Born Into the Dark

Photo credit: Allison Pedigo

The sun was setting as I soaked in the tub. In the water, I vacillated between floating in pain and denial. Every eight minutes or so my belly would tighten and the pain began again emanating from my torso. I would inhale and begin to count to four, pause, then exhale while counting to five, pause. I repeated this until the pain peaked and retreated, my belly softening with the tide. 

The pain would subside and denial would whisper, “This isn’t really labor. Remember how long these kinds of contractions went on last time!? Best if you just put it out of your mind and relax.” 

The sun sank further into the horizon with each eight minute interval. I heard the garage door open between another round of tightness and numbered breathing. While I was in the tub, my husband had driven our daughter to his parents house, even though I had urged him that it was too early to take such action. 

Chris tip-toed into the bathroom grinning with his hands behind his back. 

“I got you a little surprise when I picked up dinner” he announced as he revealed a chocolate chip milkshake from behind his back, jiggling it towards me. 

I outstretched my hand in a Stop Sign formation and contorted my face. He recoiled his offering and looked surprised. 

“Thank you, but I just can’t eat that right now.” 

The disgust that I felt for my favorite dessert should have been a clue that “it” was time, but denial harnessed my fear and won that argument. 

I bathed until the sun disappeared from the sky and then I needed a change of scenery. When I got downstairs Chris informed me that while I was in the bath he called our midwife and doula to fill them in on the action. 

“Why did you call them!? It is way too early for that!” I scoffed. He nodded with understanding and before I could be pissed about his reaction, the pain joined us for another visit. I kneeled by the couch and my arms formed a pillow as I draped my head over the cushion. 

The night grew darker as my contractions grew with intensity and I began a circuit in my living room that included: armchair swaying, yoga-ball rocking and couch side-lying. As the moon rose higher in the sky my denial evaporated into the air. At 1 a.m. my patient and watchful husband tucked me into the car once his math and my groaning reached a crescendo of his deciding. 

I counted my breaths until we arrived. Our birth sherpas met us at the entrance and the birth center was dim, quiet and vacant, like it had been waiting for our arrival. 

My husband and I with our band of merry women waltzed slowly down the hall. Feeling left out, pain joined us right there in the middle of the corridor. I shuffled toward the wall looking for something sturdy to hold onto. Right then, my 100 lb, 5-foot-nothing midwife swooped in and whispered, “just hang on to me”. In an instant she became a mighty boulder for me to wrap myself around in the middle of the rushing river of pain that I was caught in. 

We made it to the tiny bright room and completed the initial tasks of labor triage. Next, I experienced my team transitioning me into the birthing suit as my body experienced Transition. This was the darkest part of the whole night. The pain grew more intense and unrelenting, like it was angry with me for not paying attention. Then my water broke while I sat on the toilet and I began to unravel as the only comfort and cushion that I had left had just poured out of my body. My team saw that I was taking a lot of blows. So, my scrappy little midwife sauntered over to me, crouched next to the loo and blotted my forehead with a towel. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I vaguely remember it sounding like Mickey yelling to Rocky “You’re a 200 pound Italian Tank!”

Her pep talk worked as I escaped from the anxiety vortex and sank into the birth tub. There, I pushed and groaned under the sparkling twinkle lights. In the deepest moment of night, I roared and pitched with everything I had left. Then before the sun decided to rise into the sky again, my son arose from my body and the water. 

I sat in the pool holding my beautiful baby and stared at him in amazement. A miracle had just happened. Awe and disbelief encircled our birth bubble while pain and denial floated away like little fairies into the night sky.