Miles: Born by VBAC in August 2011 at Mercy in Des Moines

My birth story began the Monday before the birth at my 41-week OB appointment. My doctor had scheduled me for an ultrasound and a non-stress test. Both showed the baby was healthy, though big. The ultrasound technician predicted the baby would be 10 pounds! This scared the crap out of me, but I had come too far to turn back, so I told my doctor that I absolutely still wanted to pursue a VBAC. My doctors at WDM-OBGYN had been generally supportive of my desire to have a VBAC, although my window was closing. 42 weeks was as far as they'd let my pregnancy go, and they had scheduled a c-section for the following Monday if I didn't go into labor on my own. At the appointment, the doctor also mistakenly revealed the baby's gender to me. After waiting 41 weeks hoping to be surprised at the end, hormonal and exhausted, I was beyond upset. I cried the whole way home, feeling that the birth I desired was already being taken away from me.

On the Wednesday before my scheduled c-section, I was feeling defeated. I was 10 days past my due date and very much wanted to avoid another c-section. However, my window was closing. That week I did everything I could to get labor going naturally: ate the spiciest dish on the menu at Flying Mango, walked several miles each day, bounced on an exercise ball, etc. That morning, I visited an acupuncturist , and left feeling more relaxed than I had all week. That evening, I went to prenatal yoga, where everyone seemed so optimistic and excited about their births. I felt like a vaginal birth just wasn't going to happen for me, and I went home feeling bummed out. At home, I sobbed to my husband that my body wasn't working. As I bawled, I felt a contraction. I'd had so many false starts in the previous weeks, so I didn't think much of it. I showered and got ready for bed. I was still feeling the occasional contraction. Tired and weepy, I got into bed and tried to sleep, but the contractions were strong enough that I felt like I needed to get up and walk around. About a week before that night, I'd had similar contractions, walked around for a bit and then gone back to bed when they'd finally died down. I paced around the kitchen island. The walking helped, but the contractions were intense enough that I had to stop and slowly rock my hips back and forth at the contraction's peak. I did this for an hour before I started to time them. They were 3 to 5 minutes apart. I was in no hurry to get to the hospital, so I decided to pace for another hour to see if they become more intense or went away like they had the week before. At about 3 a.m., I woke up my husband and told him to call his mom. Just in case this was the real thing, I wanted to make sure someone was home to watch our 2-year-old. She arrived about 45 minutes later, excited and chatty. Not in the mood to talk, I begged my husband to make her a bed in the basement so I could pace around the rest of the house. Between 4 and 6 a.m., the contractions became less intense and further apart. But they did continue. And for the first time, I allowed myself to believe that this was the real thing.

I tried to sleep a bit sitting up on the couch, but was too uncomfortable - and - excited to sleep. I read birth stories online, meditated and tried to take in the moment. At around 6, I decided to make breakfast. I wanted to have energy and stamina for the day ahead, so I made a huge pan of eggs and a green smoothie. The rest of the house got up at around 7. The contractions were weaker than they had been and still about 6 to 7 minutes apart, so I knew It wouldn't be time to go to the hospital for awhile. I took a long shower because the heat felt good on my back, and then decided I better clean the bathrooms. If guests were coming, I wanted the house to be clean! My husband walked in as I was scrubbing a toilet and probably thought I had lost it. He took my cue, though, and mowed the lawn while my mother-in-law watched our toddler. At 11:30 a.m., we sent my mother-in-law out to pick up lunch. While she was gone, the contractions became significantly more intense. I found I needed to stop what I was doing, put my head down and really focus on breathing through them. They were coming closer together, about 4 minutes apart. I felt less excited and more serious. I told my husband to get ready because I wanted to go to the hospital when his mom returned. I managed to scarf down a sandwich before getting in the car.

Mercy Hospital is about a 15-minute drive from our house. I had about three contractions on the car ride, gripping the sides of my seat, my eyes closed. We got to the hospital around 12:30. I had at least one contraction while checking into labor and delivery. When I got to my room, a nurse came into the room with a burst of energy. "I'm so happy to see you! Do you remember me?" It was a nurse I'd had three weeks previously when I was admitted with a high fever and low fetal contractions. She had had a VBAC many years before, and had been supportive and encouraging in my desire to have one. She told me she had been waiting for me to return, even asking other nurses during those three weeks if they had seen me. She wasn't scheduled to work that day; she was filling in for another nurse who wanted to go to the Iowa State Fair. I was thrilled to see her, too, feeling like she'd been sent to me for a reason. I changed into a gown and a doctor came in to check to see how far I'd dilated. I was a 4! I was thrilled. My doctor wanted to put me on antibiotics right away since I was Strep B positive, which meant being hooked up to an IV and that I'd be stuck in bed for awhile. But I begged the nurse to stall the doctor while I took a hot shower. I stayed in as long as I could. I think I was in there for an hour before the nurse said I really had to get in bed. They put me on an IV and the broke my water, which helped me progress to a 5.

There was a shift change around this time, and a new doctor came on. It was the doctor whom I least wanted to see. My nurse stayed on for about an hour after her shift to see my progress. But not much happened from the time they broke my water at 2 or so until 5 p.m. the doctor discussed doing "a whiff" of Pitocin, and I agreed. Around this time, I also decided to get an epidural. The pain was endurable, but I was exhausted from laboring and not sleeping the previous night. And believing that I would have to push out a 10-pound baby, I wanted to rest and build up my energy for the end. The epidural gave me a nice break. I slept a bit, we watched DVDs. But I still wasn't making "satisfactory" progress. The doctor started to mention deadlines and c-sections. I was upset, kicking myself because I worried the epidural had stalled labor. At around 10 p.m., I felt like the epidural was wearing off. I was in extreme pain and felt nauseous. I was in transition. Progress! I asked for another epidural, which helped, but I was way too numb. I couldn't move my legs. This part is kind of a blur, but I remember a nurse came in to set up the baby's warming bed, and I realized I might have the baby soon. A little while later, the nurse checked me, and I was at 10. At around midnight, it was time to push, even though I couldn't feel a thing.

I went into my marathon running mode - so focused that I didn't realize that an hour and a half went by. I simply concentrated on my husband's voice, closed my eyes and pushed. I opened my eyes at one point, and was thrilled to see the room had filled with several doctors and nurses. It was really going to happen. Miles was born at 1:30 a.m., weighing 7 pounds, 12 ounces. Nowhere near 10 pounds. Unlike my c-section, the doctor put him immediately into my arms. We both stared at each other and cried. It was the moment I had hoped for and the birth I had hoped for.

I had minor tearing, and a fairly quick and easy recovery. My amazing nurse, called the next morning to congratulate me. The adrenaline rush from the birth lasted for many days. I was so happy and proud that I had done it.