This blog post will be
TMI for some people. It is about childbirth,
in case you missed it in the title of the blog. I’ve written this for other pregnant women,
their supporting birth partners, and birth educators. If you’re not one of these, please hold back
your opinions in the comments.
I’ve decided against
the popular feminine mores to be discreet and in this blog post will be expressing
all my opinions and experiences and not hold back. Doing anything other than this feels
untruthful. In this journey, I have
learned more truth about what it is to be a woman, live in this world as a
woman, and now begin to raise a woman.
The truth has been hard to take, and it’s this uncomfortable reality
that has partially pushed back my story until this moment. But I will resist the urge to be quiet, to not
make a fuss, and to not share the truth of my experience, good, maddening, and
euphoric.
This is not a short
post and I’m not dividing it into separate posts, but I have given it sections
in case you need to stop reading and come back to it later. Let’s begin, kind of.
FOREWORD
I know the exact day I conceived our tiny human. May 12th,
2015.
My daughter was welcomed into this world February 19th, 2016.
284 days is equal to 40 weeks and 4 days, but…
But in accordance with my "Due Date" (Feb. 2nd-
Conception and Feb. 5th- Menses) I was 17-14 days late. I start this blog
with this math because I want others to be assured that your baby will come out,
early induction has many consequences, your body is MADE to do this, and to
stress an incredibly important thing that I think MANY people do not know-
LEGISLATION HAS BEEN PUT ON THE BOOKS TO DENY WOMEN OF THEIR
CHOSEN BIRTH PATH. IT IS PERHAPS IN THE NAME OF SAFETY BUT IN MY
EXPERIENCE IT WAS NOT ABOUT SAFETY. PLEASE
DON’T EVEN COMMENT WITH THAT EXCUSE.
Forced induction when both Mama and Baby are doing well, is not safe.
Let me explain. I wanted to
give birth naturally, at a Birth Center, in a birthing pool with my husband,
supported by midwives. If you go beyond 42 weeks, in the state of
Florida, the law says you must go to a hospital and be induced OR birth at home
unassisted. Yes, you read that last part correctly. Now remember this is supposed to be about
safety. You'll note from the numbers
above, that put me into the 11th hour, 14-17 days late. I assure you this looming, legality issue of induction
was THE MOST STRESSFUL part of my pregnancy, period.
I know there are certain risks that are of concern after 42 weeks,
but studies have shown that the "due date" is lengthening,
particularly with first time white moms in their 30s, surely from our modern
lifestyles, and we must get away from forcing a woman out of their choice to
have a natural childbirth.
How did we even get here? The
legal strong arming into induction or forcing unassisted home birth is
dangerous, on both sides. Women should be able to birth the way they want
and midwives shouldn't be threatened and birth centers shouldn’t be considered
unsafe places to do so when a term goes beyond the "42 week" mark. Obstetricians and the modern hospital system
should work with midwives and mothers, not against them.
To learn more about the tip of this iceberg please pick up a copy
of “Birth Matters” by Ina May Gaskin, the nation’s leading midwife. Her other books also share many birth
stories, which I took comfort and inspiration from reading, and because of
those stories I too choose to share mine with you.
Now.
(She steps off soapbox, sits cross-legged on a cushy pillow in
your living room and begins to share the story you really wanted to hear.
Settle in, we’re going to go all the way to the ER and home and details will
not be spared.)
THE BIRTH I WANTED
Please keep in mind, I wanted to have birth naturally. No drugs, no induction, no unnecessary
vaginal exams. I wanted to give my body
the chance to do what it is made to do, and I very much wanted to experience
that.
But my labor started with a Castor Oil Milkshake. Salted
Chocolate Caramel with 2 ounces of Castor oil repeated 3 hours later.
Delicious and disgusting. As mentioned above, no, this wasn't the
way I wanted to start my labor, but this is how it began because of the legislative
BS, again, noted above.
Actually, this is only how my active labor began. For weeks
I’d had signs of early labor, so much so that my amazing mother came down to be
there for the birth on the 4th of February.
