Deliverance

"Their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness."

I gave birth last Friday. All is well.

It didn't start out that way. We went to our 37 week appointment with our midwife. We had a non-reactive NST. Not a sign a doom, but definitely not good. So they gave me an ultrasound. My fluid was finally, actually low and Bruiser had not grown in a week.

The conclusion: induction. We reported to the hospital two hours later, after an emotional and swift housecleaning and a buffalo burger. The plan: start with Cervadil, move to amniotomy, and then pitocin to kick start labor. I was only 1 cm, 50% effaced, so we had what looked like a long road ahead. Vaginal was our ideal, but if Bruiser had shown any signs of distress, I was going on a one-way trip to C-Section Town.

I, in my infinite IF gloom, expected the worst. I settled in for a lengthy, likely painful and disappointing experience. As long as he was okay.

But that's not what happened. Bruiser perked up and seemed to be tolerating everything just fine. At three AM, I began to feel somewhat crampy, as I had been told I would. I got up with a telemetry unit and walked around starting at around 4 AM, finally waddling back to our room at around 5, when I noticed a clear pattern to the crampy feelings. They weren't particularly painful until about an hour later, when our doula arrived and she and my man worked ardently to help me with comfort measures.

Before I knew it, I was convinced I had to poop. It felt like I had terrible constipation, and I really wanted it out of my system before the real labor started. But then the pain kicked in, pain that pushed me into a whole other realm of existance. Everything disappeared around me. I ripped my monitors off, with the nurse's blessing. I crawled around on my hands and knees, yelling for about 15 minutes, until the nurse encourage me, my man, and our doula to get me onto the bed. She did the gentlest digital exam ever (I didn't feel it and didn't care). I asked, desperate, "Am I in transition?"

"You're having this baby now!" she laughed. And I pushed him out in three, irresistable pushes, bellowing with something so deep and primal, I felt as if some other force had taken over my body.

It wasn't an orgasmic birth, but it was profoundly powerful. He was born at 7:40 in the morning, crying and screaming and kicking. He was tiny, but perfect and perfectly healthy. I barely bled (for someone giving birth) and I was up and walking just an hour or so later (no one got a chance to tell me not to go pee yet, so I just up and went).

I was blessed. And that experience, that incredible, unbelievable good fortune, has blasted a huge hole in the wall of grief and bitterness. There is deliverance. There is.