So technically, my life changed the minute I found out I was pregnant. Young, scatter-brained and scared shitless, I was unsure if this was something I really wanted. Could I really be a mom, right now? Could diapers and feeding schedules and no sleep really be my life soon? At 10 weeks into my pregnancy I went to the doctor to see if we could catch the heartbeat. When the doctor’s face went from a smile to a look of confusion, I knew something was wrong and that’s when she told me she couldn’t find the heartbeat. All of a sudden, I became panic-stricken and worried. My body became hott and sweaty and the slow reality crept into my mind that maybe I had lost the baby. Something I was unsure about one minute, I wanted so bad the next. I didn’t want this little thing inside me to be gone. I was told I was going to get my first ultrasound that afternoon, to make sure the baby was ok. To our relief, the little peanut was fine. Apparently, I have a tilted uterus, making it harder to find the heartbeat. Instead of hearing the baby, I got to see the little specimen jumping around inside me. She (“it”, at the time) was beautiful. After that appointment, I accepted what was to become of my life in just a short nine months. I coudn’t wait. Many more heartbeat appointments and ultrasounds came and went and the day finally arrived, four days after my due date, and I went into labor. The day my life was about to change forever was a work in progress.
It started on June 30th at about six in the morning. I woke up with minute-long contractions, coming about every 8-10 minutes. Later in the afternoon, after they were getting more intense, we made the decision to go to the hospital. I was nervous about getting rejected and being told it was false labor and to drag me and my big ole belly back home. Well guess what, that’s exactly what happened. I was only 1cm dilated and pissed. I was trying so hard to focus on the arrival of my beautiful little girl to keep me calm but ladies and gentlemen, contractions hurt. Like a bitch (pardon my french) and it was hard to concentrate on anything but than the pain. That night, I felt like I barely slept. I was sure I hadn’t, as the contractions continued and the pain worsened. I tossed and turned and felt my little one kick inside me and I couldn’t wait to go back to the hospital. At noon on July 1st, I called my parents and told them I was going back. Tears filled my eyes as I knew, even if I wasn’t any further dilated, I wasn’t going to let the hospital turn me away. I was in pain and they were keeping me until I had a baby.
By the time I reached the hospital, the pain had worsened and I could only muster a few words in between contractions. The midwife got me situated into a temporary room and I was checked: only 3cm. Really? Damnit. I thought I would at least have been a 5. (For people who need a reference, 3 cm is about two fingers pressed together.) The midwife told me that she wanted me to walk around the halls for 45 minutes to see if it made me progress any further. In pain, I grumpily accepted the challenge. After all, walking was one of the major things in my birth plan that was supposed to help with the pain so I figured I might as well get the ball rolling. Ten minutes into my walk, I quickly realized it was not helping with the pain, in fact, it was making it much more worse. I could barely take a step. Every time I inched a foot forward, it felt like I was getting hit by a bat between my chest and groin areas and I had to stop, lean against something, sway my hips, get back massages, anything that would help me to return to my room. F*** walking, is exactly what I was thinking. After 20 minutes of torture (yeah, that’s what it felt like), I returned to my bed, called the midwife and told her no way could I continue walking. It was physically impossible. I also told her that on my way back to the room, I stopped in the bathroom for a pee break and there was blood included. When she checked me a few minutes later, I was 4cm dilated, the blood was a good thing, I was in labor and I received my official invitation to stay at the hospital. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I knew I was going to be staying when I arrived but now it was real. I wouldn’t see the outside of these hospital walls without my child. I was going to be a mom. I explained to my midwife that part of my no-drug intervention birth plan included me taking full advantage of a birthing tub so I requested a room with one. Sure enough, I got it (there are only two birth rooms at st. petes that have extremely larger tubs so the chances of me actually getting one was small–needless to say, I was overjoyed when I realized my wish came true).
