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Week by Week

The Birth of Jess

Seventeen years old, pregnant, newly married, and reading all about childbirth. That was me in 1979. I was convinced that natural childbirth was the best thing for my baby's health and my own. But, being so young and naive, I hadn't fully prepared for the nightmare to follow.

4pm with contractions every 15 minutes we made our 125 mile trek to the nearest hospital. A slow, pot holed, painful ride is all I can recall. I don't remember checking in.

On through the evening and night I labored alone, turning inside myself to cope. At midnight I wondered how long this could go on. At 3 am I really wondered how long this could go on!

Around 5am a nurse said I was ready to be wheeled into the delivery room. I said, "I have to go to the bathroom first." With a puzzled look on her face she shrugged, "OK." She waited outside the door all set to "wheel" me. I said, "Can't I just walk?" I did.

After I hopped up on the delivery table the Dr. and nurse told me to lie on my back. I didn't want to for the pain in my back was agonizing. When the Dr. told me to put my legs up on the stirrups I said, "No, I don't want to." (I had read the books; remember?) They insisted. I resisted. I told my husband to tell them I wasn't going to let them tie my legs down. He told me to cooperate. My distrust of him was born along with my hatred for hospitals. Venomous abhorrence for male obstetricians would be mine for years.

Searing pain in my back, a nurse soliciting "a shot", my husband out of the room lightheaded and dizzy, a bright light blinding me, I felt a horrible new expression of pain; down there. I screamed out, "What are you doing?" "I'm just helping you out," was his dry reply. What WAS he doing? Helping? Torture comes to mind.

Pudendal block, forceps, I yelled out in pain and fright. Next a screaming baby boy with bruised temples under torn flesh landed on my belly, my emotions wouldn't let me savor the sweet fruit of my young womb, though I greeted him weakly with what I had left. I whispered, "Hi, Jess," as I explored his skin with one finger. If only I had hugged him and cried, then my damaged emotions might have begun healing. Instead, he was taken from me. It didn't occur to me to protest; they were in charge having conquered my will with an invisible force.

I was repaired and transferred back to my room. I let someone wheel me. This time it was necessary.

A nurse came in to take my vital signs and check on the swollen wound. "Please, may I have my baby?" I asked. If I could have walked I would have stolen him myself. Another nurse stopped in to see if I needed anything. Need anything? This young mother begged, pleaded for her child.

At last with babe in arms to sense the magic of motherhood I attempted to give him my total focus. Intending to help, a nurse intruded my private space; our bonding included a stranger until bravery emerged. "I would like to be alone," I declared defiantly. Sensing my veracity she obeyed.

Thus began my initiation to motherhood, adulthood.

Ignorantly, I walked into that infirmary the night before; damaged, offended, and passionate with a new mission, I gingerly shuffled out.

Gigi