Juliet Martinez

Our birth story

To begin at the beginning... I was induced on Wednesday, January 14th at 36 weeks of pregnancy because my amniotic fluid had gone below the critical score of 5 cm (per ultrasound). I found out I was going to be induced with only a few hours of anticipation. I showered and made sure our bag was ready (it basically contained everything except the kitchen sink). When Joel got home from work, we jumped in the car and drove to Naperville to see CJ, my Chinese doctor, to attempt an acupuncture induction. Long story short on that: it didn't take. But was worth a try.

We proceeded to the hospital. My room was a good-sized, private labor and delivery room with an extra fold-out bed, TV (of course) and monitoring setup. I got a cervidil insert that was intended to soften my nowhere-near-ready-to-open cervix overnight. By Thursday morning I was having rhythmic contractions, but when they put me on a pitocin drip (that's a hormone to get labor going), my contractions petered out and by Thursday night, in spite of very high doses of same, I was most definitely not in labor. My sister had spent the day with us at the hospital, but went home that night to get some sleep.

Thursday night I got to rest drug- and monitor-free, except for the penicillin that a nurse came in to add to my IV every four hours. I had tested positive for Group B Strep, which can cause meningitis in newborns, but even if I hadn't, all premature deliveries get preventative antibiotic treatment for same. Sleeping for four hours in a row never felt so good. It's a good thing I did sleep, too, because I ended up needing my strength on Friday.

In the morning the new midwife, Anne Gallagher - the one I'd never met and was supposedly getting induced Wednesday to avoid having her attend my labor - came on call and came in for a visit. There was nothing to be done about it at that point, but as soon as we met Anne we liked her, though I can't chalk it up to more than a good vibe at this point. In keeping with my wishes to use natural methods to induce labor when possible, she suggested an enema, and I accepted. I'm sure you can imagine that Joel and I went to town on that one. I won't revisit the jokes, but let me just say that there is a time to laugh and a time to be serious, and we got them a little mixed up. If you don't know what I mean, consider yourself lucky.

I was back on pitocin and seemed to be having a few wimpy contractions, so around 3:30, with everyone's agreement, Anne broke my water. Let me say that pelvic exams in pregnancy and having one's water broken are both very painful. I had no idea. Anyway, lying there feeling my precious amniotic fluid pour out over my thighs was one of the worst parts of labor for me. It wasn't because of the pain, but because for the last three months or so, my amniotic fluid has been on my mind every day. I rearranged as much of my life as possible in the hopes of conserving or increasing my fluid, and there I was letting it pour out of me. I sobbed. I can't even write about it without tearing up. Anne said simply that the time for the amniotic fluid had passed, and I could let it go now.

After that the contractions picked up immediately, and I had to move forward mentally, too. On Anne's advice I focused my attention inward, doing my yoga breathing and urging my body to make each contraction as strong as possible, and sleeping in between them. I passed five or six hours like this, I think, and by the time Anne checked my cervix again I had progressed from three to four centimeters, my cervix had thinned out completely, and the baby's head had moved down into my pelvis. All good things, and largely the reason I could no longer sleep between contractions - they hurt too much.

I knew it was only going to get more painful, and the more the better as far as labor was concerned. I called Joel to the bed side (I was alternating between lying on my right and left sides - standing up was too painful and the birth ball wasn't doing it for me) and began spending my contractions looking into his eyes and repeating a mantra of, "It's only for a minute, less than a minute now." I recalled my old rowing coach, who loved to tell us, "You can do anything for a minute!" as she put us through minute-long sprints that left us in respiratory distress. Turns out it's true.

After a while, as the contractions topped each other in pain intensity, my mild queasiness turned to full-on nausea, and I gave in and hurled. I knew that this is generally considered a good thing in labor, though I couldn't remember why. The nurse said, "This is great! Maybe you're seven or eight centimeters now!" That was encouraging, but I tried to avoid thinking about the remaining centimeters, or anything other than making it through the next contraction. Because I refused to think ahead at all, I have no idea how long it took for me to get from the puking phase to pushing, but I can tell you the pain got very out of control at that point. I began calling out "Help help help!" during contractions, begging Baha'u'llah to help me get through it, saying any snippets of applicable Baha'i prayers I could think of, and just generally hanging on for dear life.

