Once upon a time, oh, say, about 9 months ago (plus change), I got an email from a friend of mine, announcing the glorious news of her pregnancy and asking for some thoughts on connecting with a midwife, which in turn inspired this post.
Well, the time has come! The knockout gorgeous bundle of joy has arrived. Very recently, too (just last week), and we already have not just one, but TWO birth stories thanks to both her husband and her doula! I loved hearing the father's perspective, and then seeing the doula's point of view as well. I'll intersperse:
DAD:
Labor came on pretty quickly and unexpectedly, about a week before Reba’s EDD. At about 5pm on Thursday, we had a prenatal visit with Miriam. Reba began feeling some strongish cramps around then, and mentioned it, but they were infrequent and irregular. We joked while booking our next visit that it might be a post-natal — maybe we knew something! After our midwife left, we went for a walk and picked up dinner (panini from our favorite place in Astoria, Il Bambino)*. We watched the Simpsons at 7 (Secrets of Successful Marriage – a classic, and perhaps a sign of some sort), and by the end of the episode the cramps had become more pronounced and more regular, and were clearly contractions.
I started timing around 745, and they were already about a minute long, about five minutes apart (where they ended up staying for a long time — although they got longer and more intense). We called both [midwife] Miriam and [doula] Colleen to let them know, and then we got Reba into the regular tub for a bath, to relax through the early part of labor. She took two baths, and in between was mainly on the couch sitting upright leaning forward or in hands-and-knees. She began working harder soon there after. By 9 or so talking during the contractions was hard, and they kept gaining in intensity. (The chronology here is a little fuzzy, because Reba was already working very hard, and I was helping her relax during each one and then doing all kinds of stuff, like getting pillows and drinks, futzing with the lights, texting her sister, and timing some of the contractions.)
Around 1AM Colleen came over, saw that we were doing ok, and immediately began blowing up and filling the birth tub. (That took about 45 minutes, and there was no way I could have done it while helping Reba through the contractions).
DOULA:
I arrived in their apartment right around 1am to find Reba laboring beautifully in her living room with Kevin applying counter pressure to her thighs as he wrapped his full body around her back grounding and supporting her through the waves of contractions. The two of them formed an inspirational bubble of chanting sound energy around their space, filled with “om,” “come,” “I want/need this,” “holy” and so it was indeed a very holy sacred space to hold and bear witness. I offered primarily my presence and a reflective source of calm patient trust as Kevin and Reba were in a physical and emotional groove of perfection. They flowed together and I found myself holding space, reassuring, and lending a sympathetic ear to what Reba was feeling; I smoothly found my place easing into the tone of the energy they had set along with their individual needs.
The energy of the rushes flowed through Reba leaving her muscles shaky in its wake. Kevin was always there with steadying hands as one or both of us braced a thigh or alternately gave Reba's strong muscles a loosening massage. My arrival meant Kevin could continue caring for Reba while I took over getting the pool inflated and filled for Reba to try. As I inflated and filled the pool, Reba continued her smooth and speedy progression deeply into her labor; flowing along with its irresistible forces as her chosen birth circle quietly and gently formed around her firmly holding her space.
The contractions kept getting more intense, so I called Miriam, who arrived around 230AM. Both Reba and I were convinced she was about to have the baby — but there was still a ways to go. The main issue was that she was very physically engaged during each contraction, and had a very hard time finding a comfortable position. Hands-and knees, standing and leaning down on the arm of the couch, and sitting on the toilet seemed to be the best. Until about 4AM or so, when she really surrendered, Reba was tiring herself out by not being able to use all of the rests between contractions.
DOULA:
Miriam joined us around 3am and calmly consciously joined me in easing ourselves into the background. We were there for assurance but it was evident every step of the way that Kevin and Reba were beautifully in harmony with their process. Reba was in the pool briefly at this time but soon found her body asking to move around more. She spent time on a chair, on her knees, back on the couch and eventually settled into the bathroom with Kevin. Each wave of intensity brought with it a consistent flow of encouraging support from Kevin. Firm encouragement, steadfast belief and undeniable love were positioned unconditionally at Reba's side. Kevin toned along with Reba and met her right where she was as she coped with the reality of her labor each step of the way.
Miriam, Kevin and I were there to remind Reba that this was going to end and that she was doing it on the occasion that her personal mantra shifted into negative space. She was beyond doing it...she was doing with steadfast perfection; walking her own path just as she needed to. Reba meant business about labor and her body was not messing around; this was serious hard labor with only the briefest of breaks between the surges of energy, which at this point were intensified by the increasingly strong sensations in Reba's lower back as her baby descended deeper into her pelvis preparing for birth.
DAD:
Miriam forcefully voiced her concerns about the amount of effort around that time, so either that got through to Reba or it was just a natural surrender. At any rate, thereafter Reba was in a zone where she was at least still during the breaks.
