In March of 2016, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy- my rainbow baby after an early miscarriage the year prior. He was the first boy on my side of the family in over 55 years… Needless to say I was terrified to have a boy- something, luckily, I quickly got over. My birth story for him was just as perfect as he was. Clean tests throughout pregnancy, no morning sickness or weird mood changes, a typical labor that started after eating a brownie and progressed to a quick and easy delivery. Everything was textbook. We were thrilled, and he was such an easy little baby. By 6 weeks he slept through the night, and was hitting all of his milestones on target or before. We knew that we wanted to have children close in age, so once he turned 9 months old we found out we were expecting again. 

Baby #2

I immediately knew I was pregnant. It was some weird maternal instinct that I just knew. I took a test, and there were the two pink lines. I took another, and there it was: “Pregnant”. We were ecstatic, but my body was less than thrilled. Immediately the hormones were more than my body could handle: I was constantly nauseated, but couldn’t vomit; my moods were up and down; and I lost all romantic interest in my husband for 9 long months- he couldn’t even touch me without me feeling angry. I missed work several times before being forced to reveal that I was pregnant. This happy moment was trumped by a few factors: my parents said it was too close together, and my work was pissed because I would need maternity leave again. 

Days that felt like months would go by, and I was miserable. Not because I was pregnant- I was so excited to have another baby- but rather because of all the bullshit that went along with now having a (for lack of a better term) “diagnosis” associated with me. My job added so much stress to my plate that my prenatal tests began to come back with concerning results. I couldn’t sleep, because my son needed his mama and daddy was in and out of long weeks in the field. We finally had a day to go find out our sweetheart’s gender, and I was absolutely sure it was a girl. I was right. Even after growing up with all girl cousins, I was NOT excited about her at first: not because she was a sweet little girl, but because I was now used to having a boy, and I was also still dealing with a ridiculous amount of stress from work that was consuming my mental state. I was alone, even though my husband did everything he could to support me. I kept smiling, because I knew that if I didn’t, I would have to explain what was going on- something that I didn’t want to deal with in the moment. I took a day off from work to go do that fancy drink test- the glucose drink… EW. This time wasn’t as easy, and I could barely get the drink down. The test came back borderline for gestational diabetes- which my doctor determined was caused by stress at work. After being consistently harassed by my supervisors for attending prenatal appointments and trying to give myself self-care, I put in my two weeks and then went on a vacation to see my family in Canada. I came back for my last day of work, said goodbye, and left- with my middle finger in the air and a horrific review on Yelp. After that, my stress completely diminished. I started eating better, I started sleeping again, I was happily having date nights with my hubby again. 

umm where was the warning sign about prodromal labor?

About a month before my daughter was due (due date was between September 27- 29), I started having contractions. They called them Braxton Hicks, but I couldn’t quite figure out why they would increase, and get closer together- like real labor. Braxton Hicks tend to stay stable, without increasing in duration or intensity. I went to my doctor, and she let me know that I was 1cm dilated, and that my sweet daughter was just getting ready to join us. I got myself a birthing ball, tried to make and eat brownies (hey, it worked the first time!), and “forced” my husband to have lots of sex with me. Nothing worked. My contractions would start, get closer together and more intense, and then all together stop. I lost my mucous plug around mid-September, and from there the contractions continued. I had the infamous diarrhea- my body getting ready for labor. All of the signs were there that she wanted to come out. But she didn’t. My doctor, just before my due date, scraped my membranes. Which FUCKING HURTS. I cried, and it took everything in my body, heart, and mind not to kick her away from me. The contractions continued, and stopped. Continued and stopped. I bounced on that damn ball for 2 weeks. Finally I begged for induction. I was done being pregnant, and something didn’t feel right. It’s amazing how well we know our bodies as women. Trust that instinct.

Instinct turned induction

On October 6, I checked into the naval hospital with my zebra print pillow. They started me on Pitocin and everything was great. My nurse, Ezra, was AMAZING. He checked in with me, was always calm, gave me whatever I needed, and was absolutely hilarious. My L&D team came in to chat with me- a student resident doctor in his first year and a 4thyear who was overseeing him. He checked all of my vitals, and each time the 4thyear let him know that he was wrong. He checked my cervix… wrong again. He checked my measurements, and again was wrong. Boy did I feel confident. My husband told me to give him a chance, and that he was learning. I told him to go to hell, and I wasn’t letting some dude that couldn’t figure out how to take a temperature deliver my baby. I let the 4thyear doctor (who had delivered many babies already!) know that I didn’t not enjoy him, and that I would prefer if he just watched and didn’t touch me. She allowed that, and gave me a slight smile which I took as “Yeah, he’s an idiot, so I’ll take care of you.” When I had decided I wanted an epidural, they came in and gave it to me. I waited for it to kick in and tried to rest.

