I used to get my confidence, and my self-esteem from my position at work. I was really proud of my reputation at work, and it ultimately gave me the assurance that I was smart, capable of anything and valuable in a professional setting.
I decided to take over as Chapter Leader of ICAN of Phoenix shortly after Milo was born, I think March 2013. At the time I had the smallest whisper inside me telling me that I wanted to be more involved in this "vbac movement". I had planned on just volunteering, but at the exact moment I was taking that step, the previous Chapter Leader decided to step down. I was confident in my management skills from my day-job and so I decided to take the leap and just go for it. I felt terrible under-qualified.
I wanted to badly for this to become my thing, but I was so insecure in my abilities to pull this off that I regretted doing it almost immediately. The previous Chapter Leader was so established, people loved her and I was so different from her. I knew how I planned my birth, and I was really confident in the leading people to information, but my strength has never been consoling the emotions of others, and ICAN came with a lot of women needing to share and digest their feelings. I felt awkward and I like I could make things worse for these poor women, and so many times I wanted to quit.
It's been almost a year now, and I don't even know how to transition this post into how I feel now. I've realized there is no real art form to helping women process their emotions. You just have to listen, and acknowledge that their feelings are valid. It's not as scary as I thought. As my confidence has grown, so has my willingness to reach out to women and offer my help and there has been at least 50 women in the last year I have helped that went on to have empowered birth experiences. I know I'm not changing lives, but I can tangibly feel that I'm making a difference. Even if it's just helping them start their journey of motherhood on an empowered note, I really believe that can make such a difference in how someone experiences their first months and years of motherhood. The pride I get from this position is so different than the pride I get with my "day-job" at work. The pride from my day-job was self-serving; a desire to be the best at what I do and for people to recognize me. This pride is fed by the feeling of humility and gratefulness I have in having a part in women's births. The warm feeling I have when I see their "I DID IT!" posts on facebook, and see what empowered awesome mamas they become. Most of these women go on to have their babies, and I may never get a thank you but truly the only reward that's meaningful to me is watching them carry on as strong women.
I am so thankful that when I was insecure and on an unknown path, that I didn't turn back. I didn't quit just because it was scary and I was afraid of failure. My experience as Chapter Leader for ICAN in the last year has made me a better person in so many ways. I'm more confident in my body, and feel like part of a team with my care providers instead of just a patient. I'll be a better mother to my children, especially when they go on to have children of their own. I have so much more to offer them in this important piece of their life. I'm much better at being there for people in an emotional capacity. I've learned how to pay attention to what someone needs based on how they ask for help instead of just shoving birth facts down their throat. I've learned that opening up my time and my life for other people, is a lot like tithing at church. If you give your last dollar, or your last precious moment to help someone else; somehow you are paid back and often with interest.
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Monday, June 23, 2014
"Normal Birth"
I've totally slacked on blog posts recently but you know...4 kids, full-time working mom, non-profit leader...blah, blah, blah.
I wanted to get down on "paper" some thoughts I've had about a recent Birth Story Telling experience. It was surprisingly healing.
For context of this blog, it's important to know that my vba2c birth was much more traumatizing to me than it was healing. It's hard for me to even write that because it makes me feel like a birth junkie scam artist. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy and weakness and it makes me feel unqualified to offer birth support to others. More importantly, it's left me with feelings of panic and dread leading up to this birth. Also for context, I am the Chapter Leader of ICAN of Phoenix; an international non-profit organization that supports the emotional recovery of cesarean, advocates for evidence based birth practices, supports women planning vbacs and helps educate women on how to avoid unnecessary cesareans. I help women trust their bodies and believe in their body's ability to birth.
I know that confidence is the first and best pain management option a woman can have going into birth. I know this. I tell other women this all the time. I teach them and preach to them, "Have faith in your body! You were made for this!" I believe so strongly that women are powerful and meant to push babies out, but what I believe about everyone else and what I tell myself are different in this respect.
In the Birth Story telling session, the facilitator asks you to pick a piece of your birth story that you replay over and over in your mind and then you basically work to deconstruct the feelings behind that moment and put together a plan to splice that moment's negativity out of your "birth story" and replace it with something positive.
I was so reluctant and nervous to go this session. I'm inherently not great at talking about feelings of vulnerability and I am not easily swayed by others trying to convince me something, especially about myself. This is both a strength and a weakness. Going into it I knew she was going to try and convince me that I was strong, but that she would be wrong. I didn't want to be impolite so I literally practiced how I would appease her with things like, "Oh I feel so much better!" to let her off the hook when she couldn't penetrate that cement like barrier of my feelings. Before we got started she asked me to close my eyes and do a "body scan". I've done this before in yoga and pilates, it means just taking a moment to reflect on what your body feels like in that moment. What hurts, what your breathing is like, etc. All I felt was my heart pounding in nervousness.
The moment that came to mind as one that repeats itself over and over in my mind, is the moment I got out of the tub and had my mega contraction. It was 3 minutes and 42 seconds of terror. It felt like every cell and muscle fiber in my body had tensed up and it was excruciating. I couldn't call out for my husband, and I couldn't breathe. It was that specific moment, just a second's decision where I decided I was afraid, not strong. It set the tone for the rest of my birth. I forgot everything that I studied and practiced for my birth experience. I went into the mode of: "I am in physical danger, I am very scared and where is the path of least resistance to get me out of this." I am so ashamed of that decision.
Some insightful moments from the birth session:
- She kept asking me what I "tell myself", and it's strange because I'm strangely positive and supportive in how I consciously speak to myself. I work hard to undo the negative beliefs I have about the birth, but what I tell myself and what I believe about myself are different. I am too strong even to get through to myself.
- She kept asking me to drill down to what I was feeling in that moment and it all came down to fear. I was experiencing something out of my control, and totally unknown. "Fear is a normal response in that situation." she told me. I was honest and said, "I appreciate what you are trying to say to me, but I can't let myself off the hook. I feel weak."
- She asked me to summarize my story into one thought/feeling and it was "I suck at labor."
- She asked how it impacted how I view myself, and I told her I felt unqualified to give birth/labor advice. That when I have this next baby I've asked my husband to call on all of my strong natural birth friends to support me, and that I know I wouldn't be someone I would call in that situation. I told her that I felt like I wasn't qualified enough in birth to be a support person in my own daughter's birth and how sad that was to me.
- She asked me what I was proud of and I said that I stopped them from making me push when I didn't feel "pushy" yet. She said how impressive that was, especially for someone that says they felt "out of control" and "weak" in their labor. She tried to convince me that it's really impressive for a laboring woman to put her foot down like that and refuse to push when she's not ready, and I told her for a second time "Thank you, but I can't believe that it's impressive because I still felt so weak afterwards."
