Lasi's Stories
BABY MELISSA
Growing up, I had little exposure to birth related information other than “it hurts like a really bad belly ache” and distorted images of women in dire straits during their throes of indescribable labor pains. Thankfully, I did have a neighbor who birthed her six babies at home with the assistance of midwives. I grew up in an area of Pennsylvania where homebirth was not an unusual occurrence. This seed of knowledge was essential to the decisions I made for the birthing of daughters two and three.
Meanwhile, in July of 1980, I found myself in a hospital in downtown Honolulu ready to birth my very first baby. My husband and sister-in-law were there to support me. Earlier that evening, I was lying in bed and felt a “burst.” I got up to discover that amniotic fluid was leaking and running down my legs. I went into the bathroom and immediately needed to sit on the toilet. I don’t recall learning anywhere that I’d end up sitting on the toilet while my body discharged all contents from both ends at the same time! Well, that’s what happened.
I took a shower and about an hour later my contractions began at two minutes apart. I was told to come to the hospital when they were five minutes apart, so I figured it was time to go. I was never instructed on what to do should my water break first. Just as well.
I had taken a prepared childbirth class and was so excited to finally get the opportunity to use everything I learned. We packed up the car and off we went. No one told me how every hole in the road would feel as though it were equivalent in size to the craters on the moon. I swear my husband deliberately swerved to hit every single bump in the road too. For some reason, he was reluctant to slow down when I asked him to, geez!
When we finally arrived at the hospital, the intake nurse seemed a bit irritated with me and rudely asked two times why I didn’t come to the hospital when my contractions were five minutes apart. I think I gave her a little bit of attitude in return when I had to repeat myself and shot back that they never were 5 minutes apart. She was a little nicer after that.
No one told me how embarrassed I would be leaving a huge puddle of amniotic fluid in the center of the wheelchair seat. Nor did they explain how bright red my face would appear as I stood up dripping and leaving trail of amniotic fluid while walking down the hall to my room.
Routine procedures. Humiliation! I had no idea. I was shaved and given an enema by a very unfriendly nurse. I am positive she had a vendetta against me as she loudly announced, “Oh, you have hemorrhoids” after she brutally pushed the enema straight into a bulging hemorrhoid and I cried out. No apology whatsoever. After I returned from using the toilet, she proceeded to insert an IV (I asked for water and got ice chips and an IV), she inserted a urinary catheter, and she attached an internal fetal monitor to my baby’s head while I was made to lie on my back. I was hooked up to equipment that was extremely uncomfortable and nauseating, and fed only ice chips while I had to listen to a woman screaming at the top of her lungs in the next room. You might wonder what was “wrong” with me. Well, I had slightly elevated blood pressure. GO FIGURE!!!
Needless to say, the prepared childbirth classes were fairly useless. I instinctively went within and found my own rhythm. I was quiet, calm and amazingly focused. I remained relaxed despite the odds against me. However, every time a nurse or the doctor came to check my “progress”, I felt as though I was going to lose it. It took everything I had to regain my composure and concentration after an internal exam.
When I was fully dilated, I had to move myself off of the labor bed and onto a gurney to be wheeled into a very silver room of sterile equipment and bright lights. To this day, I still can’t believe that I had to do that during the most intense time of my birthing. My feet were then placed in cold metal stirrups. I remember the words of the doctor so clearly. She said, “I’ve never seen [prepared childbirth] work so well.” And I vividly remember thinking; I’m not even using that. Then this incredible sensation overwhelmed me and set into motion a bearing down that felt absolutely wonderful.
I was given the routine episiotomy and three and a half hours after my water initially broke at home, I birthed my daughter. I didn’t get to hold or touch her for nearly one hour while they “repaired” me and performed all the “necessary” routine procedures on my newly born baby.
Later that day, I was left alone in my new room with a tiny little baby girl. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to breastfeed. I was totally on my own and had to figure out what do all by myself. And so I did. The only exposure I ever had to breastfeeding was from one instance of a distant family member breastfeeding and from what little I learned in class. The odds were against me, but I persevered and successfully breastfed my baby.
Changing a diaper was another adventure. I never held a newborn, in fact, I don’t know if I ever saw a newborn. My poor baby! She was probably wondering what the heck I was doing when I put the diaper on, took it off, put it on again, this time the right side up. I didn’t even know how to change a diaper.
The next day I had visitors. No one told me that huge bubbles of intestinal air would spontaneously release themselves from my body of their own accord and without my prior knowledge or permission. And of course, they chose to do so at the very moment my guests were seated at the bottom of my bed. Talk about embarrassment and laughter. I was embarrassed, they were laughing!
When I look back, I think the thing that stands out most for me is how I can vividly recall the details of this single most life-changing event. I realized in retrospect how detrimental that experience was for me at that time in my life. But I learned from it, and through that learning, I grew.
