I didn't have the pregnancy I had hoped for. While there weren’t physical or emotional issues, I was very uncomfortable for most of it. So of course my Alder decided to stay in the oven for two and a half weeks extra. As his due date came and went, I thought I might just be pregnant forever.
Then the 4th of July came, and with it my husband Kevin's food poisoning. Suddenly I was crossing my legs for a few days, trying to wait out the illness; I didn't want to have the baby while he lolled over the toilet.
On the 12th, I started to feel different. Kevin had to go to work that night, but I knew when he left that he'd be coming home early. My back hurt, so I stood at the counter rocking and reading my book for a few hours until I was tired enough to sleep. That only lasted until 4 a.m., when the first contraction woke me. I waited to see if there was another one before calling Kevin, then we talked after each contraction until we decided this was real. He worked about 40 minutes from home, so as I waited for him to arrive, I counted contractions and listened to the BBC. I didn't think I needed to call the midwife yet; let her sleep, I thought.
Kevin made it home at around 6 in the morning. The contractions were getting stronger, and each time they came, my back felt as though it was being crushed. I would stand in the shower with the hot water cranked until the tank ran out, and then I'd get out and stand somewhere else — it seemed that anytime I sat down I'd have a contraction, and lying down was only OK.
At around 7, we called the midwife, who told us to keep up what we were doing and call her if anything changed.
From 7 till 11, it was more of the same: shower, out of shower ... and then they started coming every three minutes. We called the midwife, who said that she would send her assistant over.
We tried taking a nap; luckily I slept for an hour. But then lying down became as difficult as standing. So we walked around the block and wandered around the house. When I wasn't in the shower, I found that hanging from the shower door frame made the contractions more bearable.
When the assistant showed up, she brought the thing that got me through labor: her hands. Every time I had a contraction, she would push on my lower back very hard and I would feel it melt away. We alternated between her pushing on my back and me showering.
A few hours later, the midwife showed up; she checked my dilation (5 cm) and set up the tub (actually a horse trough) so I could soak for a while. Once I was in the tub, she and her assistant left to go have dinner. Kevin kept his forearms as a pillow for me so that I could sleep between contractions. The water felt good, but after a while I felt cramped, so I went back to the shower/hanging method.
Alone in our house, it felt like we were the only people left on Earth. I didn't want intrusions and was happy that it was just the two of us for a while. Kevin took care of me in a way that I haven't felt since I was little; it was absolute love. We hugged a lot in hope that I might glean some of his energy.
It was dark when the midwife returned. When she checked me again, I was at 8 cm. She mainly crocheted, while her assistant worked her magic hands on my back. Nothing changed for about an hour, and then I started getting hiccups right after each contraction. I guess I apologized each time, to the point where everyone else was laughing about it.
At around midnight she checked again, and I was 10 cm. She called her partner to come over and we refilled the tub. This is where it gets fuzzy. All I really remember was that it seemed to take forever for them to drain part of the tub and then refill it. I took full advantage of the back rubbing and just hoped.
Then things get clear again: I am hanging from the frame and I feel things happening differently; my body was starting to push ... but the tub wasn't ready, so I tried to mellow it out a little. Ha! There was nothing I could do but try to breathe and wait.
When I did get in the pool, things started moving quickly. I was pushing and they were trying to show me how to breath and I could feel pressure from the inside. Then pop! My water broke. I pushed a little more and then there was blood in the water.
They were conferring. Kevin was looking at me nervously. No one was telling me what was happening. They did a fetal heartbeat check and the baby was fine. That was all I cared about. I began to relax (well, as much as possible.)
The midwives decided that I should get out of the tub and we would find a position that would work on the bed. This sounded absolutely horrible so I asked them to let me have a few more contractions in the water. I knew clearly what I needed to do. The first contraction, I let the head push against the ring of fire, but I figured that it would be better to let it happen in a few rounds. The next contraction, I let the same thing happen again. After that, the midwives were really trying to get me out of the water. So on the next contraction, I pushed the head to crown. They told me to get out of the water. “But I feel a head,” I told them.
This put everyone into action. Kevin and the assistant were holding me, and the midwife was up to her armpits in the water. The next thing I know, I have a vernix-covered child in my arms. I didn't need to ask; I knew it was a boy without even looking. My Alder was in my arms, and that was all I cared about. But the midwives seemed to have other things in mind; I needed to get out of the tub and onto the couch before I birthed the placenta, so in consort, the baby, I and the umbilical cord that was partially in me were hoisted out of the tub and onto the couch.
The placenta coming out scared me more than Alder coming out. I didn't want to push anymore, and I was afraid it would hurt, like pulling off a Band-Aid. But it went really fast, and the next thing I knew, my little boy was latching on to my breast. No problems there! This little boy, my Alder Joy! He was 9 pounds and 21.75 inches, and had a 15 inch head. It took 22 hours, but I had done it with only love, compassion and a little Rescue Remedy to help.