Part 1
Of course you can’t predict or plan how exactly your labor and delivery experience will be. Well, I take that back. You can plan all you want, but you can’t expect those plans to work out. In our case with Lil’ Man Coen, our birth story was everything we didn’t plan for and a whole lot more :)
Of course you can’t predict or plan how exactly your labor and delivery experience will be. Well, I take that back. You can plan all you want, but you can’t expect those plans to work out. In our case with Lil’ Man Coen, our birth story was everything we didn’t plan for and a whole lot more :)
Chile has one of the highest C-section rates in the
world. I was thankful to find a doctor
that was “pro-parto” (all for natural deliveries) and respected my strong
desire to avoid a caesarean at all costs, unless medically necessary of course
(duh). The conversation we failed to
have before my 40th week of pregnancy, however, was the time frame
that was acceptable for waiting.
Apparently in Chile, delivery is expected between 38-40 weeks. But for this Gringa, (and a lot of other
people and countries outside of Chile) I didn’t want to take any actions before
Lil’ Man did until 42 weeks. Whiiiiich can lead to some cultural tension, for SURE.
So we went in for a check-up at 40 weeks, 3 days. No signs of labor any time soon. Lil’ Man was quite comfortable it seemed, as
we were with waiting. But my doctor was
concerned with the risks that come with waiting too long (loss of amniotic
fluid, decrease in quality of the placenta, etc.) and wanted to try an
induction.
We should have stopped there, but we didn’t.
We decided to try it, and if it didn’t motivate Lil’
Man to start moving on down, we would stop and wait some more on our own. We asked the doctor and midwife (and even the
hospital admission lady who checked us in) various times to make sure that was
ok, that we could stop the induction at any point. They all said, of course.
So Wednesday morning, at 40 weeks, 5 days, we get to
the hospital to try the induction. I
thought it would be more like a doctor’s office visit, and was convinced it
would most likely end with us going back home to wait and walk some more. But when we got there, we checked in like we
were staying for a few days. They took
all our information, took us to our room, explained visiting hours and how to
work the TV. I changed into my hospital
paperish gown that was clearly not made for tall Gringas. We waited in our room until a man with a
wheelchair came to escort us down to the “’pre-delivery room.” We took Lil’ Man’s first change of clothes in
a little bag, even though I knew deep down we wouldn’t be meeting him that day.
We went down to the pre-delivery room. It’s basically a large room with about 10
beds separated by curtains. This is
where you go from the time you’re admitted into the hospital in active labor
until you are ready to deliver, when they take you to a separate room. Then after delivery you go to your room, a typical hospital room,
where you stay for the few days after.
It’s definitely not the nice private room with pretty wallpaper where
you get to stay throughout you’re entire labor process and after, but you gotta work with what you got I guess.
Our midwife met us there and as she was hooking me up
to the fetal monitor explained that we would try the induction for 2-3 hours
and then do a C-section if my labor wasn’t progressing. Again, should have gone with my gut feeling
that day and stopped right there. 2-3
hours? That seemed a little crazy. And a C-section at 40weeks and 4days? I don’t think so.
So as she’s literally telling me that I have no other options, and I’m trying to
(nicely) explain that yes, there is another option called waiting longer, we
both realize there has been a lack of communication somewhere. And not even with the Spanish – When we asked
about stopping the induction, we meant to go home and wait longer. They meant to stop and just do a
C-section. I told her I needed to talk
to Tracey “al tiro” - right now. (For some odd reason they kept asking Tracey
to leave…) When she said “let me just
start the IV with pitocin and then I’ll get Tracey to come in,” I used my best
crazy-hormonal-pregnant-lady mean face to tell her that I didn’t know if we’d
be staying and I needed to talk to him before we did anything at all.
So as Tracey and I sat there in our not-so-private
curtained bed area, we honestly had no idea what to do. They told us if we left the hospital that day
that we’d have to find a new doctor and a new hospital. We knew what we wanted (not to rush into a C-section) but when you have multiple doctors
telling you it’s a risk to wait any longer, you start to doubt yourself. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t know
how or if we could find a doctor in
this scalpal-happy country willing to wait another week with us.
Somehow we were able to make the right decision in the
midst of so much chaos, confusion, and pressure. After another doctor came and explained the
risks to us (again), we signed papers releasing the hospital from any
liability, got wheeled back up to our room, packed our bags, and retraced our
steps from that morning.
Still pregnant.