My dad came down the following weekend, then flew back, and returned the
next weekend, when on Thursday night, the 19th, I did give birth to our little
beauty, technically in the wee hours of Friday morning. Regardless of the Castor Oil, I knew my
active labor was going to begin soon, and I wish I had been allowed that
freedom.
PREPPING FOR LABOR
My husband and I took a 10-week 3-hour class preparing for this
exciting moment. We chose the Bradley
method and I strongly recommend it. I
also recommend reading all you can by the amazing midwife Ina May Gaskin, a
pioneer and angel for women’s health.
Ina May’s books have lots of birth stories in them. I loved reading them, but one thing I wish our
class had included was a night when new moms, ones who had been in the prior
classes perhaps, came back to class to share their birth stories, intimately,
their memories still fresh, with the soon-to-be mommies.
If you’re reading this and you teach this class, please consider
adding this option. Separate the men/partners
and women/mothers for more intimate conversation before bringing them back together to
share how they worked together during the birth as well. My husband and I would have gladly
volunteered to be a part of a class like this.
And I’m sure it would have eased the nerves of many of us.
EARLY LABOR
I had all the classic signs of early labor: weight gain stopped,
digestive releases congruous with prepping, and cervical changes. On Feb. 2nd, our 1st
due date, we went to go see a comedy at the movie theater. The seats were pretty upright, I was
obviously large and we laughed a lot.
Later that evening when we got ready for bed, I noticed
bleeding. Bright red, thin, and more
than just spotting. I thought this must
be the “bloody show” they talked about in class, but it wasn’t thick and mucus-like,
so I thought either I didn’t notice losing the mucus plug or perhaps I hadn’t
lost it yet.
I called the midwife. She
instructed me to lay down drink some cold juice, do a fetal kick count and try
to get some sleep if all was well. My baby was great at kicking, no more blood
continued to come and off to sleep I went.
Cervical changes sometimes cause this bleeding. It’s not unusual and it’s not a big
deal. It’s labor. Very early labor, but an awesome sign that
your body is getting ready. Your body is
made to do this.
Two days passed and no other major changes happened. My mother flew down to be with us and that
night as we watched another comedy at home, my belly started pulsing with strong
contractions. I mentioned nothing to
anyone and started timing them out. They
would last between 30 to 90 seconds and were 3 to 6 minutes apart. This went on for the whole movie. Finally, my husband and I got up to go for a
walk. I told him what was happening and
we giddily continued on our evening mile loop.
I felt great. I was ready
for everything to continue, but half way through the walk the rushes stopped
and never started up again. It was an
intense round of Braxton Hicks. Another
perfect sign of early labor.
After this, my belly continued to be tight and baby kicked a lot,
but she wasn’t really descending and she wasn’t in the best position,
either. She was, thankfully, head down,
but she was facing the side more than the back.
We did daily rebozos to help get her into position and relax me. At this
time I also learned that reclining seats are NOT helpful for optimum
positioning and contribute to greater chances of the dreaded back labor. Practically every seat in our 21st
century house was designed for sitting back and relaxing. This is what I mean about our modern
lifestyle. Seating made this way is awesome
but not ideal at all for pregnant women.
I began to sit on the floor or ball as much as possible, leaning forward.
I walked and walked and power walked. My Mother and I went and cruised through the
Ikea. I pushed my desire to have this
baby to the side and got back to focusing on the other projects I had in my
life, namely building a tiny house and producing a nationwide tour.
On the 14th my
chorionic sac broke. It felt
very much like my water was breaking, but when I went into the midwife’s office
the next day we found that the water was not amniotic fluid. This is when I learned about the three
different kinds of waters that can break.
Check out my blog about that here. It’s fascinating stuff and something
apparently many people as well as healthcare professionals don’t know much
about. Thank goodness I had
experienced midwives.
At this time my baby had still not gotten into the best position
and I know that my birth would have been possibly catastrophic if I had been
sent to the hospital then and there for an induction. This was my first
rodeo. My body and the baby need the
time to do their thing. Gratefully, the
midwives had my back in all of this.
By Feb. 16th, the baby had gotten into a better
position but wasn’t very low yet. She
was engaged, facing the right way but hadn’t quite begun her descent to start active labor. I went to see the midwife and she
asked how I was feeling. Physically I
was feeling fine, and my baby was measuring and sounding fine too. I’m good/the baby is good/we’re all good.