Then the contractions started, and I couldn’t figure out why I could feel them on my ENTIRE right side. I kept pushing that happy little button every 5 minutes to no avail. I asked Ezra, and he rolled me on that side to try to move the medicine. It hurt so bad, and my sweet girl’s heartrate immediately dropped, almost to flatline. I rolled back over on my own and said no, that I wouldn’t do that. I could feel everything on that side, while my left stayed beautifully numb. It felt like piercing knives were digging in to my fallopian tubes, and dragging across my entire right side. The anesthesiologist came back in to give me an additional dose. Nothing happened. He then gave me a manual injection of pain medication on my right side.

when things intensified and a vacuum assist is needed

About 30 minutes later, with still no pain relief on that right side, I told Ezra that I felt ready to push, and we needed the L&D team in there. First he checked me, and realized that yes, we needed to get them in there. He followed my orders, and everyone came in ready to go. They had me start to push to gauge where I was, and let me know that it was time to go- like I didn’t know that already. They suited up, and got everything ready. I pushed for about 15 minutes (MAYBE about 3 big pushes), before the doctor said something medical that I didn’t understand. Ezra ran out of the room and all of a sudden I hear an announcement over the PA system. Ezra ran back in, along with 5 other teams: Resuscitation, Surgical, Emergency, NICU, and additional L&D members. There were about 15 people in my room now, all staring at my vagina, but not ONE of them let me know what was going on. My doctor let me know that I needed to push, harder than I will ever push again. Ezra held my legs up so high I thought I would turn inside out. As I’m pushing, my doctor says “Meagan, we can’t find your daughter’s heartbeat. The cord is around her neck, and she is losing oxygen. You need to push her out, NOW. We will need to use the vacuum in a minute, do you consent.” I almost passed out pushing the hardest I could push, while screaming “YES DO WHATEVER YOU NEED TO DO”. My husband is silently crying with streaming tears, while holding me, telling me it’s okay. The doctor grabbed the vacuum, and suctioned the top of our baby’s head. I heard a POP, and she resuctioned the head. Finally I felt the gush of her coming out of me… but I heard silence. My husband cut the cord, and I sat up slightly trying to get a look at my baby girl. She was hurried over to the warming table, and they were all crowding around her. Between tears, I asked “Is my baby alive.” No parent should EVER go through having to ask that question. Finally, I heard my sweet girl scream, the loudest baby cry I have ever heard, and I lost it. I couldn’t stop sobbing. They put her on my skin, and allowed me to hold her while I pushed out the placenta. Afterwards, my little daughter just looked at me and was cozied up in my arms. I wasn’t about to let her go yet.

About 10 minutes after I gave birth and was all cleaned up, I all of a sudden couldn’t feel my right side. There were those painkillers, working their magic… at the wrong time. The numbness lasted for about 6 hours, to where I had to have a nurse or my husband carry me to the bathroom. I couldn’t hold my baby on my right side at all, as the injection site was higher than the typical epidural. I’m right-hand dominant… so thank goodness my grandma taught me to use my left hand for everything when I was younger. She always said “Meagan, you never know when you’ll need both hands. Use them equally, no matter what.”

fuck off

After about 2 hours or so, I was moved to the recovery and maternity ward with our little Emma, and that first year doctor came back in the room. We were already set up with everything we needed: diapers, wipes, blankets, jammies, formula- as I chose not to breastfeed. It was written in big letters on my board “FORMULA FED. NO BF.” Mister Doctor Man looked at my file, my board, and my daughter and said “Why aren’t you breastfeeding. You need to be doing that. Why won’t you even try. It’s better, and you should know that being a second time mom.” I (as kindly as a woman who just gave birth and was still numb on one side could say something) let him know that I have told people to fuck off before, and will do so again. I proceeded to ask him to not come back in this room or I would file a complaint. He complied, in fact, I think he was legitimately frightened, to which I am proud of myself.

We stayed in the hospital for about 24 total hours, with no further interruptions, and my little Emma thrived! It was like she never endured such a crazy birth. The only hint that something happened was the massive purple bruise on her head from the vacuum. She hit all of her milestones extremely early, and has the personality of a sassy little girl. She is strong, independent, and keeps up with her brother in all senses. My birth story for her was traumatic for me, and really caused me to rethink having more kids. I was beyond terrified of losing her. But it could have been worse. So now, even on those difficult days, I try to enjoy having my two crazy kiddos around all of the time, and I love every chaotic second of it.

- Meagan A.