The Birth of Mara Grace
When I found out I was pregnant with my third child, I walked around in a state of shock for about 2 weeks. I came to embrace the idea of having another child, and I began to allow myself to enjoy my pregnancy, as I believe pregnancy is one of the most beautiful periods in a woman's life. When I was about 2 months pregnant, I realized that I wasn't enjoying this pregnancy like I had enjoyed the first two. I had this nagging feeling of dread that seemed to creep up every time I got to thinking about this pregnancy. I set my mind to figuring out what it was that was standing in my way. I let myself think about the pregnancy and all of the beautiful things that I love about being pregnant.
I thought about how exciting it is when you start to see a little baby bump developing. I thought about how precious those moments are where you feel those first flutters that will be your constant companion for the remainder of the pregnancy, reminding you so sweetly of the little life you're carrying. I thought about how much fun it is to find out the sex of the baby and begin planning. I even thought about those aches and pains that can be a nuisance but act as a sign that your body is preparing for birth. And then, it hit me. Hard. The dread came rushing over me in a split second.
I was afraid. Of birth. I didn't want to have another c-section. Not because the surgery is scary, but because it felt so wrong. I didn't want to be robbed of the experience of delivering my child again. I didn't want to be separated from this baby like I'd been separated from Declan. When I was pregnant with Maddie and Declan, I looked forward to labor. This time, I dreaded the "delivery" so much that it was physically making me ill. It was at that moment that I decided that it was going to be different this time. I was not going to have another c-section. I was going to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).
From then on, I researched VBAC every chance I could. I searched the internet for articles on VBACs. I read the ACOG recommendations and mulled over the risks and benefits of VBAC vs. repeat cesarean section (RCS). I made myself familiar with the VBAC statistics--what are the chances that I will rupture and die? What are the chances that the baby will die? Have severe injuries? What are the chances of me losing my uterus? What are the chances that I will actually be able to deliver vaginally successfully? On and on. I watched videos--hundreds of videos--of other women successfully VBACing. And, perhaps the most significant of all, I became connected with a group of women online who had all had c-sections and were either planning or had already experienced a VBAC. These women were literally my lifeline for the remainder of this pregnancy.
Armed with all of the information I could retain, I headed to my OB's office. I knew from my research that the area hospitals all had a ban on VBACs, so prepared for a fight. I was shocked when, before I even had the chance to mention a VBAC, my OB said, "I think you're a great candidate for a VBAC." Wow. (Don't get excited. He changed his tune by the next appointment and then did his best to convince me that I was not a candidate for VBAC at all. We VBACers call it the "bait and switch.") He went on to tell me that the hospitals wouldn't approve it, but that I could refuse to consent to a c-section. Basically, show up at the hospital in labor, refuse to sign for a c-section, and they have no choice but to let you VBAC. Cool. My OB did go on to tell me that his colleagues were not in favor of VBACs, and that if they happened to be on call when I showed up in labor, they would give me a terrible time about "trying to kill my baby" and whatnot. "Whatever." I thought. "I know the facts, and I can stand up to any doctor who tries to bully me into the OR."
As time passed, though, my OB became less and less supportive of my decision to VBAC. Each visit, he seemed to have a new reason for insisting that I not "get my hopes up." He told me over and over that he would allow me to "try" to have a VBAC, but that he didn't think I'd be successful. Wow-why on earth would he say such a thing? Afterall, aren't women created to bear children? Weren't our bodies fashioned by our Maker in a way that makes it possible for us to grow babies and to deliver them without surgery? According to my faithless doctor, my body was deformed. Apparently my Maker made a big mistake when he created me. My OB argued that my pelvis was likely just way too small to deliver a normal sized baby. He insisted that this is why Declan got "stuck" when I was laboring with him. (Strangely enough, the OB never once suggested that the actual reason Declan may have become lodged in my pelvis in an impossible position was because the doctor insisted on breaking my water when I was dilated only to 1cm and my baby boy was floating freely above my pelvic bones.) On and on he would go. Your pelvis is just too small. You are broken. You can't do this. These are the messages that played in my head over and over for several weeks.
I started to become really discouraged. I knew that labor and delivery is hard work. I knew that a woman needs support during that time. I knew that fighting the hospital staff to allow me to VBAC would be bad enough, but to have to entrust myself, my unborn, and the outcome of my labor to a doctor who has made it quite clear that he believed that I would fail? That just seemed to be too much. And then, one night, my sweet husband made a suggestion that I never expected, especially coming from him. As I was complaining about how it seemed so unfair that I was fighting an uphill battle, he said, "Why don't we just have the baby at home?" Huh? At home? You mean like the hippies and weirdos and crunchy moms on my birth boards? That just seems crazy. What if something happens? What if...what if...what if...
Over the course of that night, I let myself think about the possibility of a homebirth. We watched a film that had been recommended to me by one of my crunchy mommy friends. Titled "The Business of Being Born," the film documented homebirths vs hospital births. It provided plenty of statistics that made it quite clear that hospital birth in the US is absolutely not as "safe" as we want to believe and that having a birth in the hospital without any interventions (no pain meds, augmentation, surgery, forceps delivery, etc) is pretty much impossible. They just don't happen. In the film, the OBs interviewed were just so matter-of-fact about the idea that women just aren't capable of having babies the way we were designed. It made me sick to hear them insisting that the only way most women can have babies is to allow them (the wise doctors) to intervene in whatever way they see fit--even if it is totally and completely medically unnecessary. And as I read up on the statistics and reviewed what was in that film, I decided that I was absolutely NOT letting an OB put his hands on this baby. Jason was right. We should have this baby at home.
And that became my next mission.
