Xavier's birth story, Part 2

On Friday, August 20, we had a cookout behind one of the apartment buildings, with my sister and a few neighbors. I had been having mild contractions all day but not very consistent. It was hot and I was cranky. My due date wasn't for another 15 days. The next night, I was putting a diaper on my daughter for bedtime. I was sitting on my son's bed and felt a 'pop'. I jumped up, told the kids I loved them and goodnight, and ran to the bathroom.
Sure enough, there was plenty of water coming. I called Rick. I told him my water broke. He asked me if I was serious. I remember wanting to slap him... We called the midwife and since my labor hadn't really gotten going yet, she told me to just get a good night's sleep and relax. I went downstairs, and knocked on the neighbor's door. I told him, "Just wanted to let you know, I'm in labor, my water just broke, so if you hear me, I'm sorry, but that's why." He looked at me like I had grown two heads and asked me why I hadn't left for the hospital. I laughed and told him that the hospital wasn't in the plans and we were going to have the baby in our bed.
I went into hyperspeed mode. Didn't so much relax as rush through making sure everything was in order. Put the plastic on the bed, do some dishes, sweep the floors and clean the bathroom once more.
The next day, Sunday, one of the midwives came out, listened to the baby, told me how happy and peaceful I looked for someone who was in labor, and timed a few contractions. By this time, I had told everyone that my water had broken, and was getting worried emails and phone calls about what they were going to do to hurry things along because I was 'on the clock'. No matter how much I tried explaining to everyone that since they weren't checking me and therefore introducing bacteria, my risk of infection was lower and we were monitoring for signs of that, too. We would not be 'doing anything' and that included going to the hospital.
I spent so much time walking that day that my feet hurt, but I was afraid to sit down and relax because I didn't want to chance slowing anything down. Contractions would come strong and close and then slow down. It never got to the point where it was too much to handle, I was staying very comfortable by moving around, taking walks outside, and eating small snacks.
Sunday came and went, with no progress to speak of. Monday and Tuesday came and went in much the same way. Contractions happened the whole time, but sometimes weren't less than 20 minutes apart, other times they were 3-5 minutes apart. The midwives came out several times, spent the night on Tuesday night. I was increasingly getting worried messages from everyone, family, friends, parents. Some of my family even posted a nasty post on his own Facebook page, basically amounting to the fact he thought I was irresponsible for not having a medical caregiver for my pregnancy and birth. He had not even asked how I was. Every time I got stressed out, my contractions would all but stop. I was wore out. I was mentally exhausted. I was tired of even being outside because anytime anyone even drove by, I had to deal with, "Where's the baby???". Wednesday afternoon was almost 4 days after my water had broken and over 5 days of contractions. The pain was not unbearable. I welcomed it. I visualized my uterus contracting and making my cervix open. I showered as I pleased and it helped.
I asked the midwife about accupressure. She phoned a friend and pressed on certain areas of my feet, ankles and hands. The contractions kicked in and she left, assuring me she was only a phone call away.
The entire time, I had been diligently monitoring my temperature. Shortly after she left, I started feeling weird and took it again. Normal. An hour later, I took it again. I stared at the thermometer in horror. I had a fever. It was over 100° and I felt like crap. This couldn't be happening. I started crying as Rick called the midwife. She advised us to go to the hospital because there was a good possibility that I had gotten an infection.
I cried. I called my sister, and she came over. She helped me pack while I cried some more. All of this. For nothing. I was scared and I was angry. I packed everything I thought I would need and met my midwife at a hospital in another county. It was the most baby and momma friendly hospital she had dealt with and we agreed it was where I wanted to go if we had time and needed a hospital transport.
We walked into the hospital and went to register. I braced myself for the worst. I signed every paper they wanted me to and carefully printed on each consent form, "Separate consent needed for c-section, no circumcision". To my surprise, she was wonderful about the fact that I had transported from a home birth. When I got up to the maternity department, everyone there was great with it, too! (In fact, many were in awe that I had lasted that long)
The OB/GYN (not MY OB/GYN) came in and discussed the options with me. She checked me. They started an IV with antibiotics and put me on a fetal monitor. I was dilated to a 3 (only a 3!?!) and every time I had a contraction it hurt so much worse because I was stuck on my back in an uncomfortable bed with straps tightly around my belly. I begged for them to take it off, let me walk around, let me get a shower. No go.
I had two options. Since my labor obviously wasn't going well on its own, they needed to speed it up with pitocin if I was going to stay there, since they don't like to do VBACs and pitocin is contraindicated for VBACs because it raises the risk of uterine rupture. So, I could either go to a VBAC friendly hospital over an hour away, or stay and have a repeat C-section. Even if I transferred, there was no guarantee I would be able to get my VBAC, anyhow. Hubby and I carefully weighed everything and talked to the OB/GYN. After discussion and a lot of crying, I decided on the repeat C-section. She told me that she would put me in but she had a few other surgeries to do first. It was the middle of the night on Wednesday night.
The contractions that hadn't bothered me at home now had me crying. They were very painful and I was powerless against them. I couldn't move and at this point it seemed like pure torture. The contractions weren't doing anything and I already knew it was going to end in surgery anyhow.
They came in to get me at about 3 am. I insisted that my husband be allowed in the OR the entire time. We had also talked to her about our wishes for skipping the Hep B shot and the antibiotic eye drops, and delaying the cord clamping as long as possible for a C-section. She was wonderful about it and assured me that we'd discuss it when we got to the OR and our wishes would be followed.
The worst thing of all was the anesthesiologist, he was very rude and pulled on my gown(which is a big no-no for a sexual assault survivor). I asked him several times before I blew up, while laying on the operating table and demanded that he treat me like a person. Things got much better from then on out. I didn't feel a thing as they cut my stomach open, and they were pulling out my baby boy before I knew it. I saw them lift him above the drape and started crying. They brought him over to the warmer and I sent Rick to be with him. Our son was born at 3:46 am on August 26, 2010 and weighed 8 lbs 2 oz.
Later, the OB came to see me in my room. She expressed that she believes that everything happens for a reason, and while she was doing the surgery she discovered I had what's known as a Bandl's Ring.

I've been asked if I'm at peace with the way my home-birth turned out. Ya know what? I am. I really am. I know that I tried my hardest and did everything in my power to have a VBAC at home. I spent over 4 days laboring for my bundle of joy and it proved to me that I will never need an epidural. If I can do that, I can do ANYTHING. I feel empowered. I feel strong.