- She told me to close my eyes and pretend that overnight, all of the negative thoughts and feelings I had about my birth were gone. She asked me to say what my new thoughts/feelings would be about my labor and the first thing that came to my mind was to say, "That my labor was normal."
- I realized in the conversation after that, that I didn't want to be the best laborer ever, I was just frustrated/disappointed that I felt worse than everyone else. If I can make myself believe that my labor experience was normal, I think it can start to shift my entire perception about the experience. It was normal to feel afraid when I was in pain and things weren't going as expected. It was normal for me to try and work through it in the capacity that I knew how to deal with stress: to shut down, trust only myself and try and get through it as easily as possible. I am starting to feel just the slightest amount of acceptance and understanding. It WAS normal. Maybe not normal for what I knew at the time, but normal for the labor experience - especially for a first time pusher.
After the session, my "takeaways" are really to re-train my thought pattern to consider my birth experience as "normal" and to change how I planned for this birth knowing what I do now. I'm also supposed to practice being vulnerable. She said to practice telling a close friend when I feel a feeling that I would consider "weak" and to allow that friend to give their support and to truly accept it. She says that will help me practice for during labor when I need to trust that someone else can protect me and keep me safe.
For this birth, I know better than to think my mind can ignore what's happening to my body. I can't turn off the pain, I can't turn off the exhaustion or fear at the great task facing me during the moment. I have to learn how to work with it and work through it. Learning about optimal labor positions is great, but if I have already shut down mentally I won't be remembering things like that. I have to go into this knowing that my mind isn't strong enough to protect me from the experience of birth, but it's strong enough to get me through it.
I'm feeling just the slightest movement towards confidence in my body. I'm looking forward to the lesson that this birth will teach me, and I'm grateful for the lessons of my past birth.
I wanted to get down on "paper" some thoughts I've had about a recent Birth Story Telling experience. It was surprisingly healing.
For context of this blog, it's important to know that my vba2c birth was much more traumatizing to me than it was healing. It's hard for me to even write that because it makes me feel like a birth junkie scam artist. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy and weakness and it makes me feel unqualified to offer birth support to others. More importantly, it's left me with feelings of panic and dread leading up to this birth. Also for context, I am the Chapter Leader of ICAN of Phoenix; an international non-profit organization that supports the emotional recovery of cesarean, advocates for evidence based birth practices, supports women planning vbacs and helps educate women on how to avoid unnecessary cesareans. I help women trust their bodies and believe in their body's ability to birth.
I know that confidence is the first and best pain management option a woman can have going into birth. I know this. I tell other women this all the time. I teach them and preach to them, "Have faith in your body! You were made for this!" I believe so strongly that women are powerful and meant to push babies out, but what I believe about everyone else and what I tell myself are different in this respect.
In the Birth Story telling session, the facilitator asks you to pick a piece of your birth story that you replay over and over in your mind and then you basically work to deconstruct the feelings behind that moment and put together a plan to splice that moment's negativity out of your "birth story" and replace it with something positive.
I was so reluctant and nervous to go this session. I'm inherently not great at talking about feelings of vulnerability and I am not easily swayed by others trying to convince me something, especially about myself. This is both a strength and a weakness. Going into it I knew she was going to try and convince me that I was strong, but that she would be wrong. I didn't want to be impolite so I literally practiced how I would appease her with things like, "Oh I feel so much better!" to let her off the hook when she couldn't penetrate that cement like barrier of my feelings. Before we got started she asked me to close my eyes and do a "body scan". I've done this before in yoga and pilates, it means just taking a moment to reflect on what your body feels like in that moment. What hurts, what your breathing is like, etc. All I felt was my heart pounding in nervousness.
The moment that came to mind as one that repeats itself over and over in my mind, is the moment I got out of the tub and had my mega contraction. It was 3 minutes and 42 seconds of terror. It felt like every cell and muscle fiber in my body had tensed up and it was excruciating. I couldn't call out for my husband, and I couldn't breathe. It was that specific moment, just a second's decision where I decided I was afraid, not strong. It set the tone for the rest of my birth. I forgot everything that I studied and practiced for my birth experience. I went into the mode of: "I am in physical danger, I am very scared and where is the path of least resistance to get me out of this." I am so ashamed of that decision.
Some insightful moments from the birth session:
- She kept asking me what I "tell myself", and it's strange because I'm strangely positive and supportive in how I consciously speak to myself. I work hard to undo the negative beliefs I have about the birth, but what I tell myself and what I believe about myself are different. I am too strong even to get through to myself.
- She kept asking me to drill down to what I was feeling in that moment and it all came down to fear. I was experiencing something out of my control, and totally unknown. "Fear is a normal response in that situation." she told me. I was honest and said, "I appreciate what you are trying to say to me, but I can't let myself off the hook. I feel weak."
- She asked me to summarize my story into one thought/feeling and it was "I suck at labor."
- She asked how it impacted how I view myself, and I told her I felt unqualified to give birth/labor advice. That when I have this next baby I've asked my husband to call on all of my strong natural birth friends to support me, and that I know I wouldn't be someone I would call in that situation. I told her that I felt like I wasn't qualified enough in birth to be a support person in my own daughter's birth and how sad that was to me.
- She asked me what I was proud of and I said that I stopped them from making me push when I didn't feel "pushy" yet. She said how impressive that was, especially for someone that says they felt "out of control" and "weak" in their labor. She tried to convince me that it's really impressive for a laboring woman to put her foot down like that and refuse to push when she's not ready, and I told her for a second time "Thank you, but I can't believe that it's impressive because I still felt so weak afterwards."
- She told me to close my eyes and pretend that overnight, all of the negative thoughts and feelings I had about my birth were gone. She asked me to say what my new thoughts/feelings would be about my labor and the first thing that came to my mind was to say, "That my labor was normal."
- I realized in the conversation after that, that I didn't want to be the best laborer ever, I was just frustrated/disappointed that I felt worse than everyone else. If I can make myself believe that my labor experience was normal, I think it can start to shift my entire perception about the experience. It was normal to feel afraid when I was in pain and things weren't going as expected. It was normal for me to try and work through it in the capacity that I knew how to deal with stress: to shut down, trust only myself and try and get through it as easily as possible. I am starting to feel just the slightest amount of acceptance and understanding. It WAS normal. Maybe not normal for what I knew at the time, but normal for the labor experience - especially for a first time pusher.
After the session, my "takeaways" are really to re-train my thought pattern to consider my birth experience as "normal" and to change how I planned for this birth knowing what I do now. I'm also supposed to practice being vulnerable. She said to practice telling a close friend when I feel a feeling that I would consider "weak" and to allow that friend to give their support and to truly accept it. She says that will help me practice for during labor when I need to trust that someone else can protect me and keep me safe.