DOULA:
After a few hours in her bathroom nest Reba gave voice to the growing feeling that she need this to change...she needed something to shift...she needed to step confidently over the next threshold...and so she did. With a shift back to the living room Reba found herself on hands and knees, resting her upper body against the physio-ball between surges as Kevin and I attended to her muscles during the breaks, and grounding her feet against my palms as Kevin voiced encouragement and her body threw itself wholeheartedly into pushing. Around 8am Reba's water spontaneously released and she began following her body's cues to push with all her might.
Time passed with much effort and Reba shifted back into the bathroom to continue pushing. Shortly she was able to reach within her healthy stretching layers of tissue to feel their child’s otherworldly skin for the very first time. Awe and reverence reflected in their eyes. Reba assumed a squat supported by Kevin sitting behind her. She followed her body's own irresistible cues and pushed in accordance, roaring her birthing song in strength and abandon. Continuously in tune and able to voice her desires, Reba soon noted that she would like to move back to the living room.
Finding a supported squat again with Kevin backing up his birthing goddess physically and emotionally, Reba began her final pushing stretch. The babe rocked back and forth in the timeless dance of birth slowly but surely opening Reba’s strong pelvis and tissues easing toward earthside. Miriam applied the soothing radiating warmth of water/oil compresses to Reba’s perineum as she calmly and quietly held the space for Reba to birth her child. Glorious crowning shortly followed smoothly moving toward revealing the babe’s face presenting with a nuchal arm. A push later at 9:38am Reba was reaching down to help bring her triumphantly birthed baby to her stomach and up to her heart radiating bliss.
Around 730, she began her pushing phase, and finally gave birth at 935 in the morning. I was sitting on the couch in our living room, holding her as she squatted just above the floor. Post-delivery, we both got to hold Rosalie right away, which was amazing. Reba was basically completely wiped out, and had to hand the baby over to me almost right away. After about an hour, we moved her up to sitting on the couch, from sitting on the floor where she had been during the delivery. After a few hours, she started feeling better, but Reba was really drained for that first chunk of time post-delivery. Miriam took great care of her.
Really, it was all amazing. I cried a lot during pushing and after delivery, and I still feel a little bit emotional. The labor totaled about 3 hours of gearing up, 11 hours of active labor, and 2 hours of pushing, but those numbers don’t do justice to the simultaneously grueling and amazing physical feat Reba performed.
I guess there are lots of things I could advise, but since even among our stories here the labors are so different, and we are well-prepared from class (really, we are — so much stuff came in handy), all I would say is, to the partners, watch the faces of your midwives and doulas, that will tell you if things are OK; and to all, try to figure out a way to allow the woman use the rests.
I can’t imagine either of us having made it through this wild, awesome, primal experience (to echo some of the sentiments below) without a real understanding what was going on, and that understanding was brought about mostly by the wonderful [childbirth ed] class we took — thanks Mary Esther!
Congratulations to all the new parents, and best of luck to those of you who are next — it is great, and there is nothing like finally having your baby enter your lives.
What an inspiring story, huh? Reba is a dancer, an amazingly strong one (that's how we know each other, in my former dancing life, she and I worked together on a number of projects and became good friends in the process), and it's so fitting to read about how physically engaged she was during her active labor - I can picture it so well. And a nuchal arm! What a challenge, and still, they worked with it so beautifully. Congratulations, new family, and welcome, sweet Rosalie.
*****
Now here's a tidbit for ya: Reba's sister (with whom I've also had the pleasure of dancing and working together) happens to have gotten pregnant at almost exactly the same time . . . and JUST THIS MORNING, her Facebook picture finally changed from a belly to a baby. We eagerly but patiently await the details. Congratulations to little sister too!
At long, long last, it's finally viewable online: the episode featuring (gasp) a home birth with (squee) Amy Romano, midwife extraordinaire, writer for Science and Sensibility and Rh Reality Check, and all around righteous babe. Not to mention her eminent colleague and partner Vicki Marnin. It takes skills far greater than I possess to be able to embed this kind of video, but just click here to view on the Birth & Beyond site. Ignore the silly, overwrought intro and enjoy.
This was great to see, and I thank TLC for broadening beyond their standard issue cascade-of-intervention fare. Also of note on the same page (belonging to Romano's past practice, Birth and Beyond) is a wonderful slide show of another mother's home birth. I've seen some truly lovely ones, and this is right up there with the best of them. The photographer (Mellissa DeMille of SmileBaby Photography) does a wonderful job of telling the entire story - it's amazing to see just how much narrative detail you get.
True story: I came THIS CLOSE to going with Birth and Beyond for my own birth - though I didn't know who Amy was at the time, I lived in Connecticut during my pregnancy and for the first 7 months of Lily's life. I did a consultation with Vicki, really liked her, and was completely torn between them and midwives I eventually went with, Nancy Farr and her apprentice Gengi Proteau. It just came down to distance - Birth and Beyond was just too far from my area to be practical for prenatal visits. Two roads diverged in a wood . . . Of course I completely adored Nancy and Gengi, but it's always interesting so see those crossroads in retrospect.
