Birth Story: Once and For All

I still sometimes tear up when people ask me about the birth of my baby girl. It was a trauma I will never forget (though many women assure me I will), and one which left me feeling like my body let me down, like less of a woman, and like I made some selfish decisions in planning my daughter's birth. With some time and distance, I have come to realize that I have been unnecessarily hard on my self, and that planned home birth or not, nature did not intend for me to have a "normal" birth experience.

The birth of my daughter was something I looked forward to. I was not afraid, and felt that my pain threshold and ability to meditate my way through pretty much anything had me quite prepared for the big event. I planned to have my baby naturally at home. I planned to embrace the intensity of physical sensation that birthing brings rather than numbing myself with drugs.

I have practiced yoga for over a decade, and I studied Hypnobirthing throughout the pregnancy. My control over my breath pulled me through the first 2 and a half days of labour so well that nobody knew I was in active labour. I thought I knew that the time had come, but it was my first pregnancy, so what did I know? When the midwife gave me an internal exam on the first day of active labour, she told me I was only 1 cm dilated. I figured that this was totally bearable, and she must be right, this was pre-labour. Home I went to continue feeling what I was feeling, waiting for more intensity with a promise that I would call my midwife to come to our house for the birth when the contractions were 4 minutes apart, 1 minute long, consistently for 1 hour. "Just remember 411", she said.

Our midwife was 4 months pregnant. She told us that she had an ultrasound booked for the following morning. She said she assumed I would be giving birth any time from later that evening to the next evening. She said she couldn't miss the ultrasound appointment, and if I happened to be giving birth then, our back-up midwife would be there, and she would then resume the role of our health care giver as soon as she came back.

I called pleading 411 later that day... to her voicemail. I called the office and heard the news that our midwife was handing our care over to the back-up. I was hurt, and of course worried. We called the back-up and she came over to examine me. Still 1cm. She said I was 90% effaced, but that this was definitely still pre-labour. She left and told us to relax as much as we could and call her when things began to feel more intense. At that point my contractions were mostly 4 minutes apart, one minute long, but would occasionally miss a beat. She assured us that contractions would be completely consistent when I went into active labour.

That night I "slept" in the basement because I was so uncomfortable and hot that I was tossing and turning and unable to rest at all, and keeping up my husband. I continued with contractions, sometimes timing them, other chunks of time I just went with it. They got stronger, but nothing I couldn't handle. Still I was unable to sleep.

Day 2, we called the midwife in the morning to give her an update. Same story, but the contractions had become stronger. I told her I had been told that they would feel like really strong menstrual cramps, but that this was not at all what I was feeling. The rush of pain was in my back. I couldn't feel anything that seemed to be happening in my uterus. The midwife told me that every woman feels things differently. Some women have back pain during menstruation, and this was all normal. I wasn't scared at that point, but was just letting her know what was happening.

She came to give me an internal exam early in the afternoon, and it revealed that I was still at 1cm. Wow, I couldn't believe it! All this time I thought I would be progressing and nothing was happening. I was tired and disappointed. I started to tear up a bit, feeling discouraged. I really thought that by now things had moved along. That in all this time, with all these contractions, my body would be doing what it needed to to get the baby out. The midwife left telling us to try to walk as much as possible, get some fresh air, eat some comfort food. Ice cream was my answer to that...and toast. On day two I distinctly remember standing at Dairy Queen, hugging the fridge with all the cakes in it (labouring against it), waiting for my ice cream. I thought this was totally insane. I had never seen a woman in labour before, let alone one at Dairy Queen waiting for a Peanut Buster Parfait.

Home we went, and by the evening, the contractions were becoming unbearable. My contractions NEVER stayed with the clock. And my cervix refused to dilate. But the contractions became more and more intense. I called her telling her how I was feeling, bracing myself through each contraction while speaking with her. She said I now sounded like a woman in labour. She was soon at our house again. This time she was here to camp out with us for the big event she (we all) believed to be just hours away. A midwifery student came as well.

The midwife said I seemed to be handling things really well, that I wasn't at that point that it was unbearable yet - despite the fact that I had told her that for me, I thought I was there. We set up the birthing tub and I laboured in there for a while, squatting, hanging on to the handles, begging someone to push on my back. I felt like it was about to blow out, like the baby was going to shoot out of my back, not my vagina.

More toast, more labouring right through the night. Morning came and it was day 3. We were all exhausted. I was beside myself. I kept thinking that I can get through this, that my baby would soon be in my arms. I couldn't wait to meet her. Even then, when I thought of it, tears came to my eyes. I think on some level, I felt the fine line between birth and death.

Late morning on day 3 things started to speed up beyond what I could handle. The contractions were fast and furious. I barely had the strength to get through them. I thought finally, this is what REAL LABOUR is all about, I guess. The midwives must have been right, what was happening before was pre-labour or "practice labour".

We set up the birthing tub and I got in and laboured there a while. I did a lot of squatting and holding onto the handles, pushing hard with my legs. I had my husband pushing on my back. It was only comfortable for a short time, and the temperature of the tub had me sweating one minute and shivering the next. After a while I got out and wanted to go outside, but on my way there I was struck with terrible nausea, and threw up down our hallway. I was holding onto our banister looking down at the staircase, and everything began to spin. Voices started to sound like the teacher on Peanuts, or more accurately, Frank the Tank on tranquilizers in the movie Old School. I was scared. I couldn't even communicate just how crazy the pain was at that time. We managed to get outside, and I walked, contracted, vomited...walked, contracted, vomited. Everyone was pushing water on me, and I'd drink it and vomit. I couldn't keep anything down.

