Every mom has a birth story. Whether you physically delivered the baby, adopted the baby, came to be a mom through marriage, or any other situation, every mom has a birth story. It’s the story of those last few hours or minutes where you were required to rely on the strength you didn’t think you had to bring that child into your life. Some stories are joyful, some are filled with sadness, but I think all of them are worth telling. They’re worth telling because no matter how joyful and triumphant that moment was, it is always hard, it always requires more strength than you thought you had, and I think regardless of the birth outcome or situation, every mom needs to remember that some days we can do incredibly hard things for our children. There are lots of times moms do this, but I think this is the first time we realize what we are capable of doing for someone we probably haven’t met yet. 

So this is Oliver’s birth story. It’s messy and complicated like most things in life, but he’s here and healthy, so in the end the rest is worth it. 

Oliver was an elective induction. His two older siblings were also elective inductions, only his oldest brother wasn’t. Bless his heart, but Oliver is coming into our family during a busy time. Not only am I busy, but he has three older siblings and we decided that for our situation, a planned induction was the best option. His pregnancy was pretty uneventful. I was pretty sure I was growing a giant, but seeing as his older brother is fast approaching my size, that was expected. 

We got the call to be at the hospital on Sunday afternoon and arrived at 6pm Sunday evening. Everything went well with check in and registration. They checked my progress and I was dilated to a 2/3 and 50% effaced. I had contractions, but nothing regular, and since this was the 4^th baby all those things were expected. Oliver was extremely difficult to track on the monitors because he was so wiggly. The poor nurses, they spent so much time trying to find him while he did somersaults. I tried to tell them this was 100% expected, but since they have no idea just how enthusiastic his siblings are, they didn’t know to believe me. 

The midwife decided we would start Pitocin at midnight we had some time to wait. I hate waiting, but we made it through. Around 11pm my blood pressure was low and Oliver’s heart rate was up so they pushed a lot of IV fluid quickly. Things stabilized, and we got ready for induction. At midnight they started Pitocin and everything appeared fine. That changed relatively quickly and by 1am Oliver’s heart rate was down significantly lower than it should have been. Nurses rushed in, stopped the Pitocin, had me try multiple positions, adjusted the IV, pushed fluid, gave me oxygen, and finally decided they needed to administer medication to stop all contractions. Nurses run fast! I have had crowded delivery rooms, but never quite like this. I thought this would be our one little scare, but nope, it was the first of several.  After that excitement there was no more sleeping for me, I was too worried about him and concerned we’d made the wrong choice with an induction. Oliver eventually stabilized, but as a result we had to stop everything  and monitor him for several hours. Around 5am everything got started again. They increased the Pitocin very slowly, but by that time some contractions had restarted on their own. He continued to do well, and by 8am I was dilatated to a 4 and 75% effaced. 

Things continued pretty normally for a bit. Brian went to get some breakfast, the midwife came in and checked everything and broke my water, and we just moved right along. When she broke my water she noticed some meconium, nothing to severe, but that was a minor snag. Things got more intense, just like we had expected they would and I decided that while this was a fun adventure, I would like them to check and see if there was any progress and if not then I wanted an epidural. There had been progress, but I went with the epidural anyway (thank goodness). All four times I’ve been in labor, getting the epidural signifies that things are going to move fast. I got the epidural around 10am and I was dilatated to a 5/6. It was so nice to feel so cozy and warm in the freezing delivery room, and we got comfy to wait on Oliver. Things started to go a little bit south from there. No matter how I was positioned, Oliver’s heart rate continued to go down. By then I could feel contractions through my epidural and there was a ton of pressure. I told the nurses what was happening and that I was pretty sure we were at the end. They checked around 10:45 and I was at a 7, checked again around 11 and I was ready to go. There were just a few issues, We still had not been able to Oliver’s heart rate back up no matter what position I was in or how much fluid they pushed, and they wanted to wait for the midwife because things were a little bit complicated. The midwife’s office is in the building next door and they told her to run so it didn’t take long before she was there. 

By 11:20 we were ready to push. In the time that the midwife took to arrive, several other nurses were summoned. I think at this point there were 5 or 6 labor nurses in the room, reading monitors, helping me turn, sit up, etc, the peds team, and the techs. We got ready to push and it quickly became apparent that Oliver did not want to come out. His heart rate continued to dip, and the nurses became increasingly concerned that there was something wrong with his cord. They had done an ultrasound a few hours before and knew his head was down, but something was up. They called in another midwife and an OB for a consult. The OB came in took a look and his first suggestion was a C section. Honestly, by this time I was all for the C section. I kept hearing Oliver’s heart rate drop and I just wanted him to be ok. The nurses were determined we were going to try pushing just a bit more. By now it was about 11:25 and the room was getting more crowded. They called in additional nurses, to help, notified the OR that we might be on our way, and got the anesthesia team in the room and ready so we could go into surgery. 

