The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Two

Liz wanted me out of the tub so she could check my dilation again.  Getting out of the warm water was torture because the pain of the contractions was even more exacerbated in the cold air.  I felt Liz roughly check me again and say, “There’s a little bit of lip left” which meant I was almost but not completely dilated.  They laid me on my back for awhile with pillows. Every time I had a contraction, Sharon and Jimmy would pull me up by my arms and I’d lean my head back and just let my body go limp like jelly until it was over.  I could hear myself screaming through each one.  I was getting extremely exhausted at this point and didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.  I had been exhausted for hours, having no sleep at all was taking its toll and the tapping into my “inner reserves” for the last several hours was going to wear out fast.

We stayed with this position for about an hour and then Liz checked me again.  She said flatly, “No change.  The lip’s still there. And it’s a little puffy.”  This was not good - puffiness can cause complications.  I needed to get open and soon.  So, for about another hour, during every contraction, I screamed over and over, “Open, Open, Open, Open, OPEN OPEN OPEN” and visualized that lip just disappearing.  I was so exhausted.  After saying “OPEN!” hundreds of times, Liz checked me again – another excruciating experience of feeling like she was shoving her hand through my spine and turning my insides out.  But she said, “She’s fully dilated.”

Emily, Jimmy and Sharon all laughed and clapped in victory.  Jimmy said, “You did it, mama!”  I felt a mix of happiness, relief…and terror…because this meant I had to push now and I just had no idea how I was going to physically do it as exhausted as I was.  I had nothing left to give.  I didn’t even have fumes left to run on.

We got back in the tub but the pain just kept getting worse with each contraction.  I asked, “Am I still in transition?”  Transition was supposedly the most painful part and at this point, I needed some measure of when this pain would end.  Sharon said, “Oh, honey, you’re WAY beyond transition.”  This didn’t make sense to me – why was the pain getting worse then? 

I started praying, mumbling, “God, please, please, please, have mercy” over and over again.  I prayed out loud in between the screaming and crying.  I kept saying, “It’s only temporary” and “This won’t last” also because I had to remind myself that there would be a time soon when I wouldn’t feel this god awful pain anymore.  Sharon and Emily kept saying, “Yes, yes, it’s only temporary.”   I screamed and sobbed like a child and Jimmy cried with me, bless his heart.   I prayed out loud in whispers that no one could understand but myself and God.

I started feeling really woozy and detached. I could still feel all the pain ripping through my body, but I felt like I was half there in that tub and half somewhere else.  I didn’t know who was in the room anymore or where the voices were coming from.  I had my eyes closed and just kept going deeper and deeper within myself.  When I would open my eyes I would see spots in my vision.  When they were closed, I felt like I was slipping off to some other realm, some other dream like state.  I began to understand why the Navajo say that during childbirth, the mother leaves her own body to travel up to the heavens to bring back the soul of her child for birth.  It felt a little scary, but very spiritual.  Very shamanic, like I was traversing worlds, one foot in this one, one foot in another.  Jimmy told me later that my pupils were really dilated and my eyes looked bizarre.  It made me think of the sadhus (holy men) in India and how their eyes looked, in between worlds, but not entirely in either one.

I kept praying and then Liz wanted me to get out of the tub again.  I REALLY didn’t want to, but followed her directions, figuring whatever will help get the baby out was what I wanted.  I labored on the toilet, with the contractions at their worst at this point, which I couldn’t believe was even possible. Liz said, “Okay, she’s REALLY going to have to work now” which, for the record, is an infuriating thing to say to someone who has been laboring unmedicated for 15+ hours. 

It was decided I would start pushing, but I really didn’t feel any sensation to push at all.  Nothing like the books said about pressure, just excruciating back pain – that’s all I could feel.  But, following her instructions, I bore down anyway, legs bent, like I was trying to take the hugest crap of my life.  The pain was even worse now in this position and I felt betrayed by all the books that had said transition was the worst part and during pushing the contractions would lessen a bit.  Bullcrap!  These contractions just kept getting progressively worse, with all them running together, one on top of each other at freight train intensity. 