For this birth, I know better than to think my mind can ignore what's happening to my body. I can't turn off the pain, I can't turn off the exhaustion or fear at the great task facing me during the moment. I have to learn how to work with it and work through it. Learning about optimal labor positions is great, but if I have already shut down mentally I won't be remembering things like that. I have to go into this knowing that my mind isn't strong enough to protect me from the experience of birth, but it's strong enough to get me through it.
I'm feeling just the slightest movement towards confidence in my body. I'm looking forward to the lesson that this birth will teach me, and I'm grateful for the lessons of my past birth.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
A New Project!
I am soooo excited to share that I have finally taken the first step in my Birth Project adventure. I've created the site, a facebook group and an email address and now I just have to start gathering information to help it grow.
My plan is to build a go-to resource that women can use when planning their labor & delivery so that women can be prepared for the onslaught of choices, information and potential interventions that are thrown at them during their birth experience. It can be so overwhelming and the right planning can help prevent some of that undue stress on laboring mamas.
Please check it out if you would be so kind. And if you're feeling extra givey of your time, please take a moment to fill out the birth survey section if you are a mama.
Thanks! www.birthproject.weebly.com
My plan is to build a go-to resource that women can use when planning their labor & delivery so that women can be prepared for the onslaught of choices, information and potential interventions that are thrown at them during their birth experience. It can be so overwhelming and the right planning can help prevent some of that undue stress on laboring mamas.
Please check it out if you would be so kind. And if you're feeling extra givey of your time, please take a moment to fill out the birth survey section if you are a mama.
Thanks! www.birthproject.weebly.com
Thursday, August 15, 2013
"At Least Your Baby is Healthy."
A woman sits in her hospital bed, recovering from a difficult birth. She is holding her beautiful healthy baby, overcome with joy at this perfect and healthy child brought into this world. Despite the joy, there is this nagging feeling of disappointment over her birth. She is exhausted, hormonal and overwhelmed with emotions. She collects her courage and tells a friend that it feels like she lost something important to her, that she feels like she failed. She explains how she feels weak and powerless because she couldn't even do something as natural as have a baby.
The good-intentioned friend tries to assure her, "at least your baby is healthy..."
It's an innocent statement. We've all heard it a million times. There is certainly an undeniable truth to it. It is also terribly damaging to a woman who is mourning a birth experience.
Realistically, a healthy baby is always something to praise God for, probably especially so if there was a difficult birth or life threatening emergency involved. The problem with pointing out something so obvious though is that it's often used to indirectly tell someone, "You shouldn't feel anything but grateful that your baby is healthy." So what happens when we still feel disappointed?
Women who prepare themselves for a certain birth experience can feel devastated when things don't go as planned. I mean that word with all the weight it comes with. It can be devastating. When we tell these women, "At least, your baby is healthy...", are we hoping this masked statement of positivity will banish feelings of disappointment and inadequacy? I assume so. Is that how feelings work? Not usually.
When we tell someone to look at the bright side or to focus on the good stuff, we are not giving them the space to process their negative feelings. Negative feelings rarely go away because we tell them to, or because we're told we shouldn't feel them. Often, when we're told "At least your baby is healthy", our feelings of guilt and inadequacy are compounded by feelings of shame and perceived selfishness for mourning a birth experience while holding our perfect, healthy baby. We feel confused about why we're not overcome with joy, like we should be. We feel like terrible mothers for focusing on the negative when all that should matter is our healthy baby. We feel depressed, inadequate, guilty, broken, selfish and like a bad mother. And then we're told through so many words that all that matters is our healthy baby. Our feelings don't matter. With no safe place to go, our feelings have nowhere to go but down deep inside of us.
Birth is an intensely emotional process for a woman. I believe that if a woman doesn't recognize the power birth has in her life, there are probably other bigger things she has numbed herself to. It is the essence of our womanhood. The birth experience can shape our deepest core perception of who we are, our power as a woman; carrier of life. It's not to say that cesareans, inductions, hospital births, car births or any kind of unplanned birth experience should change our sense of self, it's simply acknowledging that it is easy to feel like our power and capabilities as a woman are reflected in our birth experience. It's as real as feelings are, right or wrong.
So what do you say to a woman that is mourning a birth while holding a perfectly healthy baby?
Maybe you don't say anything. Maybe you just love that mama, and give her a safe place to cry or even yell about how unfair it was. Maybe you ask her what about her birth she would do differently next time? Maybe you ask her if there was any part of her birth she feels proud of?
At most, we can help these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, remember their strength. We can remind them that they did their best and we can help them process their birth as an experience they can learn from.
At least, we can love these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, and we can cry with them that their birth was totally disappointing and it really sucks when things don't go as planned. Tell them we understand. Sometimes that's all anyone needs.
The good-intentioned friend tries to assure her, "at least your baby is healthy..."
It's an innocent statement. We've all heard it a million times. There is certainly an undeniable truth to it. It is also terribly damaging to a woman who is mourning a birth experience.
Realistically, a healthy baby is always something to praise God for, probably especially so if there was a difficult birth or life threatening emergency involved. The problem with pointing out something so obvious though is that it's often used to indirectly tell someone, "You shouldn't feel anything but grateful that your baby is healthy." So what happens when we still feel disappointed?
Women who prepare themselves for a certain birth experience can feel devastated when things don't go as planned. I mean that word with all the weight it comes with. It can be devastating. When we tell these women, "At least, your baby is healthy...", are we hoping this masked statement of positivity will banish feelings of disappointment and inadequacy? I assume so. Is that how feelings work? Not usually.
When we tell someone to look at the bright side or to focus on the good stuff, we are not giving them the space to process their negative feelings. Negative feelings rarely go away because we tell them to, or because we're told we shouldn't feel them. Often, when we're told "At least your baby is healthy", our feelings of guilt and inadequacy are compounded by feelings of shame and perceived selfishness for mourning a birth experience while holding our perfect, healthy baby. We feel confused about why we're not overcome with joy, like we should be. We feel like terrible mothers for focusing on the negative when all that should matter is our healthy baby. We feel depressed, inadequate, guilty, broken, selfish and like a bad mother. And then we're told through so many words that all that matters is our healthy baby. Our feelings don't matter. With no safe place to go, our feelings have nowhere to go but down deep inside of us.
Birth is an intensely emotional process for a woman. I believe that if a woman doesn't recognize the power birth has in her life, there are probably other bigger things she has numbed herself to. It is the essence of our womanhood. The birth experience can shape our deepest core perception of who we are, our power as a woman; carrier of life. It's not to say that cesareans, inductions, hospital births, car births or any kind of unplanned birth experience should change our sense of self, it's simply acknowledging that it is easy to feel like our power and capabilities as a woman are reflected in our birth experience. It's as real as feelings are, right or wrong.
