Dear Bonnie: A Birth Story
Written by Kristin Berry
On May 15, I gave birth to my first baby. It was, of course, an intense and wonderful experience and now Bonnie is the greatest gift of my life. Having had a low-risk healthy pregnancy, I planned a natural vaginal birth. While I knew other outcomes were possible, a medically indicated induction and c-section was not an outcome I had actually prepared for. In the days following the birth, I found myself caught up in all of the business of taking care of a newborn. Though I had practiced “telling the birth story” to family and friends, I knew that if I did not write it down, some of the details would be lost and Bonnie would not get the full story when she’s older. After multiple close friends reached out to help me process my experience, specifically the unplanned c-section, I also realized I had not let my emotions and brain fully work through what happened. I needed to pause and process the birth instead of just shoving my feelings under the rug and muting them forever. I wanted to feel them.
So, I sat down to write the letter you’ll read below. It is part love letter to my daughter, part chronology of the birth story, and part therapy tool to help me process my feelings around the events that transpired. As I wrote, it helped me relive the birth experience, both through writing and in selecting the photos. It was cathartic; It allowed me to let my emotions in and gave me space to sit with them. I didn’t have the chance to do that during the birth because everything was happening so quickly; emotions were all entangled. This helped me tease them out and find acceptance and joy instead of grief and disappointment. It also helped me appreciate the community that will support Bonnie throughout her life. From the medical care community that expertly and lovingly helped us navigate the birth to her adoring grandparents, she is in good hands. And finally, writing this letter made me fall even deeper in love with my husband, partner and father of our daughter. Reflecting on his steady support not only during the birth but each and every day helped me pause to cherish him.
This letter is personal and spares no details. I invite you to read my birth story with all this in mind.
May 26, 2022
Dear Bonnie,
You are 12 days old today. I can’t believe how fast that time has gone. I know that your life is going to zoom by me, so I wanted to pause to write you a letter in order to capture how you came into this world. This may serve as a sentimental and informational family treasure one day. Its current purpose is to help me process the events of your birth, sort through my emotions, and capture all the delicious details lest they be lost to time.
The day before you were born was your due date, Friday the 13th of May.
I had absolutely no pre-labor indications. I was not having any “real” contractions, and you were still sitting very high in my belly. I had breakfast with Sarah Maddock and McKenzie Homan (and Edie) at the No Sweat. We chatted and made jokes about how to induce labor. I figured you’d be well past your due date; you weren’t done cooking! My maternity leave had started that week, so I’d been at home patiently awaiting your arrival, finalizing your birth plan and making labor playlists.
At 11:51 am that day, I received a call from the OBGYN, Dr. Parson. She said that she and the consulting Neonatal doctor in Missoula had taken a closer look at the ultrasound we’d had done that Tuesday. I knew what the measurements were, but until then, no one had taken a good look at it. She said that because we had a high level of amniotic fluid (normal is 8-24 cm, we had 27 meaning I had polyhydramnios), and you had a really big belly (>99%tile), you were at risk. Maybe they’d missed some insulin resistance in the gestational diabetes test. There was also an elevated risk of stillbirth. Either way, there was no reason to keep you in my belly; I needed to be induced.
How could this be that I had to be induced?
Those words hung hollow over the phone. I’d had a low risk pregnancy the entire time. Sure, your placenta started really low, but it’d migrated and was now fine. You were also breech until week 35, but you flipped on your own and I was told you were in a great position for birth (head down, spine to my left).
The doctor told me that they would place a Foley Bulb, let it sit overnight, and then start me on a Pitocin drip in the morning. Pitocin was one of the things I wanted to avoid in your birth because I knew it would mean I’d want an epidural and wouldn’t be able to experience your birth as clearly.
I said okay, knowing that you coming into this world strong and healthy was my top priority. Dr. Parson asked what my “schedule” was like. I told her it was open, considering I was expecting a baby any day, but that we were having topsoil delivered that day to redo the backyard. She said it was no problem and instructed me to do what I needed to do, and then head to labor and delivery at the hospital.
After some phone calls with the Valley Sand and Gravel, a quick topsoil delivery (and a damaged gutter along the way), Dad and I were sitting in the kitchen, antsy about what to do. Should we go? Now? We didn’t want to spend more time at the hospital than we needed to. You’d been fine until we received the call, but now they wanted to induce you? We decided to have lunch (quesadillas on the deck) while I called the hospital and the doctor’s office again and everyone was vague, “come when you can”. Finally, Dr. Parson called me back and said, “Sorry for the confusion, you should go now.”
