Hannah Myrtle's birth story

I intended to write out Hannah’s birth story soon after she was born, but suddenly she’s closing in on half a year old, and I’m sitting up at 10 pm (that’s late for me these days), tapping it out in Notes on my phone so I don’t forget.

I’d been having contractions on and off for a couple weeks. Sometimes there would be a string of them consistent enough to time for a few hours, but they would always fizzle out when I laid down or took a bath, and I knew they were just my body getting ready for birth.

On the afternoon of Monday, December 13, contractions started up for real. Craig and I stopped at the chiropractor for an adjustment and were on our way to see our midwife team when I realized they were about 3-5 minutes apart. They weren’t very intense, so we stopped for gas and called Cathy. She suggested that we go ahead and come to the appointment so we could see where things were at.

Contractions were more intense by the time we arrived, I was dilated to a 3, and the baby was very engaged. The appointment wasn’t long, and we headed home, fairly confident that she would be born sometime that night. My mom was hanging with the big kids while we were out, and took them home, as we had planned when I went into labor. When we got to the house, I ate dinner, drank some water with electrolytes, and we slowly set up the pool and assembled things I had prepared for birth. Within another hour or two, it seemed like contractions were continuing to strengthen, and since our birth team was an hour away, we called. Cathy, Sondra and Andrea headed over.

I labored till about midnight—sometimes in our room, sometimes on the birth ball in the living room, sometimes walking—until eventually the contractions lessened and then stopped altogether.

Our midwife team slept on living room couches, Craig in the lazy boy in our room, and eventually I fell asleep on the foot of our bed. In the morning, I’d only dilated another centimeter or two, contractions had stopped, I was incredibly uncomfortable, there was no baby, and I felt so miserable for having three people sleep on our couches without producing a child.

Craig was a trooper that day. I was grumpy and sore and tired and emotional. He made sure I ate and drank, took me for walks, rested with me, and hugged me a lot. I think it was around 2 pm that afternoon that regular contractions started up again. We waited for a few hours to call the midwife team this time; he had a hunch that I would be able to labor more effectively without an audience. He was right.

I think they arrived sometime between 7 and 8 pm, and by this point I was dilated to a 6. I spent some time in the pool which felt really good, but we struggled to keep it warm. After a while I settled in on the birth stool, leaning on Craig and moaning through contractions. They continued to get more and more intense and closer and closer together until they were about 2 minutes long with 30 second breaks. They continued that way until midnight, at which point I was starting to feel very, very tired. After several hours of very hard labor, Cathy checked and I was still dilated to a 6, and the baby had moved back up.

Through all of this, Hannah’s heart rate remained steady and strong. But we couldn’t account for the lack of forward movement, and I was exhausted from two days of contractions and very little sleep. We decided at that point that it would be wise to pivot and make our goal a vaginal birth rather than a homebirth.

It seemed like I was needing some extra assistance, so we decided to transfer, since the hospital we wanted to be at in the event of needing extra assistance was an hour away. The ladies helped me dress in a nightgown, robe and shoes, and somehow, with help, I shuffled to the car. I don’t remember most of the drive—I just had to focus and breathe and moan through each contraction.

Cathy went with us, and Sondra and Andrea were called to help another woman in labor. Thankfully because of her relationship with the OB practice out of our chosen hospital, she was able to take me directly to labor and delivery rather than the ER, and stayed with us through the rest of Hannah’s birth.

Our arrival at the hospital was the one point where I really struggled—hospital policy required that I was separated from Craig for triage (no matter how many times I said I wanted him to stay, they refused to move me from the hallway until I agreed to let go of him), and the nurse asked me questions like “do you feel safe at home?” and “do you have access to your own bank account?” They’re worthy questions in many situations, I’m sure, but this was neither the place nor the time, as I could hardly get answers out in the 30 second breaks between contractions. After she asked me for the fourth time what my blood pressure medication was called, and whether I wanted a flu shot or a Covid shot, I flat out snapped at her that I was done answering questions and to go and get Craig. In hindsight, I should have done that sooner.

An ultrasound showed that Hannah was doing great, though my blood pressure was very high from the intensity of the contractions. They gave me some oral medication to lower it, and we were taken to a room relatively quickly, where I promptly threw up all over the bed, some poor person’s shoes, and the floor. I got an epidural, and then fell asleep, so grateful for some rest before delivering our baby.

The next morning, seven hours after being admitted, and after contracting with the same pattern all night, I was STILL dilated to a six. Around 10 am, I consented to having my water broken, which it turns out was made of something close to steel. Within 30 minutes I was dilated to a 10, and Hannah was born just about an hour later.

Cathy stayed with us through Hannah’s birth, and was such a strong support person for us. She encouraged me, advocated for me, held my hand, prayed with me, and explained anything the doctors and nurses said that wasn’t clear. The team of nurses and doctors who helped us during Hannah’s birth were phenomenal and I am so grateful for them as well. Once things were cleaned up, we were left relatively undisturbed to nurse and rest. In my sleep deprived and post-birth state, I didn’t realize that the photo Craig texted to everyone announcing Hannah’s arrival included most of my boobs (sorry about that, guys, lol).

After that, our focus was on getting out of the hospital, which as it turns out, is a lot harder than getting in, particularly if you were hoping to stay out of the system to begin with. Though I ultimately ended up birthing Hannah in a hospital, and am incredibly grateful for the women who helped me, these are just a few of the reasons I would still pursue midwifery and a homebirth going forward.

In the hospital we were at, newborns have a tag put on their ankle that only comes off with a special tool. In the event that Hannah would go near a hospital door without someone with the appropriate badge, the entire floor would lock down. On the one hand, that meant no one could leave with her. On the other, it meant we couldn’t leave with her either, until we jumped through all the hoops and a hospital staff member removed the anklet. One of those was the newborn exam. This was completed behind a locked door, where we were allowed to stand and watch through the window while Hannah screamed. The nurse gave her sugar water twice during the hearing test without our consent, hoping that it would calm her down. It didn’t.

We also couldn’t leave without having a pediatric appointment scheduled, and none of the local doctors we wanted to see had openings on such short notice. In the end, we had to drive an hour back to the hospital about 12 hours after we got home to see a pediatrician there. I’d had a small tear during birth and gotten stitches, and it’s not a stretch to say that for me, sitting in a car for two hours, walking through the doctor’s office, and sitting on hard chairs was far more painful than actually birthing my baby.

While there, the doctor insinuated multiple times that Hannah wasn’t getting enough to eat and pushed me to supplement with formula, since I was breastfeeding and therefore couldn’t say exactly how many ounces she was drinking per nursing session. I spent a great deal of time studying before she was born and knew she didn’t need supplementation. But I felt sad for women who are encouraged by a doctor they trust to doubt their bodies and their babies so early on in the journey of breastfeeding, rather than being supported.

Once we got home from that appointment, we were able to start settling into a new normal over the coming days and weeks. Life with a newborn is an adventure, but it’s one our family has loved.