March twenty-third is a special day in our household. Six years ago, at 6:28 am, FB made his way out of me and into our lives. I'd say that he slid, but he didn't; he had his head born for a full three minutes ahead of the rest of his body. I heard him cry even as he was still kicking inside me.
Each of my children has a song. I didn't pick the songs, I just recognized them. When they're graduating and we do the somewhat-cheesy slide show with music, I know what songs each will have in the background, and no, they don't get a choice. And for whatever reason, this is FB's song. Love you, my sweet buddy. You're my favorite deputy--and whatever road you choose, I'm right behind you, win or lose. :)
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
20.11.10
Purple Child's Birth Story
[Two years ago, I was holding my newborn baby girl and eating cinnamon rolls. Here's her story.]
PC's story begins, I think, the first time that the possibility of her existence became known to me. Close to nine years before she was born, I was pregnant with my oldest child when I had a dream about my children. I saw three of them in my dream - the oldest a girl, the middle child the only boy, and the youngest a second daughter.
I didn't think about her beyond that dream for several more years. It was soon after my second child was born (a boy) that I began to be more consciously aware of "one more" child that was coming at some point. For approximately two years, I was regularly reminded, by myself or outside events, that I was to be doing this parenting journey "one more time," and that it was for a specific presence. It was during this time period that I knew her name was going to be [PC.]
It was also during this time that I had more dreams about her. There were only a few, and all of them involved her birth. Now that I have birthed her, I can point to something that each and every dream taught or told me about her birth. She appeared to me at first to be even smaller than her birth weight would have suggested. She was born while I was standing. I went into active labor while only Sam and Jacob were present. She was born with her eyes closed. I felt her head emerge from my body with my hand - something I had never done nor even wanted to do. All of these things featured in my dreams, and there was nothing significant in any of my dreams that was not born out in her actual birth. In retrospect, I think this was absolutely the neatest thing. I loved having the dreams, I loved having them play out, and I love thinking about it now, too.
Finally, I am a planner. Naturally, then, I had this pregnancy and even the birth all planned out, whether in my head or on paper. My cycles are x days long, so I should ovulate on day y, and my due date would then be z. You get the idea. While PC by no means thwarted me at every turn, she did just enough to remind me: you can't plan everything.
I really should have known when, the cycle before the one we planned to start trying to conceive, my body acted weird. Instead of my typical ovulation and cycle length, my body kept putting off ovulation, so that my careful calculations would end up 'off' by more than a week. To add to the fun, I had actual symptoms of early pregnancy, signs I normally would not have had as part of PMS or the lead-in to my period, throughout the luteal phase of that cycle. Eventually, though, my period arrived (not quite on schedule) and we could proceed with trying for our November baby.
Like each of my other children, I knew without taking a test that I had conceived. Still, for various reasons, it was important to me to have the external confirmation and definitive answers. Accordingly, I decided I would test before my period was actually due. The first test was... amusing. I don't do well at peeing on a stick. The control line did not show up immediately, or in the first minute; it did finally make an appearance after eight minutes. The second line did appear within five minutes of the control line, but not within the required ten minutes after starting the test. Ambiguity! The next day, I peed into a cup before dipping the test. The results appeared much quicker and confirmed what I already knew - she was on her way Earthside.
My pregnancy proceeded in much the way I had envisioned and planned, but there were a few exceptions. While I had expected an unassisted pregnancy and birth to mean delving into myself and finding my own resources, to some extent I had unconsciously planned on more emotional support from my husband than he was either able or willing to give. For a time I was resentful of this, but as the time for birth approached, I decided to just accept it as what was, and move forward. Part of this pregnancy and birth was about letting go of plans; part of it was truly relying on myself and only myself. While I intellectually knew that no one could "do it for me," I had to come to accept that on every level.
At one point I considered having a midwife as a back-up. I went so far as to contact one local midwife, speaking with her on the telephone. The details aren't important; what is important is that in that act, I realized I didn't want or need a back-up. I didn't want to deal with anyone, really; I was just willing to make a few exceptions. Like my husband. ;)
Given everything I had already learned during the conception process and pregnancy, I don't know why I persisted in thinking that I could somehow anticipate when PC would decide to "pop out," as FB put it. Sure, my mother had predicted EG's birth to within 15 minutes, and had had the closest guess (two days) with FB, but there was no reason to think that either she or I would manage to get that close in predicting PC's arrival. It was a nice thought, though, that perhaps I would be one of those people who had a baby at thirty-seven or thirty-eight weeks, and that at the very least, I should surely have her near my due date... right?
