OleopteneA blog for Mara Collins

On the other hand, I
don’t know where to tell the story from: it encompasses a pregnancy and
previous births, it held in it my relationships with my husband, my children, my
mother, my best friend, my sister, my midwife. Also, a lot of what I would want
somebody to understand about what the birth was and what it meant includes a
difficult postpartum recovery, and how I want to talk about that without people
thinking of the Andrea Yates extreme — I understand the potential scope of
postpartum depression but the idea of harming myself or my children is pretty
alien (except for wondering if this next unexplained crying jag is going to be
the one that signals the loss of sanity). I can only conclude that sometimes
when you have a two week old who cries whenever he isn’t being held, and a
toddler whose needs are being met in a compromised way, and you are trying to
feed yourself and three children using only one arm because the other one’s
holding an upset baby, sometimes crying is the sane response, because it is
hard. And then, slowly it gets better. Plus, I love being pregnant, and I
loved the birth, and I had to mourn the end of that in my life since we intend
for Rainer to be our last, so for a couple of weeks I walked around feeling like
I had a hole inside me where a human being used to fit. And none of that means
that I’m not overjoyed with my baby. But I think I need to write about the
postpartum thing separately because it is really big deal and I am still
clinging to this birth.

As with
S¿ren’s birth, I sort of expected a couple of weeks of false labor (a name
I hate because it feels real and in both of these pregnancies resulted in four
centimeters of dilation, just not in anything more, like, say, birth). And I
really didn’t have any until two days before I was forty weeks. That seemed to
happen only because my midwife, Becky, had to drive to Austin and seemed worried
I might go into labor and I am pretty darn suggestible. But we expected false
labor and although I was uncomfortable, neither Raven nor I got excited about
timing the contractions that lasted only a couple of hours. I was due July
12th, and my sister had a plane ticket to arrive the 15th, and I was confidently
predicting labor on the 17th. I had an appointment on the morning of the 15th
and sure enough, the false labor of the previous weekend had me a modest 2 cm
dilated and it seemed like things were in place to happen, and I picked up my
sister, Lisa, at the airport with a sort of “You’re just in
time!”

The morning of the 17th, a
Saturday, I woke up feeling different. Jittery. Excited. I knew this would be
the day. Something was different about food. My mental state felt like labor,
sort of indecisive and fluffy, and some difficulty keeping my mind on things. I
decided to go to yoga because sitting around the house waiting would be
unbearable, and yoga was good. Then we went for lunch at Benihana, and
afterwards to get a few deli items at Eatzi’s. No contractions yet, but still I
was sure, I knew. There was a plan to nap when I got home but diarrhea and
jitteriness precluded that, so we called Jenny, my best friend, whom I really
wanted at this birth, and decided she would come in a hour or so, called Becky
to ask about filling up the tub. And then we waited. There were contractions,
but nothing terribly timable or uncomfortable, It was a rather fun, party-like
atmosphere, we watched three episodes of Freaks and Geeks and laughed and
at a certain point it seemed that everyone should get what sleep they could, and
somehow we did until about 5 a.m. when contractions woke me
up.

I have to interrupt this blog entry
to mention that I’m lying here on my bed next to the baby and he’s watching a
parasol mobile I have over the bed and we were impressed by his focus and I
moved to look at him and he saw my face and broke into a wide, dimpled grin and
that made me cry and I think it’s the first time I’ve cried in a week but it was
amazing and beautiful and I am in love with my
son.

Ok, so contractions at 5 a.m. and
they were uncomfortable and they woke me up, and I had had all of this sureness,
and this seemed like a good time to call Becky, and maybe here I need to
recollect that my previous three experiences going into labor
included:
1) at 41 1/2 weeks having some
bloody show and going to the Czech hospital where they proceeded to break my
waters and put me on pitocin.
2) a scheduled
induction at 40 weeks because of high blood
pressure.
3) after two weeks of false labor
and being 4 cm dilated, having a nasty stomach bug that precipitated
labor.