On the second anniversary of Lily's birth, I'm thrilled to share with you a new volume of uplifting birth stories, one of which is my own. Local ICAN member Gretchen Arnold and midwife Jill Johnson gathered and edited this terrific variety of remembrances, all to raise money for the Erie chapter of ICAN.
Please consider buying this, if not for yourself, it makes a wonderful gift, and the proceeds go to a tremendous cause. As Erie's latest official cesarean rates clocked in at 37.6%, we need all the help we can get!
The Batsignal went up on Facebook, calling homebirthers (and others) in to this inquisitive post at Majikthise: What Is the Appeal of Home Birth?
She asks, in earnest and without rancor:
I've never understood why anyone would choose to give birth at home, rather than in a birthing center attached to a hospital. a) Why not go somewhere where you don't have to wash the sheets? b) If there's even a remote chance that you need emergency surgery, why not arrange to be seconds away from an operating room rather than minutes, or longer?
I know that childbirth isn't a disease. On the other hand, if I had a non-disease where there was a small chance that I'd need emergency surgery within the next 72 hours, I'd prefer to park myself as close to an OR as possible.
I understand that every woman has the absolute right to make her own decisions about where and how to give birth. I'm not trying to influence anyone else.
By the time I got over there, the topic had been well-covered, safety issues addressed, specifics taken care of. So I just added my $0.02. It occurred to me that although I posted some longwinded spiels, I hadn't ever posted a simple nutshell version on my own darn blog, so here you go.
Why, because Ricki Lake did it, of course!
BUT SERIOUSLY, folks. Everyone else's answers [check out the original post and comments] completely cover my own rationale: the safety of home birth versus fighting the cascade of interventions at the hospitals. The risks of the latter put me over the edge. I won't rehash what others have covered so eloquently. Essentially, for me as an individual:
1. While it is technically possible to battle your way through the hospital for a natural birth, refusing intervention after intervention, protocol after protocol, arguing policy, fending off negative attitudes by way of the crapshoot re: which L&D nurses you get (some are great, some are not, almost all are overworked), I decided that I would rather not spend my whole labor - the birth of my child - fighting with strangers.
Your mileage may vary, and not ALL hospitals are like this. But it's fair to say that in this current state of maternity care, the odds make me wary indeed, even if you choose the perfect open-minded, supportive care provider (who may not even be the one who ends up attending you, due to the nature of group practice).
2. By the time I got pregnant, I had both read and heard firsthand SO MANY crappy hospital experiences for a first birth followed by a wonderful, healing, life-affirming experience with their second birth at home, that I just decided, "Well . . . why don't I just skip the crappy hospital experience?"
And so I did.
Final note on the matter of cleanup - as others have said, it's really nothing. So you stain some secondhand sheets and toss them, and chux pads take care of the rest, if any. It's a cinch. OR - buy/rent a birth pool and have a waterbirth! Issue = moot.
In lieu of my usual Weekend Movie offering, today I absolutely must share with you the birth story of Nella Cordelia. Be warned, this is pretty heartwrenching - but also incredibly heartwarming in the end. This mother is amazingly honest, raw, eloquent, and fierce. And anyone reading this can tell that she is the perfect mother for little Nella, with the perfect family and group of friends to come along on the journey.
Make sure you have tissues handy. I was mostly holding it together until she wrote: "Love me. Love me. I'm not what you expected, but oh, please love me."
Tell me that's not one of the greatest, if not THE greatest moment-of-birth shots you have ever seen. How AMAZING is that?
And knowing the details makes it all the more delectable. This is the fifth child for this mother, the fourth VBAC, and the second HBAC.
And this gorgeous little boy? Eleven pounds. Nary a stitch.
This total freaking goddess is a friend of mine who gave birth at home last week. The title of the post are her own words, describing how, because she had held her hands over her the baby's head as it slowly emerged to feel what was happening and give support, the photographs of her crowning moments, which would otherwise be as graphic as they come, instead ended up being totally modest. Form AND function! Check out her great attachment parenting site at State of the Heart Parenting. Her other birth stories there are compelling - well worth reading in order. Positively revelatory.
Cheers and congrats to Justine, her kickass midwives, and her whole amazing family.
Remember the pregnant mama-to-be whose concerns I responded to in Letters to a Young Homebirther? Well, I'm happy to announce that her daughter was born at home in the wee hours this Sunday morning.
If she would like to share her birth story here, it could be my first guest post!
After a lot of buildup (don't say 'foreplay', Anne, don't do it, resist the temptation, resist . . .), having heard about it for many months with many rapturous reviews, I finally got to see "Orgasmic Birth" over the weekend.
If you haven't heard of it, it's a documentary on natural, or to be even more specific, undisturbed birth, going into the potential for ecstatic experiences during childbirth. Yes, you read that right, some women actually do have orgasms while giving birth. A small percentage, true, but it really can happen, and is more likely to happen when optimal support and minimal intervention take place. A lot of the physiological processes that take place during normal childbirth ARE similar to the processes that take place during sex, in fact. And encouraging the parents to engage in affectionate intimacy can, unsurprisingly, help the labor along. What gets the baby in, gets the baby out, as the great Ina Mae has noted.
