Hattie's Birth Story

At our last checkup, the baby was close to ten days overdue and the doctor felt it would be safest to “encourage” the baby to come out with a little modern medicine.  We were a little bummed, because we imagined a moment where we’re cooking dinner together and Brynn says “Oh my God…I think it’s happening!" And then we hang out at home doing fancy breathing and body contortions and singing along to Broadway hits with our doula (who lives right down the street) until it was time to go to the hospital. 

We got up early on Sunday, and it felt like we were getting ready to catch an early flight, checking the house and making sure we had everything.  Brynn even said “we’ve got to get to the airport…” several times.  We had grandparents here to watch Rumpus, and we left the house as a duo for the last time. 

Our room at the hospital was nice, with a Jacuzzi and big windows with a view of Kinnick Stadium.  We saw the rising sun reflected against the bleachers.  No wonder so many kids in Iowa City are named “Kinnick!”  We checked in, walked around, watched a little bit of “Slings and Arrows” (The best thing to come out of Canada since that round bacon that goes so well with Pineapple on pizza).  It didn’t end up taking much intervention at all to get the baby moving.  She must have been about ready for action, because in the early afternoon, it hit Brynn like a ton of bricks.  There was no question.  “Something is happening…” Brynn said.  We were prepared for this moment.  I turned on Les Miz.  Surely the inspiring story of Jean val Jean and that plucky Cosette would see us through this painful journey. 

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men!  It is a music of a people who will not be slaves again!”  I mean, I was sure that by the time there was a castle in a cloud, there would be a baby in a blanket.

“Turn it off!” snarled Brynn.  I looked into her eyes and she had gone to another place.  It was a place of Amazon warriors.  She labored standing up, sitting down, on the birth ball, squeezing my hands so that my ring finger dug into the surrounding digits (One of them an innocent “pinkie!”).

When the doula arrived, Brynn was experimenting with a new position, face down on the floor, clenching a blanket in her fists, with her bottom elevated just the tiniest bit off the ground.  Monica entered the room and asked Brynn what she needed, and Brynn said simply “Tips and Tricks!”

So Brynn got into the shower, and the doula brought some electric candles, so it was a really pleasant environment.  We stayed in there for a long time.  I’d brought my swim suit and imagined that I’d be in there, too, but there wasn’t any time for me to change, and besides, I needed my tennies on for traction as I stood outside the shower holding on to Brynn.  At one point in the shower brynn growled “Something just happened!”  “What?” “I felt a “pop!”  And that was her water breaking.  In the shower!  So we didn’t get the fun of having water suddenly coming out of her and surprising us.  Because there was already water everywhere.  And maybe it wouldn’t have been that fun.  But it was something I’d imagined.

The doula encouraged Brynn to breath, and to look at me, instead of down at the ground or closing her eyes.  When I looked into her eyes, it was amazing.  It was like looking at Brynn, but also a vastness, like she was in there somewhere, but was drawing on something deep inside the planet.  We would count breaths from ten down to zero.  I thought I’d shake it up to keep her from going on autopilot.  Sometimes I’d say “This one’s a twelve!” when it started, and then we’d count down from twelve.  Or seven, or 15.  I’d just make up numbers.  If we got to zero before the contraction was over, we’d just start back at 4 or 5 and count down.  I was just shaking things up to keep her distracted.

My analogy for this part of the experience is like a big powerful river that is dammed up.  Nature naturally erodes this dam, and more and more water would flow through slowly over time.  I think the drug they used was like a “dam dissolver,” so that when the rush came, it wasn’t so gradual, it was intense and sudden.  I don’t mean Brynn’s water breaking, although that seems like the obvious connection.  I mean the onset of and consequent labor.  It just came on very sudden and strong without leaving her so much time to catch her breath.

So while she was in the shower, Brynn decided that she wanted some pain medication.  Later we realized that nobody at the hospital offered her any pain medication, even during her moaning and contortions.  We appreciated this, because this was in our birth plan, and they had a copy of it scanned into her chart, and a hard copy in the room, and they did a great job of respecting our wishes for minimal interventions and deferring to Brynn for pain medication.  But after Brynn decided she wanted some pain relief, it still took about 45 minutes to get out of the shower, get dressed, etc. (see coffee-making analogy above). 

By this time it was late afternoon, and the sun was now sinking over Kinnick Stadium.  Brynn could finally talk and think and focus in a different way.  She’d been dealing with intense contractions most of the afternoon, and she’d gone from 5 to 10 centimeters in that last hour, so she could officially start “pushing.” Instead, the dr. had her “labor down” so that her uterus could continue to do some of the work before the pushing began.  It was also a nice break.  Brynn’s and my parents came in for a little visit, and the crescent moon was setting over Kinnick. 

One reason we were bummed to go in on Sunday was because Brynn’s regular Dr., who she really liked, wasn’t on that day.  Dr. AHF, as we call her, had been on all day Friday, and on call 24 hours up until Sunday morning.  However, we learned that she’d requested to be paged when Brynn was close so that she could deliver the baby.  It was a boost to our spirits when she showed up, just prior to pushing.  She’d been making dinner when she got the page, thinking it would be a while.  We were so happy to see her arrive, and it gave us a burst of energy for the pushing.

The Pushing started at around 9PM, and I again got to be the official “counter” (although this time I did not vary the starting numbers, as there were medical staff overseeing my work. Brynn would feel a contraction starting, then she’d inhale and curl up a I counted to ten.  Two or three more sets of 10, then a little break until the next contraction. 

It was great to see the team working together, and they all did such a great job.  The baby’s head would peep for about an hour, sinking back in each time.   Which is good, because the slow squeezing as the baby comes out is good for her. When the head came out, it looked like a claymation creature.  And I thought it would be about the size of a little doll.  But the baby just kept coming out.  She was pink and wriggly right off the bat.  I got to cut the cord.  We’d talked in our birth class about letting the cord “pulse” before cutting so that the baby gets that last jolt of nutrition, but it all happened so fast, I didn’t even think about saying “Hold it!  I’ll be cutting the cord after 30 more seconds of blood pulsation!  Everybody wait for my go.” 

They cleaned the baby up for a few minutes, because she’d had her first BM in the womb, which sometimes happens with past-due babies.  Then the put the naked baby on Brynn’s chest and they had a chance to bond.  It was an unforgettable day.

Our parents came in and we told them her name.  Of course they loved it.  (who knows if they would have said that before it was “official.”  I’m glad we kept the name a secret, even thought we’d settled on it months ago.  We just never came across one we liked more.)  Brynn’s father is Harry, and Hattie is a form of Harry (but we didn’t like “Harriet.”  My mom is Dorothy, and she goes by Dottie sometimes, so it was a nice combination of those two names.  West is the surname of Brynn’s great aunt with whom she was very close (and she was once a Ziegfield Follies dancer!).  She passed away not long ago, and West is a tribute to her.

And that’s the story of how Hattie West entered this world!

The university hospital staff and facilities were fantastic.  We stayed for two nights in a room that felt like a fancy hotel.  People would come in and check on Brynn and the baby, and we could older room service meals by picking up the phone, or take a Jacuzzi.  Different people would come through, like the lactation consultant, who had several long sessions with Brynn about Breastfeeding.  It was like an in-house birth class.  We didn’t get much sleep (nor have we since), but it was great to know that we could ask questions at any time. 

We’re back home now, and the days are flying by. Brynn’s parents are still in town, which has been so helpful. We’re enjoying getting to know this little girl.  Rumpus is accepting her into his “pack,” although he would really like to get his jaws on that furry little “Sleep Sheep” of hers…