
- John asking if I wanted an epidural and I just kept breathing through the contractions. I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I just knew that I wasn’t overwhelmed by the contractions yet.
- The amazing Australian nurse who came in and coached me periodically. When she learned I was laboring without drugs, she invited me up to the Birthing Center for my next baby. John remembers her saying things like, “You’re beautiful and strong” and he thought, “Why can’t I say things like that?” Probably because seeing me in that kind of pain was too much for him to take. The Australian nurse also identified when I was at 10 cm - The 10cm Chuck - she called it when I got sick the last time.
- The moment after a difficult contraction when John called me a Battle Axe. He had been reading Game of Thrones.
- The music playing. Playlist after playlist of songs I love, providing me with musical interludes.
- The feeling of the baby turning in the birth canal and imagining it turning and making its way into the world. This is a sensation I will never forget.
- The last push when the shoulders cleared and it was like the baby just dropped from me. I won’t ever forget that either.
- And as I collapsed against the pillow, I heard John say, “It’s a girl! It’s a GIRL!” and I knew I had my PJ!
- The moment I held her and looked into her eyes and cried!
Doctors came in and told me the risks, such as nicking the uterus, to which I replied, “But you’re not going to do that, right? You won’t screw up, right?” I think I was most scared when they asked if I was an organ donor. This is not something you want to think about minutes after you bring life into the world. As they wheeled me into the OR, I was exclaiming, “I JUST HAD A BABY!” Everyone ignored me. John was left in the room holding PJ watching an orderly mop the blood off the floor. He was left thinking, “What the hell do I do now!?”
When I was moved from the L&D bed to the OR table, I lost more blood. The doctors decided to give me general anesthesia (originally they were planning to give me local). I was scared. So I did what I do when nervous or scared or generally uncomfortable. I talked about the Devils. And the Mets. About how I don’t watch basketball. If I had any energy, I would have been singing to calm myself. My last thought before the anesthesia took over was, “You gotta pull through this for John and PJ.”
After the Surgery
In a very groggy state, I awoke to hear the words “blood transfusion.” I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. Some time later, I woke and began to comprehend what had happened. I had an IV in one arm and a bag of blood flowing into the other. I was hooked up to oxygen and to sensors and tubes. I could only focus out of one eye at a time. I could barely move. Little by little, I came back to life. John was right there standing by my side, complaining of hunger and sore feet (he wore slip on dress shoes...to make a good first impression on our child). I sent him out for food. PJ was comfortably resting in the nursery. John accompanied her for her bath and her first bottle. At that time, there was concern if I would be able to nurse in the first two weeks since I had lost so much blood. Everything was a little blurry….
Katie, the main nurse who helped deliver PJ, came by to see me. At that moment, my manners returned and I asked if she was a mom. Twice. How did I neglect to ask her that sooner? I should have known by how patient she was.
I stayed in recovery for hours. John and the nurses asked if I wanted to see PJ. Of course, but I was so beat up from labor and the surgery, that I wasn’t thinking. They brought her down to me. I sang to her Tupelo Honey and Feels Like Home. And probably any other song I could almost remember the lyrics to.
Visiting hours at the hospital officially end for new fathers around 9PM. I was still holed up in recovery waiting for the second transfusion to finish. I asked my doctor if John could stay. She suggested asking the nurses very nicely. There were some women who were very curt with the nurses and I knew that the nurses didn’t appreciate that. So I was very mindful of my manners. Please can you bring me some water? Please may I hold my daughter? Can my husband stay longer? Please? Thank you….
The nurses on the maternity floor must have felt sorry for me. It was close to midnight when I finally was moved. I was rolled into an empty room with a view of the Hudson River (and my old office building). I was ready to sleep. Again, both John and the nurses asked if I wanted to kiss PJ goodnight. I held her for a few minutes before I asked them to take her back to the nursery for the night. At that time, I couldn’t think of diapers and breastfeeding. I only knew I had to heal before I could focus on being a mom.
The next morning, the catheter was removed. The packing was removed. Someone helped me out of bed to the bathroom. PJ and I started to bond. A few friends came to visit. My vitals improved greatly. I got a nice roommate, who both she and John swear they knew each other even if they couldn’t place from where. John bumped into our Lamaze instructor who stopped by to get the scoop. It took more than a few days in the hospital to heal completely. It took us more than a few days to figure out what we were doing with breastfeeding. (You can read more about our adventures coming home here.)
Life as we (kinda) knew it continued and our new life began…
But first we had to get back over the bridge.
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