When you choose an unmedicated birth, you are choosing a lot of things, but most prominent is that you are choosing to experience how it feels to give birth. Not feel part of it, but ALL of it, which means all the highs and all the lows. I haven't ever had an epidural, so I can't say how it compares. I respect each woman and the birth scenario she selects, but I do believe it's important that we make a conscious choice, which means it's important to become educated about our options. The natural birth is the experience that I know, so I speak from it.
As I wrote this I found myself putting disclaimers everywhere so as not to offend anyone. But I can't write a post constantly trying to not say anything too passionately. This is my experience and because I lived it, it's packed with emotion and opinion. But nothing I say is intended to take away from anyone else's experience or imply that their choices aren't what's best for them and their child.
I choose unmedicated births because of the way it connects me to my baby and to those that surround me during labor. I feel birth should empower and honor women. The experience of birth is one that can define us, and I didn't want to be numb to it. In a natural birth you get to know that place - THAT PLACE! - where you literally walk off the edge of what you know you can do, and to your surprise you find you're still alive. That moment is life, death, victory, humility, strength, weakness, humanity, deity, mortality and eternity, all in one explosive experience. Our culture raises it's daughters to fear what their bodies are capable of doing and I believe that's worth questioning. Most women spend less time researching birth options than they do their next camera purchase. The more I researched, the more I realized that as long as it wasn't putting me or my baby at any health risks, I wanted to experience birth in it's most real state.
Who you have with you during this process is who holds your hand as you walk toward the valley of death and through the hardest thing you've ever accomplished. EVER. They will hold you up while you sink into the deepest part of your soul and hang on to a thread of endurance that you're sure will break at any moment. They will be with you on the other side of something you can't come out of unchanged.
When we were preparing for Blake's birth, Brent and I met with my doula for a meeting outlining our plan. This meeting lasted several hours and covered everything from our written birth plan to going through all the possibilities of the unexpected, finally ending by envisioning our ideal birth experience. In the last segment we spent some time alone drawing birth art depicting our individual best case scenarios.
Let's be clear. Some couples fall brilliantly into this "touchy feely" situation with doula and voodoo and birth art. We don't. Brent was a champ to go into the situation with as much dignity as possible . . . but by "birth-art time" he had just about reached his limit. One thing I love about Brent is that he's pretty upfront and honest about his feelings in every situation. Although, in some situations this can backfire. This was one of those situations; simply put, everyone in the room understood this stuff weirded him out. But, good sport that he is, he went to his designated corner of the room alone to spend some time drawing with charcoal.
After explaining all of this, you'll understand my birth art picture better. The blue swirl is Brent. The pink swirl is me, leaning up against him for support. The explosion is the experience of birth, and the overall theme of my picture is unity throughout the process. Togetherness. Support. Love. Collaboration. Growth together, AS ONE.
Little did I know, Brent had a whole different expectation of the most "ideal" birth experience. After 20 minutes of silently drawing, Brent proudly unveiled his perfect situation. He unveiled this:
A GOLF COURSE. i.e. AWAY. Not even in the birth room. Alone. Serene. Singular. A "Tell me about it after it's over" experience.
I'm not kidding.
It took me a minute to pick my jaw up off the floor. I had no idea that we weren't on the same page in our expectations. And I am SO GLAD that we realized this prior to the birth. See, birth art paid off!
It took a few days for me to digest, but ultimately I gained from this meeting a new perspective and understanding. I don't say that sarcastically. I was able to recognize Brent's storyline through this experience where before, I really hadn't seen his story at all. For as much "unity" as I thought I was reaching for, I suddenly realized that my birth story expectation had been all about me. I learned that day that Brent had his own voice; I don't think he knew how much I needed him through this process . . . and I certainly didn't understand how deep his feelings and fears ran in being put into that situation.
And so, our birth story for Blake Anthony Thatcher unfolded like this:
On Monday August 20th I woke up at 6:30 to Brent frantically leaving the apartment to go fix a problem with the building's air conditioning which had - in this southern California heat wave - suddenly stopped working.
I had been sleeping on the couch for the last 6 weeks because my belly had gotten so huge that sleeping on the flat surface of the bed was just too uncomfortable. I was hot, tired, and huge, one week exactly before my due date, and not by any means looking forward to another week of pregnancy.
