8 years ago today

I was welcoming my daughter into the world. Almost this hour, in fact.

I have a very imprecise memory: most things I remember in terms of how I happened to be feeling at the time or from whatever was happening around the event in question. The birth of my daughter? I remember every detail with perfect clarity. From waking up at 5am on December 9 with cramps and lower back pain, having to pee, and hearing my mom, who was staying with me in anticipation of the event, get up and go to the bathroom. I heard her stop in the kitchen after using the toilet and I heaved myself up out of bed. I told her I had cramps and lower back pain and she said she did too: she'd gotten her period. Which was a very sporadic event back then, since she was menopausal. I went to the bathroom and went back to bed, but the cramps persisted and I didn't go to sleep. I didn't sleep again until 30 hours later actually, after I'd managed to endure the greatest physical (and consequently emotional) trial of my life.

I spent the day before my daughter's birthday in labour. First phase labour I guess they call it, something like that. Contractions that felt like menstrual cramps, on par with the worst cramps I'd ever had in my life. Something like having someone punch me in the gut about once every 10 minutes. My husband and mother went about their day, and I sat on the couch watching Rosie O'Donnell, soap operas, and Oprah, my attention focused inward. I was ready for this, utterly tired of being pregnant. I wasn't afraid. It hurt.

I didn't eat much dinner that night, partly because I wasn't hungry and partly because in prenatal classes they'd told us we shouldn't eat too much before we went into the hospital, because you never know what kind of effect the labour will have on your digestive processes, and with all the pushing...well, you get the idea.

We just kind of hung around all evening and the contractions, which had remained steady all day, gradually became stronger and closer together. At about 10pm we called the hospital, which was 35 minutes away down the highway. The contractions were about 30-60 seconds long and about 5 minutes apart. They told us we still had lots of time, but we could go in if we wanted. I was starting to feel a little nervous so we packed up and headed off. That was a difficult car trip. I was definitely hurting now.

When we arrived at the hospital they told us another mother was in the maternity suite but the delivery/labour rooms were free. It was a small rural hospital with one labour room adjacent to a single delivery room. The labour room had 2 beds in it in case there were overlapping deliveries, but tonight I was the only one there. The couple who had delivered earlier that day were still there, but they would likely be gone before I was done. The husband came by to visit (they had been in our prenatal class) and offered us his video camera. We declined, and I have never regretted that decision.

At about 10pm or so they offered me some demerol because I was pretty much exhausted by this time, having been awake since 5am. With reluctance I agreed to the shot, since they assured me I'd be able to doze before things got really serious. It would just take the pain away they said. I don't do well with narcotics of any kind, even codeine makes me very woozy. This shot didn't do shit for the pain but it made me very stoned. I stayed awake.

Around midnight or so my water broke. I will never forget that sensation, like a balloon suddenly popping just under the skin somewhere in my belly. I had the sudden, desperate urge to pee, and the liquid leaked out from between my legs as I shuffled, knees clenched together, to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and the liquid (somewhere in there it dawned on me that this was not just urine) tinkled down for a good 5 minutes. I endured at least one contraction during that time, and now that there was no cushy balloon between my baby's head and my pelvic bone, the pain took on a whole new dimension.

In prenatal classes the nurse warned us repeatedly about "back labour." This is where most of the pain is centred in the lower back. I did not experience this: my pain was all in the front. I found the best position for labouring was sitting backwards on a straight-backed chair, with my arms crossed over the backrest. I would hunch over and breathe through the contractions, now coming pretty much one on top of the other, with maybe a few seconds to relax in between. It was somewhere in here that I fell off the chair. Still in a Demerol haze I straightened after a particularly gruelling series and just kept going. The nurse and my mother got me sitting back up again.

The night passed pretty much like that. Around 6am the nurse decided to call my doctor. I was about 8cm dilated on one side, not quite so much on the other. I was dilating unevenly, which isn't a problem, it just meant I wasn't ready to push yet. My doctor arrived around 7am and I was fully dilated on one side. I still couldn't push because I could have torn my cervix. In prenatal class they had taught us panting, like a dog on a hot day, as a technique for resisting the urge to push. As that urge came on me, I dragged this memory from somewhere in my pain-riddled brain and started panting. It had seemed like the stupidest thing when we'd learned it in class, but damn if it didn't work. For a while anyway. When I was finally given the go-ahead to push, I was pushing for all I was worth before the words were even out of my doctor's mouth.

I pushed for over 3 hours. I started pushing at around 7:30am. The relief I got from pushing was immense, and immediate. The contractions seemed to slow and the intensity seemed to diminish. I felt like I was actively involved in the process, instead of just enduring it. But it was exhausting. After a couple of hours I started to actually doze off between contractions, I was so tired. I even started snoring a couple times, to my mom and husband's amusement.

Finally they figured out I needed help. They attached the suction cup to my baby's head and pulled while I pushed. At the very end, she was suspended with her head in the opening as I prodded my belly, for the first time in 30 hours begging for a contraction. It was the longest minute of my life, but when the next contraction came, I bore down and they gently pulled, and she slid out. I don't remember feeling any greater relief in my entire life. I was nervous about delivering the placenta, but with the flurry of activity that followed her birth--the discovery of her gender, the counting of digits, the weighing and placement of tiny pink knit cap on her head, I didn't even notice the placenta coming out (though I did get a glance of it in a metal dish later...ew.). They laid her on my breast and she looked up at me and the first thought I had was that it was exactly right. I was absolutely certain that I loved her and I could do it and everything was fine. It was 11:13am.

In the 8 years since that day I have had many, many moments where I was not so certain. In fact I was absolutely sure I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, becoming a mother. Luckily those moments, while numerous, are spread far enough apart that I can regain my certainty before the next one happens.

This morning while I sat with my daughter and watched her open her presents, I felt calm, happy, and confident. I was so caught up in the moment I forgot to have my shower. I remembered the first moment I saw her. I remembered the first time I felt her fluttering around in my belly. I remembered the moment the stick turned blue and I knew I was going to have her. I remembered the first time I knew that I wanted to have a child. I look at her with wonderment because she is 8 years old, she is my big girl and my baby. She is her own person and she is a part of me.