After getting situated in my room, both sets of parents made their way in and quickly realized how much pain I was in. I was tossing and turning in bed, crying, shaking. It literally felt like my “downstairs” was stretching, which is technically what was happening. When the nurse came back in the room, she expressed that she bad news to share. During my last blood test, I tested positive for Group B strep–wait, I was confused. My midwife had told me I tested negative for it a month ago. How could I have gotten it so quickly? Why does this suck you ask? Well, it meant I had to be hooked up to an IV for the next 4 hours. NO. That was not part of my birth plan. I needed to be able to move around and do whatever I wanted. Being confined to a bed with an iv in my hand was not what I pictured happening. However, as tricky as it was, I was able to make my way to the birthing tub but surely enough, I had to carry my iv bag and stand with me–forcing me to stay in one spot which was not helping. I felt restricted and upset and the pressure was building in my bottom and I thought the water was making it worse. Sitting in the tub, leaned over the side, with fake candles lighting up the room, I felt like I wanted to push the baby out. I knew I wasn’t dilated enough but the pressure was almost unbearable. At this point, I said f*** the pain and I requested the epidural. Thankfully, I made it to 6cm naturally which was a success in my book. Shortly after receiving the life-saver I call the eppy, aka epidural, both sets of parents returned to the room to see a much happier, much calmer, much better me. This was about 9pm and the dilating began to slow down and everyone got sleepy. The lights were flicked off, a tv in the corner was on, but muted. Eyes began closing and snoring from a family member was heard off in the distance. It seems the epidural not only calmed me, but everyone else that had been around. Happy mama, happy crowd. The epidural took away the agonizing pain but the pressure to push remained. The anesthesiologist had to make two more return trips to try and take away that feeling but it never went away which is alright because I still got to “feel” the miracle of birth. At about 2:30, my midwife came in to check me and waking up all the sleepy, zombie-induced heads lying about the room, she said “it’s time to push.”
Everyone except Jeremy was escorted out of the room. I was told pushing for a first-time mom tends to take around two hours. Hearing that was depressing because at this point the pressure that had built up was unbearable and I really did feel like a bowling ball was trying to make its way through me. (But seriously, take the biggest poop you’ve ever wanted to squeeze out and multiply that by 1000 and maybe you’re close to how I felt—sorry for the lovely imagery.) The first half hour of pushing was satisfying. The nurses kept telling me I was doing excellent as I was sweating profusely and gathering up all the strength I could muster to get this child out of me. It was the hardest work I had ever had to do. After pushing for a little over an hour (which honestly didn’t even feel that long at all), the nurse called my midwife and said “it’s time.” It’s time? Does that mean any minute now I could meet the sweet little being that had been growing inside of me for the last nine months? I was ecstatic. The midwife came in and with all of my strength -pop- I could feel the head come out. I wanted to stop at that point. It had hurt so bad getting that little head out but when the midwife encouraged me with “one more push Erin and she’ll be here,” the hulk in me came out and with one more push, the pressure was gone and Izobelle was pulled out of me and set on my chest. At 3:52 am on July 2, 2011, Izobelle LeRoux Allan was born. The moment I laid eyes on her, everything else in the world stopped. I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see anyone else. I was mesmerized by her presence and her being and she was the only thing in the world that mattered. All I remember saying is “she’s so small, she’s so beautiful.” I was crying so hard that maybe I didn’t realize Izobelle wasn’t moving, she wasn’t making a sound, and she was blue all over. In my birth plan, I had requested for the baby to be placed on me and to remain there while we bonded and tried breastfeeding before she was to be taken away and measured and weighed. But the team of nurses and midwife snatched her up only seconds after her being placed on me. Apparently Izobelle had her umbilical cord wrapped twice around her neck and once around her body and she was struggling to breath. I couldn’t see what they were doing to her, but I knew they were working towards getting her to take a full breath. Their bodies surrounded the little table she had been placed on and only her still feet were made visible to me. All of a sudden that feeling of panic came back to me from when we couldn’t find her heartbeat at my 10 week appointment. I couldn’t fathom something being wrong with, I was torn because I didn’t know if she was in pain or unconscious or if she needed me; I felt helpless. What seemed like minutes was in reality only seconds and I finally heard a little whimper that turned into a cry that was the most beautiful sound I could have heard. I know parents don’t like the sound of their child crying but at that moment when I heard her scream, it was like a symphony to my ears. She was again handed to me, by this time, not crying but looking around confused. We made eye contact almost instantly and I was in love. The way she first looked at me, I’ll never forget. Without even talking, it was like she knew who I was. She trusted me, and she loved me too. We spent the next half an hour or so attempting to breastfeed. A small gathering of family that had been waiting, came in, kissed and adored her (even though I wouldn’t allow her to leave my arms) and then they all left. It was the most intense 46 hours I have ever experienced. People say labor and delivery hurts, but it really is pain with a purpose. I would do it all over again if I had to, with or without drugs. The birth of Izobelle was filled with many unexpected and surprising events. Needless to say my birth plan could have been thrown out the window but in the end, none of it matters. Izobelle is beautiful and healthy and perfect in every way possible and I wouldn’t change anything in the world about how she entered into my life. Words cannot describe the feeling of meeting your child for the first time and I don’t think there’s anything in the world that could ever come close to comparison.
Little LeRoux & Life 