My Birth Story // A traumatic Start with a Happy Ending

The day is Tuesday, May 16th, 2023. It is one week before my due date and I’m sitting in my OB’s office for my routine check up. Everything is going swimmingly and both my son and I are healthy. Besides the awful pain pubic symphysis was giving me, I was doing great.

// Pubic Symphysis is when you feel shooting pain that radiates throughout your groin and perineum. If you’ve experienced this during pregnancy, my love and sympathy is with you because it is the absolute worst.

With that being said, I was incredibly anxious about the actual act of birthing a child. I mean, how can this be? How is it possible for a human to come out of a vagina? The math never mathed for me and I was SO scared. It’s something that I have been fearful of my entire life. I could never understand how a baby was ever going to come out of me and then all of a sudden I would be taking walks with a stroller WITH said baby and everything would be fine as if nothing ever happened. Did. Not. Com. Pute.

I said as much to my OB as well my concerns about induction since it was estimated I would be over a week late due to my age and that it was my first baby (let’s hear it for all us 40 something women having babies!). With a warm smile she reminded me that everything would be ok. That she sees women delivering babies every day and that being a week late is very common with your first child. Well great, but I was also so nervous about spontaneously going into labor early (because I wasn’t ready to face it all!) and she reassured me that it wasn’t as though I was going to go into labor that evening.

Fast forward to 2am….

I wake up to go to the bathroom (for the third time that night because, #pregnancy). As I stand up from the toilet I feel the long awaited trickle down my leg. My entire pregnancy I was told that when your water breaks you’ll feel a trickle down your leg. Well, THE trickle had arrived. However, I was in true denial. It couldn’t be. I still had a week to go and it was my first pregnancy so statistically I was supposed to be a week late!

I quietly got back into bed and after a few minutes of laying in the dark with my thoughts I decided I should wake up Zach JUST in case my water really had broken. You know, just in case (el oh el).

Grumpy that I had woken him up in the middle of the night, Zach too was in total denial. “No babe, it’s too early. It’s just not time.” He then turned over and fell back asleep. Well he tried at least because I then tapped his shoulder again and said, “I’m worried this is it and I think we should call the on call doctor.” He rolled over reluctantly and with a deep sigh said, “ok, let’s do it.”

So, with my heart beating in my ear drums, I made the call and as it so happened, the on call OB that night was MY OB! I breathed a sigh of relief to hear her voice on the other end. “Hi Liiiiz,” she said with a smile (I could hear it).

We spoke for a few minutes as I explained to her what was going on and she very calmly told me that my water had probably broken, but the only way to know for sure was to come in and get checked out. However, I wasn’t feeling contractions yet so she said if we wanted, we could go back to sleep and come in a few hours later. To Zach’s delight, he went downstairs to get some sleep because he knew I would be tossing and turning with anxiety. Fair lol. He told me to text him if I started feeling contractions and with that, he slipped quietly downstairs.

I on the other hand laid in bed with my eyes closed trying to breathe steadily and meditate myself to sleep. It didn’t work. I lied there with a world of anxiety in my stomach. The day I had feared my entire adult life had potentially arrived and I couldn’t relax.

Suddenly, it now being 4am, I felt a light cramping in my lower abdomen. The anxiety escalated. I text zach, “I think I’m having contractions.” My phone vibrated and with one eye open I looked at his text that read, “ok, start timing them and I’ll start packing the car.”

You’re told early labor is really long and that once you start feeling contractions it can take a loooong time for them to progress and escalate to the point where it’s time to head to the hospital (also known as active labor). That wasn’t the case for me. The second I started feeling contractions, they came every 4 minutes for an hour and each contraction lasted for about a minute. This in labor world is called the 411 rule. It was time to go to the hospital. Even then, I was in denial. In my mind there was still more time. I jumped in the shower.

As I let the hot water pour over me I breathed through each contraction, grateful to be in the comfort of my home, in my own shower, not yet ready to face what was ahead of me. I didn’t want to believe it was time. I wasn’t ready to face my fears.

I opened my eyes to see Zach pop his head in and ask how my contractions were doing. He looked at my phone and with wide eyes said, “BABE, it’s 411. It’s time. We gotta go!” My heart began to race.

I got dressed and met Zach in the kitchen. He told me the bags were packed, our dog Luna had been walked and fed and that everything was ready. Bless that man. As terrified as I was I realized that in a matter of hours our lives would never be the same. I stood there frozen and met Zach’s eyes as he instinctively knew I was having a hard time. “Babe, we’re having a baby. I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m scared.” We held each other in the kitchen, quiet, tears rolling down my face. I’m sure a contraction was coming on because the next thing I remember is Zach helping me put on my shoes by the front door.