Except for the fact that I knew we were at the 11th
hour, legally.
My midwife could see it in my eyes, the stress of this legislation,
this imposed deadline, and I burst into tears.
My husband at my side, my mother there to support, everything was going so
well. But what if I didn’t go into
active labor in the next 48 hours?
I was 70% effaced and 3 centimeters dilated (my first vaginal exam,
by the way because they aren't necessary) but despite all my good intentions the baby had not arrived in
accordance with bureaucratic standards and wasn’t really hinting at arriving in
the next 48 hours. Maybe, but maybe not.
We can’t predict these things, it’s not
an exact science.
But maybe we can? Here’s a
little thought about genetics. My
husband’s family has a lot of late babies.
Many of his cousins were two and three weeks late, and he was 6 weeks
late himself. We’ll see how the next
pregnancy goes, but if blue eyes are genetic, couldn’t slow cooking babies be
genetic too? Maybe this should be a
consideration more than the prescriptive 40 weeks estimated "DUE" date for every birth in the world. Let's start calling it a "GUESS DATE."
INDUCTION
What I adamantly didn’t want to do was go to a hospital, be stuck
with needles, a fetal monitoring device, be given Pitocin, be pressured with an epidural, and not to mention,
be close to the operating room. It was
completely not the birth I wanted.
We talked through “natural” induction methods (again not what I wanted,
but if it kept me out of the hospital then- GREAT!) and we decided that if no
progress had been made in 24 hours I would return and have my membranes swept.
24 hours went by. My cozy
baby was still cozy. Again, I felt great
physically, but mentally that imposed clock was ticking and stressing me out
royally. The midwife gently swept my
membranes to hopefully get things started, at this point my second vaginal
exam.
Just in case, we also went to the store and bought a bottle of
Castor oil. If through the evening no
early rushes were happening, then at 6 am I would drink my first Castor oil
milkshake (2 oz. CO with 6 oz. IC and milk) and follow it 3 hours later with
another milkshake. The thought is that
your intestines will massage the baby during that elimination and encourage
labor.
As you might imagine, I was cleared out by lunchtime, but still no
rushes. My mother and I continued to
work on the project of building the cushions for the restaurant booth dining
area in my tiny house. I was hydrating
with coconut water and around 2 o’clock was feeling very unfocused. I measured something three times and couldn’t
remember the numbers. Again, another
clear sign of labor, but of course I wasn’t thinking of it as that.
At this time my mother encouraged me to go lay down and about 30
minutes later, more water rushed from me.
At this time, I also did notice my mucus plug leave and there was a
bloody tinge to the water. We called the
midwives, got my birth bag, I started downing my red raspberry leaf tea, and by
4 o’clock we were at the birth center checking to see if the water was amniotic
fluid.
I had been feeling lower uterine contractions, but nothing top
down like I had with the Braxton Hicks Contractions and like I had been told in
my classes. We began timing them out and
they were regular at about 30 sec. and 3 minutes apart. They didn’t really hurt but they were growing
in strength.
THANKFULLY this time they tested the waters and it was amniotic
fluid. Hooray!!! We checked into my room and then as if my body
had been given permission, the contractions grew stronger and stronger. The show had started.
GO TIME. LABOR.
For 10 hours I went through a very intense and active labor. We had prepared by learning different comfort
measures and the birth center was pretty much a free range for me to move
around and do what I needed to do.
What
worked.
We brought my yoga mat and I found that being on my hands and
knees during a contraction and then recovering in a child’s pose over a ball or
hanging onto the edge of the bed was great.
At a birth center the beds are more likely to be larger, and ours was a
queen sized bed.
Sometimes I would sit on the ball and push back into my husband’s
hands so he could massage my lower back and hips. I don’t think I was having back labor, but
when your hips are expanding to bring a baby into the world it hurts around
your lower back regardless.
After about 5 or 6 hours I got into the tub. The hot water is amazingly relaxing and so
helpful. It’s true about it being like a
liquid, full body, epidural.
