By Sarah Swandell

“What can I do NOT to induce labor?” I asked the midwife at my 38-week appointment. My husband Jordan was flying to Ohio to interview at a med school that week. He’d be gone two nights. What if my body chose that time to go into labor?

The first night Jordan was gone, I took some time to pray and reflect on all the year had brought – our first baby, whom we’d miscarried, and the baby who now kicked happily in my stomach. I thanked God for the journey, with all its ups and downs.

Moments later, I went to the restroom, looked down, and discovered I had passed my mucus plug. A quick Google search reassured me labor might still be days or even weeks away. I decided not to tell my husband.

But as the night went on, I started feeling something wet in my underwear. I had heard plenty of women say they couldn’t be sure if it was their water breaking or they were just peeing, but when I sat on the toilet and felt liquid come out, I could only laugh – I was definitely not peeing! In the time it took to fetch an adult diaper, more amniotic fluid ran out of me and I had to mop up the floor!

Now I was noticing back pain, and mild contractions. Going off other women’s advice, I tried to relax, taking a bath and talking to the baby in my belly. Alas, I never could fall back asleep.

Our house was 80 minutes away from the birthing center. I decided I wanted to spend my labor in a hotel near there rather than attempt a drive later, during active labor, especially if my husband wouldn’t be around!

I waited ‘til 7 a.m. to call the midwife. She advised me to come in that afternoon, 12 hours after the water broke, for a non-stress test.

I hurried around packing up the rest of the birth bag and scarfing down breakfast. While I ate, my husband called, just before his interview was to begin. “How’d you sleep last night?” he asked.

“Oh…you know…” I hedged. Thankfully he didn’t catch on. I wanted him to get through at least day 1 of interviews before telling him the baby was on its way. Perhaps he could make up day 2 later.

I drove to Chapel Hill while timing my contractions on an app, which I hope doesn’t count as “texting and driving.” My early labor was entirely manageable; I just watched Friends episodes at the hotel (the ones where Rachel has a baby). Finally, Jordan’s interview ended and he learned he’d need to book it to the airport. He arrived just before 10 p.m. As he told me about his interview, I found myself guiltily dozing off. We both tried to sleep, but before long, I could no longer stay silent through the contractions.

Thus commenced a long night of us managing the pain – Jordan rubbing my lower back with a wash cloth, using a handheld shower head to spray my lower back with water, helping me warm up or cool down, giving me water to drink…. Every time he had to take his hands away to time a contraction was unbearable. I wanted constant contact.

I tried to drink orange juice and immediately threw it up – thank goodness the hotel trash can was right there! We called the midwife in the middle of the night, when it seemed my contractions were 5 minutes apart, though they refused to follow a textbook formula. She advised we not come to the birth center until contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, so we labored on.

Around 4 a.m., we summoned my doula, Ness, to come to the hotel. She arrived to find me shirtless, wearing only an adult diaper, and throwing up a second time. She got cold compresses for my hot neck. Eventually she urged us to call the midwife again. “I think she might be in transition,” I heard her tell Jordan. At 6 a.m. we got the call back from the midwife saying we could come on in.

Somehow I had the presence of mind to put on my miscarriage memorial bracelet before we left. I got dressed and waddled down to the parking lot, but I had to stop and moan along the way, probably waking up other hotel guests. Jordan and Ness encouraged me to keep going, saying, “You don’t want to have the baby in the car.”

“Don’t talk about it!” I said, panting.

Not only did we have to scrape the windshield free of ice before we could leave, but our car had been having trouble with the accelerator, so the drive itself was full of unpleasant lurches. I was so thankful to be close to the birth center instead of at home!

As soon as we arrived, I stripped naked and got in the tub. Midwife Sarah asked if she could check my dilation. I didn’t want to know the amount. She simply said, “It’s good.”

“You mean like…I could push if I wanted to?”

“You could push if you wanted to.”

I later learned I was at 9 cm. No wonder Ness thought I was in transition! And, I threw up a third time.

At 8 a.m., the shift changed, and who should walk in but Emily, the first midwife we ever saw at WBWC. Although all the midwives are wonderful, Emily was the one I had secretly been hoping would attend our child’s birth! And if that weren’t enough – in walked the next nurse, Maria – the same one who’d done a non-stress test for us 9 days prior when I’d been worried I hadn’t felt the baby move as much. She’d been a comforting presence on that former, scary night, and now she would be a comforting presence on the morning of our child’s birth. I couldn’t have asked for a better team.

Gradually, in the tub, the pushing instinct started to kick in. It felt much like gagging or throwing up, but in reverse! Like your whole body is heaving downward. I remembered you’re supposed to bear down like you’re trying to poop, so that’s what I did. At first the pressure was limited to my bottom, but soon I felt it move to my vagina, where things started to open up. Getting out of the tub made the contractions stronger, which was fine, because it was probably time to get this show on the road.

I labored on all fours on the bed, my eyes mostly closed, though occasionally I caught a glimpse of the miscarriage bracelet on my wrist. We tried having me lie down, too, and Emily held up a mirror to show me how much of our child’s head was visible. My vagina never looked so huge! Do they say 10 cm but mean 10 in.??

I pushed and pushed and pushed but didn’t seem to make much progress. After a couple more position changes – each one slow and painfully rendered – I thought I heard urgency in Emily’s voice as she said, “After this next contraction, we’re going to have you quickly go back to lying on your side.” Could it be that our child had been in the birth canal too long? I’d been pushing for over an hour. Was there any danger? That must have been the motivation I needed, because I quickly flipped over, prayed to God for strength, and pushed with all my might. I didn’t wait for any more contractions and I didn’t take any more breaks. Everyone’s voices got higher in pitch and excitement, as I felt the baby emerge in a gush of warm fluid, and suddenly the baby was on my chest: warm, wet, and wiggly.

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” was all I could say. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you, God!” I lay back on the pillows, eyes closed. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Jordan peeked under the towel they’d placed around our baby’s shoulders, and announced, “It’s a girl!” We were so delightfully surprised! All along, he had wanted a girl. Daughters and granddaughters are rare in our family!

Words can’t express the joy of that moment – the feeling of your very own baby immediately placed on your skin, no separation, nothing but you and your baby together, right where you belong. I could barely keep my eyes open, having been awake 30 hours at that point and essentially just run a marathon, but I could feel our baby alive on my chest, and hear her first cry…and that’s all that mattered. I was on a huge high for days.

Two things that helped me tremendously were 1) assuming labor would take forever, and 2) assuming it would be excruciatingly painful. When both of those assumptions didn’t come true, I was one happy camper. Perhaps by settling in and staying in the moment, and expecting there to be pain, I was able to be pleasantly surprised. It was the ideal birth, with the ideal care team, and I am forever grateful.