Welcome to the first post in our new series, Birth Stories. We’ll post a new birth story each Monday throughout August and September. Be sure to check back each week for a new story!
My first and only pregnancy occurred in 2011, with the final months prior to my August due date STILL holding the record for most consecutive over-100 degree days in Dallas: 71 days in a row of over 100-degree, scorching days at nine months pregnant is no joke, people. (Editor’s Note: I was also pregnant at the same time, and Sarah is not exaggerating; this really happened.) I was huge, miserable, and more than ready to deliver our precious baby girl on her due date of August 16. In the days leading up to the big day, my sweet husband supportively joined me on long walks in the heat, eating In ‘N Out, and getting pedicures, all in an attempt to induce labor. 
On my actual due date, I visited my OB, where I was horrified to find that she wanted me to go SEVEN days beyond my due date before she would induce. Ladies, word to the wise: Find out your doctor’s induction protocol early on so there are no last minute surprises! I told my doctor that I did not mind having a Caesarian if at any point she thought it necessary, but that my one request was to not let me push and labor for hours on end, only to end up needing a C-section. She assured me that I was young and healthy and would “absolutely be able to deliver vaginally.” So, I went home, bloated, hot, and anxious.
The next day, on August 17, when people would ask me when I was due, I took pleasure in responding “Yesterday,” like one of my all-time fave SNL skits with Amy Poehler. By the 18th, I was solidly over it. It was a long, hot day, and I was extremely uncomfortable. I rolled myself into bed around 11:45pm, when, miracle of miracles, my water broke! I felt a light pop, and suddenly, a clear liquid was all over the bed. I was exultant and quickly grabbed my hospital bag. We immediately headed to the hospital.
Being that it was the middle of the night, our intake was quick and I FINALLY found myself wearing a hospital gown in my very own delivery room. My nurse, Flo, came in and checked to see if my water had, in fact, broken. Problem was, Flo seemed convinced that my water was intact, that I had just accidentally wet the bed, and suggested that I be discharged.
“FLO, YOU CAN’T MAKE ME LEAVE THIS HOSPITAL,” was all I could exclaim when she expressed her doubts. “Test it again!!” I pleaded. After an hour or so of walking around the hospital floor with a worn-out husband, she was able to test it again, and sure enough, yes, my water HAD broken.
Shortly after, I started having minor contractions. The nurses recommended that I try to hold off on having an epidural, so as not to slow down labor. I obeyed and instead tried an IV drug to ease pain. For whatever reason, I was unable to fall asleep with the medication and instead had wild hallucinations, including scenes from Sesame Street, the Wizard of Oz, and Titanic (“I’ll never let go, Jack, I’ll never let go,” I whispered to my bewildered husband as he held my hand). I was not a fan of the dizzy and loopy feeling the medicine gave me (not to mention the crazy hallucinations), so as soon as it wore off a few hours later, I asked for the epidural.
Once my epidural and catheter were set (neither was painful), I was comfortable and did not feel the urge to constantly pee for the first time in months. It was glorious. But then the waiting game started. My labor was not progressing quickly, so I was given some medicine to speed it along. That didn’t work well. On the positive side, my long labor allowed family to travel in and be there before my daughter’s arrival, and I wasn’t in pain, so I really couldn’t complain. Finally, many, many hours later, it was time to push. 
I dutifully did everything I was taught in my labor and delivery class with each push. My husband was there to help and followed the nurse’s instructions precisely. I pushed so hard and for so long that I began vomiting after every push attempt. It was awful, but the worst part was that I was making zero progress.
“What am I doing wrong?” I cried as I saw a familiar face enter the room. It was Flo, the nurse who had admitted me the night before, coming BACK on a new shift. “You’re STILL pregnant?” she asked me with pity. “Yes!” I cried, feeling as if this baby would never get out of my body.
Finally, my doctor arrived and decided that she would allow me to continue pushing for another 30 minutes or so, but if I still made no progress, we would need to do a Caesarian. Yes, the same doctor who had assured me just days before that I should have no problem delivering vaginally. My baby had turned, so she was now “sunny side up” or face up, plus her shoulders seemed like they may be wedged tightly in my pelvis.
Thankfully, my husband valiantly stepped in then and told her that, no, we were done pushing and to go ahead and prepare the operating room for a C-section. I was so grateful to him in that moment. My hard work was done, and I was able to rest while we waited for my turn in the operating room. (Side note: My husband always advises expectant dads to wear warm clothes and close-toed shoes to the hospital in case you end up in the OR donning the paper scrubs and booties. It’s freezing in the OR and sandals don’t work well under those paper booties.)
The C-section went without incident. Interestingly, delivery via Caesarian takes less than five minutes if all goes well, but sewing your abdomen back together takes about 45. My doctor told us afterward that she was glad we went ahead with the C-section, because my baby was comfortably wedged in and wouldn’t have come out no matter how much longer I pushed. (Let’s note here that that was EXACTLY what I had told her at my last office visit that I didn’t want to happen—the long labor followed by an emergency C-section—and that’s what ended up happening. Such is life.)
During the delivery, the hospital staff had the radio on and the song “Good Life” by One Republic was playing. After the 22 hours of labor, and the three days past her due date that our daughter made us wait, it seemed our “good life” was finally beginning. We immediately considered it “her song.” Now, seven years later, hearing it on the radio still brings back all those memories. It’s one of her favorite songs and she loves to hear the lonnnnnggg story of how she was born. And we love telling her all about it.