On this particular morning, after getting up and moving around I started noticing that I felt crampy. I held the thought in the back of my mind, trying to decipher what it meant, and went on with the morning. But it wasn't long and those minor aches turned into stronger squeezes and I started folding laundry, making beds, and doing dishes faster. Mondays are always the cleaning day after the weekend tornado, which meant there was lots of work to do. When Brent came back at about 7:15 he was in a mad dash trying to get things ready for what looked to be a very busy day. I glanced at him with a little worry and admitted that I was wondering if I was in labor. He looked back at me with big eyes, shaking his head with a smile and replied "well, lets wait a few minutes and see".
I was suspicious enough that we called my doula and she agreed she should come over, just in case. I remember the specific moment I knew I was in labor. It was 7:30ish and we had Brooklynn dressed, hair done, shoes on, ready to go, and I bent over to pick something up off the floor. When I straightened, I was met with a feeling that was suddenly familiar and instantly I was taken back to my labor with Brooklynn. I looked at Brent and in a very serious voice announced that this baby was coming, and fast. Brent took Brooklynn downstairs where she waited with Loida, the chef, in her office for Tara to come and get her. He called the doctor who said she would meet us at the hospital, and we continued to wait for the doula to arrive.
This is where we went wrong. I wish we would have just left at that moment. Instead, I was frantically throwing the last items into my bag, and waiting waiting waiting for the doula to come.
When she finally did come, Brent was off taking care of other emergencies and I found myself telling the doula that we should drive now and Brent could catch up.
Long story short: Doula was the slowest driver on planet earth. WHY I let myself in the car with her, I'll never know. She stopped at every yellow light, stayed in the slow lane, got off the freeway and took pathetic back roads (and there was NO traffic on the freeway), and even went to the wrong hospital. YES. The wrong hospital.
All the while I am breathing breathing breathing in the car, PRAYING that I won't push the baby out on her nice leather seats, not because I was worried about her seats, but because I wanted Brent with me.
Finally, at 9:30 AM we arrive at the correct hospital. My OB is frantically pacing the halls, sure that we have delivered without her because she's been waiting for us to get there for so long.
Brent arrived not long after we got there, having kept completely calm as he worked through all the details that led us to the hospital.
Once in the room, my doula laid me down and started massaging my feet and rubbing essential oils on my pressure points, and vaarrooooooooom . . putt . . putt. . . putt . . . my labor completely stopped. It was like my body was convinced I was going to the spa, not into labor. The OB checked me and there I was - only at a 6 1/2 and 90%.
In the meantime, I had 3 separate people come and ask me the exact same questions. This, after I had PRE REGISTERED. Give me a break. What's your name? What's your social? What is your due date? How many times have you been pregnant? Seriously people? Seriously? Three times? NOW?
Then came the torture. Even though my birth plan clearly states that "no IV be used unless medically necessary", the nurses insisted that they need to put the stint in so if something happens they have something to plug the IV into. Because I had gone into labor so early in the morning I hadn't done a lot of drinking - and because morning typically comes after a long night of not drinking, I was dehydrated, which means they couldn't find the veins. The stupid stint is more like a gigantic toothpick size needle they dig and twist around in your arm. THREE nurses and FIVE veins later they still hadn't succeeded in finding a vein. And all three nurses acted frustrated with me that it was so difficult. It was amazingly painful - each and every time. As their last resort, they called the anesthesiologist to come in and give it a try. The man sticks me once with a shot full of lidocaine, my arm suddenly feels like it's floating mid-air, and then I don't feel a thing. Next thing you know he's found the vein, and is patting my back with a small smirk on his face. Word has gotten out that I'm not doing the epidural and he knows it. With a sly smile he says "See, I'm the No Pain Dr. I'll be right next door when you need me. Just let me know and I'll come in and help you out . . . No pain . . ."
And just like that I lost all focus.
Now I'm tied up to this machine and I'm told I can stand and sit, but not walk around. Another pathetic abuse of my birth plan. So after laying for way too long, I stand. And WOAH gravity sets in. My body remembered really fast what we were here to do and I felt the baby sink into position. I literally watched my belly go from high . . . to low. . . before my very eyes. And it felt like my belly button was being pulled to the center of the earth by the worlds strongest force.
Contractions started coming every 3 minutes and I remember thinking "I forgot how painful these are". I tried to breath, I tried to center, I held on, dug in, fought forward, and cried. And then I started to cry a lot. I suddenly remembered exactly what was coming and I wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with it. I sobbed in Brent's arms and told him how much I hated this, that it's awful, that I wanted it to go away. I took back everything I had said about pregnancy, I wanted the baby to stay in. With everything in me I DID NOT want to move forward through the fire I knew was coming. I cried and cried.