I sat in the back seat of our car so I could do my best to get in fetal position as the contractions kept coming, each time a little stronger. I remember thinking about all the things we had learned in our birthing class over the last couple of months. Everything was happening the way they said it would. Active labor was in full swing and my anxiety was RISING.

The hospital is only 15 minutes away from our house (thank God) so it was a quick drive, but every stop light felt like an eternity. I just wanted to lie down in bed and curl up until someone told me it was over. I distracted myself with envisioning Oliver coming out like butter. Quick, painless and easy. I envisioned a moment of pure bliss as they put him on my chest as Zach and I looked at him with absolute love and adoration. Little did I know my story would be very different than that beautiful picture I created in my mind.

Alas, we arrived at the hospital and after the long walk from the main entrance to the birth center (at least it was long in my mind because every 30 seconds I had to stop to bend over and breath through another contraction), I was admitted and taken to the delivery room. That was the moment my denial officially dissipated. We had “arrived” and there was no going back. This was really happening.

For a moment I allowed myself to feel excited and happy. I mean, we were about to bring a baby into the world. Our baby. A moment we had anticipated for the better part of a year (our whole lives really). I smiled at Zach and we laughed at the absurdity of it all. It’s incredible that you can just make a human. Like, it’s unbelievable, really.

That moment quickly faded though as I felt a strong contraction come on while I hugged the bed and let out a loud sigh of pain. I decided right then that I wanted to get into the tub. Our hospital has these huge tubs that you can labor in and I took full advantage of that. Zach got in with me and rubbed my shoulders as each contraction came and went. Our wonderful nurse asked me from the other side of the room if I wanted my epidural (because no way in hell was I going to do this without pain meds), but I told her I wasn’t ready. I wanted to labor for as long as I could without the epidural because I knew that once I got it, everything would be different. I wouldn’t be able to labor in the tub anymore, I wouldn’t be able to walk around anymore and I wouldn’t be able to eat solid foods anymore (a very non evidence based policy that makes my blood boil, but that discussion is for another time).

So, I kept laboring in the tub until the contractions were getting to be too much for me and all I wanted was to curl up in fetal position. After throwing myself over a huge yoga ball for about 15 minutes, I was ready. I told the nurse to call the anesthesiologist because I couldn’t take the pain anymore. He arrived within the next few minutes and while I was grateful for his speedy response, I was also so scared that the epidural was going to hurt. Every one of my friends told me the epidural felt like “just a pinch” and that compared to all the other pain I was going to be feeling, it would be nothing.

They were wrong.

I sat at the edge of the bed, crouched over so my back was curved for him to be able to administer the needle. I took a deep breath and waited for the contraction to come on. When it did, he began and I felt SO MUCH PAIN. I even felt pain shoot down my right leg. I let out a loud, “FUUUUCKKKK!” and he said this was normal. Oh, ok great. I guess he redirected things and after what felt like an eternity, I felt a cold wet sensation cover my entire back. I said as much and he said that was what we wanted and that the epidural was in place. I would soon feel a lot of relief. I looked at him in the eyes, touched his shoulder and said, “I want you to know that at some point I might kiss you.” We carried that sense of humor together for the rest of my delivery journey Zach tells me, but I don’t have any memory of it.

I layed back and let the medicine do it’s thing. Shortly afterwards I stopped feeling contractions and enjoyed that win. My doula Liz arrived and it was a huge comfort to have her there while the nurses brought me popsicle after popsicle. I was in heaven. I took a little nap and rested my eyes. I was so tired and tried not to think about the fact that I was going to have to push this baby out at some point.

// I would like to point out that up until this point everything checked out as far as expectations went. Nothing had happened yet that in my mind constituted traumatic or abnormal. It was painful and hard and exhausting, but somehow I was getting through it all and it was dare I say, manageable. However, things started going south when a nurse came in to check on me just as my epidural was pushing out another dose of medication. I got really faint, dizzy and nauseous. I heard a monitor in the distance start to beep and the next thing I knew I was throwing up into a bag.

I learned from my doula and my birthing classes that vomiting during labor is completely normal and usually is a sign that things are progressing and that the baby is almost here. However, that was the not the case in my situation. What had happened after the medication was pushed through my system was that my blood pressure had significantly dropped. The nurses, perplexed, apparently had a little meeting and figured out that I am incredibly sensitive to anesthesia so each time my body got another dose of meds from my epidural, the cycle would continue. Light headed, dizzy, nauseous, throw up. Good times.

The anesthesiologist was brought in to help figure out a different dosage/plan for me so I wouldn’t continue to get sick. I remember that happening one time. Zach tells me that from that point on until our son was born, he was called in about 6-8 times. I have absolutely no recollection of this because I started to drift off to never never land. I was so exhausted and so uncomfortable that I think I started to mentally go to another planet.