So what do you say to a woman that is mourning a birth while holding a perfectly healthy baby?
Maybe you don't say anything. Maybe you just love that mama, and give her a safe place to cry or even yell about how unfair it was. Maybe you ask her what about her birth she would do differently next time? Maybe you ask her if there was any part of her birth she feels proud of?
At most, we can help these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, remember their strength. We can remind them that they did their best and we can help them process their birth as an experience they can learn from.
At least, we can love these women, these all-powerful carriers of life, and we can cry with them that their birth was totally disappointing and it really sucks when things don't go as planned. Tell them we understand. Sometimes that's all anyone needs.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Finding my Fight for a VBAC
I don't regret my c-sections. I never mourned a lost birth experience or felt like less of a woman because my babies were cut out instead of being pushed out. I also never felt like having a vaginal birth was going to be the key to my womanhood or motherhood. I went to vbac support groups throughout the pregnancy and heard story after story of women who were depressed and broken after their c-section and it made their vbac journey that much more powerful. I feel like my desire for a natural birth was based on something much more simple: I wanted to know I could do it and I wanted my baby to come out in the most healthy way possible, in the way God designed for it to happen. It had very little to do with what I wanted for my body as I'd had two rather uneventful cesareans before. My preference was to avoid surgery, but it wouldn't have been the worst part for me if Milo's birth had turned out differently. I feel so sad for women that had expectations that weren't met in their previous births, and I'm lucky that I was so young and naive that I had no preconceived notions on how my birth would go, other than that my baby would come out healthy.
Looking back and it's no surprise that I had no desires for a natural normal birth. I was a cesarean baby and my Mom was born in a hospital as my Grandma was strapped down, drugged and labored by herself. I had no reference to what was considered a "normal delivery". In my preparation for this birth, my doula asked me to consider what birth philosophies I was bringing into this delivery. I had six very specific birth experiences to draw from:
1. My mom having two cesareans. I grew up thinking this is the normal way babies come out. I never remember being curious about natural birth because I was never really exposed to it. I assumed cesareans were normal. I never questioned it.
2. When my aunt had my cousin, my mom was there. I remembered my mom talking about how horrifying it was to watch the baby "go in and out" and how the baby looked like an alien when it came out. (Oh hey Tori!) I had never heard anything about what cesarean babies looked like, so in my young mind I pictured beautiful pink little babies being cut out and purple cone-headed aliens being pushed out.
3. My other aunt talking to my mom about how she was so swollen down there that she couldn't even sit down. I'd asked my mom growing up if it hurt when I was cut out and she'd explain that she was numb and didn't feeling anything. Thus with little understanding of post-surgery reality, I associated natural birth with pain.
4. I had pre-eclampsia with Elyse and my blood pressure was too high so I had to be induced at around 38 weeks. Being induced with Elyse, I never experienced the spontaneous onset of labor and after three failed days of induction, she had to be cut out after showing signs of distress. I believe that she was truly in distress and that it was a legitimate emergency cesarean.
5. I was there when my friend Gracie had her baby. She had an epidural and her labor and delivery seemed effortless. Her baby came out pink and beautiful. My mind was blown.
6. The doctor telling me that if I tried to have a vaginal birth with Andy, I was risking the safety of my baby so I scheduled a repeat cesarean. It felt a lot different going to the hospital when there wasn't an emergency. It was a lot scarier. Andy was born and had to be in the NICU for a week because he wasn't ready to be born yet. I felt responsible and angry.
When I became pregnant with baby number 3, I automatically assumed it'd be a repeat c-section. It wasn't until about 16 weeks that I found a video about natural cesareans that I started to change positions. I was moved by the idea that I could control the environment and conditions of my child's birth. I'm at the age where I'm coming into my own independence and it aligned with that sense of "I'm the master of my ship" mentality. I wanted my baby to come on it's own time. I didn't want him to be pulled from me, but eased out (called delayed transition). I wanted my cord to be cut after it stopped pulsing. I wanted my baby to lay on my chest after being born so we could bond and I could experience that rush of oxytocin. Seeing that natural cesarean video made me realize that I never tried to make my birth experiences "special" before. My delivery had previously been means to an end in which I show up at the hospital and the doctor helps me take the baby out and then we start our new special life together. I was energized by the idea that I could take this event and make it my own. I went to the doctor primed with new ideas about how I wanted my cesarean to go. After shooting down all of my ideas, telling me they weren't "possible" or "safe", they ended the appointment by laughing at me when I asked to hold him on my chest after he was born while I was still on the operating table. I left discouraged and sad.
Shortly after that conversation, I realized that I was trying to shape my cesarean into a natural vaginal birth. Why not just push him out? How dangerous is it? Will I be selfishly putting my life on the line when I already have a husband and kids that need me? Could my baby die? Will my girly parts be wrecked? Will my husband still want to have sex with me? These are all things that I had to find out, and I did. I took on this challenge for vbac like I would anything else - full force and with reckless abandon. Every doctor or person in my life that told me I couldn't do it, strengthened my resolve that I could and would. I had doctor's tell me throughout the whole pregnancy that he was too "big" or that if xyz happened, I would have to have another cesarean. I had one doctor tell me, "We don't even know if you can have a vaginal delivery...". It seems like such a harmless statement but it devastated me. It was the most insulting insinuation that my body would somehow not work like it was supposed to. He was attacking my the very essence of my womanhood. I cried the whole day over it, then got angry and more resolved. I went through four doctors and several doctor interviews until I found one that didn't make me feel like my birth preferences were second to their priorities. I was so frustrated that I stopped all vbac planning around 6 weeks. I was tired of fighting and just wanted to enjoy my pregnancy for awhile. I found Dr. Plimpton after that and he ended up being the keeper.
The whole VBAC experience changed me in a very intricate and complex way. I realized a lot about my philosophy of birth and I gained the confidence to be in charge of my body. I made sure that doctors acted like they were performing a service, not like they were doing me a favor by being my doctor. I learned to educate myself on all birth scenarios so that there was nothing I would be ignorantly talked into. I grew into a stronger woman when I realized that this was my birth and that I wanted to experience with my husband alone. It was a lesson in wisdom and patience. I had to train my brain and my thoughts to prepare for plan B. What if I do have a cesarean? What do I have to do to ensure I don't feel disappointed in myself if that happens?
Achieving my VBAC was my greatest accomplishment. I'd never spent so much time planning for something so important to me, making sure every detail was in place and that I had done everything I could. I can honestly say I put 110% into my success. Even when things didn't go as planned (tons of pain, worthless epidural, slow progress), I still made it. When I wanted to quit, I didn't. I pushed that baby out of me! He came exactly when he was supposed to without a single medical intervention. Sometimes it seems to good to be real. I get overcome with pride in my baby, in my body and I am grateful that for that experience.
