I started typing this entry as I breastfed my little one in the awesomeness that is the side-lying position. TMI? Well, get ready for a heck of a lot more of it; I have no shame. Consider me the Kardashian of the birth-blog world. You've been warned. This is a two-part blog. The first part will be why I made the choices I did. The second will be my labor and delivery story (with some post-partum details). I've labeled them so you can skip to the part that most interests you, lol.
PART 1:
So allow me to preface this by telling you what I wanted out of the birth of my daughter:
I wanted a peaceful labor. And by that I do not mean a painless labor. I wanted to labor in a calm environment where the birth of my child wouldn't be seen as a medical event that required over-correcting maneuvers and high-strung people. There would be enough of that stressful, mental-bargaining-with-God mess happening within my own mind and body, I didn't need it happening outside of it, thanks. So…how was I going to guarantee that? I couldn't. But I most certainly could encourage it to happen that way by my choices. And I did the best I could.
I’d like to start by saying that I did a lot of research. I mean….a butt load of research on this topic. I’m talking we weren't even thinking baby and I was buying natural pregnancy/birth books. Even before watching any documentary, I had already decided I’d try to birth my child naturally because that was what my mother did. I always thought it was so very strong of her to give birth to me and my sisters naturally and I wanted to be just like her in that way. I was going to be warrior woman like my mommy, and no one could change my mind. The documentary was more of a confirmation that this was the road I was going to take. When my husband agreed to watch it with me (I assume THAT decision could only be the work of God, lol) and felt the same way I did by the end of it, that sealed the deal. So when I bought the books and saw more documentaries, it was more out of major curiosity and wanting to be as prepared for the hesitation and push-back I’d encounter than anything else. But while reading the books I found out so much more than I could have imagined about how poor maternity care is in this country. It borders on embarrassing.
Have you ever seen those “3541 Things No One Tells You About Pregnancy and Birth” lists on other blogs or mommy sites? Yeah, well not a single one of those ever gave me any new info. That’s not to toot my own horn here. There was just never anything new in those lists that I hadn't heard or seen, and I could never relate to those women who were simply clueless about the experience. Those lists just made me wonder why the women in their lives were so cruel as to never fill them in. Perhaps it’s just because the women in my life are pretty shameless, lol. Anyway, the books I bought for research had information that no one (NOT EVEN MOST DOCTORS) will tell you about pregnancy and birth. I say this because I had plenty of first and secondhand experience with this. It was information on our rights as pregnant women, your rights as a birthing mother, your need for self-education, the history of maternity care, and factual statistics about prenatal and postpartum medicine, labor, and birth backed up with references. There should be lists made for THAT, but they'd be too long, so they wrote entire books on the subject.
About a year into that research phase, I got pregnant. ‘Twas a surprise. And a terrifying yet funny situation for me and my husband, now that I look back on it. You’ll have to have him tell you the story if you haven’t heard it. And however unprepared we were about handling this financially, we knew exactly the route we were going to take with every other aspect of this pregnancy. If you've never been pregnant before, you’ll come to find that it honestly doesn't matter how you’ll pay for your care and birth. What matters is the kind of care you get. I’m a firm believer in knowing the quality of service I’ll be paying for. That’s why I chose to birth at a birth center.
Why didn't I choose a hospital? For a few personal reasons. The first being, we’re poor, lol. The second being, we have sucky insurance. Needless to say, the cost of birth at a hospital is enough to make your husband want you to deliver in the woods. Birthing with a midwife who works alone or with a birth center was the closest we could get to that. It was the cheaper way to go.
Another reason I didn't chose a hospital is because, to me, the environment is very stale. I don’t feel at home or even comfortable in a hospital setting. And the key to having the best natural birth possible, is to labor and give birth where you are most comfortable whether that be a hospital, a center, or at home. I find hospital protocol to be stifling and outdated.
I also did not like the statistics for Florida hospitals. Doctors, especially in South Florida, are known for their high and most often unnecessary intervention, induction, and cesarean section rates. I wanted to reduce my chances of all three of those unless my life or the life of my child was in ACTUAL danger. Based on the births happening left and right of me all the time, it’s clear that is not what is on most doctors’ minds; especially when they’re afraid of liability lawsuits.
I did more research on birth centers. Turns out the hospitals are on to us independent-minded natural birth hooligans and now sometimes even offer their own "birth centers." So my goal was to find one that was not associated with a hospital except in the area of transfer of care should it become necessary. Hospital birth centers have to follow the exact same procedures as the rest of a hospital maternity ward. Only difference is that you get “at home,” or more “comfortable” accommodations like a larger room, bed, and whirlpool, as opposed to a small maternity room. Or worse—a SHARED maternity room. So the hunt began.
