Hannah’s birth story

This story can only be told through the lens of my prior experience, specifically the birth of my first child. All I knew to expect the second time around was what had happened the first time. Abby’s labor was hard, contractions were irregular and labor started and stopped, on and off, for 4 days. I ended up getting an epidural and pushed for 2.5 hours and dang was it miserable. How did people do this without drugs? With Hannah’s birth I was hoping things would be quicker, as people say second babies often are. The plan was once labor got going we would put the dog in the kennel and take Abby to my parents 20 minutes away. Then we’d go to the hospital, I’d get an epidural, and have a moderately tolerable experience meeting this little mystery girl. Hopefully we would know for sure when things were happening, and there would be no false starts like there were with Abby!

Hannah’s due date was 11/27, Black Friday, and prior to this date I’d had zero indication labor was near. I felt totally normal, and was crossing my fingers for a birthday of 11/29 (because Abby is 4/29), but this seemed unlikely with no signs of “things happening.” No sign of cramping, mucous, bloody show, etc. And believe me, I was tuned in for any sign. But on the morning of 11/27 I woke up with the lightest of cramping. And when I went to the bathroom I noticed just the tiniest bit of mucous. Hmmmm… I told Ryan and my mom something was starting, but who knows, could still be a few days or even a week. I listened to my body all day, and nothing changed: short, very light contractions maybe once or twice an hour, and a very small amount of mucous.

Ryan asked to play golf that day and I sent him off, knowing it could be the last time for a while. Abby and I spent the day at home, and when she took her afternoon nap I read her her Frozen story book, the favorite du jour, and laid down with her in our bed as I had grown accustomed to doing during this third trimester. She fell asleep, I rested, and eventually snuck out to the living room to watch some reality tv with my cat on my lap. Not something I normally do during nap time, but I thought it might be my last chance. The restful afternoon made all contractions and mucous entirely disappear, as I suspected it might. So I called my mom and told her things likely wouldn’t happen today, but I’d keep her posted tomorrow.

Since we’d had such a lazy day I wanted to get Abby out of the house. Even though labor appeared to be gone I had the good sense to drive us to the park instead of walk. I foolishly forgot my phone. We went to the neighborhood park for 1 hour, from 4PM -5PM, and lo and behold the contractions came back, stronger. I had maybe 4 or 5 of them at the park, but still never longer than 30 seconds, so maybe it wasn’t anything to worry about. Poor little Abby was confused because I wouldn’t get down in the sand and up on the slide and play with her. Anytime I had a contraction she would see my contorted face and ask “Mama, are you happy?” I hobbled around the park explaining to her that her baby sister was getting ready to come, and mama’s tummy was hurting. We left at 5, and Ryan got home at 5:30 PM. I still fully thought contractions weren’t strong enough to even consider going to the hospital (I mean, this was nothing like laboring at home with Abby) and everything might possibly stop again. But Ryan thought differently. “You’re assuming the position!” he said, when I bent over the kitchen counter to breathe into a contraction.

As a precaution we took the dog to the kennel, just in time. The kennel closed at 6, and we didn’t want to have to deal with her if we had to go the hospital in the middle of the night. I texted my mom and told her things MIGHT be starting up again. We went about our evening, I got Abby into bed, took a shower, and got in bed myself to see if resting again would stop the contractions. Nothing had changed; I had irregularly timed 30 second contractions that maybe averaged about 15 minutes apart. Ryan had me call Labor and Delivery, and I will never forget the very wise advice the nurse gave me: 1) She said it sounded like I was in active labor, and while things might slow down or stop overnight, with a second baby things were different. Labor would take a turn, and when it did, it would happen FAST, so I needed to be ready 2) She told me to call my mom and come stay at the house that night.

I felt so bad calling my 70 year old mom at 9:30 PM to come over and sleep! This was not the plan! And I was going to feel horrible if everything stopped and I made a big deal out of nothing. Of course my mom was happy to drive over and settle into the guest room. I chatted with her a bit when she arrived, and a contraction hit in the middle of our talk and she even said “you don’t seem to be in that serious of labor.” And I told her “I’m not, not right now at least.”

I got in bed at 10PM to watch Seinfeld. A little while later a contraction hit, and it was much stronger than all the others. Ryan looked at me and said “let’s go the hospital.” But it was only one contraction! I wanted to wait and be sure, but a few minutes later another strong one came on. I timed it, and it was closer to 45 seconds. They were getting longer. And then a few minutes later, another bad one. Three in a row. “Okay, let’s go.” I said.