So even though I didn't have any traumatizing cesarean experiences, I still found the fight inside of me. With odds stacked against me and against negative doctors, I kept going.
I chose my birth and what I wanted for my body and I did it, goddammit.
And it was amazing.
Looking back and it's no surprise that I had no desires for a natural normal birth. I was a cesarean baby and my Mom was born in a hospital as my Grandma was strapped down, drugged and labored by herself. I had no reference to what was considered a "normal delivery". In my preparation for this birth, my doula asked me to consider what birth philosophies I was bringing into this delivery. I had six very specific birth experiences to draw from:
1. My mom having two cesareans. I grew up thinking this is the normal way babies come out. I never remember being curious about natural birth because I was never really exposed to it. I assumed cesareans were normal. I never questioned it.
2. When my aunt had my cousin, my mom was there. I remembered my mom talking about how horrifying it was to watch the baby "go in and out" and how the baby looked like an alien when it came out. (Oh hey Tori!) I had never heard anything about what cesarean babies looked like, so in my young mind I pictured beautiful pink little babies being cut out and purple cone-headed aliens being pushed out.
3. My other aunt talking to my mom about how she was so swollen down there that she couldn't even sit down. I'd asked my mom growing up if it hurt when I was cut out and she'd explain that she was numb and didn't feeling anything. Thus with little understanding of post-surgery reality, I associated natural birth with pain.
4. I had pre-eclampsia with Elyse and my blood pressure was too high so I had to be induced at around 38 weeks. Being induced with Elyse, I never experienced the spontaneous onset of labor and after three failed days of induction, she had to be cut out after showing signs of distress. I believe that she was truly in distress and that it was a legitimate emergency cesarean.
5. I was there when my friend Gracie had her baby. She had an epidural and her labor and delivery seemed effortless. Her baby came out pink and beautiful. My mind was blown.
6. The doctor telling me that if I tried to have a vaginal birth with Andy, I was risking the safety of my baby so I scheduled a repeat cesarean. It felt a lot different going to the hospital when there wasn't an emergency. It was a lot scarier. Andy was born and had to be in the NICU for a week because he wasn't ready to be born yet. I felt responsible and angry.
When I became pregnant with baby number 3, I automatically assumed it'd be a repeat c-section. It wasn't until about 16 weeks that I found a video about natural cesareans that I started to change positions. I was moved by the idea that I could control the environment and conditions of my child's birth. I'm at the age where I'm coming into my own independence and it aligned with that sense of "I'm the master of my ship" mentality. I wanted my baby to come on it's own time. I didn't want him to be pulled from me, but eased out (called delayed transition). I wanted my cord to be cut after it stopped pulsing. I wanted my baby to lay on my chest after being born so we could bond and I could experience that rush of oxytocin. Seeing that natural cesarean video made me realize that I never tried to make my birth experiences "special" before. My delivery had previously been means to an end in which I show up at the hospital and the doctor helps me take the baby out and then we start our new special life together. I was energized by the idea that I could take this event and make it my own. I went to the doctor primed with new ideas about how I wanted my cesarean to go. After shooting down all of my ideas, telling me they weren't "possible" or "safe", they ended the appointment by laughing at me when I asked to hold him on my chest after he was born while I was still on the operating table. I left discouraged and sad.
Shortly after that conversation, I realized that I was trying to shape my cesarean into a natural vaginal birth. Why not just push him out? How dangerous is it? Will I be selfishly putting my life on the line when I already have a husband and kids that need me? Could my baby die? Will my girly parts be wrecked? Will my husband still want to have sex with me? These are all things that I had to find out, and I did. I took on this challenge for vbac like I would anything else - full force and with reckless abandon. Every doctor or person in my life that told me I couldn't do it, strengthened my resolve that I could and would. I had doctor's tell me throughout the whole pregnancy that he was too "big" or that if xyz happened, I would have to have another cesarean. I had one doctor tell me, "We don't even know if you can have a vaginal delivery...". It seems like such a harmless statement but it devastated me. It was the most insulting insinuation that my body would somehow not work like it was supposed to. He was attacking my the very essence of my womanhood. I cried the whole day over it, then got angry and more resolved. I went through four doctors and several doctor interviews until I found one that didn't make me feel like my birth preferences were second to their priorities. I was so frustrated that I stopped all vbac planning around 6 weeks. I was tired of fighting and just wanted to enjoy my pregnancy for awhile. I found Dr. Plimpton after that and he ended up being the keeper.
The whole VBAC experience changed me in a very intricate and complex way. I realized a lot about my philosophy of birth and I gained the confidence to be in charge of my body. I made sure that doctors acted like they were performing a service, not like they were doing me a favor by being my doctor. I learned to educate myself on all birth scenarios so that there was nothing I would be ignorantly talked into. I grew into a stronger woman when I realized that this was my birth and that I wanted to experience with my husband alone. It was a lesson in wisdom and patience. I had to train my brain and my thoughts to prepare for plan B. What if I do have a cesarean? What do I have to do to ensure I don't feel disappointed in myself if that happens?
Achieving my VBAC was my greatest accomplishment. I'd never spent so much time planning for something so important to me, making sure every detail was in place and that I had done everything I could. I can honestly say I put 110% into my success. Even when things didn't go as planned (tons of pain, worthless epidural, slow progress), I still made it. When I wanted to quit, I didn't. I pushed that baby out of me! He came exactly when he was supposed to without a single medical intervention. Sometimes it seems to good to be real. I get overcome with pride in my baby, in my body and I am grateful that for that experience.
So even though I didn't have any traumatizing cesarean experiences, I still found the fight inside of me. With odds stacked against me and against negative doctors, I kept going.
I chose my birth and what I wanted for my body and I did it, goddammit.
And it was amazing.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The 4th Trimester
"When babies are first born, they don't have the brain maturity to deal with the outside world," says Jennifer McArthur, co-director of the Northwest Association for Postpartum Support. "They depend on their parents for basic survival, but also for soothing, because they just don't know how to soothe themselves until they are about 4 months old."
For this reason, some experts say human babies need the first three months of life to give their brain and central nervous system the time needed to mature. In the course of those three months, an infant develops into a baby who is able to respond to the outside world. Breathing starts to regulate. She becomes able to lift her head, smile, coo, develop social interactions, and begin to soothe herself. This time between birth and the end of a baby's third month is a unique stage of life that many now refer to as the "fourth trimester."
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Milo will be 3 weeks tomorrow. I read on my baby boards of women that also had December babies that we are all having similar experiences, but how we respond is quite different - or people are lying. Personally I hope they are lying or I feel like a really shitty new parent for not celebrating every sleepless night. I remember one day I opened up one of my December 2012 baby boards and a woman wrote, "In the middle of a 3 week growth spurt! Bubbs has been attached to the boob all day and won't stop crying if I put him down - I couldn't be happier getting a chance to snuggle my baby all day!"