In retrospect, I can see that for many reasons, PC came at the best possible time. There were some issues with our car that had to be resolved, that couldn't be resolved until mid-November. There were things that needed to be done with EG and FB. One fear I had about labor and birth was that FB's last memory of "before PC" would be going to bed one night. Since he often fought going to bed, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of my own (why sleep when there may be exciting things happening?), if I were to go into labor at night (as I had previously) and birth relatively quickly (as I had previously), then his memory would be likely of being upset about having to go to sleep! All of these potential issues were avoided or resolved by the actual timing of labor and birth.
So as forty weeks approached and then receded into the past, I was unhappy. By the time forty-one weeks approached, though, I was both more and less irritated and impatient. Irritated because I was in mild to moderate pain most of the time, from SPD. Impatient because I had had no intentions of being more than forty weeks pregnant when I gave birth. Yet, I was starting to reflect on the pregnancy and I began to think that PC had at least one more thing to teach me before she was fully Earthside. The attention I got when I was out in public made me distinctly unhappy, but staying at home didn't sound appealing, either!
Right at forty-one weeks, I had a tiny amount of bloody show. Nothing else happened for over a day. Finally, just as I started to go to bed on Wednesday, November 19 (41+1, if we're keeping track), I had what I considered a significant amount of bloody mucus. I went to bed, buoyed by the fact that it seemed something was happening.
Throughout the night, I woke often, as I had for several weeks, both to use the restroom and to change positions in bed - my SPD made it near impossible to roll over without wakening fully. Each time I woke, I had more bloody show. I had contractions that were noticeable throughout the night, but they were short in duration, as well as infrequent and irregular. When the morning came, I had a light breakfast, took a shower (I was feeling the contractions in my back, despite her anterior positioning), and then decided to rest. Until noon, I stayed in bed. I dozed, helped EG with her schoolwork, listened to the Hypnobabies track "Come OUT, Baby!" as well as the "Birthing Day Affirmations," and waited for something to happen, one way or another. My answer was the contractions spacing out so much that I essentially would think they had stopped altogether, and would then have a short one, just enough that I could not totally discount the idea that this was some form of early labor. In a three hour time span, I had only three or four contractions.
Around noon, I got out of bed, took another shower (my back was sore, even if it wasn't actively hurting), and ate a bit of lunch. Again, it was light, and I didn't feel like eating much. The contractions were still quite spaced out, though perhaps a bit closer together again, going back to the 15 to 30 minute intervals they had been before I rested. Later in the afternoon, we went to pick up milk; being in the car during a contraction, short as these were, was not fun, and I was once again glad that I was staying home for the birth.
Everything continued as it had been throughout the afternoon. By now, both my mother and my husband expressed surprise at how this was unfolding. After all, with both of my others, I hadn't had any sort of early labor; I had just jumped into active labor, with contractions immediately close together. With my both of my other two, I had had some cramping leading up to active labor (five hours' worth with my first, and two and a half days' worth with my second), yet this time I had had no cramping, just these short, irregular contractions. I wouldn't necessarily remember the lesson later, but during this time, I did remember - PC had already 'upset the apple cart' a few times; why should labor be any different? I felt amazingly calm and at peace; I wasn't sure if this was early labor or merely some "false" labor that would stop for a time before "the real thing," but in those moments, it wasn't a huge concern to me.
As evening approached, my husband arrived home from work, and my mother prepared to take my oldest to both swimming lessons and Girl Scouts. All of the coming and going took place around 5 pm, and my husband spent twenty or thirty minutes hanging out with FB before the two of them came into the bedroom and joined me. We spent the next forty minutes on the bed, just talking, and this - this was indeed the type of memory I wanted him to have as a last "pre-PC" memory. I was having the contractions much more regularly, beginning at this point, though they were still short in duration (only 30 seconds or so). I didn't really time them, per se, but I think they were between three and ten minutes apart, the time between them still varying. We moved into the sunroom and I checked various websites, including posting something totally not about labor; there was a part of me that wanted to put out there on the internet that I was around, but I didn't want to announce what was potentially happening. I read that the space shuttle was either just still visible or had just been visible; we all trekked outside to look for it, and I had a longer stretch at that point between the contractions. My mom arrived back from dropping EG at Girl Scouts as we went back in the house. Within seconds, I had another contraction. That was the last time I had a significant break between contractions. The longest I went after that was five minutes. It was approximately 6:20 pm.