I knew that I had to keep my voice low and my face relaxed to keep my cervix from tightening up, but other than that I let loose. I still tried to focus on going with the pain, not fighting it, but it was definitely worse than I could have imagined. I got onto my knees, supporting my upper body on the head of the hospital bed, which felt right for some reason. I started feeling like I had to push, and Anne said to go ahead if it didn't hurt to.

Around that time I asked her what she thought of giving me a narcotic for the pain. She said it would relax me between contractions, but not dull the pain of the contractions. She also said a narcotic would take away some of my power, and I needed that for pushing. Maybe she just meant my physical power to push, but I felt she was talking about my inner strength and focus. I knew I didn't want to give that up, that no amount of pain would make that worth it, so I forgot about that and pushed ahead. Literally.

Also around this time Anne told me she wanted to insert a scalp monitor into the skin of the baby's head to get better heart rate readings. I said okay. By that point I trusted that she wanted it there for more than convenience, but it didn't occur to me that there might be a problem. Well, there was a problem, but I remained unaware of it until after Paula was born. Her heart rate was getting dangerously low during contractions.

As I got to the pushing phase, it felt both great to push and still painful. But I didn't just have to wait through the pain, I could work with it and push. Anne had me lie on my side to push for a couple of contractions, then told me to lie on my back, pull my knees back with my hands and push as hard as I could through each contraction without stopping. I went for it. My sister, Joel, the nurse and Anne pushed back on my feet while I pushed like my life depended on it. I had no idea that my little girl was taking too long to come through the birth canal and that her heart rate continued to drop during contractions.

The nurse started giving me oxygen between contractions, and told me to breath as deeply as I could. I still had no idea anything was wrong - I just followed orders. I was so winded between contractions that my breathing was short and fast, but I forced myself to breath deep. As the baby came close to crowning, Anne had me pant through a contraction to "give the baby a rest," something we repeated again after pushing through another one. You would think it would be easy for me to "rest," too, that way, but at that physiological point in labor, my whole body, every fiber of my being was screaming to push. Not pushing took more self control than I have ever required for anything.

As the baby got close to crowning, I knew I was approaching the most acutely painful part of labor, but that once it was over, labor was over. I don't remember anything except pushing as hard as I could for the full length of the contractions, and repeating to myself that the finish line was in sight. My old rowing coach's voice rang in my ears again: "Sprint! Sprint! You're almost done!" I pushed with everything I had and Paula's head and body emerged with that final push. The umbilical cord was wrapped twice around her neck. In spite of the dips in her heart rate, however, she had not voided her bowels in distress. It was another sign of this baby's toughness.

Anne unwrapped the cord while I tore off my hospital gown. Joel said later that he was afraid I would end up with an emergency cesarean section. All I knew was that the baby was out and I could finally hold it in my arms. It was 3:27 a.m.

Anne placed her on my chest and she began to breath immediately. The nurse covered her with blankets and for a couple of minutes nobody thought to find out whether we had a boy or a girl. When we did check, Joel and I were surprised, but prepared. Joel turned to my sister and said, "Paula, meet Paula." Paula, my sister, cried while her namesake cooed and nuzzled my chest. Her eyes opened and Anne helped me place her on my breast, where she immediately began to nurse. I was tired and should have been in pain, but I felt a rush of happiness and amazement as I held my little baby girl. Over the previous 12 hours I had felt worse pain than I had ever imagined, dilated previously closed bodily openings to the size of a large orange, pushed an infant out of my abdomen, and torn some of the most sensitive tissue on my body. But my baby was healthy and safe in my arms. I felt wonderful.

My mom says that this feeling is caused by the body's natural pleasure hormones that are released as the baby is born, that it's one of the perks of a non-medicated birth. Okay, that's fine. But in my heart I know that no physical pain could have occluded my joy and relief on seeing this precious child emerge strong, pink and hungry after beating the odds in and on her way out of the womb. This little girl, asleep on my chest as I write, is a fighter and a survivor. She is worth more to me than anything I have ever imagined, and over the past eight days Joel and I have fallen in love with her again and again. This is what life is all about.

early pictures
more recent pictures April '04 pictures
Laughing baby!
Pictures from May and June
Pictures from June and July

Paula Celeste Martinez, with froggy friends.

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