This wasn’t like any of those
times, but I remembered enough actually being in labor to recognize this wasn’t
all the way in labor, only I couldn’t remember anything to get me from where I
was into actual labor. As if it were up to me. But it was embarrassing to have
everybody sitting around waiting and have the contractions I was having taper
off to nothing. Purely in retrospect, of course, I’m really glad I had that
night of early labor, feeling loved and supported, because when it came to the
actual labor that led to birth, there turned out not to be time to experience
it, but as I experienced it, there was some feeling cheated, frustrated and
disappointed as I kept waking every morning for the next week still pregnant.
And unable to resume normal life — we went out to dinner Monday night and I
ordered just a salad and was completely unable to eat it; Raven had to go to his
office and sign some papers, and waiting for him I couldn’t bear sitting still,
I had to pace, doing laps around the parking lot. But no labor. He
spontaneously decided to work from home all week which was wonderful — I was so
happy to have that time together, and this feeling of being offered something I
could never ask for made me feel incredibly loved. And Lisa was providing the
world’s best entertainment for the kids, taking them cool places, setting up a
fish tank with them, so I relaxed, read, napped, walked, and spent more time
alone with my husband than we had had since before having children.

Wednesday I went to see my midwife’s
partner, whom I had only met once before, and that at an appointment which Jenny
had come along to, with her two daughters and two of my sons, a crazy chaotic
introduction. But I trust Becky enough to trust anyone she trusts. Only the
appointment started with her mentioning scolding someone not to get in the tub
before labor was truly underway, which made me guilty and sure I had stopped
labor Sunday morning by getting in the tub. She brought up last resort things
to bring on labor to avoid going to the hospital for an induction, when the
possibility that I would have to go to a hospital had never crossed my mind.
And she told me to set up an appointment for a biophysical profile ultrasound,
just to make sure everything was ok, which sent me into a panic that everything
wasn’t. I had walked through this pregnancy with a confidence I’d never had
before — “I’ve done everything I can to have a healthy pregnancy and the rest
of it isn’t up to me.” And that confidence had convinced me I didn’t need an
ultrasound. I’d become, I admit, sort of proud of not having an ultrasound.
And to come this far and have to go do one! And though comparing notes on these
things is silly, last year Jenny gave birth at 42 weeks, the day before she was
supposed to go for her biophysical profile, so from talking to her, I’d thought
I wouldn’t have to go until the following week. It was a strange thing, talking
to a midwife I liked, personally, and feeling sure she is a great midwife, but
being frustrated that communication lacked the clarity I am accustomed to, the
reassurance I find in Becky’s calm and generally unflappable manner. It
probably is simply unwise to see anyone you don’t know well when you’re 41 1/2
weeks pregnant and on the edge of crazy. That afternoon and evening were the
hardest of the whole pregnancy. I fought with Lisa, which felt terrible, and I
was mad, frustrated, scared, tired, and having to just face the reality that
this was beyond my control.

Raven and I
went together Thrusday morning to get the ultrasound done, and it was fine,
reassuring, and relatively anticlimactic. The baby had plenty of fluid and the
technician gave us a picture of the hair on his head. Raven and I went for a
long walk at the mall that afternoon and everything felt ok again. Friday
morning I was to take castor oil — something I had tried when facing induction
with Xander and decided never to try again. I got up two hours before everyone
else in the house, to have some quiet and the bathroom to myself, and it was a
pretty uncomfortable morning, but something that would be worth it if it would
bring the baby at last. But all I got were a few wimpy contractions in the
afternoon.

Lisa had to leave Sunday
and things were beginning to feel desperate. Saturday Raven called Becky –
something I would have been uncomfortable doing because there was still NOTHING
happening and who wants to disturb someone busy just to report nothing, but she
offered to come to the house to do another exam, and gave me some herbs to take.
And I did faithfully, getting minor contractions, but nothing really
uncomfortable. She suggested walks, so Saturday night Raven and I did a 2 1/2
mile walk to Whole Foods and back. And again Sunday morning, so that I was
accusing him of trying to exhaust me so I couldn’t push out a baby. And then it
was time for LIsa to leave.

