e's birth story

Foreword

Who could imagine a second birth could go so differently from the first? I suppose any woman who has had a successful VBAC or—by contrast—has ended up with a cesarean after a previous vaginal delivery could, but I certainly couldn’t and didn’t expect my son’s birth to go anything like it did. But I will say this: It was a better birth; one with many of my deepest wishes and needs fulfilled. It was a healing birth.

It is difficult to tell my son E’s birth story without referencing my daughter L’s birth because they are they only two experiences I have to compare, and being so monumentally life-changing by their very nature, I can’t help but draw distinctions between the two. So I pray my son will forgive me in including some birth history that pertains to his sister in his birth story.

So let me begin by briefly recounting the birth of our first child, L. She had been an all-night affair, beginning at 9:00 p.m. with the rupturing of my waters. Moments thereafter contractions had started and labor was underway. We had arrived at the birth center around midnight and after three hours of exceedingly difficult pushing she was born at 3:44 a.m. (at which point I had been up for 24 consecutive hours). Upon her birth L was promptly taken away due to labored breathing. Steven did not cut the cord. An ambulance was called and she was taken to the hospital’s NICU. Steven went along.

Upon their departure I was sutured; I had incurred a third degree tear with a six pound baby. I was given some homeopathic pellets and hot tea. I was then left alone. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even shift my body slightly or roll onto my side. The room was cold and I couldn’t stop crying. Three hours later my daughter, husband and I were finally reunited; he was able to have L discharged as a well-baby back to the birth center so we could all be together. As it turned out she was fine.

The experience left me shaken; there is clearly more under the surface of this recapitulation, both before, during and after that affected me just as profoundly. But the fundamental gist of the birth of our first child has been captured and I can now begin to tell the story of our second child’s entry into the world.

Less than a month before E’s birthday, I had been filling out the Birth Center’s form for my Birth Plan, when I was posed with the task to “Describe your ideal birth.” It was at this time I really began to focus on what would constitute an ideal birth for me. I had previously dwelled on everything I didn’t want to happen again this time and addressing the Birth Plan’s inquiry opened up my mind to what exactly I did want.

What I wanted was a daytime labor and birth. I wanted the labor to progress more gradually this time. I wanted to start off well rested and preferably with a good cup of coffee and a relaxed morning. I wanted to have a successful go at pushing this time; I wanted the midwife to help me in every possible way to minimize the time pushing, to help me maximize the effectiveness of pushing, and to look out for the well-being of my perineum. I wanted to be checked in on after the birth during the early moments of post partum. I wanted our baby to be born healthy. I wanted to be together as a family after the birth. I wanted to breastfeed right away. And I wanted my husband to have the honor of cutting the umbilical cord.

So I could end the birth story here, before it has even really begun, and just say that all of my wishes—and more—came true. Things I couldn’t even have known to hope or wish for were given to me; gifts of good care and earnest consideration. But I won’t, because it is too beautiful of a story to pass up telling.

The Birth Story

It was just past 3:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, February 10th, when the contractions had started coming too strongly and closely together to sleep through them any longer. So I quietly got out of bed, where my husband was still sleeping, and went downstairs to start timing them. I tried reading my newest book, Mountains Beyond Mountains, as I jotted down the times, but my mind was inevitably elsewhere.

After just shy of an hour of observing the pattern of my contractions, whose mean was approximately four minutes apart, I got up and deliberated over what my course of action should be. I kept hearing in my head the voices of friends saying, “The second always comes quicker,” and recalling my previous 6-hour labor, wondering how long I could afford to wait. While I pondered indecisively I decided to at least take a refreshing shower in the meantime, to see if the warm water subdued contractions and also to wash my hair in the event that this really was labor.

After showering and realizing that the contractions weren’t going anywhere, I made myself a small cup of coffee and some toast and sat at the kitchen table quietly. It was around 5:00 a.m. when I finally decided to call the answering service for the Birth Center to have the midwife on call contact me. To my delight, Tanya returned my call. She sounded so sleepy to me that I thought I had woken her, and as a result apologized, but as it turned out she had been up all night at the neighboring hospital. She said she’d have Fran call me. It was around 5:30 or so when Fran got in touch with me.

Fran and I agreed to meet at the Birth Center at 7:00 a.m. This would give me enough time to wake my husband and our daughter and prepare our things. Now, it is important to call to attention to the fact that this labor was already quite different from my previous labor. My last labor began with the breaking of my water and spun into full-force thereafter. This labor was progressing much more gradually with contractions preceding this time. Already my wishes were being granted: a more relaxed-paced labor in which I was allowed time to acclimate and prepare; a daytime labor for which I would be well-rested.

Just past 6:00 a.m. we were on the road, our almost-19-month-old daughter groggy in the back seat. As I will teasingly document, my husband had no gas (per usual), and we had to stop off at the local gas station to fill up before we got on the highway. As it was, we made record time to the birth center, a half-hour trip as compared to the usual daytime 45-minute drive. Steven dropped me off, settled me in, and went to take our daughter L to our friends’ home where they would watch her for the day.