Occasionally, I got out of the tub and into the shower where I
rocked back and forth in a squat on a foam roller that I brought with me. My husband was with me each step of the way,
and in the shower used the hand held pulsing option to target my hips and back. That was great.
I sat backwards on the toilet and slapped the countertop beside
it, rhythmically through each contraction, while my husband massaged my back.
I threw up. I threw up a
lot. I drank too much raspberry tea and
it all came back up, but I also think I would have thrown up regardless of what
I consumed. While particularly not fun, I relaxed more deeply after each bout of throwing up.
Unfortunately I wasn’t dilating very quickly, which was
particularly frustrating, but not surprising for a first time Mom. About six
hours in I thought I must be going through transition, which feels like hard
work, but I was only at 5 centimeters and the midwife said she hadn’t seen me
go “there” yet. I asked what she meant
and she described the internal mindset that she sees women go to, deep within
themselves.
Awesome. I’m an actor and a
very visual learner. If that was the
feeling/persona I needed to get to then, ok that’s where I’ll go. THIS helped. Looking back on it, this is
why I really wish I had witnessed a woman give birth (like be in the room, not
just youtube) before experiencing it myself for the first time.
My husband later said he noticed me get “into character” and he
wondered if I was real or if I was acting.
I think I was doing a bit of both.
But either way, it helped me and if my method acting training helped get
me there, then thank god for all those classes!
What
didn’t work.
Anything on top of that bed.
I tried lying on my side with the peanut ball between my legs, I tried
lying back, but pretty much anything lying down was not working for me. I kept thinking it would be ok because this
is the go-to position in every birth I’ve seen in Hollywood! This is how they do it in hospitals, right?
Walking around did not work.
Each time I tried to go for a walk, I would end up running back to the
bathroom to throw up. I could pace back
and forth, and found the rhythm helpful, but anything more than that was not
happening.
What
worked but was not awesome.
I was still holding at 5 cm after a few more hours of labor. The midwife suggested she help manually
dilate me. I knew this could help and so
I agreed. Thankfully she was able to easily
help me go from 5 to 7 cms. I’m not
going to lie, this was really uncomfortable.
I definitely did not like it, but I was fairly discouraged and this helped
get me back to a confidence that things were progressing.
PUSHING
I pushed for close to 3 hours.
Let me just say, I never felt the ‘urge to poop.’ I kept waiting for that feeling to be the
signal to help me know when I could start pushing, but it never happened. What did happen was my midwives told me to
reach down and feel my baby.
This was crazy, cool, and incredibly gratifying. I was doing all this work, for hours, and
still felt like nothing was happening especially when they checked and I had
only dilated another 2 centimeters.
By the third time I got back in the tub, about 10 hours into
labor, I reached down and I could feel my baby’s head. YES!
This was happening!!! I was about
to have a baby!
Pushing was hard. It was
tiring, and it definitely hurt. I draped
myself over the edge of the tub (dear birth tubmakers- please cushion a portion
of the tub for this express purpose, I bruised my arm pits and shoulders from
this effort) and I slapped the side of the tub through each contraction and
push. I’m a singer and dancer, rhythm
was very helpful for me.
I got guttural and I sang the baby down.
My mother actually reflects on this part of my birth as one of the
coolest parts. I didn’t really realize
what I was doing, but as I pushed I would also sing deeply and tell the baby to
come out and come join us.
The whole time I was in the tub doing this, my husband was right
behind me, massaging and encouraging me.
I am so grateful for his support. While I definitely was doing something
very singular, it was his strength, my mother’s encouragement, my in-laws
presence in the waiting room, and my trio of midwives cheering me on while
assuring me that I and the baby were doing great, that made my birth such a
team experience.
Finally, we got to the “ring of fire” point. The midwives warned me when it was close and
that moment in labor is so aptly named. Y’all,
it is a ring of FIRE.
Here’s what I knew in that moment; my baby was about to be in my
arms and I knew in 2 or 3 pushes she would be out. I could feel it so clearly and as a strong
individual, I could and would easily push her out.
Here’s what I know now, and what I wish my midwives or husband
would have said to me.
DON’T PUSH.