The midwives suggested we try a vacuum extraction to give him a little bit more help. I’m pretty sure he was clinging to anything that could keep him from coming out at that point. After 2 failed attempts with the vacuum I was done. The nurses kept saying things like “get mad” and “you can do this”. Honestly, I’m not the type of person that does better when they are mad, or is encouraged by total strangers. I know it sounds awful but I’m not. By the this point there were so many nurses I had no idea where Brian was. While I am sure the nurses know from a technical standpoint what to do, I really wish instead of moving him aside or holding my hand they had him hold my hand or legs. He has been through 3 other labors and 15 years with me, his encouragement would have been a bit more helpful. Anyway, the OB declared we would try one more time with the vacuum and if no progress was made we were headed to the OR. By this point my thought was “please can we just go to the OR, I just want him to be ok”. But I couldn’t really talk, I was so tired, and I’m not a yeller during labor. I’m more of a get inside your own head and focus sort of person, so I was trying to block them all out and focus. This time Oliver made some, very slight, progress and the OB decided we were going for a 4^th try. Four tries with the vacuum seems excessive to me, but I’m not an expert. By now the OR was ready, anesthesia was standing right next to the bed, we were ready in the event that this fourth try didn’t work. This nurses continued to yell in my face, count to 10 incredibly slowly, and tell me I could do this because it was my fourth baby. I was so tired, and so worried, and could feel all the hands, tools, etc helping Oliver along. Not a great feeling let me tell you. Finally, finally, finally, they got a firm grip on his head and were able to get him out. Finally. Sure enough he had the cord wrapped around his neck, but he was also sunnyside up which helped wedge him in place. As soon as the doctor scooped him out, his first comment was “he’s a big boy”. I saw him for a second, he cried a tiny bit, then he was whisked away to make sure he was doing ok and I saw Brian again heading across the room with him. Once I saw Brian with him, I collapsed on the bed. I was so exhausted, even though I had only pushed for 25-30 minutes. I think the drama of Oliver being stuck, his heart rate dropping, the sheer number of people coming in, and the panic in their voices was a lot to handle. Once it looked like Oliver was breathing well, I asked the doctor if I needed stitches and he laughed. Not a good sign. Every nurse, and there were quite a few by this point, had commented on the swelling. One (20 year veteran) told me it wasn’t the worst she’d ever seen but it made her top 5… awesome. 

I got stitched up, cleaned up, and sat up and got to meet sweet Oliver. Oliver weighed in at 8lbs, 9oz, and was 22 inches long. No wonder he didn’t want to come out! While I do feel bad the birth was so traumatic and that he didn’t want to come out, part of me is happy he came when he did because I’m fairly certain I couldn’t have handled a baby much bigger than that. He was more than a pound bigger than Michael, and slightly less than a pound bigger than Grace. Zach was tiny, so he was considerably larger. He was also an inch longer than Michael, my longest kid to date. Once he was out and weighed the nurses seemed to feel a little bad they made me push him out given his size. I felt like he was big the whole pregnancy, but then thought that maybe it was just because I was older and that made it harder. No, he really was big, I’m sure the rest contributed, but he was just big. 

Bless his heart, Oliver’s birth was hard. Really really hard. Not especially long, but the actual delivery was hard. They’re saying it will be a few weeks before I can walk, get up, basically live life on my own, and then 6 weeks to recover after that. I do not love this plan, but I think this is the one time I won’t fight it. Usually I feel like I can get up and walk around after having a baby, not do anything crazy but move, not this time. The midwife has already come and talked to me about this being a “traumatic birth” and some of the steps we need to take to mitigate side effects. I am so grateful that I had decided in advance that Oliver would be formula fed only. I exclusively breastfed the others, but given the delivery, I do not think I could realistically initiate breastfeeding (which hurts too!) and recover, so that was a prayer answered before it was even said.

Zach told me I looked less fat but like I had “bad corona” and Brian said I looked like I needed some bedrest for a bit. I think they’re both right. This promises to be the longest recovery yet, but Oliver is healthy and so sweet so we will take it one day at a time. I cannot wait to go home and recover in my own house, usually I’m all about this hospital, but this time I think home is the way to go. So yay for following my birth plan of not being pregnant and having a healthy baby, and yay for a recovery plan where we let things go and just focus on getting well. 

As a super fun bonus, my nephew, Andrew, had the closest guess on the birth time (he was only off by 5 minutes) and Oliver’s middle name is Andrew. What a fun prize!