But then….I was told I was 10 cm dilated and it was time to push.

>> I write this next part with tears in my eyes, trying not to let myself lose control or I’ll never get this out.

The pushing phase began like any other. Breathing the way you’re taught, getting into the different positions you are told are most helpful. They tell you every woman pushes on average for about two hours with their first child. Well, two hours came and went and nothing. No improvement. No progress. I was exhausted and getting desperate. Worst of all, I had been pushing on my sides and the epidural only worked on the side I was laying on (epidurals work with gravity).

At this point I had been in labor for the better part of 24 hours and now had gone through 3 nurses and 3 OB’s. All had come and gone, watching me try to get through this experience in agony. In hour two of pushing I kept my eyes closed because I just couldn’t keep them open anymore, I was so tired. As an added bonus, I started feeling my contractions in my lower abdomen along with excruciating back pain on whichever side the epidural wasn’t doing its magic. I had Zach and my doula take turns digging their hands and elbows into my back to help mitigate the pain (the next morning I had bruises all over my back, which is crazy because even though Zach and my doula were pressing as hard as they could, the pressure was never enough). To make things even MORE special, even though the new dosage of the epidural was helping, I was still getting nauseous any time I moved into a different pushing position. All of this kept happening over and over and over again with absolutely no progress.

When I say I was miserable, I mean, I - WAS - MISERABLE.

In fact, I remember at one point I was pushing on all fours when a wave of nausea came over me, my back was killing me and everyone was trying to get me back on my side, I yelled out, “ughhhhhh I’m so miserable!!”

I cry every time I think about that because it was such a moment of pure vulnerability, desperation and hopelessness.

Suddenly, I heard a voice, “hiii Liz, I’m back.” It was my OB. She was back on call and it’s as if the universe had decided it was time to bring in the big guns. She had had enough. My heart swelled at the sound of her voice because I was sure that she wouldn’t be the one who would get to deliver my son.

// I didn’t know what time it was.
// I didn’t know how many hours in labor I was anymore.
// I didn’t know how far I had yet to go.
// All I knew is that she was there and that somehow we were close.

All my memories from this point on are auditory. My eyes still closed, my energy levels dwindling by the minute. I was going on hour three of pushing with no progress. In the distance I hear my OB trying to talk to me, but I’m having trouble putting two thoughts together.

// HOUR FOUR \\

We get to hour four of pushing and I am DONE. I honestly don’t even know what was happening in that room. I don’t remember faces. I don’t remember anything. All I can remember is that it was finally clear to me what was happening. My OB realized my son’s head was stuck behind my pelvic bone. This is why no amount of pushing was helping and it was going to continue being a waste of time unless we did something different.

Again, I heard her voice in the distance. My eyes tightly shut as I tried to breathe through the pain. I had a decision to make, she said. “I know you’re exhausted and this isn’t the best time to have to make hard decisions, but we need your consent.” My choices? A c-section or forceps. The very two things I wanted to avoid at all costs, but here we were.

All I can remember was that in that moment I was at a loss. To me, it was a lose lose. I had to let go of all expectations I had, all romantic visions I had about how I would deliver my baby and try to make a decision that brought my son to the world as safely as possible. I knew both forceps or a c-section would do that, but after pushing for so long I just couldn’t imagine going under the knife and having invasive abdominal surgery at that point. So, in the end I decided on forceps.

My OB, knowing how I felt about forceps (I wanted to push him out myself if at all possible), offered a plan. She said she could get him unstuck with the forceps and that once he was free from my pubic bone, I could push him the rest out.

Well, ladies and gentleman, that’s exactly what we did.

The sense of community, determination and fortitude that went into those last 15 minutes (I think 15 minutes?) is something I will never forget. My doula, my husband and a nurse surrounded me. Zach behind my shoulders, holding my hands. My doula on one side and a nurse on the other. It was time to push.

As I squeezed Zach’s hands, I pushed, letting out deep groans that were so primal, I don’t even know what to compare them to. That’s what it was like though. PRIMAL. An act of motherhood beginning. A mother bringing her baby into the world no matter how painful or difficult. I think I pushed three or four times, but I couldn’t feel if I was progressing or not due to the epidural (the pain was mainly in my back and lower abdomen). Suddenly, I hear my OB say, “Liz, it’s time to open your eyes.”

Almost four hours with my eyes closed I opened them slowly and just enough to see a slimy gray creature before me, rising from the ashes. I had reached peak exhaustion I think because I closed my eyes again without registering that he was here. Oliver Ernesto Zuluaga was born at 7.4 lbs and 20 inches long on May 17th, 2023.