The timing may have been off, though; throughout the film, I couldn't help thinking about the very recent Today Show piece and the wake of outrage it left in the birth advocate community (see the previous post for my own letter to the Today Show). Anyway, as a result, I found myself watching it through a skeptic's eye. One of the remarks in the Today piece that has inspired the most chagrin was the comment from a doctor, quoted by Andrew Goldman, that home birthers were seeking a "hedonistic experience". It seemed, to so many of us who made the decision based on research and much self-reflection, the most completely outlandish thing we had ever heard. Excuse me? HEDONISTIC? Are we on the same planet?
But there I was, watching a movie titled "Orgasmic Birth".
And I couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is where the anonymous doctor got the idea. Now, it's not a BAD film, don't get me wrong, and contrary to the title, is hardly some birth fetish porno filled with scene after scene of women having orgasms. There's good information in there, and some really excellent commentary by experts. Christiane Northrup was absolutely wonderful, and Elizabeth Davis and Sarah Buckley were great too, along with many of the doctors and other professionals included in "The Business of Being Born".
But side by side with "The Business of Being Born", I think "Orgasmic Birth" is just not as strong a film. Mainly, I found it much less organized than "Business", and lacking the drive and flow that a narrative arc provides, and, more nitpickingly, lacking in humor and variety. I am most definitely part of the choir they're preaching to, no question. *I* get the point they're making. The fact that birth can be pleasurable in a way is a valid point, and one of the ways it is most relevant is in how the things that encourage pleasure are the very things that allow labor to function optimally. Yes yes yes. But I wonder what kind of an impression this film would give to a skeptic, an undecided mother, or even to someone opposed to home/natural/undisturbed birth altogether, to get back to my main point.
And I’m going to say it: One of my least favorite things about it is the title itself. A very common accusation from such opposing people is that women who are seeking an out-of-hospital birth are putting the birth "experience" above the safety of their child. Now, again, I get that they're trying to explain that the two do not have to be mutually exclusive, and that an ecstatic experience may be a by-product of such a supported, intimate birth, but through the skeptic's eye, I can see how the impression of "hedonism" might be given by the film.
Like I said, there are far fewer orgasms on display than you might think, and the emphasis isn't nearly as strong as the title suggests. If you already have a library of birth films going, this is definitely worth adding - especially for the "Birth By the Numbers" segment included in the special features. And, again, the contributions by Northrup and several others are worth the entire film - I particularly liked her comments on epidurals.
Scout's honor, when I first saw "The Business of Being Born", I remember saying (or at least thinking), "Now, if only Christiane Northrup had been included in the interviews, it would have been just about perfect." I wish I could edit my own pirated version of "The Business of Being Born", with Northrup's segments from "Orgasmic Birth" spliced in. Maybe a bit of Elizabeth Davis and Sarah Buckley's parts, too. Best of both worlds!
***
Two other notes on the Today Show piece: Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein have since weighed in with their own response. It's worth reading for their words alone, but in the comments I found a very interesting post by a woman who claims to know the couple whose tragic stillbirth was featured in the piece. She says:
The main reason that Riccardo and Catherine McKenzie decided to do that story was not to become anti-homebirth advocates, but to become pro-regulated out of hospital provider advocates . . . I will defend anyone who is worthy of defense but have to note that Catherine and I met as mothers who are in the slim majority- we lost our babies at home birth with , ahem, credentialed providers present . . .
They came forward in an attempt to continue to protect every mother and their partner that chooses home birth. Many perinatal organizations seems to be back peddling now- this organization is flinging mud on that one- is flinging mud and on and on it goes. Never forget please that on that day home birth did not lose a baby. A young couple lost a baby and that is what the story was supposed to be about- how if an out of hospital provider (any for that matter) is not practicing in compliance with the standards held by their peers, held by their profession, and as a matter bound by regulation that tragedy can strike. This was a tragic outcome on a day that was supposed to be joyful for this young couple.
Rather a different picture than the one painted by the Today Show, don't you think? I have mixed feelings about speculating on much beyond this, knowing that we're debating about a very real loss in an incredibly impersonal way, but I thought it was worth considering. If true, this does lend credence to the opinion that the couple's story was very much manipulated to fit the story's anti-homebirth agenda.
Prelude: Even though I was only 36 weeks along, plus change, and I figured I had a couple of weeks after I stopped working to go into my OCD nesting frenzy, I had the overpowering urge to clean the floor late Sunday night. I swept and then mopped, and was about to start cleaning the bathroom but talked myself out of it, since I was so exhausted. It was late, and after all, there was plenty of time.
*****
Monday morning. I woke up at 10, since I had a late start and planned to do some errands before my first client arrived at the office at 2 – including picking up the home birth certificate form from the town hall. As I lumbered from my bedroom into the kitchen, I trickled some fluid onto the floor. I was aghast for a second, thinking I had peed, of course, but my bladder wasn’t full & I just, well, didn’t feel like I had peed. The little puddle had a slightly red tinge to it, but since it wasn’t the huge gush we’ve come to expect thanks to movies and TV, I wasn’t sure. I went straight to the bathroom, where I promptly passed my lovely mucous plug.