We hit the road at 10:30 PM, and I called L&D on the way. They had us come through the ER and a nurse was waiting with a wheel chair. I made it upstairs ok and into the triage room where they spend an hour taking your vitals and asking things like “Do you feel safe at home?” Contractions were longer and harder than anything I’d felt all day, this was on par with what I’d experienced with Abby in the days leading up to her birth. It was aggravating to wait for the fateful moment for them to check dilation, so I decided with this recent, fast progress, as the nurse had predicted, I was certain I was a 4 or 5. Then thought maybe farther along, like a 6. Give it a few hours of labor and this baby would be born in the wee hours of 11/28. I liked that birthday; Hannah the 28th, Abby the 29th, and me the 30th.

I can’t explain to you the strange sensation of the nurse “checking me” and just feeling space. Like her fingers in my cervix had room to move around. When she pulled her hand out she said calmly “You are a 9.”

9 CM! like almost fully dilated?!?

The hospital was busy that night, they said “Everyone decided to come to L&D, but when you walk in at a 9, you get a room.”

My first response was “AM I TOO LATE FOR AN EPIDURAL?”

The nurse said “You might be. I don’t want to lie to you. But I will let them know you want one and we will try.”

I walked across the hall in my gown into the dark delivery room, where I asked for any drug they had but they had explanations as to why I was too late for any. They let me use Nitrus Oxide, which I hated and thought was pointless with Abby, but this time around I don’t think I ever took that thing off my face. It was my only lifeline to let things be slightly less intense. The midwife, Sonja Cahoon, a masked slender lady with a short boyish haircut, recommended to me in clear, loud voice that I push my baby out naturally. It was at that point that I realized I would have no pain medication, and mentally, I was crushed. I was not prepared for this. Pushing Abby out with an epidural was horrible, and I didn’t want to do this with no drugs, not at all. The midwife checked me again a little while later and for whatever reason I remember THAT being one of the most painful parts, and she informed me she could feel the baby’s head. She said I could push any time, and I knew I needed to get this over with as soon as possible.

I remember I went to a dark place. Literally. I closed my eyes in that dim delivery room and held the stuffy, plastic smelling nitrus mask to my face and just listened to the whirring sound of me inhaling and exhaling the gas with everything in me. The more lightheaded it made me, the better. The lights were all off with the exception of the monitors, spot lighting around the doctor at the end of the bed, and a warm light positioned on a little baby bed in the corner where a new baby would be soon. (mind blowing, even at 10 cm!!) They tried again and again to get an IV in me but couldn’t, and I just kind of lay there offering the fronts and backs of my arms and hands letting them poke and jab and listening to their profuse apologies. I could not care less. It took an anesthesiologist to get in IV in, and I don’t think it happened until after the baby was born. (side note: the next day my arms looked like those of a legit junkie.) I remember looking at the clock approaching midnight. Foolishly I had glowed at the being born past mindnight, on the 28th. But at 11:55 PM I knew I couldn’t make it to midnight. This had to end. NOW.

I don’t know how many pushes it took. Two? Three? But once I got the ok I held that mask to my face and pushed with everything in my primal physical strength. I grunted and screamed like an animal, but they annoyingly told me to save my breath and energy and channel it into pushing. I felt her head move down the birth canal – soooo painful. I felt the “ring of fire.” I breathed into that mask and pushed and then she was out, at 11:56 PM.

Little Hannah lay on my chest and I didn’t recognize her. She had dark hair and an unfamiliar nose. She looked perfect and was pink and quiet and we soon learned she was 7 lbs. 5 oz and had an APGAR score of 9 – same as her sister! We make nearly perfect babies. And if that was it, it would have been fast and furious, but fine. It would have been over.

But as I lay in the hospital bed I continued to feel contractions and didn’t want to take the mask off my face. My body felt so tender and raw, and I assumed the midwife was stitching me up, but I didn’t want to ask, I didn’t want to know what was causing so much pain. They told me to stop using the mask because I was exhaling all over the baby, so they gave me fentanyl. But I didn’t want to hold the baby; the pain was still consuming me. I heard the nurses tell Ryan, off to the side, to remove his shirt so he could have skin-to-skin with the baby and I heard him whisper to tiny Hannah in his arms “well, this is special.”