Meanwhile.
My son was in that SAME growth spurt. I too had a child attached to me for days and felt starved and exhausted from the event. I was crying in showers and this woman was remarking these as blessed days. Am I an asshole or is she dellusional? Don't say both.
While I can't say she was lying, I can say that her truth is definitely not everyone's. Surely isn't mine. In the spirit of honesty, I wanted to share my realities for you during this 4th trimester of my child's life. For me it's a tiring, stressful, pushed to the limit period of time where you are infatuated with your babe but totally miserable in life. A strange juxtaposition, for sure. So here are my truths:
I spend most of my days breastfeeding. I now totally understand why when I asked new Moms how often they breastfed during the day, they looked at me like I asked them how many breaths they took that day. All I know is after 2 hours if he's not on my boob they are leaking like crazy, so that must be his average.
When I'm not breastfeeding, I'm trying to fashion him comfortable enough to sleep solidly for at least 30 minutes so I can walk away and do something for myself - sometimes that means just time to eat. One day I spent literally 2 hours having to poop - no kidding. It was getting close to carrying him in there with me and pooping together, lucky for Milo he picked the right time to accept his swing and chill for a couple minutes.
Our bed sheets are covered in body fluid - not the fun kind. We spend days covering pee, vomit and the tiniest bits of poop smear with receiving blankets so that we don't sleep on wet spots. Luckily there has been no major poop situations that would force my hand to actually wash the sheets. We're not monsters people, we would definitely probably wash the sheets if he pooped on them. Maybe. Realistically, I'm going to be honest here and tell you the sheets have been changed 3 times in the two months he has been alive. Judge away people! I know I would! But try and remember we have 6 people in our family generating laundry, requiring food and requiring care. It's not for the weak of spirit.
Showers are my sanctuary and I've never been more clean. I spent 30 minutes in a hot shower, even shaving my legs - just cause! To be more specific, I shower because there is no baby in the shower. And there times I would pay someone for that religious 30 minutes of me time.
I'm so goddamn tired that I don't even realize how sleep deprived I am. I wake up between 2-4 times a night and then my days are spent trying to take care of myself and other family duties in the periods where he allows me to put him down while he's sleeping. I'm a 10 hour a night person. How I'm not dead yet totally escapes reason.
I still don't know everything. I'm a baby person, so not only did I grow up babysitting, but I've had two babies of my own. At this point, you go into this like "I've got this, right?" and are continuously reminded that each baby comes out wildly different. Cameron and I still ask each other nightly, "When should we feed him? Does he seem hungry or is this his tired cry? Should we put him down now? Should we put him in the swing or the bed?" It's a game! A terrible, terrible game where when you lose - your baby cries for hours straight causing you to question the existance of your sanity.
I've gone mad. My crazy pills and propensity to anxiety is a post for another day, but let's just say this isn't my first rodeo. And what do you get when you take an already high strung person and add a new baby, no sleep, lots of responsibility and little control? A dumpster fire of emotions. Specifically you get a seriously hostile woman who sends loving text messages all day and then boils in hostility all night. A woman that cries in the shower. It's been fun.
In spite of all the madness, and the hypershowering and negligent laundering, I'm truly so infatuated that the hard moments pass without memory. It sucks in the moment when your baby has been fussy and nursing all day, you haven't eaten and it's been weeks since you slept. And sometimes I see these women on boards that act elated with every moment, and I just feel like a giant ungrateful asshole when I read it. My hope is that NORMAL people - yes I'm classifying myself as normal - will read this post and appreciate that they are not crazy for feeling dark and miserable after sitting on the couch all day, or after day 3 of your baby eating every hour at night, or for being lonely as shit for adult interaction as you sit at home watching Maury and Law and Order all day. These things are normal, and you are normal and it's okay to want to call your baby an asshole after they've been crying all day. I know you don't mean it, and sometimes they kinda act like one.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Milo’s Birth Story
“Courage is not the absence of
fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.”
So without further adieu, here is my “big and scary” birth story. It’s long, but so was my labor so that’s how it goes.
Here is some context for you. It’s important to know that this was myvba2c; my first two children were born via C-sections. I spent the greater part of the pregnancy being told I could die, or the baby could die, or that no one even knows if my body could even HAVE a natural birth. I went through 4 different doctors, hired a doula, went to natural childbirth classes, read natural childbirth books, joined natural birth support groups and read every single vbac story on the internet I think. I felt prepared. I felt like no matter what happened, I would be informed and confident in my decision making. I watched baby story on TLC from my ignorantly high pedestal and would think things like, “Pfft…that Mom is afraid of the pain, that’s why her contractions are so out of control. She just needs to relax.” If you believe in karma, my lofty know-it-all attitude is probably what earned me my super difficult labor.
So fast forward to December. The entire pregnancy I was told my baby was big. His estimated due date was December 20, but his ultrasounds reflected a due date of November 27. The doctor was convinced I’d go into labor between the 1st and 15th of December. Those dates came and went. I had prodromal labor for much of the third trimester. I’d have [what I would now call] mild contractions sometimes as close as every 3 minutes for several hours, but they always fizzled out. Having spent my first pregnancy dealing with the same scenario, I knew not to get hysterical. The doctor was getting more and more concerned with the fact that I hadn’t really had any cervical changes – just to 50% effaced and 1cm, even though his head was always really low. His obsession with my cervix didn’t really phase me and I told him during my last visit not to worry, and that I had a feeling that everything would happen all at once for me. I stayed positive, felt great and told everyone that I was fine and in no rush to have that baby, and it was true.
December 19th: I woke up for the first time discouraged. Straight from sleep, my eyes opened and I felt all of this impending doom and anxiety. What if the baby is too big? What if I go past 41 weeks? What if I’m a wuss during labor? I rolled over and grabbed my phone and there was a voicemail from a friend. Miraculously, that voicemail ended up being from my friend Katie that went to 42 weeks during her pregnancies. She left a voicemail that was 3 minutes of reassurance about going overdue and babies being okay. It was totally unprompted and she managed to reassure every worry I’d had in that voicemail. It renewed my spirit, and I got up to take on the day. Getting up I noticed that I was more sore than usual so I got on the ground to do some yoga. It was in that moment that I started to lose my mucous plug. I had that feeling like, “Shit – did I just pee myself?” and when I went to the bathroom there it was. I tell everyone you spend weeks looking for it every time you pee, and questioning every wipe until you see it and then you’re like, “Oh yeah. No, that’s definitely it.” I let my immediate people know because when you’re that far pregnant, people like to hear about your mucous changes. Deep down inside I knew I was going into labor but there was a big part of me that didn’t want to get my hopes up so I just went about my day. Many of my friends and family reassured me that this could still mean weeks more of labor, but I knew it was it. I didn’t realize it’d be days, but I knew it was starting. I had a really great day that day, someone even bought my coffee for meat Starbucks. My contractions were more painful, but nothing serious and nothing regular. I even went to a Christmas light festival that night. I’d been waiting weeks to go and I swear my labor was waiting for it. At the zoo I don’t remember getting any contractions until we got in the car again. We had a great night and took great pictures. I went to bed that night sore but without any serious labor. I had the same thought I’d had before going to bed for weeks – “Maybe I’ll wake up with contractions?”