When we arrived at the hospital, we learned the attending physician was Dr. Maria Huntley. I’d never met her before; she was mostly retired but was taking some calls at St. Peter’s. She now lived and worked out of Missoula doing neonatal stuff. We arrived around 3:30 pm and by 5:00 pm, they’d placed the Foley Bulb. The picture to the right shows me just before this happened. A Foley Bulb Catheter is basically a balloon they put into the uterus that they inflate with water. It puts pressure on your cervix to help dilate it.
This made sense because you were definitely NOT ready; I was 0 cm dilated when I arrived. If you try Pitocin without labor starting a little bit beforehand, it won’t work. Dr. Huntley noted that the shape of my cervix was a little more acute than was ideal. That was the first red flag. The Foley bulb was pretty effective. I had contractions all night and woke up and was 4 cm dilated and 80% effaced.
I inherited a strong sleep gene from Jeema, so I was able to sleep through the night.
At 4:30 am they woke me up to put in the IV (I’d made them wait because I didn’t want to sleep with an IV in, they’re so uncomfortable!). They started me on Pitocin at 4:45 am. They put two sensors on my belly. One to measure your heart rate and another to measure the intervals of the contractions. The contractions were about 4 minutes apart all morning. My job during this time was to try to move you along. You were still very high, not even pushing on my cervix. I bounced on the exercise ball, sat on my hands and knees, and used the birthing peanut to try to move you closer.
By noon, I’d only dilated to 5 cm and the next step was to break my water. Every time they did a procedure I was uncomfortable but knew it was the next step to meeting you and we needed to keep things moving. Breaking water, especially when you have polyhydramnios, is a messy affair. I’ll spare you the details but your dad and I were glad we decided to go to the hospital to have you instead of making a mess of our own house.
After they broke my water, they kept giving me more Pitocin. This was in hopes that my contractions would become more rhythmic and more frequent. They needed to be 2 minutes apart and they were still closer to 4. I tried to relax as the day progressed. We listened to the Low Key Labor playlist all day, I read a book Ghosts by Dolly Alderton, and watched an episode of Game of Thrones. I believe it was part of Season 5. (The fighting noises alarmed the nurses in the hallway)
I decided to go in the jacuzzi.
I’d tried it the night before and knew that (like the hot tub) it would relax me and hopefully help move things along. While I was in the tub, my contractions increased but did not become rhythmic. They became constant. So, a nurse turned down the Pitocin drip. When she did that, the contractions eased off and the next time they checked my cervix, It’d actually become less effaced and had not changed in dilation.
Dr. Huntley had a great bedside manor. Throughout this process, she talked us through each step, tempering our expectations. By about 3:00 pm, she told us that they weren’t sure if the contractions were just not strong enough to cause dilation, or if they were just not consistent though. The only way to know was to insert an IUPC (intrauterine pressure sensor), so they could actually measure intensity of contractions instead of only frequency, and to turn up the Pitocin higher and higher until something happened. So we did.
The contractions did get more intense. They also got closer together; about 2 minutes apart. They were never so intense or painful that I couldn’t talk through them, and I never took any pain medication beyond Tylenol. I tried more positions. The nurses had brought me a laminated pamphlet of different birthing positions to try. As the baby moves down through the birth canal, there are different positions. Dr. Huntley said you needed to descend and eventually turn so you were facing my spine. Until then, I was limited to the positions on the first page. So I continued bouncing on the birthing ball.
By 5:00 pm, I had another cervical check and had not dilated any more, despite the increased contractions and Pitocin being at level 18! Dr. Huntley said I could try for another hour, but in her experience that wasn’t going to do anything and the next step was a Cesarean (C-section). I knew she was right, both because of her wisdom of 20+ years as a labor and delivery doctor and the fact that you just weren’t pushing down.
Again, I said okay, let’s do it. But this time, after almost 24 hours of labor and labor-adjacent procedures, my logical mind paused and let my emotions in. I started crying, knowing that I wouldn’t get to work with you to birth you into this world. I wouldn’t get to feel the active and transitional phases of labor, or your head crowning. I knew it was the best move and at this point, the only move. But it still felt like I’d somehow lost a challenge, or at least lost out on an experience I knew I wanted.
