Meet Mary, a G3P2 vibrant 36-year-old Latina, now at 39.1 weeks of pregnancy. It was around 9 p.m. when Mary began to feel those telltale contractions that signaled the start of her incredible journey. Without hesitation, her husband sprang into action, grabbing her bag as they hurriedly made their way to the car.
Upon their arrival at the hospital, Mary was swept into the whirlwind of intense contractions. The hospital staff bombarded her with questions, and each contraction threatened to escape her lips as cries of pain. She gasped for relief while doing her utmost to respond to their inquiries. Finally, they settled her into a triage room, where the examination revealed she was at 3cm dilation, 25% effaced, and at a -2 position. The doctor, with empathy, informed her that active labor had not yet begun, promising to return in two hours for another assessment. A tinge of disappointment passed over Mary as she shifted her focus to finding a more comfortable position. The cramped triage bed offered limited options for repositioning.
Restlessly, Mary squirmed in the bed, her moans and cries punctuating the air. Occasionally, a few comforting words were offered, though they brought little solace.
Fast forward to 11:30 p.m., and the doctors returned to gauge Mary’s progress. She had been tossing and turning, feeling like an eternity had passed. The doctors explained their plan to check her cervix for any changes. Vulnerably, she settled onto her back and allowed her legs to fall open. The presence of a nurse, offering a comforting hand, provided much-needed support. As the doctor conducted the examination, Mary squeezed the nurse’s hand in moments of discomfort.
Then, those magic words reached Mary’s ears: ‘Let’s admit her; she’s 10cm dilated with an anterior lip.’ In other words, Mary was nearly fully dilated, with just a small piece of the cervix in the way—nothing a determined baby couldn’t nudge aside. Confusion played across her face, and she turned to the nurse for an explanation. With the help of a translator, the nurse clarified, ‘Señora, su cuello uterino mide 10 cm, le queda un poquito. Te trasladaremos a la habitación’ (Ma’am, your cervix is 10cm, with a little bit left. We’re going to move you to a room).
A sigh, filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety, escaped her lips as the medical team swiftly prepared her belongings for transport. The pain persisted as she was wheeled into the labor room, where her moans and groans echoed in the air. She couldn’t help but ask for an epidural, but the nurse, using the translator, delivered the news, ‘Lo lamento. Es demasiado tarde para una epidural’ (I’m sorry. It’s too late for an epidural).
In this challenging moment, Javier, her devoted spouse, stood steadfastly by her side. She turned to him for support, and he rushed to her bedside, offering a comforting hand and soft words of encouragement.
In the blink of an eye, the doctor confirmed that the anterior lip had disappeared, and Mary was ready to begin the incredible journey of pushing new life into the world. The words rang out again: ‘Ok, señora, es hora de empujar’ (Ok, ma’am, it’s time to push).
Now this is Mary’s birth, your story is unique to you. I’d love to hear your story and share it with those who can relate or who can empathize. Let’s come together and share our stories of birth. Let us learn from one another and prepare the generations to come.
What’s your birth story? If you have one that is personal to you or one that you think others might need to hear, reach out and share it with me. I would love to partner with you in getting the story out.