I started looking for a midwife in the area. This was no easy task. There are very few midwives within 3 hours of my home who attend home births. Of those midwives, some are unwilling to attend an HBAC (home birth after cesarean). I found the name of a midwife in the next county over, and I called her. I figured I'd just ask her some questions and see if this would really work for me. Immediately, she and I connected on the phone. We talked for over an hour (find an OB who will talk to a potential patient for an hour on the phone), and she answered every question I had. Even more, she put my mind at ease. By the time we hung up, I was no longer fearful of uterine rupture. I was no longer afraid that I would die, our baby would die, something would go terribly wrong. I wasn't afraid that, because I'd recently been diagnosed with gestational diabetes, I would grow an enormous baby that would be way too big for my already misshapen and tiny pelvis. I hung up that phone with absolute confidence that I CAN deliver this baby vaginally, and it is pure silliness to think otherwise. It helped that this midwife had not only attended dozens of VBACs in her 15 years of practice, but she herself had a successful HBAC. I decided I was ready to commit.
I am going to have a baby. At home. With a midwife. Even though I had a c-section last time. I'm doing this.
We met with the midwife the following week and hired her right away. She was wonderful. She was just so certain that everything was going to be okay. She was very knowledgable, too. I knew right away that I could trust this woman with myself and my baby. She wanted to see us weekly because we were coming to her "late in care." I was already about 28 weeks pregnant and she wanted to make sure we had time to develop a relationship before the baby decided to make her appearance.
Every week, Jason, the kids, and I would make the hour drive to our midwife's office for our visit. It was the neatest thing, really. My kids and husband were welcomed as a part of this process, rather than being asked to wait quietly outside. The kids played and snacked while my midwife listened to the baby's heart rate, felt for positioning, and discussed diet (I was controlling my diabetes with diet) and any questions I may have had. Each visit at her home office was an hour long. The average prenatal OB visit lasts 6 minutes. What a difference 54 minutes make.
I continued to see my OB for a few weeks after transferring to the midwife. I hadn't told my OB I was seeing a midwife, and I suppose I was leaving the door open in case I decided to chicken out at some point and just sign up for the c-section. When I was about 32 weeks pregnant, my OB gave me yet another long lecture about how I would probably not be successful with my VBAC, but he'd let me try out of the kindness of his heart. He wanted to make sure we had that c-section scheduled, "just in case." He insisted we schedule the section for October 3. That was 3 days before my due date, but that's where I fit in his schedule. At the end of our 6 minute appointment, he handed me an appointment card, told me to make an appointment to come back in two weeks, and sent me on my way. That day, I walked past the front desk and never looked back. I didn't make an appointment and I wasn't coming back here. I tossed the appointment card in the trash as I exited the building, straightened my shoulders, and breathed deeply. Here we go.
I continued to see the midwife weekly. I successfully (though begrudgingly) managed my diabetes with my diet. This was important because I would not be able to have a home birth if I became insulin dependent. Jason and I continued to prepare ourselves for this birth. We prayed like crazy. We talked about it. We researched. We prayed some more. We watched hours upon hours of youtube videos of home births. We read books written by midwives. We prayed. I did all I could to fill myself with empowering images of myself delivering a healthy baby at home. I spoke with my online support group of fellow VBAC moms daily, and I leaned on them when I was feeling afraid. I researched my labor and delivery with Declan. I discussed the records in depth with my midwife, and we concluded that fetal positioning, my positioning during labor, and a vast array of interventions were likely the cause of my c-section, not a pelvis that couldn't accomodate a normal sized baby. I was determined to make sure that this baby was in the optimal position for delivery and I started doing exercises that have been proven to encourage babies to get into the LOA (left occiput anterior) position. I avoided anything that would encourage the baby to fall back in my pelvis. I saw a chiropractor three times a week for several weeks in order to make sure that my pelvis was aligned properly. I was not going to let anything stand in my way of having this baby at home.
At 36 weeks, my midwife conducted a home visit. I had gathered all of the supplies we'd need for the birth, as she had required. We had decided that because of my diabetes, it would be favorable for me to go into labor before my due date. At this 36 week visit, my midwife decided to conduct her first vaginal exam. That was when we realized that this was going to be a long road. My midwife was quite honest with me when she finished the exam. She told me that she felt some extremely narrow places in my pelvis that could make a vaginal delivery difficult and painful. She also noted some bony protrusions that could complicate delivery. Basically, she told me she could now see why Declan got stuck. She still thought I had a chance at a vaginal delivery, but it was going to be a tough one. I broke down in tears. It was just me and my midwife. I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. I really am broken. My body is not right, I'm not designed to bear children. My OB was right all along, there was something wrong with me. That's why I had the c-section and I was probably going to end up having another one. I cried for a few minutes. Then I decided I was going to do what I could do to prepare for this birth because I was absolutely not going to give up. My midwife stressed the importance of this baby coming sooner than later. She explained that in order to make this birth as uncomplicated as possible, we want the baby to be on the smaller side and we want her head to be as moldable as possible. Babies heads mold to fit through the birth canal, but they become less moldable as the weeks pass. By 41 weeks gestation, the baby's head is pretty much fused, meaning it isn't going to squish much to make passage through the pelvis easier. We started on some homeopathy intended to prepare the cervix for labor and hoped for the best.
Much to my chagrin, I received a poorly timed phone call from my OB a few days later. He had received a call from the people who had been overseeing my diabetes, and when he looked at my chart, he realized I hadn't been in to see him in over a month. Awkward. I had to tell him that I had chosen to have a home birth attended by a midwife. I explained my reasons. He told me that I was making a huge mistake and gave me a list of things that could go terribly wrong and even shared some horror stories with me. At the end of the conversation, he released me as his patient, wished me the best, and asked me to call him to let him know how it all turned out. This phone call hit me in the face with all of the fears I'd been working so hard to overcome. Not exactly what I needed at this point, but, the show must go on.