After financial negotiations, we found our birth center and were quite happy with it. We liked the labor accommodations, the staff's knowledge of birthing techniques that are no longer being taught in medical schools due to lawsuits and liability claims by insurance companies, their preparedness plans should I need a hospital transfer, their classes, and of course, their midwives.
PART 2:
On to the actual birth story.
I was estimated to be due on the 22nd of September. The day came and went and I scheduled an induction massage recommended by my midwife because I had major lower back pain and was not sleeping at night. For someone who hates being touched too much by strangers, I have to admit: It was glorious. The masseuse told me that it is typical for labor to begin within 72 hours of the massage. 48 hours later, I'm in labor.
8:00am on Sept. 26, contractions begin at close, regular intervals. I didn't even get to have latent labor. My body jumped right into active labor with 45 sec contractions every 2 minutes. We timed it for an hour, and since I had my last prenatal appointment that day, I was told to go in at my scheduled time.
10:00am, I'm in the office with a few minutes to spare before the midwife returns. I'm nervous because throughout my adult life and pregnancy, well women's checks have been excruciating. I didn't know why, but the entire time I was pregnant, my midwives could not perform cervical checks on me without me writhing in pain. I was told my Kegel muscles were strong enough and that I actually needed to stop exercising them because every time they'd perform a check, my muscles would force them out, lol. They rarely encountered something like this. And it got so bad that I was even pulled aside during one of my prenatals and asked if I'd been sexually abused in the past because that was the only reference they'd had for a reaction like mine. I hadn't, so there appeared to be no psychological reasoning for this. Then after one of my checks, a midwife mentioned she believes she found the culprit for my pain. My internal female anatomy created a few roadblocks on the way to my cervix. Sounded about right. There were specifics to this, but I'll spare you the details.
Anywho, as you could imagine, contracting while getting checked was pretty much my worst fear about this whole deal. And as expected, even with a very low cervix and not much further to reach, it was still so very painful. I was told I'd be staying since I was definitely having this baby. I was brought into my room while Jared, my mom, and the midwives prepped the atmosphere for me. I wanted to try a waterbirth, so a bath was run and I labored in and out of there for a few hours. I ate when I wanted, drank when I wanted, Skyped with my sisters and father, and walked around when I felt uncomfortable. I labored in just about every position one can imagine and the contractions just got harder and harder.
10:00pm, next cervical check. The midwives hadn't seen my water break. And it definitely did not break when we were home. So with me and Jared on the bed while he held my hand, I braved the next check. It was horrible and I did everything I could not to scream. Nothing could be verified except that my cervix was not lining up with the birth canal, possibly due to my retroverted uterus. Eden was trying to come out, but there was nowhere for her to go and it was beginning to cause me extreme pain during contractions.
Now September 27th, I was given antibiotics via an IV around midnight in case we somehow missed my water breaking. Then we started walking. We circled the inside of the birth center dozens upon dozens of times, stopping to contract and to pray my cervix gets into position. And then...it was time for yet another check. A different midwife was tasked with being a little more forceful to find out how much I was dilated, and it had to be done during a contraction. I agreed to it because I desperately wanted to know as well. This was the most painful part of my entire birthing experience. Yes, even more painful than actually giving birth. It felt like someone had stuck a long-blade knife in me and twisted it. I screamed and cried and tensed so much Jared had to keep me from flying off of the bed as I shot myself back. I held him tight telling him how much it hurt, and we both cried more. It was heartbreaking to see my husband feel so helpless because he wanted so badly to take the pain away from me. The midwife said she couldn't get a good feel but that it seemed I was only 4cm dilated. This seemed pretty impossible to us all, even the midwives. So I walked some more.
3:00am, time for rest....ha, yeah. The midwives could see how exhausted I was, so they decided to give me Benadryl so that I could "rest" for a few hours. They propped my bottom up on three pillows and explained that it was to encourage a shift for the cervical opening. Laying on my back was the worst way to labor. I had back-labor and felt like I was getting squeezed by a boa constrictor at every contraction peak. At one point, I woke up screaming having felt something very different than the other contractions. "Ah! I cant do this anymore!" This was the longest, most painful contraction yet. Everyone rushed into the room, removed the pillows, gave me a drink, and cooled me off. The midwives believed that I'd finally entered transition (which, according to every website you visit and book you read, is supposed to be the shortest, most painful part of labor lasting up to 2 hours). Jared prayed with me, and slept next to me. Apparently, I then slept 30-45 minutes between the still very painful contractions, but to me sleep felt nonexistent since each one woke me.
6:30am, the Benadryl wore off and I was starving. Little did I know, there was a restaurant a block down the road that was open for breakfast and the midwives wanted me to walk there with Jared and my mom. So there I was, at 7am, walking down the sidewalk and pausing every few seconds to have a 45 second to 1:30 minute long contraction. So much for "shortest" part of labor... You could imagine crossing the street to the next block was eventful. It's an understatement to say it was not fun. Nor was it fun to wait for the food, or walk back to the center. By the time I got back, I couldn't even eat much.