Later, I briefly remembered my teacher saying this in our class,
and reading it in other birth stories, but what I couldn’t do in that moment
was remember it. The pay off was too
close. It’s like that exercise with the
kids and cookies. If you can wait you’ll
get two cookies. Ladies, please wait.
In that moment I wish my husband would have squeezed my shoulders
tightly and told me to breath, don’t push.
I wish my midwife had gotten right up in my face, made eye contact with
me and told me not to push.
Why? Because this was my
first baby. Because I am a strong
gal. Because I was not drugged up, and
because I could feel everything. All of
this leads to the dreaded tearing if you push through it.
Not only did I push through it but I lunged to the left. Something I again remembered later not to do,
but in the moment, if felt right and it delivered my baby into the world.
My husband caught our baby and passed her up to me, under
water. I leaned back into him and lifted
our sweet baby onto my chest and out of the water.
Elation, euphoria, zero pain, and all joy. I was so completely moved that we now had a
baby! A baby! Life changing!
The cord was a little short and there was blood in the water
making it darker in an already dark room so we couldn’t see the gender and had
to let the midwives tell us what the sex was- a girl! Our newborn daughter was here and was ours.
In the warm water we cherished her and she squealed. We let the cord pulse all that oxygen rich
blood and hormone filled goodness back into her. Finally, she was detached from me and this
beautiful little girl started to be on her own in this world.
My in-laws came in to meet her and my father was called with the
joyous news. We were thrilled and I felt
amazing.
POST
BIRTH. IT’S NOT OVER.
The midwives helped me out of the tub with the baby and over to
the big bed, where we went to finish labor and keep that skin-to-skin contact
going.
At this time, my husband hopped into his well-deserved shower for
himself, but unfortunately came out to the news that I was going to the ER.
Two things were happening.
When I delivered the placenta, it was unusual and not all in one piece,
perhaps due to a longer gestation, not entirely unusual. The midwives tried to sweep it out, but the
second thing that had happened was when I tore, the tear was a third-degree
tear, and had opened a major artery. I
was losing blood, a lot of blood. They
estimate by the time I went into surgery I had lost 1000 ccs of blood.
The midwives gave me a shot of methergin to help my uterus begin
contracting down and hopefully help expel the rest of the placenta; also, it
was uncertain where the bleeding was all coming from, so this was the right
thing to do.
By the time the ambulance and EMTs arrived they gave me a shot of
Pitocin too before moving me into the ambulance. I remember the ride very clearly. I was chatty, happy, felt ready to go and not
in pain at all. I attribute this to the
wonder of post-birth hormones.
They wouldn’t let my daughter ride in the ambulance with me, so my
husband had to follow in this very scary moment with our new baby in her new
car seat for the very first time. Of
course, my mother and lead midwife came along too, and once in the prep room my
midwife helped to keep my daughter on my chest and helped encourage her sleepy
self to begin latching on which she did beautifully.
THE EPIDURAL I COULDN’T HAVE DONE WITHOUT.
The nurses tested my hemoglobin levels (abysmally low), tried to
get fluids in me (but had trouble finding veins), and gave me a shot of
methergin to help my uterus continue to contract back down. As the staff, doctor, anesthesiologist, and
nurses were coming and going, my midwife kept whispering in my ear: ‘epidural.’ I thought she was trying to tell me this was
going to happen, but then as I listened to the doctors and overheard them
talking about whether to put me completely under or give me an epidural, I then
realized what she was trying to tell me.
So, I spoke up for myself and requested an epidural. I am so grateful for her encouragement and
for this epidural, because I would later have to advocate for myself three
times during my emergency DNC and laceration repair surgery.
Before going into surgery, the OB tried to sweep away the placenta
and avoid having to do the DNC work.
This was the most painful moment of my childbirth experience. Remember I had a third-degree tear too. It was more than the feeling of salt in a
wound, it killed. WHY he couldn’t have
at least numbed that area before attempting to sweep my uterus with his big fat
hands will always baffle me.
I screamed in song. I
screamed loud, in song. It was “If I
only had a brain” from the Wizard of Oz that played in my mind and in effort to
distract myself from the pain, I sang.
Later in the operating room I sang again to keep myself alert and awake.