They say the best way to have a baby is a safe and healthy way and sometimes that means having a C-section.
For you and me that was true. But that doesn’t make it any easier. I feel a sense of loss knowing that I didn’t get to welcome you in the way I’d planned. Like in some sense I didn’t really “give birth” to you. It was a lot to swallow. I was processing the grief of having lost something I knew I wanted but never really had. But at the same time, I knew I’d get to meet you imminently. So right below the tears I had an intense swelling of joy and hope. I’m still coming to terms with this loss. It’s one of the main reasons I’m writing you this letter. I hope you know it doesn’t mean I love you less or am somehow less of a mother because of what happened. The tears I’m crying right now are filled with love for you.
Dad also started crying at that moment. I think he knew what I was feeling and some of that rubbed off on him. I also think he knew how big of a surgery I was about to have and felt at least some trepidation for what was to come. He later told me how thankful he is to have a wife who is so reasonable and level-headed and that played out through this process of making decision after decision in order to make sure you were both healthy. I appreciate that about him too, and I think it makes us a great team. But at that moment, I really appreciated that he was there to cry with me.
Dr. Huntley let us sit with our feelings and this decision for a few minutes and when she returned, she said, “I know these words don’t mean anything right now, but I want you to know that you did everything you could.” Those words did in fact mean a lot. They allowed me to find peace in the next step, to lean into the hope and joy I was feeling, and get ready to meet you.
The nurse we had the first two nights was named Orpha Montgomery. As we would later find out, we were incredibly fortunate to have her as our labor and delivery nurse. She has been a nurse in Helena for 35 years, and was only taking night calls to help out while they were short-staffed. There is an article in the Independent Record (IR) about what an amazing woman and nurse she is, and was she ever amazing! She walked me through that first Foley Bulb procedure and helped me stay comfortable all night. But where she really shone was the night of your birth.
I’d worn my Hawaiian shirt all day in labor.
I told the staff it was my “I can do hard things” shirt (because it is). I wanted to give birth to you in it. Orpha asked me if I wanted to still wear my shirt for the surgery. I said yes, if it was possible. She said we needed access to my back so we tried putting the shirt on backwards. It was terribly awkward so we settled on a gown with the shirt over the top.
I knew all throughout my pregnancy with you that a C-section would always be a possibility. I just had not mentally prepared myself for it because I’d hoped it wouldn’t. I also hadn’t done very much reading about what to expect. Fortunately the staff at the hospital did a great job of walking us through the procedure.
It’s just another day at work for them but it was a massively invasive abdominal surgery for me.
It wasn’t an emergency, but now that labor had started, we wanted to keep moving and have the C-section underway shortly. The on-call anesthesiologist was finishing up another surgery on a lower floor. Had it been an emergency, they could have called a back-up on-call anesthesiologist but we had some time to wait and Dr. Huntley said that Dr. Joe Murphy was the guy we wanted. So from the time we settled on the C-section to actually going into the operating room, we had about an hour. Dr. Murphy came in with a sweet curly-haired ponytail and high energy to give us the basics of a spinal block and shortly after we were ready to go.
Orpha walked me across the hallway. As I entered the OR, I saw all the instruments and sterile pads laid out on the tables along the wall. I also saw your warming bed tucked into the corner where I could see but not well in case something went wrong. In the middle was the narrow operating table. I tried not to think about the instruments and the actual procedure, knowing I have a queasy stomach. Fortunately Dr. Murphy had prescribed some antacid for just that scenario.
Orpha helped me up onto the table and had me curl forward into her chest as Dr. Murphy inserted the spinal block with a syringe into the middle of my back. They helped me turn and lie down on the table. Almost immediately I began to feel heavy and my legs got tingly. They set up the drapes so I couldn’t see the surgery and taped off my belly so they had a sterile workspace.
Once they were set up, Dad came into the room and sat on the stool next to my head. Be it because Dad had asked so many insightful questions throughout the process or because Dr. Huntley knew he was a dentist with experience with blood (ask him to show you Bloody Tooth Guy on Instagram), she told him that if he wanted to, he could stand up and watch over the drapes.
