I love birth
stories. All of them. New life coming into the world. And pain. And joy.
Before I had my
first baby, I read so many birth stories. (Maybe I thought reading beautiful
birth stories would help my labor and delivery?)
So I've made it a mission to write my own birth stories.
Here's Lydia's. Two years late...but oh well. There's another story coming soon. ;-)
***
Twenty plus months
later, here I am still processing Lydia’s birth. Her “birth” story begins when
I was 28 weeks along.
As is typical
for the end of the second trimester, I took my fasting glucose test. The
results of that test were normal—no gestational diabetes or any concerns—with
one exception: my iron levels were low, making me “slightly anemic.” A midwife
from the practice called to tell me to take an iron supplement.
So I bought one.
And took it. About a week later, late at night as I was trying to fall asleep,
the bottoms of my feet started itching—persistently. I scratched at them, which
made them itch even more. I figured I must have dry skin, so I slathered lotion
over them. That helped a little. I still had trouble falling asleep but after a
couple hours, finally did.
The next night,
my feet itched again—a burning, prickly, stinging sensation under the skin. I
was frustrated. I was just into my third semester and couldn’t afford to lose
sleep over this! In the middle of the night, I got up and turned cold bathwater
on and chilled my feet. Relief.
Scurrying to the
kitchen, I grabbed ice packs from the freezer and layered the lotion on. As I
got back into bed, I threw the covers off and tucked the icepacks in-between my
feet. The only way I could sleep was to numb my feet entirely.
Itching feet for
two nights in a row? What was the cause? Since itching usually means some kind
of allergy, I reasoned that something I was exposed to or ate created the
problem. The only change to my diet was my iron supplement. Was iron the cause?
After a quick consult with Dr. Google, I reasoned that my iron supplement was
taxing my liver, and stressing the liver caused itching.
Convinced the
iron supplement was at fault, I stopped taking it immediately. At my next
midwife appointment, the midwife asked me if I was still taking my iron
supplement. I sheepishly admitted that I had stopped taking iron, and explained
why. She frowned and expressed concern. “There’s another reason you might be
itching; I’d like to run a blood test.”
She mentioned
Cholestasis of Pregnancy (also known as Interuterine Cholestatis of Pregnancy
or ICP). I didn’t understand everything she said, but I caught I might need
medication and an early induction due to the increased risk of stillbirth past
37 weeks. Stillbirth? I panicked a little.
Even knowing the
risk, I still couldn’t help but think of everything I learned from my Bradley
Birth class: let the baby come when the baby is “ready”…the “safest place for a
baby is in the mother’s womb.”
Early induction
was really the answer? Little did I realize that for an ICP pregnancy, the
safest place for a baby in utero is not the mother’s womb toward the end of a
pregnancy.
I got a call
back in the next day or two—my liver enzymes were elevated (indicating stress
on the liver). Based on my itchiness and elevated liver enzymes, I was
diagnosed with ICP and proscribed Ursodiol.
In my ignorance
of ICP and it’s seriousness, I didn’t take the medication right away. My bile
acid test hadn’t come back yet, so maybe everything was fine. Over the next
couple of days, I took the medication only about half the time. Then, I got a
phone call from the midwife: my bile acid levels were elevated, indicating I
had ICP. She told me to schedule an induction at the hospital
between 37 and 38 weeks—in three weeks.
I had difficulty
accepting the truth. “So, you’re telling me to call the hospital now and
schedule an induction in three weeks? You’re sure I need to be
induced early? That’s not going to change?”
“I’m sure.” She
replied calmly. “Schedule the induction.”
I called Jason
and told him. Then I called the hospital.
At some point, I
began to research ICP. I don’t remember what I read exactly. But I learned
essentially this: the liver doesn’t properly function, causing an interference
with the flow of bile and leading to a build up of bile acids in the blood.
And, “Elevated bile acids in the blood are associated with increased risk to
the unborn baby.” (Source: ICPcare.org, http://www.icpcare.org/what-is-icp/overview/)
The next three
weeks I was busy planning for the new baby and handing off my teaching
responsibilities to another instructor (since I was now supposed to give birth
before the semester ended).
They were a long
three weeks. I did kick counts constantly and drank so much orange juice to
help my baby move. My placenta was anterior, however, so I never felt kicks in
the same way I did with Aleigha. Going having a healthy, normal pregnancy to a
high risk one caused much stress. I cried every time I didn’t feel “enough”
baby kicks. I went in for non-stress tests twice a week, and the baby always
did just fine.
The induction
date couldn’t come soon enough. I went in to prep for my induction on Sunday,
April 19 around 6 PM.
Jason and I
ordered pizza and I got settled into my hospital gown. The nurse strapped a
baby heart rate monitor around me and I felt so much relief. I didn’t have to
worry if my baby was moving; the hospital would now be alerted if anything went
wrong.
The midwife on
duty inserted a Cook Cervical Ripening balloon to help ripen my
cervix (I think I was only 10% effaced maybe and not dilated at all). She told
me that it “could” cause labor to start on its own, but that was unlikely.
Jason and ate
our pizza and watched some TV. Around 10 PM, I felt really drowsy and the
ripening balloon was making me have small contractions. I tried to sleep but
the contractions were getting stronger. They made sleeping difficult. I cried and prayed that they would stop so I
could get some sleep. At some point, Jason rubbed my feet, and I relaxed enough
to fall asleep.
The nurse came
in at 6 AM and woke me up to prepare for the induction. I was allowed to have a
shower and sometime during morning the ripening balloon fell out (OK, I might have pushed it out...let's call that birthing practice).
The next several
hours I breathed through contractions. I was thrilled when I reached 7cm. The
midwife told me if I wanted an epidural, I should ask for the
anesthesiologist. I decided that if I reached 7cm, I could go the rest of the
way on my own. Then, the contractions seemed to get completely out of control. I felt
panicky—it seemed that the whole room was closing in on me. I wanted to scream
for everyone to leave me alone, but at the same time, I was scared to be alone.
I decided I
wanted the epidural after all. I remember that trying to sit still while the
anesthesiologist gave me the epidural was difficult. And, Jason and I aren’t
sure, but we think the nurse slipped some kind of sedative into my IV at that
point, since I just couldn’t seem to calm down.
The epidural
took the edge off the contractions, but I still felt a lot of pain. Looking
back, I was probably just going through transition. In hindsight, I regret the
epidural since it took effect on only half my body. Oh well.
Lydia was born
shortly afterwards, at 4:20 PM, weighing 5 lbs. 13 oz and measuring 19 1/2 inches. She was beautiful and healthy.