The other big problem was the hospital wanted to admit my
baby. No big deal, except, she was not
their patient. I was. She was doing great, had a 10 on her APGAR
and only needed me, not them, not their cold nursery, not their imposed
bathing, not their heel pricking, not their antibiotics, and not their poking
and prodding. Nor did we need all the
charges that would come with that needless expensive care. BUT if
she wasn’t a patient, then she couldn’t be with me. Ugh. Ridiculous.
Thankfully my husband was like, “O.K., if this is how it is, then she
will sleep on my chest, we’ll leave, we’ll wait and rejoin as a family, asap.” Newborns have plenty of energy stored up in
their little bodies for the big journey they just went on and for the recovery
and wait time while milk comes in, so I wasn’t worried, I just of course wanted
to be reunited with my baby as soon as I was out of surgery, and it seemed like
this might not be the case. I hoped and
was assured that I would easily be released in 24 hours.
Breastfeeding was my expressed wish and since I wouldn’t be able
to be with my baby, the hospital said they would provide me with a pump. Nice.
Thankfully my clever recovery nurses came to my rescue to reunite us,
but first back to my surgery.
After getting enough fluids in me, prepping me for surgery, I said
goodbye to my loved ones, not worried about the procedure, hopeful that I would
be through this shortly. I was wheeled
into a 67 degree, bright white operating room.
Obviously, this is exactly how you want a room for surgery, but I can’t
believe how many mothers give birth in this environment. I was freezing.
My OB surgeon came in after my epidural, and while generally polite,
he began the whole experience by insulting me and my midwives. It was the back handed compliment style
stating he “had nothing against midwives,” and learned a lot from them back in
Oregon, but basically he felt natural childbirth is not the way to go about it
safely. Later, off-cuff to his
assistant, he literally said that un-medicated births are like a C-section for
the vagina. Really? I know he probably thought I couldn’t hear
him, but I know he knew I was listening because…
SURGERY.
In discussion for medication for me, he asked the nurse to prep
anti-biotics. I piped up, and said I planned on breastfeeding and that I would
prefer to only have them if necessary post-surgery. Since I didn’t
currently have an infection, I’d prefer surgery and then see how I heal rather
than being given antibiotics automatically. Meanwhile the nurse, looking over my chart,
said to the doctor, “she’s Group B Strep positive, so she’s already had
some.”
If she had been listening to me or read my chart closer, she would
have seen I did not take antibiotics at birth for the potential infection that
I may or may not have had, and that may or may not be colonizing, and that may
or may not hurt my baby, because Group B Strep may or may not be causing a
health problem for women and new babies.
See my blog on that choice here and comment there, if you feel the need to.
So, I reiterated that I was intent on breast feeding, and declined
the use of antibiotics. Gut health is
very important and I was fiercely protective of the bacteria inside my baby’s
new little system. The Doctor said, “Oh. You’re one of those.”
Yes. I’m one of those
mothers who read, researched, and educated herself on as much as possible while
pregnant. I’m one of those moms who went
through a major awakening because women aren’t given the time or resources to
do so at any other time in their sometimes highly educated worlds. I’m one of those who cares deeply about the
health of myself, my baby, and family, and no, I will not be taken advantage of
if I can help it.
My already cold self then asked the nurses to check on my left arm
as it was particularly cold. An
additional blanket was hefted over me.
The doctor continued to work and then asked for the drug Cytotec
to be prepped. Cytotec is a drug
notoriously linked to maternal death. It
is a drug made to treat ulcers and it has been used “off label” for inductions
but at times lead to uterine ruptures that are sometimes fatal and sometimes
result in hysterectomies. I was not
going to be given Cytotec.
Again, I made my voice heard.
I asked what the intent with Cytotec was for, he said “to help your
uterus contract down and prevent hemorrhaging,” (something breast feeding would
do naturally for me.) I asked if that
was why they had given me two shots of Pitocin and a shot of methergin already? He confirmed as much and so I asked if one of
those drugs could be used again, if necessary.
He sullenly gave me another shot of Methergin.
I was nicely distracted by these procedures I didn’t agree with,
but another thing was keeping me awake too, my cold arm. Again, I spoke up about my arm that while
heavy with blankets wasn’t getting warmer.