They used a little pin to test whether I was numb or not.
The spinal block was very effective and I was numb up past my ribs. My arms also felt very heavy and I had an overall sense of calm. It felt like I had a heavy weight on my chest. Once the doctor and her assistant began the surgery, I felt pressure and pushing. Dad stood up to watch a little bit. It was helpful that he was viewing from the side, not right into the incision they made. But even so, he saw too much, knowing the person they were operating on was me and that you were inside. He got a little woozy and decided he’d better sit down. Even though he had a backup plan of lying down on the ground before he passed out. We’re all glad it never came to that.
Within what seemed like 1 minute but was probably closer to 3, you were born! I first heard your cry, then heard the doctor ask Dad to “call it'' (tell everyone whether you were a boy or a girl). We both started crying immediately, so it was hard to determine what was going on past our tears. The anesthesiologist then dropped the opaque drape so there was just the transparent shower curtain-like drape. That was the first moment I laid eyes on you. You were beautiful and perfect and squirming and also crying. It was the most joyful moment of my life. The official time of birth was 8:21 pm. I was overwhelmed. As promised, they clamped your umbilical cord and quickly took you to the warming station to give you your first test, the Apgar test. You scored 8 after 1 minute and 9 after 5 minutes. So healthy and vivacious!
Dad followed and snapped your first photo shoot.
While you were getting checked, the doctor asked Dad what your name was. He was so emotional he could barely choke out, “Bonnie!” They toweled you dry and brought you over to me so I could meet you in closer and have skin-to-skin contact. The only open real-estate was my upper chest and neck, so there you went. Dad helped hold you up and again I was awash with emotion. It was like some magic force had entered me through your body and I was imbued with the special love a mother feels for her daughter. I guess that’s what oxytocin does to you. Dr. Murphy offered to take some pictures of our new little family. I think he captured the sentiment well.
Once we had our moment in the (operating room) spotlight, they took you to the recovery room and Dad went with you. He got to hold you and keep you safe. There, they took your measurements. You were a big baby, measuring 8 lbs 12 oz and 20” long. Fortunately you weren’t quite as big as they’d predicted (9 lbs 6 oz) and you weren’t LGA (large for your gestational age), so they weren’t as worried as they’d been when they decided to induce me.
After all the excitement on my end back in the OR Dr. Murphy had to remind me to breathe. They stitched me back up and in 25 or so minutes we were reunited.
Once our family was together in the recovery room, the nurse brought you over to me to start breastfeeding. It’s good to start it ASAP, and boy were you ready! As they brought you over to me you went in mouth-first and dive-bombed my nipple before you were even touching my chest with your body. You latched on with the best first latch the nurses had EVER seen. You were already making me proud.
Once we’d “recovered” in the recovery room, they wheeled us to our room in the Women & Children’s wing. This was much less spacious than the Labor & Delivery room, but it still had a bed for mom, a fold-down couch-bed for Dad, and a bassinet for you. That was good because it was a long night. Nurse Orpha stayed awake with me every time you needed to feed. She taught me how to hand-express the colostrum (pre-milk) and feed your tiny mouth with a spoon. The doctor came in the next morning to check in. She told us that once they opened me up, she saw that my pelvis was very narrow front-to-back, and that it was unlikely you would have fit through even if labor had progressed further. You knew all along how you were going to come to us and avoided all the trauma of labor and pushing.
We still had a few hurdles to overcome, from a broken IV pump sensor waking us up every 10 minutes, to my Oxygen saturation dipping and needing oxygen. But, you passed all of your tests and I passed all of mine. Our nurse during the day on Sunday was Caroline Hammond, the mom of one of my students, Avery. It was comforting to be surrounded by such caring individuals in our awesome Helena community. By Monday morning we were ready to take you home!
We had a few more Italian ices while we checked all the boxes to get discharged. We got home around noon on Monday and Jeema and Papa Jeff were there a few hours later to help welcome you. Grandma Sanse and Pepe came on Wednesday. Everyone wanted to meet you, including Tilley.
I am so thankful you were born into our family (my mom always used to say that to me, now I get to say it to you). No matter how you came, I love you more than you’ll ever know. I am so grateful you arrived perfectly healthy and I can’t wait to see who you become and to witness your life. Welcome to the world Bonnie Lynn Berry. You are so loved.
Mom