The next couple of weeks were tense. We rented a birth tub and did all of the last minute shopping for baby. We waited and waited and waited. I did my homeopathy and waited for some sign that labor was coming. Nothing. And then, I started leaking some fluid. I was about 38 weeks pregnant. We called the midwife who came right away. She gave me some test strips to confirm whether or not I was leaking amniotic fluid, I was. This was bad because a fluid leak increases risk of infection. Now I had to be very careful and we needed labor to start more than ever. I started to question my decision to HBAC. I wondered if I'd misread what God had been trying to tell me all along. I started to think that maybe He was now allowing all of these things to go wrong so that I would decide to have this baby in a hospital operating room.
I continued to leak fluid. I had my membranes stripped a few times in hopes of jump-starting labor (Although I was leaking fluid the bottom of the amniotic sack was still intact). I even saw an acupuncturist in hopes of geting things going. From 38 weeks on, I experienced prodromal labor, which is basically practice labor. I was having contractions about 10 minutes apart, bloody show, etc, but no real labor. I did this for 10 days. Ten excruciating days. During this time, the baby couldn't decide to get into position and stay there. One day, she would be LOA (good) and at a -1 station. The next day, she was ROT (not good) and at a -3. This was very frustrating. At 39 weeks, we decided that if the baby was LOA, we would break my water and get labor going. The night my midwife was set to come over and break my water, I changed my mind. I decided that even though I really wanted to have this baby, I was going to refuse the AROM and just wait and see.
When my midwife arrived the next morning, we were happy to see that I had made some progress! Baby had come down a bit, there was slightly more effacement, and I was still a solid 3cm. The best news was that the baby was LOA. What a relief! I allowed the midwife to strip my membranes that day, and we decided to try to get the contractions to kick in with the breast pump. I pumped for 15 minutes on and 15 off four times. After the fourth pumping session, I was contracting every 4 minutes. This went on aaaaalllll day. I walked and squatted and did everything I could to help this baby decide to come. The contractions stayed consistent all day, and every few hours we'd check for progress. It was slow going. The baby came down slowly, I dilated slowly, effaced slowly. Around 6pm, I entered active labor. The contractions were much stronger, and it was then that I finally allowed myself to believe that this was the real thing, I was actually in labor. This was the real deal, and there would be no turning back now. The contractions continued all night and were not so severe that I couldn't manage them with a little breathing but were severe enough to keep me awake. I didn't sleep at all. My midwives, husband, parents, and sister were all here and slept off and on while I labored to the CD mixes I'd put together for this occasion.
I was actually quite relaxed, despite the contractions becoming stronger and longer. I was happy to be able to eat, drink, and move around as much as I wanted. I could use the restroom without asking anyone's permission, and I didn't have to drag a bunch of wires and poles around with me everywhere I went. This was definitely a better experience than my previous two so far. Oddly enough, I wasn't even all that frustrated with the fact that labor was going on for so long and progress was so slow. My only concern was that my parents were here and my midwives were here, and I was feeling a bit guilty for keeping them all tied up for so long. I felt badly that everyone was tired and bored and here I was, taking my sweet time to have this baby. What could I do? I told my company that they were free to leave if they wanted to or needed to and that we'd call them when I started making more progress, but they decided to stay.
I thought about how exciting it is when you start to see a little baby bump developing. I thought about how precious those moments are where you feel those first flutters that will be your constant companion for the remainder of the pregnancy, reminding you so sweetly of the little life you're carrying. I thought about how much fun it is to find out the sex of the baby and begin planning. I even thought about those aches and pains that can be a nuisance but act as a sign that your body is preparing for birth. And then, it hit me. Hard. The dread came rushing over me in a split second.
I was afraid. Of birth. I didn't want to have another c-section. Not because the surgery is scary, but because it felt so wrong. I didn't want to be robbed of the experience of delivering my child again. I didn't want to be separated from this baby like I'd been separated from Declan. When I was pregnant with Maddie and Declan, I looked forward to labor. This time, I dreaded the "delivery" so much that it was physically making me ill. It was at that moment that I decided that it was going to be different this time. I was not going to have another c-section. I was going to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).
From then on, I researched VBAC every chance I could. I searched the internet for articles on VBACs. I read the ACOG recommendations and mulled over the risks and benefits of VBAC vs. repeat cesarean section (RCS). I made myself familiar with the VBAC statistics--what are the chances that I will rupture and die? What are the chances that the baby will die? Have severe injuries? What are the chances of me losing my uterus? What are the chances that I will actually be able to deliver vaginally successfully? On and on. I watched videos--hundreds of videos--of other women successfully VBACing. And, perhaps the most significant of all, I became connected with a group of women online who had all had c-sections and were either planning or had already experienced a VBAC. These women were literally my lifeline for the remainder of this pregnancy.
Armed with all of the information I could retain, I headed to my OB's office. I knew from my research that the area hospitals all had a ban on VBACs, so prepared for a fight. I was shocked when, before I even had the chance to mention a VBAC, my OB said, "I think you're a great candidate for a VBAC." Wow. (Don't get excited. He changed his tune by the next appointment and then did his best to convince me that I was not a candidate for VBAC at all. We VBACers call it the "bait and switch.") He went on to tell me that the hospitals wouldn't approve it, but that I could refuse to consent to a c-section. Basically, show up at the hospital in labor, refuse to sign for a c-section, and they have no choice but to let you VBAC. Cool. My OB did go on to tell me that his colleagues were not in favor of VBACs, and that if they happened to be on call when I showed up in labor, they would give me a terrible time about "trying to kill my baby" and whatnot. "Whatever." I thought. "I know the facts, and I can stand up to any doctor who tries to bully me into the OR."
As time passed, though, my OB became less and less supportive of my decision to VBAC. Each visit, he seemed to have a new reason for insisting that I not "get my hopes up." He told me over and over that he would allow me to "try" to have a VBAC, but that he didn't think I'd be successful. Wow-why on earth would he say such a thing? Afterall, aren't women created to bear children? Weren't our bodies fashioned by our Maker in a way that makes it possible for us to grow babies and to deliver them without surgery? According to my faithless doctor, my body was deformed. Apparently my Maker made a big mistake when he created me. My OB argued that my pelvis was likely just way too small to deliver a normal sized baby. He insisted that this is why Declan got "stuck" when I was laboring with him. (Strangely enough, the OB never once suggested that the actual reason Declan may have become lodged in my pelvis in an impossible position was because the doctor insisted on breaking my water when I was dilated only to 1cm and my baby boy was floating freely above my pelvic bones.) On and on he would go. Your pelvis is just too small. You are broken. You can't do this. These are the messages that played in my head over and over for several weeks.
