Who will you be thanking today?

I am blessed to be carrying our second child. I have been very healthy
and happy for this pregnancy and am enjoying taking our prepared
childbirth class again with this baby. This weekend I attended a baby
shower and the mother outed me as “the lady who had a 58-hour labor
without drugs last time!” Of course, people started asking questions.
Thus, I have come up with a short list of stereotypes that I find
annoying:

1. All people who choose natural birth are hippies.- I have nothing
   against people who live a “crunchy” lifestyle, my family certainly
   makes some green choices. However, please do not assume that I am a
   hippie. I think you will be disappointed.
2. All natural birth advocates are militant anti-drug crazy people.-I
   believe that medications in labor have their time and place and I am
   thankful for them when they are necessary. However, I do not feel that
   they fit every woman and situation the way our society advertises.
3. I will judge you if you have a medicated labor.- I have people
   honestly try to hide the fact that they have had an epidural in their
   births because they fear that I’ll chastise them or think less of them
   for their birth choices. How sad that you think so little of me!
4. Moms who choose a natural birth have superhuman pain tolerance.-
   Aside from the hilarity of this (if you knew me) I think it takes away
   some of the power of a woman who has worked hard to manage the pain of
   labor. I always say I don’t have a high pain tolerance, I just have a
   great support team.
5. Natural birth advocates are smug about their births.- While this is
   true of some people, this isn’t true of all people. I know that my
   birth experience was part good education, part good preparation and
   part good fortune. I was blessed to have the birth that I had the
   first time and I pray I get as nice of an experience this time.

It takes a lot for me to be able to control myself sometimes. I bite my tongue on a daily basis when I talk to my friends, or acquaintances, about birth. Many of them are pregnant, are trying to conceive, or have children already. I have friends that choose unassisted birth and friends that choose elective cesareans. I’m somewhere in the middle: I wanted a homebirth badly for my second child. My husband was very against the idea, so we ended up going to the hospital. It was a terrible experience, complete with birth trauma and physical abuse. It has, in turn, made me want to become a doula and childbirth educator so I can reach more families and debunk the myths of childbirth. I’m slowly reading through one of the certifying groups’ book list, giving myself time (my kids are still little!) and letting it all sink in.

The hardest part of taking this path (for me) is learning to curb myself. My best birth isn’t Sally’s best birth. While it may drive me crazy that my friend is tethered to a bed after expressing an interest in being mobile or break my heart after I hear that yet another person has had a cesarean due to being on the clock (impatience), that’s not my birth. While I will never understand the woman that chooses an elective cesarean without fighting for a VBAC, that’s not my place. My place is to encourage, support, be kind, allow them talk about their birth as I talk about my own.

A very dear friend of mine is facing her third (and final) cesarean within the next month. Whenever we talk, she always makes sure to remind me that she cannot attempt a VBAC (a life-long medical condition keeps her from having a vaginal birth). I’ve never discounted the severity of her medical condition and support the decision for her to have a repeat cesarean. It makes me wonder how I come off to people: am I pushy? Rude? Do I really act like natural, vaginal birth is the only way to birth? I know others that do, women that call themselves ‘birth advocates’ and then put down women that choose a different birthing method than them. I’ve been told that I got what I deserved (re: my second birth) because I went to the hospital and that it was my fault that my birth ended up the way it did. I’ve never seen myself as one of these people: I adhere to the ‘different strokes for different folks’ rule.

My friend’s actions have made me re-evaluate the things that come out of my mouth when I discuss childbirth. While I would love for every woman to experience the excitement of unmedicated birth, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I want women to come to me knowing that I will give them accurate information, not push an agenda down their throats. So here it is: as of today, I support EVERY woman, EVERYWHERE, to get the birth that SHE wants. If that means birthing at home or scheduling a cesarean, then so be it. I’m not here to pass judgment, I’m here to educate.

            Why is it that only women who are pregnant can talk about birth? Why can’t young girls ask questions and try to understand what they will most likely experience for themselves one day?  American culture views women who talk about pregnancy or birth as planning to become pregnant now.  And if you’re a young woman asking about it, they automatically say you should wait until you’re older and are married.  A simple question such as “where did you have your baby?” turns into an hour long lecture on waiting until you’ve got your life together and are married.  Maybe I’m just curious about what’s going to happen to my body and what my options are so when I do decide to have a baby, I’m not scared and know what’s available to me.  But instead when I go to the doctor because I have a sore throat and I’m reading a chapter of Birth by Tina Cassidy, the nurses look at me with a sad, sympathetic face and wonder if my parents are speaking to me.  Can’t a young woman just be interested in the birthing process?