8:00am, my bath was run again so I could labor in there for some relief. I was exhausted, but had to be checked for any progress. When it seemed there was none, my midwife suggested I get another one of the more forceful checks, but this time (since I'd been in transition for many hours) it was in order to have my cervical opening moved to the birth canal so that I could finally begin pushing. She let me think on that alone and I cried. And cried. And cried. I was so tired I felt like each contraction brought me closer to fainting. That made me worry for Eden's life since she needed all the oxygen I could give her during each ever-lengthening squeeze of my belly. I also cried because I was determined not to go through that again, which meant I made a decision to get an epidural. That meant a hospital transfer. It meant extra expenses, it meant hospital protocol, it meant telling my husband, it meant I failed.
10:00am the process of transfer began. The transfer doctor was called in, paperwork was transferred and I got ready to go. I-95 to Miami never felt so cruel. I got to the hospital and had to walk to the maternity wing. It was like a walk to my death lol. Empty of staff, full of bystanders gawking as if my need to stop and contract and moan was inhuman and unheard of (which made me feel so great -__-), and boy was it never ending. Pretty sure at that time, I would've found the sight of a guillotine to be a sweet relief, LOL. To my dismay, each turn lead to another hall.
11:30am I feel a pop and a heavy drop in weight, and get the most obvious cue from my body to start pushing. I squat and push and.... "Ugh! I have to pu----omgItotallyjustpeedmyself!!
And just then, an angel from the Lord came down upon me to bring a wheelchair. It may have just been a nurse--I dunno--she was wearing white. Unfortunately sitting down felt like I was crushing my baby's head, so that was a bit awkward. Then I got rolled into the wing. Nurses staring as if the woman before them grew an arm on top of her head and was waving it at them. I was brought into this teeny tiny room, and then came what I'd been dreading: Hospital "care." I had no clue until I was strapped in that this was where I'd be birthing my child. It was so crowded and cramped and of course gave me anxiety.
Mind you, this entire time, I'm in the pushing stage. My body is doing its own thing and I'm letting it. Meanwhile, I'm getting asked questions left and right, then contracting and pushing, then getting told not to push, then contracting and pushing because to heck with the nurses, then getting hooked up to a fetal monitor, then contracting and pushing, then getting saline and antibiotic IVs and blood work done while getting asked more questions, then contracting and pushing, then getting told again to stop pushing and wait for the doctor, then contracting and pushing, then filling out paperwork and refusing certain care (no cytotec, no pitocin prior to delivery), then contracting and pushing, and etc. FOR. TWO AND A HALF. HOURS!
Then came a beautiful moment. Eden was crowning and Jared was able to touch her beautiful head of hair. For a brief minute while being in that room, there was something to cherish in my heart forever.
The anesthesiologist finally comes in for my epidural, but baby's already crowning. He tells me my white blood cell count is very high which means there is a small risk of blood poisoning (septicemia) if an epidural is administered. He suggests not bothering since baby is almost here. I look at Jared because I no longer care. He reminds me that I didn't want drugs, so why do it if there's no need? I agreed, and we said no to the epidural I'd waited so frikken long to get.
2:00pm the doctor finally shows. He's visibly upset that I didn't get the epidural (the point of this visit). I visibly don't care. While he saunters about getting ready and telling me not to push for ten minutes, I push but tell him I'm not (because technically I'm not, lol, my body is doing it for me). He uses the stupid hospital lubrication garbage that does nothing to lubricate me as his gloved finger attempts to help my baby's head out. (Two big reasons I wanted to birth with a midwife: I'd get a WOMAN who's been there and understands how painful this part is, and she'd use OILS to lubricate and actually stretch me open to carefully prevent ripping.) It felt like dry rubber. And because it felt like dry rubber, I'm tensing and pushing a baby out. Not a great combo. After being told to relax, and responding that I'm TRYING, I get the command to push.
Uh...what now? PUSH? You want me to push this very second when my body doesn't have an urge yet? Good luck. I push, and feel absolutely no progress. Every time I pushed when my body didn't do it for me, it was the most pathetic pushing ever. They then tell me to hold my breath while I push for 10 seconds. (One of the many things I read not to do because your baby needs the oxygen.) I held my breath up to the max I read about: 6 secs and no more. They made me push more and more and more without my body giving the cue and I felt nothing happening outside of some "ring of fire" burning you always hear about during natural birth. It just felt like I was forcing my baby out, rather than helping my baby out. And getting yelled at by nurses wasn't making it rainbows for me either.