I started to become really discouraged. I knew that labor and delivery is hard work. I knew that a woman needs support during that time. I knew that fighting the hospital staff to allow me to VBAC would be bad enough, but to have to entrust myself, my unborn, and the outcome of my labor to a doctor who has made it quite clear that he believed that I would fail? That just seemed to be too much. And then, one night, my sweet husband made a suggestion that I never expected, especially coming from him. As I was complaining about how it seemed so unfair that I was fighting an uphill battle, he said, "Why don't we just have the baby at home?" Huh? At home? You mean like the hippies and weirdos and crunchy moms on my birth boards? That just seems crazy. What if something happens? What if...what if...what if...
Over the course of that night, I let myself think about the possibility of a homebirth. We watched a film that had been recommended to me by one of my crunchy mommy friends. Titled "The Business of Being Born," the film documented homebirths vs hospital births. It provided plenty of statistics that made it quite clear that hospital birth in the US is absolutely not as "safe" as we want to believe and that having a birth in the hospital without any interventions (no pain meds, augmentation, surgery, forceps delivery, etc) is pretty much impossible. They just don't happen. In the film, the OBs interviewed were just so matter-of-fact about the idea that women just aren't capable of having babies the way we were designed. It made me sick to hear them insisting that the only way most women can have babies is to allow them (the wise doctors) to intervene in whatever way they see fit--even if it is totally and completely medically unnecessary. And as I read up on the statistics and reviewed what was in that film, I decided that I was absolutely NOT letting an OB put his hands on this baby. Jason was right. We should have this baby at home.
And that became my next mission.
I started looking for a midwife in the area. This was no easy task. There are very few midwives within 3 hours of my home who attend home births. Of those midwives, some are unwilling to attend an HBAC (home birth after cesarean). I found the name of a midwife in the next county over, and I called her. I figured I'd just ask her some questions and see if this would really work for me. Immediately, she and I connected on the phone. We talked for over an hour (find an OB who will talk to a potential patient for an hour on the phone), and she answered every question I had. Even more, she put my mind at ease. By the time we hung up, I was no longer fearful of uterine rupture. I was no longer afraid that I would die, our baby would die, something would go terribly wrong. I wasn't afraid that, because I'd recently been diagnosed with gestational diabetes, I would grow an enormous baby that would be way too big for my already misshapen and tiny pelvis. I hung up that phone with absolute confidence that I CAN deliver this baby vaginally, and it is pure silliness to think otherwise. It helped that this midwife had not only attended dozens of VBACs in her 15 years of practice, but she herself had a successful HBAC. I decided I was ready to commit.
I am going to have a baby. At home. With a midwife. Even though I had a c-section last time. I'm doing this.
We met with the midwife the following week and hired her right away. She was wonderful. She was just so certain that everything was going to be okay. She was very knowledgable, too. I knew right away that I could trust this woman with myself and my baby. She wanted to see us weekly because we were coming to her "late in care." I was already about 28 weeks pregnant and she wanted to make sure we had time to develop a relationship before the baby decided to make her appearance.
Every week, Jason, the kids, and I would make the hour drive to our midwife's office for our visit. It was the neatest thing, really. My kids and husband were welcomed as a part of this process, rather than being asked to wait quietly outside. The kids played and snacked while my midwife listened to the baby's heart rate, felt for positioning, and discussed diet (I was controlling my diabetes with diet) and any questions I may have had. Each visit at her home office was an hour long. The average prenatal OB visit lasts 6 minutes. What a difference 54 minutes make.
I continued to see my OB for a few weeks after transferring to the midwife. I hadn't told my OB I was seeing a midwife, and I suppose I was leaving the door open in case I decided to chicken out at some point and just sign up for the c-section. When I was about 32 weeks pregnant, my OB gave me yet another long lecture about how I would probably not be successful with my VBAC, but he'd let me try out of the kindness of his heart. He wanted to make sure we had that c-section scheduled, "just in case." He insisted we schedule the section for October 3. That was 3 days before my due date, but that's where I fit in his schedule. At the end of our 6 minute appointment, he handed me an appointment card, told me to make an appointment to come back in two weeks, and sent me on my way. That day, I walked past the front desk and never looked back. I didn't make an appointment and I wasn't coming back here. I tossed the appointment card in the trash as I exited the building, straightened my shoulders, and breathed deeply. Here we go.
I continued to see the midwife weekly. I successfully (though begrudgingly) managed my diabetes with my diet. This was important because I would not be able to have a home birth if I became insulin dependent. Jason and I continued to prepare ourselves for this birth. We prayed like crazy. We talked about it. We researched. We prayed some more. We watched hours upon hours of youtube videos of home births. We read books written by midwives. We prayed. I did all I could to fill myself with empowering images of myself delivering a healthy baby at home. I spoke with my online support group of fellow VBAC moms daily, and I leaned on them when I was feeling afraid. I researched my labor and delivery with Declan. I discussed the records in depth with my midwife, and we concluded that fetal positioning, my positioning during labor, and a vast array of interventions were likely the cause of my c-section, not a pelvis that couldn't accomodate a normal sized baby. I was determined to make sure that this baby was in the optimal position for delivery and I started doing exercises that have been proven to encourage babies to get into the LOA (left occiput anterior) position. I avoided anything that would encourage the baby to fall back in my pelvis. I saw a chiropractor three times a week for several weeks in order to make sure that my pelvis was aligned properly. I was not going to let anything stand in my way of having this baby at home.