I had wanted to wait until my mother arrived to try taking yet another shower for my sore back. As soon as she arrived, I went straight for it. She timed some of my contractions during that time. Just after seven, she and Jacob went to pick up EG from Girl Scouts, and she asked if she should call my dad (who was FB's 'support person') to start driving to Marietta from Chattanooga. By this point, I was enough in the throes of labor to be completely indecisive. "I don't know. Just wait. I don't want him to drive down for something that's not real." Luckily, my mother recognized this for what it was and went ahead and called him as she went to get EG.
During this time, I was going back and forth between consciously using my Hypnobabies and not concentrating fully on it. Even when I was consciously using it, the pain in my back did not abate. In retrospect, I spent much of my Hypnobabies time focused on contractions and labor as something that only happened in the ventral portion of the body. It was a bit ridiculous for someone who typically feels everything in her back (like gallbladder pain), but there it was. As a result, I felt nothing but pressure in the front, but actual pain in my back.
After I abandoned the shower, I spent time sitting on the edge of my bed. I alternated loosely between rocking during the contractions, and standing and swaying during the contractions. I had the heating pad on my sore, aching back throughout this time period. My mom and the kids arrived back around 7:45, and she immediately set them up in the sunroom with some Christmas videos.
Then she and Spousal Unit got busy. I don't recall all the details here, but while the bed had been transformed during my shower, now it was time for preparing the foldout couch in the living room, blowing up the birth pool, brewing tea, and other things of which I was essentially unaware. I moved to the living room (with my good friend the heating pad) and spent time laboring both on hands and knees and then sitting on a folding chair. I was essentially unaware of time passing at that point. I knew the contractions were even closer together, every two or three minutes, and I knew they still weren't very long, just forty-five seconds or so.
At some point, the birth pool started calling to me, and I asked if it were full. It wasn't completely full, but it was near the fill line, so in I went. In a scene eerily reminiscent of FB's birth, I was in the tub for just a few contractions before transition was upon me. At some point, I checked myself, and decided I still had four or five centimeters left to go. I announced that there was too much cervix left, and I didn't like it. I made a lot of noise about Demerol, told Spousal Unit and my mother that it was too much trouble to go to the hospital just for Demerol, and then asked if they thought some EMTs would just bring me some Demerol and then leave. They assured me that, no, the EMTs did not carry Demerol. This was vaguely upsetting to me, and I remember moaning about it not really being fair.
It was just moments after I had checked myself that I felt an irresistable urge to stand. Considering how difficult I found moving up until that point, even in that moment I wondered how it was that I had stood so easily and fluidly. I labored through just one more contraction before I felt her moving down and felt increased pressure on my tailbone.
Here is where knowledge could have gotten me into trouble, but further knowledge helped make sure it didn't. It had been no more than five or ten minutes since I had felt a considerable amount of cervix remaining between my hand and PC's head, but I had a distinct urge to push. If I had merely listened to dictums about not pushing until "complete," I might have tried to resist that urge. Luckily, I had read enough and heard enough about laboring down, in addition to simply believing in the wisdom of my body, that I didn't resist it. I pushed. One contraction. Another.
"I can feel her moving down."
"Do you need to push?"
"I am pushing."
A third contraction, then a fourth, and a fifth, still pushing, still standing. During the fifth, my dad arrived, fresh from his drive south. My mom called out to him, letting him know the kids were in the sunroom. After the fifth, I decided to check our progress again. PC's head was an inch or two inside me. It was a far cry from the behind five cm of cervix I had found just minutes earlier!
When the next contraction hit, I started pushing. I don't know if I decided it was time for her to be born, or if it was entirely my body, but she moved down, fast. I had my hand on her head and felt it come down, then start the crowning process. At some point, I managed to communicate this, as well as the fact that I wasn't going to be able to catch her myself. Spousal Unit moved so that he could do so. I didn't really feel a "ring of fire;" I did feel the tissues stretching prior to her actually crowning. Even as she was crowning, I both would not and could not stop pushing. Her head slid most of the way out, and then I had a moment of panic. I could not get my body to cooperate to push suddenly. My mom calmly suggested I wrap both arms around her neck, just letting myself hang, and try again. I did that, and PC quickly slid into her dad's hands. I immediately turned, lifted my leg over the cord, and pulled her into my arms. Then we moved onto the fold-out couch, and my dad and the kids came into the living room to meet PC.