Finally, the anesthesiologist’s assistant came to check on me and found
that my IV had popped out and my arm was cold in a puddle of IV fluid.
Ok. I’m going to stop for a
minute and say that this hospital could be particularly bad, but I think the
greater realization is that everything that was going on was entirely
human. Errors, opinions, research, lack
of knowledge, all of it. Therefore, I
think we should always try to be aware, be honest with our families and doctors
and be conscious of those we are serving whether we are giving someone a coffee
that is way too hot, or not giving proper attention to an IV in a patient’s
arm.
RECOVERY.
It was now close to 8am. My
surgery and DNC were wrapped up. The
surgeon said everything went well and that he thought I could be discharged
within 24 hours. I was sent back to the Labor and Delivery floor to
recover.
Shift change was happening, and I was given a new nurse, one who
was about my age and who I learned had children of her own. After getting the low-down on my procedures
and recovery instructions, we were left alone and she asked if I wanted to rest
on my own or have my baby brought in from the nursery. The notes about my daughter being dismissed
with my husband had apparently not been included in her briefing.
I caught her up to speed and she was aware of the rule, but more
importantly she knew this was a rule that was only applied to the Labor and
Delivery floor. She went to get me a
pump and said she had an idea.
There was another wing of the hospital for patients recovering
from obstetrical procedures. My new
nurse coordinated with the head nurse of that floor and miraculously there was
an empty room with two beds and my husband and daughter could join me on that
floor. Hallelujah!
REUNION.
Even though I knew I needed to sleep, I also knew I needed to
eat. I’d lost a lot of blood and an iron
tablet is good step towards rebuilding, but after all the work I had done I was
also really hungry. In sleep my body
would begin recovering. I wanted to make
sure it had the fuel it needed to recover.
Had I been recovering at the birth center, we would have rested
and then eaten a high protein meal before leaving for home. This is part of their rules. In my birth bag I had snacks and drinks at
the ready, and there was a delicious quiche that I had made waiting in the
midwives refrigerator. Of course, all of
these things were at the birth center, not in the hospital with me.
I saw the nurse place an order for breakfast for me. Breakfast.
It was maybe 9am by this time, a little late but doable. I sent my husband some texts but he didn’t
answer so I assumed he was asleep. Which
he was, sweetly and shirtless with our daughter to be sure she had that
comforting skin to skin contact in her beginning moments of life.
I dozed and woke up to my husband’s texts at noon. There was no food to be seen. I was starving by this time, so my husband
went and picked up some food before joining us.
At 2pm a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup finally arrived. So much for this hospital’s opinion of “let
food be they medicine” or noticing the gluten free request on my chart.
Thankfully my husband, baby, and sausage, eggs, and a delicious GF
cheese bread from my favorite little tienda in Brandon arrived moments
later. This was the best feeling. My body and spirit could be nourished for the
first time since giving so much to everything else.
My daughter sweetly and easily latched and was very happy to
nuzzle, sleep, coo, and be mine again.
This feeling is why I think many women don’t care where they give birth,
they just want that baby out, happy and healthy on their chest. I get it.
I really do. Here I was hooked up
to IVs and catheters, and beeping machines, and scratchy hospital blankets, and
I could have cared less. Just give me my
baby and my husband.
Everyone came for visits after catching up on their own sleep and my
father arrived in Florida to meet his 3rd grandchild. We were all very happy and while I wished I
could have gone home that evening they decided to keep me over night with
husband and baby rooming in with me.
This night ended up being particularly challenging for Corbett
because while we learned as much as we could about birth and post birth, there
were certain newborn things we just didn’t know about like our baby trying to
clear her airways as the amniotic fluid does its thing of absorbing into her
lungs. The nurses had said to us, just
keep an eye on her and watch for any labored breathing. A new baby coughing and wheezing was labored
enough to us and all we had was the instinct to keep her upright and try to
suction out anything with the bulb syringe.
If you’ve ever seen those classic blue bulb syringes you’ll know
they taper off at the end. We thought
that much be so you can clear out their tiny nostrils. Not so much.