2:27pm, baby is born, I feel the ultimate relief, hubby and mom (who recorded the whole thing) are ecstatic, Jared almost pukes at seeing and smelling the afterbirth, he kisses me and tells me I did a great job, and everything from there was cake. Why? Because after the tremendous pain I had endured, nothing felt as bad. Not even the second degree perineal/all around tear. Not even getting stitched up with little medication. Not even the giant pitocin shot they had to give me in order to stop bleeding so that I wouldn't hemorrhage (yeah, even after the pitocin drip they gave me immediately after giving birth).
My baby was here, alive, healthy, drug free, breastfeeding beautifully, recognizing our voices, and gorgeous! 6lbs, 11oz. 19inches. The adrenaline knows what it's doing. I get wheeled off to my private room, get told that I'll be feeling like I was "hit by a Mack truck and left for dead in an alley" which was the best bit of truthful advice I was ever given at that hospital, and I finally got to rest. My midwife who was there the entire time (but couldn't say or do anything during delivery because of the transfer of care), finally told me that had I ripped that much at the birth center, they would've had to transfer me. And that had I bled that much at the center, they probably would've had to transfer me too. I still maintain that I wouldn't have torn so much for a 6lb baby had I not been told to push when it didn't feel right. But I was not going to labor for any more time at the center that day to find out, lol.
The next two nights were beauty and hell. My baby was amazing, the hospital was not. It was freezing in our room at like 60 degrees and I wanted to kill someone. I didn't have to poop for anyone before getting released so there was no fear there lol. And the pediatrician was nice enough to advise us against unnecessary vaccination (He agreed that all the newborn vaccinations were an unnecessary risk). He was cool. We got released, but no one checked to see if we even had a carseat. -__- I never got the Dermoplast I asked the nurses for each time they barged into the room. I was glad to be out of there.
We had a few weeks of breastfeeding issues (just not enough technique, but my LC helped us out there), and it took THREE MONTHS to recover from the tear, NOT 6 weeks. But the silver lining was: NO MORE ROADBLOCKS! Eden bulldozed those on her way out like nobody's biz. Thanks, girl.
***Fun Tidbit: That moment 1.5 YEARS LATER when you're told by your midwife that your tear was 3rd degree, not 2nd degree like the nurses originally misrecorded and told you. Well, that explains a lot in the video and why I was still in plenty of pain 6 weeks after giving birth...***
Now, would I do it again? If I had to, yes. Do I want to do it again? No. No matter how awesome this child is, how beautiful her smile is, how comforted she is when I nurse her, or how priceless those giggles in her sleep are…I don’t want to have give birth to another child. I would prefer nurturing that lil nugget in my belly for 10 months and magically transferring the baby into a surrogate for delivery. Can we make that a thing, please? In all seriousness though, I was slightly traumatized by my experience. I still can’t listen to the playlists I created for fear of all the pain and anxiety flooding back to me. Hearing just a few of the songs to put the baby to bed had me bawling one night. People say that I’ll forget all the pain, trauma, and recovery process, but I’ll wait for that to happen before I change my mind on it. People have spoken a lot of things into my life that have turned out to be very very wrong. Who really knows but God?
People may also say that I’m selfish for thinking this way. That people have much harder births than I. That I had a healthy baby and that’s all that matters. But if you say that, I will correct you. Because that is not all that matters. Mothers matter too. They risk their lives in this country to birth a population. And although I’m thankful to the Lord that my baby was indeed born healthy and is growing beautifully (and with very healthy lungs, I might add lol), I do still feel robbed of that peaceful birth I so sincerely wanted. There is nothing peaceful about a hospital birth to me. That is not to say it can’t be peaceful for someone else. But peaceful and hospital do not correlate in my mind. To me, Eden’s birth was violent and rushed. Violent, because of my body—which I felt betrayed me. Rushed, because of the hospital setting and ensuing chaos. We moms deserve better with all the pain we must endure.
“But you should’ve expected the unexpected!” you say. “You can’t possibly PLAN a birth!” This I know. And I honestly did NOT plan my birth experience. I knew curve balls could be thrown left and right. But I also still believe that a peaceful birth is achievable. Not without pain, but one where the pain can be endured, appreciated, and not be terrifying. One thing I will not blame myself for is how I birthed. Naturally. I’m so proud to say I birthed naturally. I loved having like-minded and supportive people around me the entire time I labored. I'm sorry it's taken me a long time to finish this. Frankly, it's because it's taken me a long time to recover emotionally from this. But I hope I gave a good story. Because not everyone's is like this. Some people aren't as strong as I was. Some people aren't as weak as I was. NO ONE has the same birth story. And hopefully, if I do get pregnant again, I'll be able to tell one of those quick 4hr-labor stories my mom had (I'm still jealous, mom).
But who knows? Life is unpredictable.