My parents
had tickets to come Tuesday morning, and I woke up Monday thinking about calling
them and asking them not to come. Jenny had planned to take the older boys to a
waterpark, but it was a rainy morning and we decided to wait until noon and see.
So I went grocery shopping with all three of my sons while Raven worked from
home, the weather cleared, and Jenny showed up to take them. She called a short
while later from a pay phone, having forgotten her cell phone, but again nothing
was happening. Becky came by again at 4:00 for one more exam and to talk about
the options and how things would happen, if there was no baby before Thursday,
which is when I would have to go to a hospital for an induction. We had to
decide whether or not to rupture the amniotic membranes and decided that we did
not need to set that clock in motion even if it were possible it might start
labor, because once it was done I would have to be in active labor within 24
hours. The baby’s head was not coming down straight to apply any pressure to my
cervix, so she manipulated a bit so it would, and recommended walking, and if
contractions started up again, doing all we could to intensify the contractions,
not backing down or seeking comfort. Which seemed like a fine idea, except that
there were no contractions. So when she left, Raven resumed some work phone
calls, I loaded S¿ren in the stroller and went for a walk. And within half
a block found my knuckles were white on the stroller. But perhaps that one
contraction was a fluke. I kept walking, and half a block later, yes, this one
lasted fifty steps. Half a block more and it suddenly seemed like a very stupid
thing to be out walking with no help and just unseemly should I need to scream
on the street, so I started home. But after so many false starts, it was hard
to trust this was really it. I remember dashing in the door and racing for the
bathroom, startling Raven, and sort of pacing wildly about the house, yelling to
let him know when contractions were beginning and ending so he could time them,
and yes, well maybe if the contractions stayed like this for three more
contractions he should call Becky back…

Then it was pacing the house, hanging
off of the bunk bed in the boys’ room, bracing myself against the door frame of
the kitchen. Only this was probably a bit scary to S¿ren. So I put on a
mix of my favorite children’s music and danced in the living room with him, both
of us laughing, somehow. And Raven refilled the tub, and Jenny did call to say
they were at dinner — we suggested she come pick up S¿ren to take him and
Aod‡n and Xander to our friend Kelly’s and then return here. I can clearly
recall the feeling of having a contraction and throwing myself into it, pushing
against it, embracing it, challenging it. Only then the contractions became so
uncomfortable that I was pacing again to be in a room where S¿ren wasn’t.
I remembered the pilates ball in the bedroom and gave it some consideration –
was this seeking comfort when I should be trying to intensify? — no the
intensity was already all I could take. And I was doing this alone, and I’ve
never been alone at this stage of labor before even though to some extent you’re
always alone, but, and this sounds strange, it was sort of cool to be relying
on myself. And then Becky was here and one more examination and 8 cm but this
didn’t matter so much, I just wanted to know if I could get in the tub. And
needing Raven. His hand on my back was the only comfort that existed, only he
was busy keeping S¿ren away and making calls. Kelly’s husband Kyle was
coming to pick up S¿ren and Jenny needed to just drop the boys off and get
here as quickly as possible. I remember a few exchanges. I was only capable of
direct and literal communication, but I didn’t feel like I got to that weird,
hypnotic other state of suspended time where I was before S¿ren was born.
I’d have a contraction and then try to tell Raven how to explain to Jenny where
Kelly’s was, and S¿ren was curious about what was going on and wandering
down to see me, and at this point that was ok. At last S¿ren was gone and
Raven was in the tub with me, and I remember commenting I had no idea what
position I needed to be in to push — “Do you need to push?” — “Oh, no. Not
yet.” Then, trying to figure out how I needed Raven to support me and kneeling
and hugging , and then down on my hands and knees “I’m pushing now.” And he was
here, hand on his head, and another push, and a third, and coming up between my
legs, my baby.

Jenny
walked in with us still in that position and got a couple of pictures. Then we
went to the bedroom. I was able to joke again about how bleeding on the Persian
rug in the living room would increase its value, a sign that I was really back.
And then the next couple hours were a rush, measuring, examining my new son,
making phone calls, the boys returning — giddy happiness, and the peaceful
quiet when it was just me, Raven and the baby
again.