When the midwife asked if I was having contractions, she informed me the placenta only partially detached. They gave me pitocin to help pass it, but no luck. So she said “Veronica, I’m going to have to do something and you’re not going to like it. I’m sorry.” I don’t know how long the next phase of L&D lasted. Maybe 15 minutes? Maybe 2 hours? But I do know it was agony and as bad as labor. Think contractions and the midwife’s bare hands inside my uterus trying to claw out whatever scraps of placenta were left behind. I closed my eyes and shut out the world again and just cried out in pain.

When it was all over, I distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling that I wanted a do-over. In retrospect, I was in shock. I’d lost a lot of blood and it was a harrowing experience and I shook uncontrollably for what felt like hours. I remember I was so cold and so thirsty and I was angry no one seemed to get me a blanket or water. I had no interest in holding the baby still; all I wanted was a pill to make everything better. Even though the pain was gone, I felt so deep under water trying to wrap my head around what was happening. I should have asked for a valium or something, I don’t know if they would have given it to me. Eventually they brought in apple juice and a hospital Thanksgiving meal – turkey, green beans and mashed potatoes. I ate a bit and drank and maybe started to feel a little better, so I held little Hannah for a while. After what felt like an eternity they released us from L&D and all we wanted to do was get to post partum and sleeeeep.

But once in post partum, I lost consciousness. I guess it was a combination of my blood loss, seizure history and as-bad-as-they-can-be-without-being-dead vital signs, but they called in what felt like the whole hospital. I awoke with 10 or 15 white coats around me, asking me questions, poking and prodding me with IVs needles and oxygen masks. I could hear Ryan’s voice in the background, putting on his paramedic hat and asking questions all the while holding a little baby bundled in his arms. I tried to guess from his tone of voice how bad I was, but I couldn’t tell. I guess I satisfied them that I was alright and they finally left Ryan and I alone with Hannah. I think we got to sleep at about 6 AM, and were up by 8 AM for routine blood work, nurse hand-off, etc.

Ryan left the hospital by 10:30 AM. He wouldn’t be allowed to come back (thanks, COVID), but was anxious to get home, sleep, feed the animals and get Abby from my parents. I was determined to milk my hospital stay as long as I could, so Hannah and I stayed another day, night and into the following afternoon.

Slowly, I recovered. The hospital stay was so different than that with Abby; in 2020 fashion we had no visitors, no family came to see the new baby. The nurse and doctor visits were few and far between. So this little baby and I just hung out, watched TV, read, and napped when we could. I remember eating a LOT. I was so hungry and just devoured the hospital meals and snacks. I drank what felt like gallons of water and cup after cup of coffee. I took the most appreciated showers of my life.

On my last day, the midwife who delivered Hannah came to see me. She had some interesting words to share. In a nutshell she told me my experience was highly unusual and traumatic and would take a long time for my body to heal. She asked if I could put Abby in daycare full time for at least two weeks (we couldn’t) and implored me to really shrug off the messy house, dishes, laundry, etc. for at least two weeks. If I didn’t, she warned, I’d be significantly worse in 6 weeks. It was validating to hear, and as someone who never rests I sometimes need the specific instruction to not work. So when I got home, I did my best to sit on my butt whenever I could, for at least 2 weeks. “I want you to enjoy your baby,” the midwife ordered. So enjoy my baby I did.

In my experience, the first 2 weeks are the hardest. My body is raging with hormones and physically trying to recover. The baby doesn’t know day from night, up from down, and eats constantly. I am mourning the loss of my easy life just a few days prior, and my husband is coming to grips with everything being turned upside down. Poor little Abby is enduring the biggest shake up in her life so far. There is little sleep and lots of stress, lots of crying from everyone. Mastitis hit by day 7 and I needed antibiotics.

But we all thrived. I recovered, in stages, and regained my strength and health. Abigail proved to be the most nurturing, gentle, loving sister a newborn could ask for. She brought the baby tiny toys and lovies, and always asked to sit on the couch and hold the baby in the boppy pillow on her lap, gently stroking her heard. Ryan vacuumed and washed dishes until I was well enough for it. And little Hannah slept for about the first 3 weeks of life (except for at night, of course).

She’s grown into a big, healthy girl with brut strength and a grunting, shrieking laugh. She loves big kisses on the cheeks and watching her sister make funny faces, and refused pacifiers and hats from the very start. True to form, Hannah does things fast and furious and all at once. Teeth come in overnight. She went from not being able to roll over to rolling, crawling, sitting up and standing all in about 6 weeks. Life is so wild these days with two little girls and a full time job I sometimes forget the fight we had to go through for our little Hannah River. Without a doubt every dime, every hard day, every tear and ever needle was so worth it. We praise God for this little girl who is so, so loved.