My birth story: the night Mick was born
My longest labor and the surprise gift Nate gave me in the hospital
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And with that, here’s the deep dive into my fourth birth story…
3:17 am
I woke up at 3:17 am on December 21, 2022 knowing this would be the day I would have my baby. Who that baby would be, or how that baby would get here, I did not fully know.
Four years prior to this morning, I had delivered Charlie without drugs. It had been an incredibly rewarding experience and I had prepared my whole pregnancy for a drug-free, intervention-free birth. Home birth was my first choice, but Nate and I had decided together that our baby would be born in a hospital.
5:30 am
My contractions intensified slowly and I had trouble sleeping. Eleanor woke up around 5:30 am, surprised to see me already up for the day. I invited her out on a walk and told her I was pretty sure our baby would be here very, very soon. She laughed as I demonstrated curb walking and retold the story of how she was born eight days late. We walked up and down the sidewalk beside the high school in the fog hand in hand until dawn.
The contractions continued, but not as painfully as I would have preferred. I was ready. It wasn't time, but I wanted it to be.
7:55 am
After Nate got the kids to school, I texted Mom and told her and Mary to come now – I didn't want them stuck in traffic. My contractions were coming more steadily and intensely as I willed them upon myself, figuring I would be on my way to the hospital by lunch. I HATE hospitals. I didn't want to have my baby there in the first place, and I made sure everyone knew I wouldn't be staying a minute longer than necessary. My plan was to labor at home until I couldn’t see straight.
9:30 am
Mom and Mary arrived laden with snacks and encouragement. Then, around lunch everything slowed down. Bouncing on the yoga ball: nothing. Lunges: nothing. Everyone was making me grumpy. My bronchitis flared and contractions waned. Someone suggested a field trip to Trader Joe’s, through which I angrily stomped and pouted. Nate picked up the kids from school. Frustration followed by discouragement rolled over me like the tide. This was not going well.
3:00 pm
Even after vigorous labor exercises and deep breath work, nothing changed. Desperate, I got in the bath. The contractions were still coming, but only 5-10 minutes apart. Frustrated and antsy doesn’t even begin to describe it. This was my fourth baby – I knew my body wasn’t close, but why?? Ugh.
3:30 pm
It was time for a change of scenery, so Nate and I headed to my happy place: the pier. Walking on sand might help, I suggested. More contractions, obnoxious but not blinding. Nate gave me some space, asking for a thumbs up whenever another contraction started so he could keep track.
I walked down to the edge of the water and talked to my baby. I sang him Christmas carols and waded through the low tide, trying to drum up some positive birth energy. After about an hour, I’d had fifteen contractions, so Nate insisted we go home and get the bag ready. Mom had called twice to remind me that we were getting very close to rush hour on a holiday week night. Stubbornly (and correctly), I insisted I was not close and I did not want to go to the hospital. They kindly ignored me and stuffed me into the car.
5:21 pm
Following the sunset up the 405, I cried and played my hospital playlist. My perinatal anxiety was approaching its summit. Once we got into our room, I tried to decline abdominal monitors and an IV and was told no.1 I agreed to a cervical check around 6:00 pm. I'd had my membranes stripped, I was two days overdue, and it was my fourth baby, but I was certain I was no further dilated than maybe a 3. Turns out I was wrong: the nurse said, “You’re about at a 2.” I rounded on Nate and seethed, “I told you. I knew it. I TOLD YOU.”
Frustration toppled exhaustion and I broke down. To his credit, Nate never once lost his cool; he coached me through my contractions, reminded me of how thoroughly prepared I was for this moment, and maintained a Ted Lasso energy through every sob and groan. He also, wisely, had prepared the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.
8:29 pm
“I have something to show you,” Nate said quietly when we were alone. After an intense contraction faded, he pulled out his iPad and presented me with a series of video messages from women who love me, prepared specifically for this moment in labor, the point he knew I’d get to, when I was telling him I couldn’t do it. Speechless and weeping, I watched a few and felt reinvigorated like never before in my life. The exhaustion was keeping pace, however, and I felt my energy dwindling.
I rewarded myself with another video after each contraction. The faces of my friends and sisters popping up made me laugh and cry at the same time. Each video was like a tiny little feast for my soul.
10:33 pm
I consented to another cervical check, and to my dismay, the nurse confirmed I was still dilated to 3 cm.
Important piece of info I should include: I had tested positive for Influenza A three days prior and had to keep a cough drop in my mouth 24/7. Deep as I was digging, mentally and physically, with each contraction, the bronchitis was making it hard to follow the breath work I needed to do to relax and endure labor. Finally around 11:00 pm, I folded.