It was supposed to be my last week of work – I had just worked on Saturday and then ran around doing some errands on Sunday, including attending my home birth support meeting. The day after next, Wednesday, was supposed to be my 36 week home visit, where my midwives, Nancy and Gengi, were to come to my house for the first time, meet with my labor support team, and talk extensively about how to prepare the house, the tub, and the birth kit – not to mention myself. The following week I had set aside to clean, pick up gear, organize, and then after that, I was planning to just rest and relax for my final week or two – and Aaron would come out to Massachusetts at some point in there in order to be ready. At some point soon, by birth kit would arrive (my midwives, like most, have each client order their own birth kit – a package of standard supplies like gloves and Chux pads and peri bottles, which can be customized for the preferences of both midwife and client), as well as the La Bassine birthing pool, both of which had been ordered one week ago.
(Note: there were some discrepancies with my due date – one method put me at 36, and one put me between 37 and 38. But since ‘first babies tend to be late’, we all figured we should err on that side. Right? Also, it had only been two weeks since the placenta previa that had cast a shadow over my pregnancy was finally confirmed to have ‘migrated’ out of the way, at a 34 week ultrasound – after getting many more ultrasounds throughout than I would have liked. I had feared that I wouldn’t even be able to deliver vaginally, let alone at home, and had been on pelvic rest and forbidden exercise from week 18 on. But this is another story.)
So, mucous plug, check. Some fluid, check. I knew that losing the plug can sometimes mean the onset of labor, but I also knew women who lost theirs and then walked around for another week or two. Unsure whether this was going to drag on, I called Nancy & left her a message – little did I know that she had had a late birth on Saturday and was then laid up with a migraine on Sunday. I texted Aaron and told him not to freak out just yet, I wasn’t sure what was happening – but to be on alert. Then I logged into my message boards with a cup of half-caf, as per my usual morning routine, and contemplated what to do. As I hung out there, I started to notice some contractions, but they were very, VERY mild and quite far apart – well over 10 minutes. These were different from the Braxton Hicks ‘toning’ contractions I’d been having for months; in fact, about a week prior I had had just a few of these ‘real’ yet mild contractions one evening. About three or four – and then they stopped. I thought nothing more of it at the time.
Eventually I decided to get on with at least some of my day. I went to the town hall, but the right person wasn’t there yet – I was told to come back at 1. I got gas & went home until then, and made a few more calls. I let my office know that, while I wasn’t sure I was in labor, I “might not feel up to coming in,” so maaaaaaaaybe we should cancel my clients. Just to be on the safe side. Then I called the birth kit company – it turns out there had been glitches with my order even though I placed it a week ago. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do if this was really labor.
My friend Patty was going to be my doula, so I called her next. I had JUST talked to her yesterday to remind her about the home birth visit scheduled for Wednesday, and she had gotten back into town that very day from a weekend away. She was at work, but promised to stay by her phone and would plan to try and leave early, just in case. I decided to go ahead and page Nancy on her labor or emergency-only beeper.
My contractions were becoming a little more real, but nothing too intense; I could still talk through them. I started to keep track of the times, and they were indeed becoming more frequent. Since I hadn’t heard back from Nancy yet, I called Gengi, her (very experienced) apprentice. She answered right away, and listened to everything that had transpired. She would try and get ahold of Nancy, and would plan to come up and check me early in the afternoon if I continued to progress, bringing some paper strips to test my fluid & see if it was really amniotic fluid (I was still skeptical). Gengi also said she would stop by Nancy’s and put together a birth kit for me, since I didn’t have mine yet. I thought sadly of my puny bathtub and what a poor substitute it would be for the luxurious-looking 100 gallon birthing pool.
I had a little lunch, noticing that I was now needing to stop what I was doing as each one hit. Nothing major, just wanted to stop and breathe a little. I decided I’d better go back to the town hall, this time having contractions all the way (fortunately, it was only a 3 or 4 minute drive). The town clerk was there this time, and was rather alarmed by the whole situation (though perfectly friendly).
I got my paperwork and had her explain it as best she could – she had never had to hand one of these out before. I leaned on the counter and put my head down with each contraction. When I got back home, I walked to mailbox & it was becoming clear that the contractions were getting stronger – I had to come to a dead stop halfway up the driveway. I also noticed that I was still occasionally trickling fluid. And then, I cleaned. I know, I should have rested, but I also really needed to do the bare minimum, at least. Now I knew why I’d had that totally uncharacteristic late night urge!