At 36 weeks, my midwife conducted a home visit. I had gathered all of the supplies we'd need for the birth, as she had required. We had decided that because of my diabetes, it would be favorable for me to go into labor before my due date. At this 36 week visit, my midwife decided to conduct her first vaginal exam. That was when we realized that this was going to be a long road. My midwife was quite honest with me when she finished the exam. She told me that she felt some extremely narrow places in my pelvis that could make a vaginal delivery difficult and painful. She also noted some bony protrusions that could complicate delivery. Basically, she told me she could now see why Declan got stuck. She still thought I had a chance at a vaginal delivery, but it was going to be a tough one. I broke down in tears. It was just me and my midwife. I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. I really am broken. My body is not right, I'm not designed to bear children. My OB was right all along, there was something wrong with me. That's why I had the c-section and I was probably going to end up having another one. I cried for a few minutes. Then I decided I was going to do what I could do to prepare for this birth because I was absolutely not going to give up. My midwife stressed the importance of this baby coming sooner than later. She explained that in order to make this birth as uncomplicated as possible, we want the baby to be on the smaller side and we want her head to be as moldable as possible. Babies heads mold to fit through the birth canal, but they become less moldable as the weeks pass. By 41 weeks gestation, the baby's head is pretty much fused, meaning it isn't going to squish much to make passage through the pelvis easier. We started on some homeopathy intended to prepare the cervix for labor and hoped for the best.
Much to my chagrin, I received a poorly timed phone call from my OB a few days later. He had received a call from the people who had been overseeing my diabetes, and when he looked at my chart, he realized I hadn't been in to see him in over a month. Awkward. I had to tell him that I had chosen to have a home birth attended by a midwife. I explained my reasons. He told me that I was making a huge mistake and gave me a list of things that could go terribly wrong and even shared some horror stories with me. At the end of the conversation, he released me as his patient, wished me the best, and asked me to call him to let him know how it all turned out. This phone call hit me in the face with all of the fears I'd been working so hard to overcome. Not exactly what I needed at this point, but, the show must go on.
The next couple of weeks were tense. We rented a birth tub and did all of the last minute shopping for baby. We waited and waited and waited. I did my homeopathy and waited for some sign that labor was coming. Nothing. And then, I started leaking some fluid. I was about 38 weeks pregnant. We called the midwife who came right away. She gave me some test strips to confirm whether or not I was leaking amniotic fluid, I was. This was bad because a fluid leak increases risk of infection. Now I had to be very careful and we needed labor to start more than ever. I started to question my decision to HBAC. I wondered if I'd misread what God had been trying to tell me all along. I started to think that maybe He was now allowing all of these things to go wrong so that I would decide to have this baby in a hospital operating room.
I continued to leak fluid. I had my membranes stripped a few times in hopes of jump-starting labor (Although I was leaking fluid the bottom of the amniotic sack was still intact). I even saw an acupuncturist in hopes of geting things going. From 38 weeks on, I experienced prodromal labor, which is basically practice labor. I was having contractions about 10 minutes apart, bloody show, etc, but no real labor. I did this for 10 days. Ten excruciating days. During this time, the baby couldn't decide to get into position and stay there. One day, she would be LOA (good) and at a -1 station. The next day, she was ROT (not good) and at a -3. This was very frustrating. At 39 weeks, we decided that if the baby was LOA, we would break my water and get labor going. The night my midwife was set to come over and break my water, I changed my mind. I decided that even though I really wanted to have this baby, I was going to refuse the AROM and just wait and see.
When my midwife arrived the next morning, we were happy to see that I had made some progress! Baby had come down a bit, there was slightly more effacement, and I was still a solid 3cm. The best news was that the baby was LOA. What a relief! I allowed the midwife to strip my membranes that day, and we decided to try to get the contractions to kick in with the breast pump. I pumped for 15 minutes on and 15 off four times. After the fourth pumping session, I was contracting every 4 minutes. This went on aaaaalllll day. I walked and squatted and did everything I could to help this baby decide to come. The contractions stayed consistent all day, and every few hours we'd check for progress. It was slow going. The baby came down slowly, I dilated slowly, effaced slowly. Around 6pm, I entered active labor. The contractions were much stronger, and it was then that I finally allowed myself to believe that this was the real thing, I was actually in labor. This was the real deal, and there would be no turning back now. The contractions continued all night and were not so severe that I couldn't manage them with a little breathing but were severe enough to keep me awake. I didn't sleep at all. My midwives, husband, parents, and sister were all here and slept off and on while I labored to the CD mixes I'd put together for this occasion.
I was actually quite relaxed, despite the contractions becoming stronger and longer. I was happy to be able to eat, drink, and move around as much as I wanted. I could use the restroom without asking anyone's permission, and I didn't have to drag a bunch of wires and poles around with me everywhere I went. This was definitely a better experience than my previous two so far. Oddly enough, I wasn't even all that frustrated with the fact that labor was going on for so long and progress was so slow. My only concern was that my parents were here and my midwives were here, and I was feeling a bit guilty for keeping them all tied up for so long. I felt badly that everyone was tired and bored and here I was, taking my sweet time to have this baby. What could I do? I told my company that they were free to leave if they wanted to or needed to and that we'd call them when I started making more progress, but they decided to stay.
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The next day was harder. I was already worn out from being awake all night, and I was becoming a bit frustrated. Contractions were coming harder and longer, and yet the progress was so slow. I got to 7-8 cm, and the midwives could feel the bag bulging. I finally consented to letting them break my water. I had resisted this for a long time. I was so afraid that breaking my water would lodge the baby in my pelvis in a bad position and that I'd end up having another c-section. They assured me that the baby was already engaged and wasn't going to move now. They tried to break my water once, but the bag was so thick that they couldn't get it to snag. Then, they sent me walking to get things rolling. The contractions stayed about 4 minutes apart. I started getting really scared because I was feeling every contraction really intensely in my c-section scar. It was this constant reminder to me that I was attempting a VBAC, and it was really scary. It hurt so badly, and I was just sure there was something wrong. I had a major emotional breakdown at this point. I cried and cried in my bedroom with my husband and my midwives around me. I didn't know why, all of a sudden, I was feeling so hopeless. I was just afraid and sad and feeling really incompetent. I was wondering what on earth I'd been thinking when I had decided to do a VBAC, no less a home birth! I must have been insane.