December 20: I woke up with contractions at 12:30am. My first thought was, “I am special. I’m going to have this baby on my due date. Only 5% of women do that. This baby is special.” I laid in bed timing for an hour before deciding to get up. I bounced on my ball, took a shower, walked around. As it was the middle of the night, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My contractions were stronger and ranging from every 5 mins to 10 mins. I stayed up an hour waiting for things to fall into a rhythm that never happened, so I resigned to going back to bed.
The next morning and day were a lot of the same. I happened to have a doctor’s appointment and I had dilated to a 2 and was still 50% effaced. I told the doctor about the mucous action and I could see he was happy I was finally bringing him labor news. I had worried that he would try and shuttle me to the hospital – a fear of all vbac mamas – but he surprised me and told me to go home and rest as long as possible. I listened and took a nap that afternoon. Contractions were continuously stronger and I could feel them even when I was resting. At this point I had trouble talking normally during one, but could still talk. I was averaging 4-5/hour. We went to my mother in laws that night and I had several irregular but strong contractions there, and we decided to take a walk. We walked for about 30 minutes and as soon as I was walking my contractions fell regular to every 4 minutes, then every 3 minutes then almost every 2 minutes. My last two contractions on my walk stopped me. I couldn’t talk or walk and had to hang on to Cameron. Somewhere in my mind I remembered that being a sign of labor, but was still prepared for them to stop at any moment because it’d been 2 days now. I tell myself – surely if it had been real labor, it wouldn’t have taken 2 days to start up. As soon as I stop walking the contractions slow down. We left around 8pm to go home and “wait and see”.
I’m going to start time-lining now since this is where it gets fun.
I decide to take a bath when I get home, and it was truly to stop the contractions. It’s what has worked for me in the past and I wasn’t so sure I was in labor anymore. I laid in the bath for about 30 minutes with a few contractions but nothing too bad. I decide to get out and I’m not out of the bath for more than 5 minutes when I get one of the many to come mega-contractions. It came on strong and fast and lasted – I’m not kidding – 3 minutes and 42 seconds of hard core sharp contraction all over my body pain. It felt like 3 contractions lumped together, I could feel the major peaks of several contractions together without any pause. In this “you are definitely in labor moment” was I feeling excited? Nope. I was terrified. I had expected a steady increase of pain as contractions slowly got closer together. I didn’t anticipate days of mild to moderate contractions, a bath and then this horrific 3 hitter contraction. The pain of the contraction also surprised me. I was so sure of my ability to disconnect from pain, and I wasn’t able to disconnect from this. By 10pm, my contractions were every 4-5 minutes. I was moving from the ball to hands and knees to chair and nothing was relieving the pain for me. Every time I stood up or sat down I would get a contraction. Every time I peed I would get a mega contraction. They were getting stronger and I felt tired. Days of contractions, hours of timing contractions, weeks of anticipating labor and only a few hours of sleep had left me tired. I texted my doula around this time and she was there by 11pm. She observed my contractions, and walked around the kitchen with me for a while or sat quietly and watched me have contractions on the ball.
After about an hour, I had a compulsion to take another bath. The bath was my favorite part of labor. I put on the hynobabies CD and honestly was able to go to a place where I was having contractions but was disconnected and not feeling pain or worry. I think I even slept. Towards the end of my bath the contractions were starting to penetrate my happy bubble and so I decided to get out. I stepped out and had another mega-3xcontraction. This one was so incredible that I couldn't call out to Cameron who was resting in bed like 5ft away. It was gnarly. I started to cry. It ended and I told Cameron, “I’m going to go tell Pam we’re going to the hospital now.” I went to the living room where Pam (the doula) was hanging out while I bathed. I started to cry more and told her that I was ready to leave for the hospital. This was my first emotional breakdown. I told her I was scared of how painful the contractions were and that I was frustrated at how much they were hurting me. I remember specifically saying, “I thought I would be stronger” and “The contractions are really big and scary.” Pam and Cameron hugged me. We left for the hospital. At this point I was moaning very dramatically through all the contractions which now felt back to back. I didn’t give a shit that I sounded like a wild animal or one of those crazy birthers in natural birth videos.
Did I already mention that any bump, touch or even noise disturbance gave me a contraction? I kept my eyes tightly closed starting from the car ride and until I was in the labor and delivery room hours later. When they checked me at 1:30am at hospital triage, I was 80% effaced, 5cm dilated with “waters bulging”. It was around the car ride that I had mentally decided I wanted an epidural. I was desperate for relief and felt like I’d had non-stop pain for the last several hours without any breaks in between. My brain was broken and unable to cope anymore and I was exhausted. When I told Cam it went like, “I want an epidural – and not in the way that I want you to talk me out of it but in the way that I want an epidural right now.” Around 2:30ish we got to the L&D room and the epidural was practically waiting for me.
The epidural provided about 80% relief at that time. I remember I still felt cramping and my left hurt more than my right, but I was cool with that. Compared to the previous hell of contractions, it felt like PMS. I was able to rest for a few hours.
Around 5 or 6am, they checked me and I was an 8. I was elated that my body was doing stuff. I’d only gone to a 5 before with my previous labor and I was relieved that my body knew how to go higher than that. I was getting more pain at this point, especially in my back. I asked for a little more epidural because I wanted to be pain-free at this point. When I had decided to concede to my previous convictions about a natural birth and get an epidural, one of the major benefits was obviously to go throughout the rest of the birth pain-free. I wanted my money’s worth of that goddamn epidural. The extra epidural made my right leg hopelessly numb but made me 80% comfortable again.
Around 9am, I was 9cm, 90% effaced, waters bulging. I asked to be sat up so that his head and contractions could work my cervix more effectively. As soon as I sat up, my water broke. It was just a matter of time at this point – or so I thought! Muahaha says the birth karma monster.