Birth is a lot like any other situation where you push yourself physically. It reminds me of hiking a huge peak where the whole time you talk about never. ever. doing. this. again. It's forcing yourself to be "comfortable" with being uncomfortable. It's awful. And then you get to the top, the view is amazing (sorry, I know - so cliche), you get to go downhill to the bottom, and you leave with a great story to tell over and over until it becomes immortalized in legend.
Each time the Dr. checked me she sent me catapulting into the next phase. This time I was a 9. She told me to hang on a bit longer and turned to "prep" whatever it is they need prepped. In that moment, without warning I needed to push. She urgently said "oh, don't push yet" because apparently she wasn't ready. I thought several things not worth repeating and moved forward without her. After several contractions I looked at Brent through my dripping sweat and I begged him to have them give me the epidural. I could not get the sensation of numbness - comfort! - out of my mind. I remember him saying "Melissa, you can do this!" and I remember saying very clearly "I know I CAN do it, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT. I don't WANT TO!" And in that moment, I truly, TRULY, wanted nothing to do with a natural birth. Every reason I had ever had in my mind was pathetic compared to the alternative of all this pain going away.
The burning, searing, ripping heat was too much. I remember begging the doctor to cut him out of me. I remember pleading with her to just get him out. I remember her telling me I needed to move down on the table so she could see better. I remember thinking "ARE YOU CRAZY?! YOU WANT ME TO PICK UP AND MOVE MY BODY???!!" I remember her validating that she knew that right then I wanted the epidural, but that I was strong, and that ultimately by the time the anesthesiologist got there I'd have the baby in my arms. I remember the baby's head coming out and pushing and pushing and nothing moved (his shoulders were stuck). I remember her locking eyes with me and saying "Melissa, bare down. KEEP PUSHING." (later I was so grateful that she had patience in this moment and didn't just immediately give me an episiotomy) I remember giving it every ounce of energy I had and finally the baby breaking free followed by instant relief. But no sound. Just a quick cut of the umbilical chord by Dr (birth plan issue no. 3) and then a quick rush to get him to the table to start suctioning meconium out of his throat and lungs. It was 20 minutes before they gave me the baby - even after he was pink and ready, they continued doing all kinds of chart work before they placed him in my wanting arms (defiance to birth plan no. 4). This lack of instant skin to skin led to a delay of bonding with him that was very obvious compared to my experience with Brooklynn.
Labor with Brooklynn was 8 hours. With Baby Blake it was almost exactly half that - 7:00ish to 11:10 AM - about four hours.
The first thing I said when I looked at him was "he is HUGE!" The doctor echoed my thoughts back "yes, he is huge". Nine pounds, one ounce, and all rolls. His arms and legs were spilling over with baby fat. I just couldn't believe how big this baby was. Turns out all those commentators through the third trimester that I was "very big" were right on.
I held Brent's hand and he stroked my head. We'd made it. Together. He said I had done great, and that for him this experience had been much less stressful than the last time. He said I was more focused and less panicked. But I felt frustrated. I felt frustrated with so many points of this birth . . . and unlike after my first birth, I felt ready the next day to do it again, and this time do it better. Except I know something now. Dr. No Pain has got to go. If I'm going to be successful and continue to improve this process, I can't have the "out" waiting in the room next door - even though I never asked him to. I don't want to have 4 nurses poke me with 6 different needles and then tell me I can't walk around. I don't want to be on my back on a bed. I don't want to be answering stupid questions for their charts instead of focusing on my breath. I felt like I'd asked my body to do the hardest thing, and then put it in an environment that put me at every disadvantage.
Instead, I want to be surrounded by people who are all working towards the same goal, not frustrating it. With Brooklynn's birth this wasn't so obvious because we got there 9 minutes before she was born. But now I am very aware: I don't ever want to give birth in a hospital again.
Next time I will work on not loosing my breath, which was my biggest problem in both births. Also, I'm going to train more on Breathing Down instead of the myriad of other pain coping techniques out there, because I'm starting to know what works best for me. Each time I've gotten just a little better, and through living it I've gained an infinite amount of birth-wisdom that you can't be taught. It was a unique experience that I do believe I'll recount until it's immortalized by legend :)
But for now I have this little-big boy to adore. He was worth every bit of the process.