Liz disappeared and then Sharon and the nurse both held onto a rope and had me pull the rope with both hands with each contraction, like a labor tug of war.  I pulled as I bore down and I hated it because the carpel tunnel in my hands made it very difficult to hold on and pull.  Plus, as exhausted as I was, trying to pull the rope, bare down, push, clench my face, and hold my breath all at the same time was just overwhelming to try to coordinate all at the same time.  I kept forgetting at least one of these elements and would hear, “Hold your breath!”  “Bare down!” “Pull harder” and I kept saying, “I’m trying, I’m trying” as I cried.  Oh, the pain.  At this point, the pain had accelerated to an electrifying level and being out of the tub without the warm water to soothe and the position on the toilet combined to make the contractions so intensified and sharp it was definitely at the point of being unbearable.

Then, right in the middle of one of these contractions, I looked through the bathroom door and saw Liz sitting, her body angled away from us, texting on her phone.  TEXTING!   Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher that texting is one of those things that brings out my inner Kali – the one thing that just really gets me fired up – it is the epitome of disrespect and dismissal.  I screamed, “Get off your fucking phone and get in here and help MEEEEEEEEEE!”  Another contraction hit as the sentence turned into a half scream, half cry.   Liz looked up, walked back in and looked at me as if I was crazy.

I could feel the “ring of fire” burning all the books talked about, like everything down below was just going to burn off and fall out.  I never had any problems in the butt area during pregnancy but soon enough after all that pushing, I said, “It feels like there’s playdoh coming out of my butt” and Jimmy and Emily laughed and Sharon smiled.  “Yep, yep, that’s normal,” she said.

After a couple of hours of toilet and tug of war rope pushing, they took me back to the bed and Liz painfully checked me again.  Through the next excruciating, back snapping contraction, I cried, “I can’t do this anymore.  I am so tired.”   They all kept saying, “Yes, yes, but you can do it.”   But at this point I had this real sinking feeling like something was wrong – why was I still not feeling the urge to push?  Why was nothing happening? I felt this was way beyond mind over matter and beyond my control. My body was so beyond physically exhausted at this point.  I had been burning on empty fumes for hours and the no sleep factor was kicking my ass.  I felt like I had already been tapping into my warrior inner reserves and my “I can do this” determination since the early morning hours.  Pushing with no results had just really taken every last ounce of any strength I had left.  I thought to myself even if the baby was right there, I didn’t think I had the strength to give those mighty pushes to get her out.  Liz pulled her hand out abruptly and said flatly, “Baby’s no where close.  I’d say she has at least a couple more hours of pushing.”

Everyone in the room groaned and I collapsed into tears again. I was seeing spots, feeling woozy and dizzy and extremely nauseous and sick. I didn’t understand – I was doing all the positions, all the “right things” – she should have been on her way out by now. I was dry heaving and my doula held a basket in front of face.  I threw up into it a couple of times and after, felt like I was just going to pass out from exhaustion.  After another ungodly and excruciating contraction, I collapsed in defeat, “I need to rest.” 

I heard Liz say, “If she wants to rest, she’ll need an epidural.”

No, no, no!  I did NOT want an epidural.  But as another contraction ripped through me right on the heels of the last, I knew it was over. My body did not have the chi to do this anymore.  It had been 17 hours.  This was beyond the pain - it was the exhaustion that was my nemesis.  Jimmy said, “Mama, get the epidural.  You gave it your all.  You have got to get some rest if you’re going to have the strength to push her out.”  Emily and the doula all agreed with him.  The doula even said getting the epidural could possibly help Bodhi shift out of posterior position.  I nodded, but cried, “I will feel like I’ve failed.”  They all quickly assured me this wouldn’t be the case at all and I had to do what’s best for the baby, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was failing myself and giving up.  As the next contraction hit almost immediately and I felt myself feeling like I would pass out, those thoughts faded and I realized I had to give myself some levity and do what I needed to do to deliver this baby.  I needed rest in order to get a second wind to push her out.  That was all there was to it.