I drifted away to never never land again, eyes closed as I enjoyed my doula’s hands gently stroking my hair. I couldn’t move.

Then, just like that there was a baby on my chest. Of course, I was having a hard time understanding that, let alone having the energy to lift my head and look at what was happening. I mustered the energy to take a look and saw a small gray foot on my chest. I remember looking at his foot and touching it, thinking it felt like a rubber chicken. That’s where my head was at in a nutshell. Someone in their right mind would probably be freaking out at this point, asking desperately why their baby was gray. It didn’t even occur to me. Even so, my OB said not to worry and that the nurses were going to get him breathing again.

Breathing again? Hmmm..ok. I drifted back to sleep.

>> That’s my last memory of delivering my baby boy. Zach and my doula had to fill in these next gaps for me.

A team of about 5 nurses who had apparently been waiting by the door, rushed Oliver to a designated corner of the delivery room where they could revive him. They kindly asked Zach if he wanted to come with them, but Zach hesitated, feeling like he would be in the way of something very important. He quietly watched from a distance in shock as the nurses surrounded Oliver with machines, monitors and oxygen. He was told that due to being stuck behind my pelvic bone, Oliver suffered a lot of shock and in turn was having trouble breathing.

Thankfully, the nurses, also known as superheros, worked their magic and Oliver started to pink up.

The worst was over. He was here in one piece and breathing.

They brought him back to me for some skin to skin time, but to be honest that’s all a blur to me. I do remember him on my chest, but I still wasn’t registering things or have the capability to fully enjoy that moment. The moment I had been dreaming of for a year (or many years for that matter). It wasn’t a moment of pure bliss and love for either Zach or myself. It was a moment of survival, trauma and dissociation.

I’ve had to come to terms with that and accept that long awaited moment wasn’t what I wanted it to be. He’s here in my arms though and it’s better than anything I could have imagined.

After all of that, we spent five days in the hospital. We didn’t get to go home 48 hours later like most couples. We endured five days of me in bed in so much pain I could barely stand it. My perineum was a wreck, I suffered 2nd degree tears, the forceps had done a number on my pelvic floor and after a few days the nurses learned I had urinary retention (this is when you can’t urinate even though your bladder is full). Oh and did I mention I got hemorrhoids from pushing so long? Yeah…it was a TIME. I went through four different catheters and could only lay on my left side so that’s how I breastfed Oliver. When I needed to switch breasts, Zach or a nurse would have to help me move my body in the bed. It was insanity. Not to mention the fact that Oliver’s jaundice was getting worse every day (it’s very common for babies to be born with jaundice, but they usually rid themselves of it each time they poop and it quickly goes away. Not Oliver). We had to do what is called Phototherapy on him for a 24 hour period, which involved Zach staying up the entire 24 hours, but that’s a story for another time. What’s important is that it worked and we were able to rid him of his jaundice before it led to brain damage.

When we were finally given the green light to go home I cried tears of joy. We couldn’t wait to be home and bring Oliver to our little nest we had created for him. With that joy though came the reality that I wasn’t going to have multiple nurses caring for me round the clock anymore. It was about to get harder as far as my recovery went and I knew that. I braced myself on the ride home and promised myself I would take the next six weeks very seriously.

So, that’s what I did. I stayed in bed for six whole weeks. The pain was constant and relentless. I dreaded having to get up to go to the bathroom, but I had to do it so I did. It hurt to sit on the toilet. It hurt to empty my catheter because I could feel it rubbing on my sutures. It hurt to move in any way.

I continued to breastfeed on my sides as best I could. I took all my medications without fail. I slept. I ate. I cried when I needed to, which was often, but most importantly, I fell in love with my son.

My postpartum journey was wild, but it forced me to stay still rather than try to go full force with making plans and being busy. Three months ago I was bedridden, in so much pain and not even being able to change a diaper. Those early weeks were so hard, but honestly, so beautiful. Every cuddle, every meal, every tear I shed was perfect.

I have stared in awe at this little boy with so much love in my body I could burst. It’s just so unfathomable how it’s even possible to make a human, but it is and when they arrive in the world your brain explodes as well as your heart.

I have loved every minute of motherhood so fully and so blissfully, I can hardly believe it. Learning Oliver, seeing him smile for the first time, hearing his coos and even thinking his cry is adorable is just beyond.

I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self that she was doing things right even though it didn’t feel like it. She was and the best was yet to come.

I spent so many years wondering if I would even find my person, let alone be able to have a baby. There were very dark moments of loneliness and uncertainty and it got the best of me all the time. I mean, how could it not when you’re someone who knows what they want, but can’t seem to find it?

I never gave up though. I never stopped believing this life was meant for me and I kept going. Even though this all happened a little later in life at the age of 40, I wouldn’t want it any other way :)