I let Patty know that this was maybe starting to take off, and I was worried about all the things I hadn’t yet picked up that were on the checklist in addition to the birth kit itself, like receiving blankets and towels. She made a list and headed out to the store on her way to my house. Finally I tried to relax in the gliding rocking chair as I waited for Gengi and Patty (Nancy had been reached, but needed to rest up for a while if this was it – in true midwifery fashion; the baby always arrives when it’s least convenient for the midwife.)I kept writing down time of contractions - I think by now they were about 5 or 6 minutes apart – and tried to remember to keep drinking water. I continued texting with Aaron, as I had been all morning. He had finally wrested himself free from clients and was on his way.
Suddenly there came a knock on the door. I didn’t think either Gengi or Patty would be here just yet. Lo and behold, there stood a UPS worker, holding the box that contained my inflatable birthing pool. I stammered at him in surprise that I just couldn’t believe he was here, that I was actually in labor that very moment! He seemed unimpressed.
I set the box on the counter and went back to the rocking chair – and this is where things start to get a little blurry. Gengi arrived about 10 minutes later, in an orange sweatshirt and jeans, and immediately went into action setting things up, saying we’d do an exam soon. Though Gengi was still an apprentice (apprenticeships take years and years), she was also very experienced, professionally and personally: her first baby was a cesarean due to a breech baby, her second was a vaginal birth in a hospital, and the last three were all born at home. I adored her as much as Nancy and felt totally safe in their hands. She also happened to be LDS, which made me feel oddly connected to my biological – and Mormon - side of the family, was very slim and calm in bearing, and devoted to homeopathy as well as midwifery. Patty arrived soon after that, and she started pitching in to help Gengi with the setup, including assembling the pool.
It was right about here that I started having to vocalize, not just breathe. I was surprised by this, as I’m not normally a vocalizing kind of person.Always been shy about it in yoga classes when invited to “sound it out” and such. But this was completely unavoidable. Gengi kept reminding me kindly to keep my tones low – not as in quiet, but as in deep (naturally, I could be as loud as I wanted). I continued to hang out mostly in the rocking chair. The few times I went to the bathroom and had a contraction on the toilet, I noticed that it seemed to intensify.
Okay, time for the moment of truth already. It was time to do the exam. We went into the bedroom and she checked me there. She pulled out her gloved hand, index finger straight and middle finger cocked at an angle, and regarded her fingers thoughtfully. My jaw just about hit the floor when she said “I’d say you’re at about six.” Up until that point, irrational as it is, I hadn’t REALLY believed I was in real labor; that this was really happening. It couldn’t be! I had 3 or even 4 more weeks! I didn’t have all her diapers, or our changing table, or the breast pump – and I never, ever got to take any time off! Wow. WOW.
And, of course, this is where things really took off. I decided to take a shower, since I hadn’t done so yet and it would be a while before the tub was ready.It was less than relaxing - I had several contractions in the shower, and Gengi had to come in and go over a questionnaire with me while I was in there (important stuff that was normally covered during – you guessed it – the 36 week home birth visit, like whether we would do the PKU, the eyedrops, vitamin K, etc.). I kept having to pause and rest my head against my arm on the shower wall.
When I was done, I got into some comfy pajamas and decided to experiment with being on my hands and knees, since the glider wasn’t doing it for me anymore. It was okay, but not great. I thought I’d try lying down, just to see. I made it through exactly one contraction that way. It was completely unacceptable. Actually, correction: it was FUCKING EXCRUCIATING. (Forgive me, but there's just no other way to accurately capture that sensation. It wasn't just the pain itself, which seriously went up to 11, but the sense of becoming completely unmoored and unhinged and just plain lost in the despair of it.) I rolled over on my side to see if that improved things, and it was the tiniest bit better, but still sucked unbelievably. I would have lost my mind if I had been forced to lie in a bed. Back on my hands and knees I went.
Meanwhile, Gengi and Patty did a record-breaking job of getting the birthing tub inflated (blowing into it – no fancy electric pump or even a manual bicycle-style one) and filled, including the eventuality of running out of hot water from our tiny tank (it was 29 gallons – and the tub was 100). They then had to constantly boil all the biggest pots I had on the stove - all the while things were getting more intense with me, of course. Fortunately, being me, I got a lotta pots.
Patty took over all communications, as I was losing the ability to speak. I had made a list of all the key people who needed to be called. Aaron checked in regularly, driving frantically, the poor guy. He could hear me bellowing and braying in the background with each call.
At some point my cat made herself scarce.
Gengi and Patty took turns coming in to the bedroom to deal with me. The hands and knees just was not working as well after a while – after some uncomfortable experimentation, I finally found the one thing that worked for me. I had to sit upright on the edge of the bed with my feet pushing into the floor (the mattress and box spring were right on the floor). I needed back support, so I tried having Patty sit behind me, back to back.
This was the ticket. With each contraction I pushed my feet into the ground and leaned hard in to Patty, clutching her hand for dear life, and moaned to the heavens. Sometimes she would moan along with me, trying to help keep my tones low. Gengi came in and did soothing strokes down my legs and gave me gentle, empowering words from time to time. She also used the Doppler to listen to the heart rate periodically, though I never again had another internal exam. This went on for a while, until the rest of my water broke, and this time it was the full flood. I yelled for Gengi.