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My midwife was wonderful during this time. She told me that she was pretty sure all women having a VBAC have this need to "revisit" their c-section labor and birthing experience while laboring for a VBAC. This was my way of dealing with that c-section. This was my way of processing it...and now it was time to let it go. I just cried and cried. I told her I really believed I had already dealt with all of that but she was right. The timing of this breakdown wasn't coincidence. It happened at the very point in which my labor with Declan stalled out. I was suddenly terrified that I was going to have that experience all over again. With a pep talk and lots of tears, I finally allowed myself to let the past go and to have this baby. The right way. Powerfully, naturally, and confidently.
By mid morning, the contractions were intense. I was in a lot of pain and was getting increasingly impatient. I kept telling myself that my slow labor was my body's way of protecting itself from becoming overwhelmed but I was really wearing out. We finally decided to try to break my water again. This time it was a success. Transition hit almost immediately. I was contracting back to back with maybe a 30 second break between for 2.5 HOURS. I did some walking up and down our street with Jason and I learned that walking through the contractions was about the only way I could take them standing. If I stopped the contractions would win. We walked through them all. I clung to my husband at the peak of each powerful contraction. He was such a rock through this whole labor and especially at this time. I really needed him by my side. I never felt that way with my other labors, but this time I really needed that man next to me, with me. And he was. This transition time was a true test of my will to VBAC. It was honestly, the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life, just getting through those darned contractions one at a time. There were many, many times that I thought that if I were at a hospital, there's no way I'd be having a natural childbirth. Thankfully, I wasn't at the hospital. The only pain management available was my will, my team, and God.
I got to 9.5 cm--had just a lip of cervix left. I was soooo exhausted. And I was thrilled! I'd made it past where I'd stalled out with Declan. I was going to have this baby at home! She was going to come out of my vagina, and I was going to live to tell about it! My midwife suggested letting her push the cervix out of the way while I pushed, but it was so horrendously uncomfortable to contract in bed while she was pushing my cervix around. (Ladies, can you believe this is how we usually labor at the hospital?!) I called that off and decided to just let the contractions move the cervix on their own, even though that meant more pain. And more time. And more uncertainty.
At this point, everyone was totally exhausted. It was chaotic for a while and was quite a scary time for me. I was feeling like I might end up having a c-section after all. At one point, I did tell my midwives that I would be willing to go to the hospital for an elective c-section. One of the midwives said, "No way. After all you've done, we are not making you have a c-section. We are going to help you get this baby out." While I would never wish this kind of stress on any laboring woman, I will say that it totally helped me in the long run. So, I decided right then and there that it was time. I dug down deep, mustered all of the emotional and physical strength I had left, and I rode the next batch of contractions, allowing them to pull that cervix out of my baby's way.
By mid morning, the contractions were intense. I was in a lot of pain and was getting increasingly impatient. I kept telling myself that my slow labor was my body's way of protecting itself from becoming overwhelmed but I was really wearing out. We finally decided to try to break my water again. This time it was a success. Transition hit almost immediately. I was contracting back to back with maybe a 30 second break between for 2.5 HOURS. I did some walking up and down our street with Jason and I learned that walking through the contractions was about the only way I could take them standing. If I stopped the contractions would win. We walked through them all. I clung to my husband at the peak of each powerful contraction. He was such a rock through this whole labor and especially at this time. I really needed him by my side. I never felt that way with my other labors, but this time I really needed that man next to me, with me. And he was. This transition time was a true test of my will to VBAC. It was honestly, the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life, just getting through those darned contractions one at a time. There were many, many times that I thought that if I were at a hospital, there's no way I'd be having a natural childbirth. Thankfully, I wasn't at the hospital. The only pain management available was my will, my team, and God.
I got to 9.5 cm--had just a lip of cervix left. I was soooo exhausted. And I was thrilled! I'd made it past where I'd stalled out with Declan. I was going to have this baby at home! She was going to come out of my vagina, and I was going to live to tell about it! My midwife suggested letting her push the cervix out of the way while I pushed, but it was so horrendously uncomfortable to contract in bed while she was pushing my cervix around. (Ladies, can you believe this is how we usually labor at the hospital?!) I called that off and decided to just let the contractions move the cervix on their own, even though that meant more pain. And more time. And more uncertainty.
At this point, everyone was totally exhausted. It was chaotic for a while and was quite a scary time for me. I was feeling like I might end up having a c-section after all. At one point, I did tell my midwives that I would be willing to go to the hospital for an elective c-section. One of the midwives said, "No way. After all you've done, we are not making you have a c-section. We are going to help you get this baby out." While I would never wish this kind of stress on any laboring woman, I will say that it totally helped me in the long run. So, I decided right then and there that it was time. I dug down deep, mustered all of the emotional and physical strength I had left, and I rode the next batch of contractions, allowing them to pull that cervix out of my baby's way.
