The inherent difficulty with inductions is that even though you may know what day and time your labor will begin you still cannot know the hour in which your baby will arrive.  If your body has fully primed itself for labor then only the slightest bit of encouragement will get things going and you may find yourself with babe in arms before the day is out.  Or if you have an overly zealous physician with an 8am tee time Jr is sure to arrive in short order.  But suppose you are like neither of these, suppose you arrive at the hospital on your scheduled induction date with a body that has made no visible progress whatsoever and a baby who insists on hanging out up by your rib cage.  Suppose your doctor is an easy going friendly sort who doesn’t even play golf.  In that case, your name would be Jennifer and this would be your story.

Jennifer’s mother and myself accompany her to the hospital on Wednesday evening.  After a short visit with “Nanny”, who had been admitted a few days before, Jen checks herself in and is settled in her room by 8 pm.  “Settled” in this case means wearing the ever attractive hospital garb, two belly monitors (one for mom and one for baby), a blood pressure cuff, a heart rate monitor and an IV.  The kind nurse who inserts the IV promises that she is usually very efficient.  Usually.  There is much talk of small veins and a couple of decidedly inefficient attempts but eventually soon enough the IV is in.  Examination reveals that apparently Jen’s body has not been previously informed of the impending labor,  I mean other than that big bump in front, so the doc prescribes some cervidil to get things started.

Thursday morning we are hopeful.  The pitocin gets started and Jennifer finds an ally in one of the nurses - a friend from high school.  Spurred on by the pitocin, contractions begin - weak but steady.  Nine hours later our mother-to-be is declared 1 cm … almost.  The pit is turned off shortly before Jennifer’s father, having traveled across the state, arrives and contractions stop shortly after.

Friday seems destined to follow Thursday’s pattern.  The pitocin is started early (6am) and though contractions are steady and somewhat strong, progress is slow … disappointingly slow.  7:30 no change ~~~ 12:00 no change ~~~ 3:30 Contractions intensify and there is a slight change.  Jennifer’s status finally moves from “almost” 1cm to “a clear” 1cm.  After two days of hoping, she is deflated to say the least.  The doctor suggests that perhaps her body needs a break and turns off the pitocin.  “We can try again on Monday,” he says going out the door.

I remember there being a family discussion with phrases like “It’s all going to be okay.”; “The baby will come when she’s ready.”; and “God has a perfect timing for these things.”  I remember Jennifer nodding and trying to smile through her tears and I remember watching in the background and seeing what no one else seemed to notice:  little hills that continued to cross the monitor despite the loss of pitocin stimulus.   Growing stronger with the passing minutes, these unexpected contractions begin to push their way on stage.  “Notice Us!”, they demand and Jennifer does.  Her despair clears, replaced by bouts of slow breathing and intense focus every 5 to 8 minutes.  Within three hours 1 cm is long gone.  Jennifer is a “4″.  One hour more and she is a “6″.

Sometime around 6:30 all this intensity starts to wear and Jen opts for an epidural.  The anesthesiologist is quickly paged and nurses scurry about getting things ready.  All this activity triggers a natural “fight or flight” response and the contractions dwindle.  Doc drops by to say, “hi” and breaks her water.  The pitocin is turned back on.  The epidural goes in around 8 and promptly starts to take effect … on the left side.  All attempts to “even out” the medication fail so Jennifer returns to the only relief left in her arsenal: slow breathing and focus.  A little after 9pm the room is quiet again but the damage has been done.  A 10pm check reveals no change.  Despair tries to return but we chase it out after a short skirmish and things get back on track.  12am 8cm ~~~ 1am Complete ~~~ 1:30 My friend transforms into Champion Pusher Woman.  By 2:10 we see tufts of dark hair and a couple of pushes later we greet for the first time Miss Leslie Jean.

Leslie Jean

October 13, 2007; 2:22am

6 pounds 1/2 ounce

18 3/4 inches

“For this child I prayed and the Lord has granted me my petition”

I Samuel 1:27

This post concludes the About Birth series.  Check out this page if you’d like to see more.