Digression: Somewhere along the way, I completely lost all verbal ability. “Those lights are starting to bother me. Can we turn them down, or maybe off?” in my mind became “Lights. Too bright,” out loud. “Oh, wow, Gengi, come here - I just felt a lot of fluid gushing with that last contraction,” became “Fluid! Fluid!” Communicating in proper sentences took so much effort – it would have been indescribably awful to have to try and discuss anything. I still had the fully articulated thoughts, but there was a total disconnect between my thoughts and expressing them. It was amazing just how withdrawn into myself I became. My Self, I suppose.
Back to the flood: Gengi came in and started to fiddle around with the amnio testing strips, then scrapped it since it was obvious that this is what it was, and she could see that it was clear. She helped me out of my pants and moved me to a birthing stool after I had more gushes of fluid, both of which took some effort. This is where it started to hurt more in between contractions – there was no longer a break between, as there had been all along, just a slight easing off.I heard Gengi make a call to Nancy. “I think you should come now.”
This grew and grew in intensity. I had always been the most afraid of the moment of crowning, of the dreaded “ring of fire” sensation, as it has been described.I had never truly grokked that my vagina would have to stretch just as much on the TOP as it did on the bottom. This has been described as the “bowling ball” sensation, which is quite accurate – that combination of pressure and stretching was almost constant. Someone in my homebirth meeting the day before who had recently given birth talked about the discomfort of rectal pressure, and this was the case with me. (The final stretch of the perineum that I had so feared was really nothing. Not that it felt good, exactly, but after three hours of Lily descending through my vagina, it barely registered.) Soon after this, I had a few contractions with double peaks & hit transition. Dear GOD.
Nancy arrived right around 8:00, just as the pool was finally, ready set up in the center of the kitchen (my support team had been working on it this whole time, along with the rest of the setup – blankets wrapped in paper and ready to go in the preheated oven, instruments and gloves set up, a cornucopia of herbs, some methergine and pitocin (purely in the case of postpartum hemorrhaging, never for inducing or augmenting labor,), suctioning and resuscitation equipment at the ready. At last, with much help, I climbed in and yanked off my shirt in one motion, and immediately clung to the side, resting my head on the cushioned edge.
So began the next three hours.
Nancy knelt by the pool, despite wearing her trademark long denim skirt and sassy boots, and held one hand while Patty usually held the other, between giving me sips of Recharge, the natural version of Gatorade. That’s another thing I thought was so clichéd, along with vocalizing: would I really want to hold someone’s hand? What’s the big deal? Would it make that much of a difference? Yes, yes it would. Patty told me later that at one point I was squeezing so hard she thought her hand might really fracture, but that she somehow managed to detach herself from it, like, “Hmm, I think my hand might actually break. How interesting.” (She said nothing about it at the time, bless her.) We tried a cool cloth on my forehead, as the water was warmer than I’d have liked (but needed to be a certain temperature minimum to deliver underwater safely), but it just felt annoying. I slapped it away.
On we went. Gengi continued to check the heart tones periodically (the Doppler could go underwater, no problem). After a while I started to doubt myself. I actually did have an urge to push earlier, but I didn’t trust it. It seemed too early, and I had heard stories of women pushing before they were complete and creating swelling, or being similarly counterproductive when a ‘lip’ was there. As a way of encouraging my progress, they got me to reach in and touch my baby’s head. I had a hard time believing that this was really, truly my baby, right there, being touched by the outside world for the first time. I think even said “Are you sure?” out loud – though I also remember reasoning silently, “Well, what else would have hair INSIDE my vagina?”
I felt a little more confident then, but found that it hurt too much – and was too scary - to actively push during contractions (some women feel relief in this, but others don’t – everyone is different). I preferred and felt it best/right for me to actively push as each contraction ended, and focused on allowing my uterus to push in its own, which it normally really does, if you can get out of its way – the 'expulsion' or ‘fetal ejection reflex’.
Where was Aaron? Still just driving as fast as he could, poor guy. He continued to check in with Patty. I managed to summon the words to tell her that when he arrived, to make sure to do so as quietly and calmly as possible. Any disturbance would be jarring to me, I knew. Introducing a foreign person who wasn’t yet part of the vibe, for lack of a better word, would have been upsetting, no matter how much I wanted him there, and I needed to have Patty run interference, since I didn’t feel capable of communicating that myself. Even necessary conversations between the ‘team’ members was a bit irritating to me, unavoidable as it was; they all did intuitively keep such conversations to a minimum and cast their voices low, wise women that they are.
Once in the pool, I only changed positions twice – starting as above, leaning forward on the side, then turning over to lean back on it. At one point Nancy tried to convince me to get out and try pushing on the toilet, but I just knew deep down, and from the previous contractions I had on the toilet, that it would be too intense for me. I needed to take my time, no matter how exhausting, so Nancy let it go. Thank God I had providers who trusted me and my body. They were like guardians, Nancy behind me holding my hand, Gengi across from me watching with the big flashlight (I needed the lights very dim). Patty circled around as needed.