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At this point, we decided it was time to get into the birth tub. I'd been in it a bit earlier in my labor, and it hadn't really helped much with pain relief. This time, in the middle of transition, after 2.5 long hours of intense contractions back to back, that warm water was my epidural. The difference in the level of pain outside of that water compared to inside of the water was insane. I was managing my contractions in the tub so well that my midwives and Jason didn't even know they were happening! It was sweet, sweet relief. In fact, my contractions spaced out a bit after being in the tub for just a few minutes and I was able to get a little rest in between. |
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It was a little strange, those few minutes as I sat in that tub. I was really getting into my head, preparing myself mentally for what I knew was just moments away. This would be the scariest part of my journey this far. I knew that the pushing phase would be the most dangerous phase of this birth. I knew that it would be the phase during which we'd learn if I really am capable of delivering a baby vaginally. It's where we'd see just how faulty my body truly was. How narrow is my pelvis? How deformed is my birth canal? I breathed deeply. I prayed intensely. I listened to those songs that still played in the background. "Will I believe you when you say your hand will guide my every way? Will I receive the words you say every moment of everyday? I will walk by faith even when I cannot see. Because this broken road, prepares your will for me." I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
I looked up at the clock. I remember very clearly that it was 2:28pm. Maddie was going to be home from school in less than 30 minutes and I wanted this baby to be here before she got home.
My midwives and husband gathered around the tub and just worked me through a few contractions. My mom was keeping Declan occupied, Becca was taking pictures, and my Dad had just left to pick up Maddie from school. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to push. I'd never felt the urge to push before, even with Maddie. I'd just pushed because the nurses started screaming "PUSH" at me! This time I HAD to push. I pushed a few times, but I felt like I was pushing really ineffectively and baby wasn't moving. I was convinced she was not going to come out. The doctors were all right. My pelvis is a mess and no baby is coming through there. I was also having this really sharp pain in my kidney area. It hurt so bad it seemed to interfere with my ability to push. I told my midwife that I felt like I wasn't moving the baby. She told me to check myself to see if I could feel the baby. I felt her head, but she was still very high. Another contraction hit and something really strange happened. My body just took over and started pushing while forcing this crazed animalistic, gutteral yell from my throat. I am not a screamer. I have never even made a sound in my previous labors or delivery. I'd learned through my research that we women do best to let go and relax our throats while delivering and this is what I did. I screamed out, not in pain but in determination, I suppose. I felt the baby move down my birth canal. I felt her head right inside of me. HOLY COW!!! I just pushed her head into my vagina!!! I CAN DO THIS!!!! With the next contraction, I decided it was time. I was going to push until this baby is out, no matter what. I was not going to do it slowly, as I'd been advised to do. I'd read everything there was to read about this stage of labor, and I knew that it's best for us to take this part slowly so as to avoid tearing. But not me. Not now. I didn't have time. I didn't have anything left. I needed to be done. I wasn't going to give myself time to stretch, I was pushing with all of my might and I didn't care if I tore, it was happening now or never. My body did some of the work and my head did the rest. I was screaming like an animal, not something I'd have ever expected from myself. The midwives were running around frantically trying to get things together for the birth. (They admitted that they were sure I had at least 2 hours of HARD pushing ahead of me.) I pushed with all of my might and more, and don't you know, that head popped right out! I mean the head AND the neuchal fist that silly baby had by her face popped right out! That fist must have been the source of that pain in my kidney! Crazy, right? Two more pushes, and her body was birthed. My midwife caught her and brought her up out of the water and onto my chest, which is where she took her first breath and where she stayed.
I looked up at the clock. I remember very clearly that it was 2:28pm. Maddie was going to be home from school in less than 30 minutes and I wanted this baby to be here before she got home.
My midwives and husband gathered around the tub and just worked me through a few contractions. My mom was keeping Declan occupied, Becca was taking pictures, and my Dad had just left to pick up Maddie from school. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to push. I'd never felt the urge to push before, even with Maddie. I'd just pushed because the nurses started screaming "PUSH" at me! This time I HAD to push. I pushed a few times, but I felt like I was pushing really ineffectively and baby wasn't moving. I was convinced she was not going to come out. The doctors were all right. My pelvis is a mess and no baby is coming through there. I was also having this really sharp pain in my kidney area. It hurt so bad it seemed to interfere with my ability to push. I told my midwife that I felt like I wasn't moving the baby. She told me to check myself to see if I could feel the baby. I felt her head, but she was still very high. Another contraction hit and something really strange happened. My body just took over and started pushing while forcing this crazed animalistic, gutteral yell from my throat. I am not a screamer. I have never even made a sound in my previous labors or delivery. I'd learned through my research that we women do best to let go and relax our throats while delivering and this is what I did. I screamed out, not in pain but in determination, I suppose. I felt the baby move down my birth canal. I felt her head right inside of me. HOLY COW!!! I just pushed her head into my vagina!!! I CAN DO THIS!!!! With the next contraction, I decided it was time. I was going to push until this baby is out, no matter what. I was not going to do it slowly, as I'd been advised to do. I'd read everything there was to read about this stage of labor, and I knew that it's best for us to take this part slowly so as to avoid tearing. But not me. Not now. I didn't have time. I didn't have anything left. I needed to be done. I wasn't going to give myself time to stretch, I was pushing with all of my might and I didn't care if I tore, it was happening now or never. My body did some of the work and my head did the rest. I was screaming like an animal, not something I'd have ever expected from myself. The midwives were running around frantically trying to get things together for the birth. (They admitted that they were sure I had at least 2 hours of HARD pushing ahead of me.) I pushed with all of my might and more, and don't you know, that head popped right out! I mean the head AND the neuchal fist that silly baby had by her face popped right out! That fist must have been the source of that pain in my kidney! Crazy, right? Two more pushes, and her body was birthed. My midwife caught her and brought her up out of the water and onto my chest, which is where she took her first breath and where she stayed.
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I was in shock. I couldn't believe we'd done it. I was holding my little miracle. She cried out, and there was an audible sigh of relief--the one you hear in any birth room when a baby lets out that first scream. This sweet baby was here, in my arms, safe and sound. We sat in the water together for a few minutes. I caught my breath and hugged and kissed husband and midwives. They all told me how proud they were of me. My mom and sister were crying tears of joy when I looked over. It was a beautiful, empowering, and validating moment. I was not flawed. I was not broken. I was capable and strong and whole. |
I was so proud of myself for making it this far: 29 hours of labor, 2.5 hours of transition. I'd felt minutes away from a transfer for a RCS and she was born in less than 10 minutes of pushing. I had my HBAC baby. I delivered the placenta right in the tub. All was well. I stood and carried my newborn baby through our house to my bedroom where she and I were checked by the midwives. It was all surreal. I couldn't stop shaking.