To be honest, I didn’t really know what to do with myself once at the Birth Center, and even felt a tinge of guilt for having woken Fran so early to have her meet us there. Although the pace of this labor was what I had wanted, I wasn’t used to the type of labor I was experiencing and felt almost lost in the comparatively slower progress of it all. Steven returned from dropping our daughter off and ironically, or maybe not so ironically, contractions picked up upon his return. Fran checked me and I had a six centimeter start.

I didn’t pay much mind to the clock that morning; we did a fair amount of strolling around outside for one thing. To encourage contractions and progression, Steven and I walked laps around the interior of the practice, and then proceeded outside around the parking lot and surrounding grounds. I will always remember it was the most beautiful February day. The sun shone vibrantly and felt warm on my skin and through my clothing. We enjoyed the diverse sounds of birds and the sights of different plants, taking special note of the various landscaping.

During contractions we would pause facing one another and hold each other. It occurred to me that this had been the best quality time we had spent together—just the two of us—in the longest time. We both cracked a similar joke about it, to the effect that the unhurried timing of my labor was deliberate on my part to extract as much quality time with Steven as possible. As he held me through one contraction in particular, my left hand grasping his left shoulder, the engagement ring he’d given me over five years ago caught the sunlight just so and looked so salient; the symbol of his love for me and his promise to always be there.

Contractions came and went and time pressed onward. Fran checked me a little later on after our walks, and said I had progressed to nine centimeters; however the baby still needed to turn to be in the preferred position for birth. My bag of waters was still intact. Certainly she could have elected to break my water to speed things up, but she felt that it would aid in facilitating his head to engage in the appropriate position and would break on its own in time. And she was right.

As contractions became stronger and closer, I entered the bathtub to help endure them. Steven rubbed my back as he had done in my previous labor, which was welcome relief in conjunction with the warm water. Fran continued to check the heart rate of our baby, and he was doing wonderfully. And then things began to grow intense. Contractions started to become debilitating and soon enough I had that blessed urge—that instinctual impulse—to push during the contractions. It felt better! It felt right.

As I bore down with each contraction I felt a great relief from the pain, as though I were channeling it away from my self. Until… suddenly, something momentous shifted inside of me. An immense sensation of an inner alteration. I was abruptly and unexpectedly struck with fear and pleaded Fran’s name several times in desperation. Poised and assuringly in control, she calmly told me that my water had just broken.

Fran continued to check the baby’s heart rate as I still experienced the undeniable urge to push. Contractions were all consuming and coming one right after another. Then Fran told me she wanted me out of the tub; the baby’s heart rate had slowed with contractions since my membranes had ruptured, and she wanted me on the bed just in case there was a cord around his neck. As Steven prepared to help hoist me up, and Fran took my hand to provide me with added leverage, I remember looking at Fran and saying, Can I make it? The bed, all of six feet away, seemed an impossible distance to traverse, especially considering the haste and force with which the contractions were coming.

As soon as my most recent contraction had concluded, they helped me move quickly to get me to the bed. Steven was behind me and Fran in front, guiding me out of the tub. I was only one foot out, with one foot still in, when I was hit with another all-consuming contraction. My knees buckled as I squat to the floor to endure it. And the next thing I knew, exclamations that he was here—that our baby was born—filled the room. I reached down to receive him with disbelief. I guess I couldn’t make it after all, I thought to myself. It was 11:41 a.m.

With our precious son in my grasp and close to my stomach, I precariously negotiated my way with help to the bed. E was here and he was healthy. There were no oxygen masks; he wasn’t being taken away. He stayed on my stomach and Steven by my side, as we stared at one another in wonderment. It could be and was just as magical as the first time. And it unfolded so naturally this time. Our nurse Jena captured priceless photographs of us in that tender moment, and when the time was right, Steven was able to cut the umbilical cord this time. As I watched it all unfold, I was still in vague disbelief of all that had happened and was still happening; that it really could all go so well.

And the post partum period continued to go well; I had the support I needed of not only my husband but of Fran and Jena as well. Steven was by my side and E in my arms as Fran sutured me this time. As I write this I still don’t know the degree of the tear I sustained but will say it was nothing in contrast to my previous injury; it is one week post partum and I am pain free and virtually healed. None of my stitches came undone this time. I was given intermittent massages of my uterus this time, too, which I truly believe helped control the bleeding. Fran stayed close by in the immediate moments after birth as she filled out paperwork nearby, and Jena continued to check in hours later after Fran had left.

Safety and serenity defined this birth experience. All of my wishes and more were fulfilled. I felt safe and assured, supported and cared for intently. Labor and birth went as smoothly as I could have ever hoped for and our son E was born thriving and healthy. And the two of us, and ultimately three of us, remained together without incident through it all. It was, in every way, a healing birth.