            By taking Dr. Uzelac’s class, I’ve opened my mind to different ideas and cultures.  I was talking to a friend today after Dr. Uzelac’s class and I mentioned the video The Business of Being Born, and she said “Is that the one where Ricky Lake gives birth at home? Is she crazy?” What my friend doesn’t know is how safe that can actually be.  And I’ll admit, before this class I would have said the same thing.  We’re taught from when we’re young that hospitals are where we’re suppose to give birth and that anywhere else is unsafe.  When you’re not exposed to other types of births, they seem to be crazy or dangerous when in all reality they can be safer and less painful. 

            This class has helped me to broaden my horizons and open my mind to different kinds of births.  I think young girls should have a class they can take to understand what happens during pregnancy and birth and that it’s not scary.  So many women don’t know the options that are available to them which is sad.  Girls should be able to talk to their mothers about birth without it being awkward.  I was definitely terrified of birth before and I’m proud to say that since I’m now more educated about it, I’m looking forward to a birth of my choice because I realize that I’m in control.

Yesterday my midwife must have seen into my soul and understood what my mind and body were going through. She offered to stir things up a bit to my relief. I took two homeopathic remedies rotationally (Caulophyllum and Cimicfuga) every hour since our noon visit until 10 at night and she stretched my cervix a bit and performed what is called a “membrane sweep”.http://www.birthingnaturally.net/birthplan/intervention/induction/membranes.html

After this meeting, I experienced some spotting for the rest of the day and some light cramping. I continued to take the homeopathic remedies throughout the day into the evening. At about 6:30 pm, I experienced some pretty strong contractions. These came sporadically at about every hour and a half to every 10-15 minutes apart. At about 8 we put my daughter to bed (she’s 14 months). Strangely enough, when we thought she was fast asleep at about 9:00 she woke up and started crying for her momma. When I went upstairs to cuddle her, she seemed to be aware of what was going on. She usually curls up next to me but that night, she laid her head on my belly and fell asleep cooing “mama”, like she knew it would be our last bedtime together before her sister arrived. It brought me to tears. I think that even though she is so young she had some sort of sixth sense about it all.

After my daughter was securely in bed, my husband and I sat down to watch a movie and I chose to sit on the exercise ball to manage the contractions. My intention was to keep going what had started so I moved around quite frequently throughout the movie. At about 10:30 we went up to bed to try to get some rest and to my dismay, my contractions had quieted down to about 45 minute intervals.

I was in and out of bed, anxious and still experiencing contractions when they grew more intense and started lasting over a minute in which I had to hold my breath through the waves. They were now about ten minutes apart and somehow I knew that I should wake my husband up to start the labor preparations such as blowing up the tub and getting the bed labor-proofed.

I followed him downstairs and while he was blowing up the tub, and getting the bed ready I first attended to him by giving him vitamins and making him tea (he was feeling ill that day and he NEVER gets sick). When my contractions got stronger I was walking around and counting the minutes on the clock. They were still 10 minutes apart but very strong (I was instructed to call the midwife at 5 minutes apart).

During this time, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom, because the toilet with the hole for a seat was the most comfortable since it didn’t put any pressure “down there”. I started bleeding and to me it looked like a great amount. My contractions got to 5 minutes apart and I calmly called my midwife. She said that I seemed so calm on the phone that she’d make herself some tea to wake up and then head over there. I also texted my friend who had agreed to come get my daughter and told her about what was going on.

In a span of about 10 minutes, I yelled at my husband to hurry up and start filling the tub, and to call my midwife back and tell her to come NOW because 1) I was bleeding A LOT and 2) My contractions suddenly were on top of one another with about a half a minute break. He also called my friend and told her to come NOW. I think I said “Call Suzanne, get Ellen OUT of the house! (Because I was screaming at this point through every contraction they were so intense).

Instinctually I thought to myself “I have to get up now and move to the tub because if I don’t I’ll be stuck on this toilet” and I was right. Somehow I managed to lift myself out of the bathroom and into the tub, which was set up in the dining room, which was only a quarter of the way full. Doing awesome tub management, my husband was concerned about the temperature and kept checking it but I really didn’t care if it was too hot, it felt better than being dry and dealing with those waves.