Reassuring me, Nancy pointed out, when I had a moment of whimpering, that almost every woman cries a bit during childbirth at some point. I remember asking Gengi to pray for me a little – not out loud, just to silently say a small prayer, and she nodded.They said very little during this final stretch, for which I was deeply grateful, save for intermittently checking in with the Doppler and telling me softly that I was fine, and what a wonderful thing I was doing, giving my baby such a gentle birth. I’ll always have that impressed upon me, the memory of these strong and mostly silent, endlessly patient women standing guard, protecting me, encouraging me without prodding, graciously witnessing.
At last, I felt that it was time to commit, that this would just have to be it, and I really gave in to it, finally. It was like a crossing over. I pushed more actively. I ended up in leaning back position. “Curl your body around your baby,” Nancy encouraged, and doing so (tilting my pelvis, still buoyed by the water, and contracting my torso, almost as if doing a crunch) really progressed things. I remember feeling some movement from inside the birth canal around this time, knowing she was shifting position, trying to help find her way out. What a new sensation that was . . .
After such a long pushing phase (though I also had a sense of time suspension – I went into labor determined NOT to watch the clock obsessively, once it was safe to stop timing contractions, anyway, and it worked; once I was in hard labor it didn’t even occur to me to check the clock), the finale happened so quickly. I wonder if anyone else perceives it that way. The final moments were just – boom! boom! boom!
I heard Gengi’s voice: “Crowning . . . the head is out (here Gengi quickly checked for a nuchal cord, and then I reached down in disbelief to touch her too) . . . Reach down for your baby!” And there she was, clasped to my chest. 11:03 pm.
I always thought I would be sobbing with joy – and the joy was there, but I was also just in complete and total shock. “Oh! Baby! Samily (our prenatal name for the mystery fetus, a combination of 'Sam' and 'Lily')!!! Baby baby baby,” was all I could muster at first – you can hear this in the short, murky videos Patty took of the final moments. She lifted up her head for a split second with wide open eyes, looking as surprised as I was, and as pink as can be. Love at first sight. Who cares if it’s a cliché?
They had me keep her in the warm water for a minute for warmth (head out, of course) as they put her hat on, checked her breathing (she let out rough and healthy little squawky cries) and got the blankets ready. I asked tremulously if it was a boy or a girl, and Nancy told me to take a look & find out. I lifted her teeny leg – surprise! I had been so sure it was a boy. “Wow, look at that!” Nancy said. I had to check twice to be sure. It’s such a small detail, but I’m glad I got to discover that for myself, that no one announced this to me. “Do we have a name?” Nancy asked, and I told her “Lily.”
After a nice rest, enamored with this little creature, it was time for the placenta. Nancy kinda had to talk me into it, as it seemed so anticlimactic, and all I wanted to do was hold and gaze at Lily, massaging the vernix into her skin, but on this one matter they were pretty firm. So Lily was handed to Patty and with a few pushes - not painful, if a little uncomfortable - and the gentlest possible cord guidance, it was done. We put it in a silver mixing bowl since we wanted to wait for Aaron to cut the cord (and wanted to let the cord stop pulsing on its own, anyway, to make sure she got as much healthy blood and stem cells as possible). Nancy showed me the cord and had me feel its pulse, knowing I was interested in such details.
They then had me get out of the tub, reluctant as I was; there had been a little more bleeding than usual, and they needed to assess it properly and couldn’t do so in the water. Out I went, and my babymoon continued (the bleeding was fine; notable, but within the range of safe). I offered the breast, but she didn’t root, and seemed uninterested, so we decided not to push it (this, of course, setting the stage for our much larger trial by fire, though we didn’t see it at the time). I managed a snack, and finally, Aaron arrived to cut the cord, and took her in his arms for the first time.
Eventually I was examined on my bed, and there was no tearing to speak of save for a tiny bit on the inside, nothing justifying any stitching or anything. Nancy helped me waddle gingerly to the bathroom and made sure I was able to pee and generally tidied me up, showing me how to use the peri bottle and the cool comfrey-witch hazel compresses Gengi had prepared and stored in the freezer. I slipped into the mesh underpants that I’d wear for the next few weeks and put on a huge mattress-like pad (I wouldn’t notice the freakish ‘roids until the next day). While I was gone, Aaron carefully dressed Lily in her first wee onesie and teeny little fitted diaper.
They examined her thoroughly at about 2 am, noting her extreme molding, her long delicate French manicure, the tie on her upper lip (the posterior tongue tie wouldn’t be diagnosed until later), and her overall great health. The team stayed until a little after three, though they’d be back the next evening and then several more times again. Exhausted as I was, I hardly slept that night, curled cozily next to her in our bed. I just could not stop staring at her.
The most amazing day of my life, in general. About 13 hours, official start to finish. I am still in awe that my body did this – it really did. It knew exactly what to do. As one woman put it in the film “The Business of Being Born”: “I knew I couldn’t do it - and then I did it. I hit that wall, and I scaled it.”