This is where time gets funky. Somewhere around 12:30p, they wanted me to try pushing. I was having more and more pain (stupid, stupid, worthless epidural) and was actively feeling every contraction again. It felt even worse being dead from the waist down and having to work through contractions while stuck in bed. Torture! They told me to start pushing basically because I was 10 and my epidural was obviously running out. I would have been more excited to hit 10 if I weren’t in so much pain again. I tried for maybe 15-20 minutes pushing and that’s when the nurse told me that he was still -1 station. I decided I didn’t want to push. I could tell by the way the nurse and Pam were looking at me that I must have looked like a hysterical laboring pregnant woman – the kind that say they want to go home while they are pushing. But I knew that I was exhausted, and in pain, and that I wasn’t feeling any progress when I pushed. Something from one of my classes or videos or books stood out to me – just because you are a 10, doesn't mean you’re ready to push. I remembered, “Wait until you feel like pushing. Let the contractions do the work for you until you feel ‘pushy’.” As calmly as I could muster, I told them I wanted them to top off my epidural so I could rest and let the contractions work him down. I asked them to give me an hour and then I would push for them. I knew my explanation was solid, so the nurse really couldn’t really argue. They ultimately agreed. We turned on our “chill labor playlist” and Cam, Pam and I rested for an hour.
I woke up to turning my head left and right every time I was having a contraction– which hurt again, by the way. Stupid worthless epidural! I was also having a lot of negative thoughts at this point. Truthfully, I was trying to figure out how I could get a c-section without outright asking for one. I was desperate for an easy way out and terrified at what I had to do, and how bad it hurt. I was angry that I’d seen women totally painless during epidurals but felt so much pain still with mine. I laid there for a good 15 minutes with all of this going on in my head and ultimately decided to try for my baby. I asked Cam to come over and pray with me. He said, “in my head or out loud?” I said, “OUTLOUD.” He prayed thanks for me and my strength, and that I would continue to feel strong and that our baby would come out healthy. I sobbed. This was my 2nd emotional breakdown.
Shortly after that, I started to push involuntarily with contractions. It was still just the three of us in the room, and I’d been asking for hours to get on my hands and knees but the nurses said no because of my epidural (understandable but didn’t stop me). I started to get in it myself and Cam and Pam were forced to help me and probably pretty much held up my dead legs while I pushed and rocked through that position. I spent maybe 5 minutes in that position and then it was really go time.
I got on my side and starting pushing. It’s around this time that my mind really surrendered. I had no more self-talk or any thought besides the coming and going of contractions and visualizing my baby. No one had to tell me when to push, and no one tried to tell me. Sometimes I felt like breathing through a contraction, other times I felt like pushing. They held my legs for me, and the nurse came in and out of the room only a couple of times to stretch me and holler about pushing. She was not good for my labor vibes. I know I told her a few times to stop touching me. After about 20 minutes I started to figure out where to push from – I had been pushing from my birth canal and then had the moment of grace where I visualized pushing from the top of my uterus. I pictured his little feet at the top of my uterus and I pictured his feet pushing against the top of my uterus as I pushed and I felt his head get lower in my pelvis. Around this time people got really encouraging about my pushing. “Good job!” they said. I can see his head! You’re doing it, baby! It was encouraging on some level, but I could feel I was doing it and was kind of emotionless at the moment. I was intensely focused on the task at hand.
Around 3:20 pm, December 21st (about 17 hours since legit contractions started). After an hour of pushing, his head was right there. They asked me if I wanted to feel it, and I did out of curiosity but felt immediately annoyed that it just felt like a swollen angry vagina. I felt no head. Around this time, the doctor wasn't there yet so I spent the last 10-15 minutes being told to do little 5 second pushes which is reallllllllly hard when your whole body feels the desperate urge to push the baby out of you. When the doctor got there, it had an immediate calming effect on me. I thought to myself, “Doctors only show up to catch. You’re close. The head is right there, they are telling you to slow down so you don’t push him out too fast. Once the head is out, the body comes right out. That’s what happens on all the baby stories.” My eyes had been firmly closed the entire time I was pushing. I had shut out the part of me that was thinking. It was like there was a calm quiet me, sitting on a chair in a dark empty room deep inside of my brain –totally disconnected with what was happening to my body. My quiet dark room version me was calmly instructing me on the logic of what was happening and how to do it most effectively. So only after a couple minutes of the doctor being there, and I got to push the head out. He said, “Now one more push so we can get the shoul…..” and his little body came tumbling out (says my husband).
December 21, 2012 at 3:41 pm - They put him on my chest and had to tell me to open my eyes. This is the part where it got amazing and beautiful. Absolutely unreal and bigger than anything I’ve ever felt. I was so high with the combination of seeing him, having him on my belly, skin-to-skin like I’ve wanted for months and knowing that labor was over. And our big baby didn’t disappoint– he came in at 9lbs and 5oz and 22.5 inches long. I didn’t tear a single bit thanks to the skill of my doctors and nurses and that agonizing 15 minutes of half pushing.
Cam and I had told our family in advance that we didn’t want anyone there until everything was said and done. We ended up getting about 3 uninterrupted hours of holding our baby – the majority of that time was spent skin to skin with me which was really important to both of us. In my previous birth experiences I remember feeling stressed and anxious for the first week, I left this delivery feeling much more bonded with this baby, more relaxed and just generally happy.
It occurs to me that I didn’t pepper throughout this story just how important my husband was in every stage. His touch was anesthetic to me. Even having a hand on me during contractions made the difference. When I would bury my head in his neck, his smell was soothing to me. I remember panicking when he would even go to the bathroom because I wanted him by me and touching me at all times. He is my soul mate and my battle partner. There is no way I would have been able to do this without his unconditional support and unconditional love. Oh look, I’ve made myself cry.
My doula Pam was also a blessing and a huge emotional support for me the entire time. Just having her in the room and with us offered us such comfort and confidence. My most valuable memories of birth with her are our interactions during my multiple emotional breakdowns. She was always telling me that I was doing it, that I was strong and that everything was normal. “Normal” was a huge comfort word for me since nothing seemed normal to me.
Take-aways:
The trauma of labor is fading and I’m starting to appreciate how much easier overall a vaginal delivery is to a c-section. Certainly, it sucked in the moment but then the moment passed and it was done sucking. C-sections continue to suck for weeks.
I’m not disappointed in myself for getting the epidural. It was a good lesson in control for me and remembering that things won’t always go as I planned.
I’m proud that I had my vaginal birth after being told for months and by numerous people that I couldn’t.
I’m proud that I went into spontaneous labor without induction.
I’m proud that I knew to get on my hands and knees which I believe put him in the final good spot to get pushed out.
I’m grateful for the clarity of mind and courage to speak up to tell them I wasn’t going to push yet.
Mostly I’m grateful that God answered every prayer of mine. That I would have a safe and swift delivery. That I would not require any interventions. That we would be blessed with a healthy child. This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done and my most valuable achievement. Plus, I got a beautiful little boy out of it.
We are blessed.
Here is Milo, 3 months old, proudly rocking his vbac onesie.
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