As soon as I got in, I started moaning loudly with the contractions. They were still right on top of one another. After about only 5 minutes I felt something “pop” which was my bag of waters breaking. Right after the pop, I yelled to my husband that she was going to come NOW and that I “don’t want to push”. I was scared. We were alone. What if the baby came out not breathing or what if I was bleeding too much like I thought?

I yelled for him to find the bulb syringe because I knew that if she wasn’t breathing, we might have to suck water/ mucous out of her mouth to help her. He got on that task right away and before he was done washing the syringe, I felt a huge urge to push, screamed that I didn’t want to push but my body had other intentions.

She was out in two pushes, back to back with no break in between. I felt for her head in the water and cupped it while her body slid out. I took her out of the water immediately and onto my chest. I looked at her face and my husband emerged from the bathroom with the clean bulb syringe. We waited for her to cry and she let out a wet little peep. One tiny cry. She opened her eyes and looked around. I held her close to me in the warm tub and instructed my husband to get a towel. I couldn’t really move because she was attached and I didn’t know how long the cord was so I just held her there, close to the water with a towel that got soaked. After a few minutes I said, “I think with this wet towel, she may get cold”. We need to try to get the placenta out and get her detached and warm.” So I carefully stood up onto my knees in the tub and handed her to my husband while I pushed the placenta out. He handed her back to me and got a bowl to put it in so it wouldn’t just be floating around in the tub.

I then asked him to get some scissors to cut the cord since the placenta was out and it had been about 5 minutes. He found some kitchen scissors and again, cleaned them off the best we could in limited time and then he cut her cord.

This is the time my midwife and my friend arrived. I was sitting in the tub; holding her, cord freshly cut. We explained what had just happened and that we had just cut the cord. “Did you clamp it?” she said. “No I didn’t even think about that, I just thought we needed to get her warm and in a dry clean towel.

So my midwife, a bit stunned that this had all just happened in the 15 minutes she was in route, quickly dug into her bag, found a clamp, put it on, and then cut the cord to a proper length (we were smart for cutting it long).

I told my friend thank you for coming but our daughter had slept through the whole thing.

My midwife then took on the grandmotherly role helping us manage self- care, and we passed the baby to daddy so that I could get out of the tub and we could get her bundled.

I arose from the tub dazed. Did that all just really happen? Did I deliver my own baby?

I was not bleeding profusely as I had believed, I have two TINY hairline tears that stitches would cause more damage to then good, so it’s not needed, and the baby latched on right away and is rosy cheeked and healthy as an ox.

Certainly if I was not planning to give birth at home, she would have been born in the car on the way to the birth center or the hospital.

Thank god for my husband, my birthing tub, my daughter for sleeping through the whole thing, and my baby for entering this world so swiftly.

It was a crazy ride and I’m so glad that I was on it.

Oh AND while I’m blogging away because I’m still high on love hormones, can’t sleep, and want to record this to the best of my memory, my husband made me breakfast in bed (banana pancakes, and bacon), is cleaning up all of the mess, and taking care of our older daughter. Life is good.

So I sat in misery for a few days until I went to biopsych of birth class which always makes me feel better. This particular day we were talking about a father’s place during labor and the topic struck a chord with me. My daughter’s father was there when she was born and was supportive in his own way, but it was not something he really wanted to witness or had any interest in learning more about in fact he almost fainted twice. Let’s just say that does not help when you’re in the middle of trying to push a baby out.

Sometimes I feel like his reluctance and disengagement from the thing that I consider to be the most important thing I will ever do in my life should have been a sign that that attitude would translate into fatherhood. The more I think about it the more I feel that a man’s reaction to the birth of his child says a lot about him. I could be wrong, and I’m open to hearing from other people with different perspectives.

I just know that the man that has stepped up to be a “father” to my daughter wishes he could have been there to support me when I needed it the most and is the guy that actually discusses the topics we touch upon in class with me. He is totally fine for trying a natural approach if we were to ever have a child of our own and that’s got to count for something. I don’t believe fatherhood necessarily has to begin with the birth of a child but I do think that if a man is fortunate enough to be present for it then he should be educated as much as the woman in order to truly appreciate the miracle of birth. I wonder how other women’s partners have reacted to the births of their children or even throughout pregnancy and after. Having a baby is a huge deal, not only for the mother but also for the father, and it’s interesting to me to hear other people’s accounts. Maybe classes like this and a blog like this one can answer those questions for me, but until then I’m going to catch up on Little Bear with my little girl.