“Nate,” I said, shocked, and crying again, “I think… I need an epidural. I just don’t know how I’m going to get this baby here unless I can get some rest.”
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, interventions including drugs were out of the question. But Nate calmly agreed and listened as I verbally processed the decision. I’d completely blindsided my own self and needed a moment to envision the next few hours going so differently than I’d imagined for literally four years. “Everyone needs help,” Nate reminded me. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with changing our plan and getting help. You deserve help. You deserve rest.” Overwhelmed with what felt like the voice of my Mother in Heaven, my mind suddenly became full of the words, “Rest is part of the work.”
11:05 pm
Leo, my anesthesiologist, appeared within minutes and started prepping my back. He respected my request for an alternative to fentanyl for my anesthetic. Administration of the epidural took about 30 minutes and was absolute hell. I sobbed recklessly and nearly broke Nate’s hand. We got it on the second try and finally, after 21 hours of labor, I fell asleep. It was 12:00 am.
About an hour later, I was awakened by pain. “I didn’t go through all that epidural drama and pump these drugs into my baby for nothing. Can you please get rid of this pain, Leo,” I demanded sleepily on my bedside walkie talkie. He politely returned and upped the concentration of the drugs. I half-slept for another hour when I felt my labor pain intensify again. I asked Leo for more medicine.
2:21 am
After rejiggering the magic medicine, Leo commented pointedly, “I think I want you to get checked because you’ve got to be close if you’re asking for more medicine.” When the nurse looked at me, she said, “I’m not comfortable checking you. Let me get your doctor.”
Daniel, my doctor,2 came in, barely glanced at me and said, “Good news, Alex. You’re at a 10.3 Let me get the team and we’ll get started.” He could see clearly that my water hadn’t broken yet,4 but he agreed to let it break on its own.
3:08 am
I leaned over on my side as I felt the labor waves course through me. “Go ahead and push whenever you feel a contraction.” Of course, my water broke on the first push – 3:12 am. Three more contractions came, and I dug into that familiar corner of my soul where I store the strength to bring my children into the world. On the fourth push, my whole body knew he was here. I reached for him instinctively – I pulled him out and up to my chest. It’s a boy, Nate said. I did it, I said. Our son. Our son is here. He’s here. We did it, I said. It was 3:20 am.
After Mick dramatically pooped all over both of us, someone cut off my hospital gown and cleansed him thoroughly. Then I cut the umbilical cord. I hadn’t planned on it, but it was such an important moment that has come to mean more and more to me as the months have gone by. It was a sort of goodbye to this sacred chapter of my body’s accomplishments.
10:21 am
The rest of our time in the hospital was uneventful and, gratefully, brief. I had to fight tooth and nail to stay only 24 hours.5
It’s hard to find the words to convey Nate’s enormous support for me throughout my labor and delivery. There were moments when he held onto Courage and Resolve when I no longer had the strength to grasp them myself. His unwavering loyalty and love gave me the grit to deliver the baby, and the confidence to know nothing bad would happen to me because he was beside me. Oh, and by the way, he didn’t think it was weird that I wanted a Tartine cheeseburger for breakfast. How in the world did I get so lucky?
We brought our baby home on Christmas Eve Eve, to a houseful of eager little fans who reverently admired his velvety tininess and begged to stick him in a stocking. I sent Mom and Mary home, turned on the fireplace, and stumbled onto the beautiful, wild ride of my answered prayer and dream come true.
As I write this, Mick is seven months old today. It took me much longer than I expected to be ready to tell his birth story. It’s a sacred tale and my honor to share it with you.
Wept through the three tries at a vein and eventually had an ultrasound to have my port placed in one of my “difficult” veins, who, I’d like to point out, do their job beautifully and simply don’t like being punctured. (Can you blame them?) I was able to talk the nurse into wrapping the port in a pink bandage so that I wouldn’t have to look at the tube sticking out of my skin.
Unfortunately, my midwives only attend births 7am to 7pm. Since it was 2:00 am by now, my doctor was a UCLA obgyn resident named Daniel. Serendipitously, we knew each other – I had spent several hours under his care four days prior, as he was the attending doctor while I was triaged for my bronchitis. I liked him immediately and when he came into my room that night, I felt the Universe had arranged for his help in bringing Mick here, despite all my other plans.
I dilated about seven centimeters in a little under three hours.
This is why the nurse didn’t want to check me; she could see the amniotic sac was still intact and she was afraid of damaging it if she did a cervical exam. She knew I wanted minimal intervention and I appreciate her conscientiousness very much.
The legal requirement unless I wanted to leave AMA – against medical advice. It ended up being about 27 hours, but whatever.
So beautiful! Thanks for sharing.
I loved reading this. And I cried!!