She was so beautiful. She weighed 6 lb 14 oz, was 20 inches long. Her head circumference was 13 3/4 inches plus the neuchal fist. Her apgars were 8 and 9, and she was perfectly normal and healthy. I was also perfectly healthy. I had a few slight abrasions throughout the birth canal compliments of that crazy hand planted on the baby's face, but nothing significant enough to require stitches. So much for a narrow, misshapen pelvis. Not only did I get her out, but I got her head and arm out together without any major tears!
It took a few days to decide on a name for our little miracle. Throughout the pregnancy, we'd chosen several different names and had eventually decided against them all. In the days before she was born we chose two names to decide from when we met her face to face. When she was born, neither of the names we'd discussed seemed to fit. She was nameless while we tried to choose the perfect name. After about three days, it hit me.
In college, I had a friend named Mara. She was the sweetest girl and a really good friend to me during a very difficult time in my life. I'd always loved her name, but I never understood why on earth her parents had named her such a thing. They were Jewish, and the name Mara means "bitter."
I thought it was pretty awful that they'd named their daughter "bitter." I had always wished the name had a nicer meaning because I wanted to use it myself.
Looking back on the journey to this birth, the wounds I'd healed in having this home birth, and the stress that surrounded the actual birth, I realized that Mara would be quite a fitting name to give this little bundle. We chose the middle name Grace, reminding ourselves that God had granted us mercy in the midst of bitterness. Our little Mara Grace will always serve as a symbol of God's mercy and healing in our lives, even in the most difficult circumstances. I think it's a perfect name, and it fits her quite well.
On this journey I learned a lot about my body, my mind, and my abilities. I learned about my strength and my own weakness. I learned about faith and trusting the voice that God uses to speak with me. I learned that other than the Lord, my husband is the one constant being in my life. I will always feel loved and supported by him. He will be my rock when I cannot stand on my own. He is an amazing man, and I am so thankful for him. I also learned that even those with a degree, years of schooling, and years of experience can make mistakes. Thankfully, the mistakes my doctor made didn't impact the fate of this pregnancy. Hopefully my story will remind him that even he is human and at risk of being wrong now and then. Perhaps above all things, this journey taught me that God knew what he was doing when He created us and maybe, just maybe, it's when we start trying to make his design "better" that we go and screw the whole system up.
Welcome to the world, Mara Grace. You are a beautiful and special addition to our family, and we are so happy to have you here. I am in love with you already. You have helped me to see things that were once hidden from me. Your entrance into this world has helped me to heal. I pray your life is filled with joy and peace and wonder at what God has done. I pray that your being here will make the world a better place. I pray that you will grow to be exactly what your God has called you to be. And I pray that you will one day experience the joy of bringing your own children into the world.
I love you, sweet baby.
I am truly, truly blessed. It was a wonderful experience, and I will never be the same because of it.
She was so beautiful. She weighed 6 lb 14 oz, was 20 inches long. Her head circumference was 13 3/4 inches plus the neuchal fist. Her apgars were 8 and 9, and she was perfectly normal and healthy. I was also perfectly healthy. I had a few slight abrasions throughout the birth canal compliments of that crazy hand planted on the baby's face, but nothing significant enough to require stitches. So much for a narrow, misshapen pelvis. Not only did I get her out, but I got her head and arm out together without any major tears!
It took a few days to decide on a name for our little miracle. Throughout the pregnancy, we'd chosen several different names and had eventually decided against them all. In the days before she was born we chose two names to decide from when we met her face to face. When she was born, neither of the names we'd discussed seemed to fit. She was nameless while we tried to choose the perfect name. After about three days, it hit me.
In college, I had a friend named Mara. She was the sweetest girl and a really good friend to me during a very difficult time in my life. I'd always loved her name, but I never understood why on earth her parents had named her such a thing. They were Jewish, and the name Mara means "bitter."
I thought it was pretty awful that they'd named their daughter "bitter." I had always wished the name had a nicer meaning because I wanted to use it myself.
Looking back on the journey to this birth, the wounds I'd healed in having this home birth, and the stress that surrounded the actual birth, I realized that Mara would be quite a fitting name to give this little bundle. We chose the middle name Grace, reminding ourselves that God had granted us mercy in the midst of bitterness. Our little Mara Grace will always serve as a symbol of God's mercy and healing in our lives, even in the most difficult circumstances. I think it's a perfect name, and it fits her quite well.
On this journey I learned a lot about my body, my mind, and my abilities. I learned about my strength and my own weakness. I learned about faith and trusting the voice that God uses to speak with me. I learned that other than the Lord, my husband is the one constant being in my life. I will always feel loved and supported by him. He will be my rock when I cannot stand on my own. He is an amazing man, and I am so thankful for him. I also learned that even those with a degree, years of schooling, and years of experience can make mistakes. Thankfully, the mistakes my doctor made didn't impact the fate of this pregnancy. Hopefully my story will remind him that even he is human and at risk of being wrong now and then. Perhaps above all things, this journey taught me that God knew what he was doing when He created us and maybe, just maybe, it's when we start trying to make his design "better" that we go and screw the whole system up.
Welcome to the world, Mara Grace. You are a beautiful and special addition to our family, and we are so happy to have you here. I am in love with you already. You have helped me to see things that were once hidden from me. Your entrance into this world has helped me to heal. I pray your life is filled with joy and peace and wonder at what God has done. I pray that your being here will make the world a better place. I pray that you will grow to be exactly what your God has called you to be. And I pray that you will one day experience the joy of bringing your own children into the world.
I love you, sweet baby.
I am truly, truly blessed. It was a wonderful experience, and I will never be the same because of it.