 Having a lot of kids is something to be proud of.  It means you’re fruitful and it builds up your reputation as a strong woman in your community.  Having many children back in my grandma’s day was, in her view, the equivalent to the successful female entrepreneur today.  It was considered, for a while, a woman’s job and if she was good at it, she was respected.

 My grandmother arrived at the hospital for my birth in 1989, with her 35mm camera, a brand new role of film, and a few extras incase she needed to reload and catch more of the action.  It’s not like birth is this taboo subject that no one can talk about or is looked down upon; so why is it that hardly anyone talks about it, knows about it, or even understands what is happening when it’s happening?

 Coming into Biopsychology of Birth, I knew absolutely nothing about giving birth except that it hurts.  It hurts no matter what you do, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.  I mean, I know because of my vast exposure to church and the good, benevolent Lord’s word that due to Eve’s sin, women have to now endure pain when giving birth.  This is what I’ve learned in my 21 years of being a woman.  In turn, my knowledge of birth remains nonexistent.

Thank goodness I’m taking Biopsych of Birth or it would have probably remained that way for a long while.  This class has really sparked my curiosity about the real, unspoken of facts, regarding the women in my family and their pregnancies.  Maybe they haven’t told me because I haven’t asked!

 I finally asked my grandmother about her birthing experience.  In the births of all three of her sons, in her words, after the pain began, it only took her 45 minutes to deliver them.  I wanted to know everything.

What kind of medications did she take?  Did she have an epidural?  How long did labor last? How were her contractions? Were there any complications?  She honestly could not answer any of these questions.  All she knew was that the doctor stuck a big needle in her back and that she thought it took her a short amount of time to deliver because her body simply cannot handle pain.

As it turns out, the women in my family haven’t told me about their birthing experiences because it’s a family secret or it’s too personal; They haven’t told me because they have no idea what happened.

 I know that there are women out there who do ask questions and become educated.  But I feel like there aren’t enough!  Women are giving birth every single day.  Women having children is certainly not something new.

How can it be that a woman in her twenties coming from a respectable family goes into the hospital to have a child not knowing one thing about what is about to happen except that it will most certainly hurt?  I know I am not the only one.  So why, as a culture don’t we ask questions?  Why don’t we know more?  Why don’t women know their options and their rights?

More importantly, how can they not?

When I had my first baby in a hospital, I was told no photography during the birth, including video.  I didn’t really question this, though I was disappointed. I was told that the reason was the photographer might get in the doctor’s way.  My mother came to the birth and was videotaping, she just never turned it off, so we have a video of the whole thing, unintentionally.  Ouch.  After watching the video, I knew why they didn’t allow it. When I tried to talk to the doctor who had done my birth (someone I had not met until that evening) I offered to sit with her and watch the video after she refuted my claims.  She refused to watch the video, but sent a letter of half-hearted apology for my complaints, dismissing her unprofessional behavior to the fact that she was tired.

So this bears asking – why is it okay for doctors to video tape and photograph labor, birth, c-sections and hospital procedures and surgery (Yes, it’s in the consent forms!), but you can’t do the same for your own body?  There was a case several years ago where the doctor was performing a scheduled hysterectomy and videotaped it, sending the woman home with the video.  She decided to watch it and was horrified when he etched the name of his alma mater into her uterus. The case wound up being dismissed because he explained that was how he was taught to orient himself during surgery.  After hearing his explanation, it actually made more sense to me and apparently to those dealing with the complaint.  In this case the video exonerated him. So if you have someone telling you no birth photos in case of liability, then ask them why they film so many other procedures.  Work your way up to the administration if need be to get your birth videos.

After my first birth I have a strict “my body my photos” rule.  This has led to a series of photos that I don’t bring out often but secretly make me happy to have.  There are photos of two ear surgeries, my husband’s appendix, my removed fallopian tube… You get the idea.

So why not give women the smiling photos of themselves giving birth?  In my subsequent births, I’ve always tried to capture the special moments of birth, greeting my new baby for the first time.  There was one of my baby’s that I never would have realized that only my husband and I caught her, hands together.  Our midwife hadn’t interfered and I hadn’t recalled putting my hands down to lift my baby out – only the photo told me that and makes me beam even today almost ten years later.  There is the photo of all of our hands holding the new baby, a series of them in fact, and what isn’t obvious to anyone but use, is that while there are always only four sets of hands in the photos (mine, baby’s, my husband’s and one of our children’s) is that the children’s hands are always from a different child!  So cool, sharing those first touches all around.

