The Story of Rhys--The Long Haul

The next 12 hours were, I think, the longest of my life. Around 5 pm (34 hours) I was still 8 cm, but the lip was more pliable. Around 8 pm (37 hours) I was 8+ cm, stretching to 9 during a contraction. My angel midwife was so encouraging. After checking me each time, she would tell me the progression from the last time. Even if it was only that it felt softer than before, she never once told me there had been no progress. As wonderful as she was, I was getting exhausted, and the contractions were getting more painful. She had called 2 other midwife friends, as she usually does, to assist her. I don’t know what time the first showed up, but I remember her bringing a renewed vigor into the room. She had ideas of things that might help the labor along and I got up and walked up and down the stairs numerous times. I drank chicken broth and juice and water and nibbled some other snacks. I can’t remember what they were, except the Rolos. I wasn’t able to get Twix, so I had a dish of individually wrapped Rolos. Periodically I would grab two, unwrap one, pop it in my mouth, and before I could get the other one unwrapped, another contraction would start. Every. Single. Time. And yet I continued to grab two Rolos at a time because that was how many I wanted to eat. And I continued to be interrupted by contractions. That was what got the most frustrating and exhausting, how short the respite between the contractions was. I don’t actually know, because we didn’t time the contractions or record them, but I don’t think I got more than 3 minutes between any of them since I got out of the tub.

I remember through the night laying in the bed praying to have a few minutes, just a few minutes—long enough to actually fall asleep—before the next contraction and never once getting it. Every time I would just begin to relax into the bed another one would hit and the pain would force me to get up and roll off the side of the bed onto my knees on the floor. My husband and midwife applied so much counter-pressure so often to alleviate the pain of contractions in my low back that I began to feel like the entire area was a bruise. Even though the contraction pain was slightly lessened by the pressure, the addition of the bruisy feeling on top of the remaining pain became unbearable, and I asked them to stop pushing on my back during contractions. It was about at this point, I think, that my husband was sort of left without anything at all to do. That had been his one constant job—to push on my back during contractions—and he did it very faithfully. But now I couldn’t stand it, and I couldn’t think of anything else for him to do, so I think I mostly ignored him. Except when I was trying to beg some sleep, he would spoon behind me in the bed. I liked that, but it never lasted long enough to even seem like it was helping.

At some point during then night—I can’t remember the order of the final events, I got in the tub again. It didn’t last very long before I got too annoyed with it, again, and I was out. Roxanna had me try putting one foot up on the edge of the tub (about 2 ½-3 feet high) and squatting during contractions. I could only make it through 1 ½ like that, it hurt way too much. My entire thought process during contractions by this point was reduced to “How can I make this less? How can I lessen this pain so I can stand it? I can’t stand it!” I thought frequently about an epidural. I wondered if I was in the hospital if I would have the willpower or the desire not to ask for one. I really didn’t know. The only thing I did know was that there was no way (aside from a medical emergency) that I would voluntarily submit to a car ride in that condition to get me to the hospital where I could have one. So I was stuck dealing with it on my own.

I prayed so hard for the pain to be taken away. I invoked the power of my faith, and I had no doubt that it was possible for God to remove physical sensations from my body. I prayed, I pleaded, and I begged. Didn’t Christ already suffer everything? Wasn’t that the point of the Atonement? Aren’t we not supposed to be required to suffer if we have faith? Please! Please. Take this pain away. Take it away! Take it away! I would cry through my contractions, and the only thing that kept me from sobs was the fear that any tensing of my body in any way would prolong the experience. I remember resting between contractions and praying for respite, for a few minutes, a little rest, just a little break and then feeling the next one start to come and my voice would burst from my body, “Nnnnnnnoooo…” and then I would catch myself, unwilling to give in to any negative energy during a contraction and quickly start saying, “Yeeeeeeeeeeees, Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees,” as low and open as I could make it.