When we felt like we weren’t making things better we called the nurse and
were immediately scolded for not using the bulb right, inflaming our daughter’s
nostrils and hurting her breathing even more!
Well tell us how to use the tool before you leave us with it!
After wanting to kill and curse everyone, my husband got into a
steamy shower with our baby and that helped calm and relieve her distress. Finally, we all got to sleep.
The 24-hour mark passed in the wee hours of the morning but we
were assured I’d be checked and discharged between 9 and 10:30 that
morning. Much like breakfast being
released from the hospital didn’t come until close to 2 that afternoon. We finally got home and were welcomed by
friends and family. Our birth was
complete. The quiche was still at the
birth center but finally we were home.
A NEW LIFE.
If you’ve been watching our journey, you know that this was all
just the beginning and in 6 weeks we would hit the road for an eventual 34 city
national tour in our tiny house on wheels called #TinyLab.
Almost two years after this miraculous and strongest night of my
life, I am 41 weeks pregnant and due sometime near my daughter’s 2nd
birthday. My sister asked if I was going
to have a natural birth again, which I thought was an obvious yes, but she
thought I was crazy, esp. after going through the above.
Let me be quite clear. The
birth, was not easy. I never thought it
would be. But would I have had the same
placental and laceration issues I had given birth in a hospital with drugs?
Maybe? Maybe they would have given me an episiotomy, maybe I would have been
induced 3 days earlier or sooner, had I been under the care of a hospital OB
and would my baby have been ok? Maybe? Maybe not.
I know she wasn’t fully engaged and ready to go until she was
ready to go. I know she naturally went
through all the wonderful chemical processes that natural labor has your body
go through, and she had perfect score on her APGAR and nursed beautifully while
being very alert from day one. This is
what I know and this is what I want for my second baby.
I know the hardest part of my birth experience was post birth, in
the hospital. So how could I avoid that
this second time around?
WHAT I AM FOCUSING ON FOR BABY #2
Relaxing. As noted in my
first birth, I felt like we mastered pain management physically during the birth
with different positions, massage techniques and water therapy but mentally I
didn’t quite relax because I didn’t have an answer or practice to go to. Sure. I could "breathe deeply" but without a
specific focus/practice it is easy to get distracted by the anticipation,
tightening, rushes, and people in the room.
This birth I’ve incorporated hypnobirthing practices from the
Mongan Method as well as the Gentle Birth App.
My husband has joined me in this self-hypnosis practice and is my
partner in light tough massage as well as affirmations. I do this practice with my husband, almost daily. We also worked with coach Sarah Rossi privately in three half day sessions.
I’ve also taken an empowering one day, all women workshop that
focused on these visualization techniques and on fear releasing. My biggest fear is that I will have similar
post birth trauma to deal with and not get to recover with my baby the way I so
hoped I would be able to the first time around.
Voicing this fear and practicing the relaxing and releasing that I know
will be needed for a successful delivery without trauma is a big part of my
world this go around.
We will be birthing at the Atlanta Birth Center, Atlanta’s only
free standing birth center and the second one in GA. I am very surprised that this area doesn’t
have more birth center options but like Chicago, hospitals are big business and
the Centers for Disease Control is located down here like the American Medical Association is headquartered in Chicago. I’m sure politics weigh heavily in keeping
competition, a.k.a. options for women, at bay.
ABC has been a great resource for massage therapy, Mayan abdominal
specifically, and group acupuncture, at relaxing and affordable options. I have taken advantage of both, but now in the 11th hour, I wish I could have done more of it. Alas, I have done my best.
ABC provides that relaxing “in home” environment I want to birth
my baby in while still having access to necessary equipment and trained,
experienced, certified midwives to help me navigate this second birth, need
be. The only problem has been that none
of it has been covered by insurance. So far,
the insurance rigmarole has been the most stressful part of this pregnancy but not for a story for this post.
At any moment now I get to DELIVER my next child into this world. I am beyond thrilled, already so in love, and ready for my second rodeo.
This may be it for me.
We like the family of four concept.
I am savoring every last kick, twinge, and moment of being a family of three.
My heart swells, overflowing with joy and purpose in this journey.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for your curiosity. Thank you for your support.