After all of my birth photos, my absolute favorite is the one of my husband’s face grinning from ear to ear as he caught or last baby, born in the water – it happened suddenly and he didn’t have a chance to even think about it.  I wasn’t even supposed to be in the bath tub, it just happened and only about 90 seconds before the birth.  Our midwife made it to the bathroom in time for him to make his first solo catch…

I would have never seen it if it hadn’t have been for the photos.

_{Photo © Grapevine Photography}

Reading over my long, involved birth story, I have decided not to share it here.  But I do want to talk about its essence: the messages, lessons and gifts I received from the birth.

Like every second birth story, mine begins with the first birth.  A birth beyond anyone’s expectations.  4.5 hours from start to finish, at 37 weeks, 2 days, at a homebirth midwife’s birth cabins.  I felt like I emerged from that birth with medals and cheering crowds.  Who would believe my body could do something so incredible?  All I had had to do was get out of the way, and with the help of the intensive emotional preparation I had done, I was able to let go and let my body birth.  There had been no time for so many of the things I had thought to try; I wanted to sing, I wanted to pray, I wanted to relax, I wanted to birth in the water.  None of these things were possible, but they weren’t needed, either.  It was better than I ever could have imagined.

So naturally, I approached this second birth with a lot of expectations.  That it would be early.  That it would be fast.  I fantasized about giving birth by myself accidentally.  I was planning to give birth at home this time with a midwife from the area.  But because I recognized that my expectations would probably be harmful in allowing myself to let go and let my body birth, I tried my best to release them.  I repeated the mantra over and over: Every birth is different.

Well… early it was.  In fact, I went on moderate bed rest at 34 weeks after my midwife discovered some dilation and effacement, as we both knew my history and I did not want to have to go to the hospital to deliver preterm.  I set my “earliest possible date” as September 4th and I pleaded with my unborn child to wait until then.  (I hope that’s the first and last time he follows the letter of my request and not the spirit!)  And there was so much tension leading up to that day, especially because my own midwife would not be in the country until I was 38 weeks, 1 day, and it looked more and more like I would have to use a backup… which complicated things further because we were expecting the birth to be very fast and I needed someone on call who would be close by.

But the birth was, indeed, totally different.  I ended up going back to those same cabins to birth with the same midwife as last time, and she was very perplexed as my birth unfolded slowly, gently, with breaks between contractions like I had never known from the previous pregnancy.  There was time to breathe.  Time to sing.  Time to pray.  Time to get in the bath.  And yes, there was even some time to experience doubt, exhaustion and impatience as the contractions reached their height and we waited for the membranes to rupture spontaneously.  The birth was 8 hours long.  But I stayed relaxed and focused.  I smiled and chatted with my husband.  It didn’t bother me at all that this birth wasn’t a speedbirth like last time.  I had some time to enjoy it, to digest it, to experience it.

Yes, it was harder.  I had a much longer transition.  The hormones that totally blurred my memory of the latter part of the first birth weren’t nearly as powerful this second time around.  It was different, but it was wonderful in its own right.

After the birth I told my brother I felt like I didn’t “come back with medals” like last time.  But my husband said to me that he thought it was the very opposite.  Sure, that first time was so impressive objectively.  My body was incredible, and I was able to step aside and let it work.  But this time required much more from me.  Patience.  Endurance.  Faith.  Acceptance.  Self-encouragement.  And I rose to the challenge and met it with just as much grace as I had with that easier birth.

So, it’s true.  Every birth is different.  But as it turns out, the mother within stays the same–wise, patient, powerful and enduring.  May we all merit to connect with her in day-to-day life as well as in those moments of birth.

• Laura/Mamapoekie from Authentic Parenting shares her thoughts on what makes a successful birth plan.
• No distractions in labor is the theme of Janet’s essay.
• Get in touch with your intuition and learn how fetal kick counts saved Sheridan’s baby’s life.
• Sit back and read about Amy’s wondrous, life changing birth experience.
• Amy Alexander gives a great historical look at where Louisiana has been with birth activism and where it’s going.
• Sarah W. Whedon, Ph.D. challenges you to think about what constitutes an unmedicated birth.