The midwife said she thought the baby would be here soon, so we all moved back into the house, and everyone busied themselves getting ready for the birth. When the warming table was set up and the bed was set up, I had another internal exam (this was mid-afternoon). Still 1 cm. The student suggested that my baby was posterior, and the back-up midwife agreed. (You're noticing this now???, I'm thinking!)

The midwife then said that we need to go to the hospital. We were not going to be able to have our home birth. I was failing to progress, and this was going on too long. The baby's heart was fine at that point, but she didn't want to push it. She said we could go to the hospital and I could be induced to help speed things along. Or we could have a c-section. We could also TRY to do things naturally there, but that didn't seem like a likely outcome. I mustered up the energy to yelp a "get me to the hospital now, and get me all the drugs that I could possibly be given". I had given up on my home birth. The pain I was feeling was insane. I couldn't get through it without throwing up, and I was too exhausted to focus on meditation to get me through.

Off we went to the hospital - the longest most dreadful car-ride I've ever had. Every bump and every turn brought on crazy contractions. I moaned and roared the whole way there. I had tears streaming down my face but couldn't tell whether the wetness was just tears or sweat too. I was on fire.

We got to the hospital in the early evening. There were many stupid questions and lots of stalling on the part of the hospital staff. While we waited for the epidural and pitocin drip, my husband ran down the hall and I could hear him yelling at the nurses telling them "you don't know my wife! She can take pain like nobody I know, and she's in so much pain she looks like she's going to pass out. Get her the drugs NOW!" Each contraction was so bad I thought I was going to die, or perhaps the baby would. I needed this to stop. And with every contraction some dumb ass would tell me that this would be the last one, the drugs would be here any moment.

Finally they came and administered the epidural. They told me to sit on the bed and round my back and said that if I moved while they put it in it could damage the nerve system in my spine. Lovely. Go for it! Just go for it... At that point there was no turning back on my decision. It didn't seem as though there was a choice if I wanted to get through it.

The epidural went in, and the pitocin drip too, and finally I could relax a bit. I still always felt my contractions, but not nearly as badly as without the epidural.

The nurses and doctors checked in on me regularly, and still I was not progressing. They tweaked the pitocin drip and the contractions came fast and hard again. Then they tweaked the epidural, and this went on and on until I was 9 cm dilated. After the baby's heart rate became a concern, the doctors came piling in - I think there were seven of them, plus nurses and the midwife and student. It was a packed house, and I totally didn't care.

One of the doctors checked me again and hour later and said "let's start pushing, you're still at 9 cm, but if you haven't gotten to 10 yet, you may just stay there." So I started pushing, first with each contraction, and the docs would tell me when to go. Then they realized that I could actually feel my contractions and knew when to push. Lord knows, I felt it all. I really don't feel that I need to do a natural birth next time, because I've felt enough, thank you very much! Anyway, with each push, she came down further and further. She would crown and then shoot back up. The nurses got a mirror for me to encourage me. I saw her head! Her little furry head! I touched it and it felt like jelly. Not at all what I expected.

Finally, the docs started coaching me to push without contractions because no matter how far she came out, a breathing break sent her back in. There was talk of meconium being inside, so we'd have to have her lungs suctioned once she was born... this was normal for a traumatic birth. Then there was talk of the umbilical chord being wrapped around her neck twice... finally she was out, and they darted off with her to a warming table nearby in the room. My husband was with her the whole time. The nurses and midwife encouraged me to drink water and relax, the baby was fine. I never heard the nurses say anything about 'healthy baby', and I didn't hear her cry. I thought she was going to die. I was supposed to birth the placenta now. I remember hearing that you don't even feel the placenta being birthed because you have the baby in your arms. I didn't have the baby in my arms, and I definitely felt the placenta.

My neck was cranked to the side, my eyes were on my silent little baby. She was blue. She hadn't made a sound. She was long and limp. I needed to have her in my arms. I needed to warm her and look in her eyes, nurse her. Instead, I was birthing the placenta, and the nurses were trying hard to keep my attention away from the baby. When the placenta was out, it was lying flat on a metal tray. The nurses and the doctors inspected it and told me it looked healthy. They asked me if I wanted to see it. I gagged. No, I don't think so. All I wanted to see was my baby girl.

Forty five minutes after my baby was born, I finally heard her cry. It was the weakest, quietest little sound. My husband was holding her, and she was wrapped in a blanket, wearing a little hat. I saw the two of them gazing at one another with such love. I was so scared, moved, and emotional. He walked towards me with the baby and the nurse assisted him in snuggling her up to my belly. I held her and looked into her eyes. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I was so frightened to see this. My mind was racing. But just moment or two after our meeting, she proceeded to climb her way to my big swollen breast and began suckling. At that moment, I knew she was a fighter. I didn't know if she'd be okay, but I knew she would do whatever she had to to thrive. She wanted to live, to eat, to be warm, and connect with her new family.
I'm crying now as I type this. My, how far we've come. We got through the silent eye-rolling stage, through 4 months of colic, through months and months of fussiness which lead to our relative isolation, to finally having a girl who loves to sing and play with others, who laughs and smiles like no kid I've ever met. And now we've just celebrated her first birthday. She is thriving. She is healthy, beautiful, and a handful of energy, curiosity, happiness and spunk. Thank god.