She was very peaceful; her eyes were closed for some time after the birth. Her color was good, but she was definitely a little 'gurgly;' she coughed up mucus several times in her first twenty four hours. I think this probably had a little to do with just how fast she came down and out - less time for the fetal heimlich to have any effect.
PC was born at 9:15 pm on Thursday, November 20, 2008. She weighed approximately seven pounds eight ounces, and was about twenty-one inches long. Her height was exactly in between the heights of my older children; her weight was closer to her big sister than her big brother. Both of my older children arrived in the morning hours, as the sun was rising, but PC arrived after sunset, as the day was ending. In many ways, her birth, from the onset of active labor, was similar to my other two births, but in other ways, it was different. In the end, PC's pregnancy and birth indeed taught me that I really cannot plan everything, and that I truly had not needed anyone else. Just myself, and my own resources. I thought I knew that during the process of planning an unassisted pregnancy and unassisted birth, but the difference between intellectually knowing it and knowing it fully was immense and a road that had to be traversed.
One of the motivations I had for having an unassisted birth was so that I would be truly unhindered, so that my body would not react to the presence of a stranger or strangers. I wasn't sure what that would mean exactly for the birth. What did happen in those last moments is exactly what Michel Odent says should happen in all births - that when the mother feels truly safe, the birth is ended by the "fetal ejection reflex." Sarah Buckley explained it thusly in a Mothering magazine article: "After an undisturbed labor, however, when the moment of birth is imminent, these hormones act in a different way. There is a sudden increase in CA levels, especially noradrenaline, which actives the fetal ejection reflex. The mother experiences a sudden rush of energy; she will be upright and alert, with a dry mouth and shallow breathing and perhaps the urge to grasp something. She may express fear, anger, or excitement, and the CA rush will cause several very strong contractions, which will birth the baby quickly and easily."
At some point during my pregnancy, I read some book or another that suggested an exercise for preparing for birth. I don't know the exact exercise, but looking at what I wrote, I can guess that it was to write a letter to your baby about your plans for the birth. I do remember that after writing the letter, the instructions stated to put the pencil into the non-dominant hand, attempt to clear the mind, and write your baby's "response." The last sentence of my letter was "I want them to leave us alone - we know what to do." The response that came, written messily by my left hand, was simple. Yes. We know how to do it all perfectly.
And we did.
PC's story begins, I think, the first time that the possibility of her existence became known to me. Close to nine years before she was born, I was pregnant with my oldest child when I had a dream about my children. I saw three of them in my dream - the oldest a girl, the middle child the only boy, and the youngest a second daughter.
I didn't think about her beyond that dream for several more years. It was soon after my second child was born (a boy) that I began to be more consciously aware of "one more" child that was coming at some point. For approximately two years, I was regularly reminded, by myself or outside events, that I was to be doing this parenting journey "one more time," and that it was for a specific presence. It was during this time period that I knew her name was going to be [PC.]
It was also during this time that I had more dreams about her. There were only a few, and all of them involved her birth. Now that I have birthed her, I can point to something that each and every dream taught or told me about her birth. She appeared to me at first to be even smaller than her birth weight would have suggested. She was born while I was standing. I went into active labor while only Sam and Jacob were present. She was born with her eyes closed. I felt her head emerge from my body with my hand - something I had never done nor even wanted to do. All of these things featured in my dreams, and there was nothing significant in any of my dreams that was not born out in her actual birth. In retrospect, I think this was absolutely the neatest thing. I loved having the dreams, I loved having them play out, and I love thinking about it now, too.
Finally, I am a planner. Naturally, then, I had this pregnancy and even the birth all planned out, whether in my head or on paper. My cycles are x days long, so I should ovulate on day y, and my due date would then be z. You get the idea. While PC by no means thwarted me at every turn, she did just enough to remind me: you can't plan everything.
I really should have known when, the cycle before the one we planned to start trying to conceive, my body acted weird. Instead of my typical ovulation and cycle length, my body kept putting off ovulation, so that my careful calculations would end up 'off' by more than a week. To add to the fun, I had actual symptoms of early pregnancy, signs I normally would not have had as part of PMS or the lead-in to my period, throughout the luteal phase of that cycle. Eventually, though, my period arrived (not quite on schedule) and we could proceed with trying for our November baby.
Like each of my other children, I knew without taking a test that I had conceived. Still, for various reasons, it was important to me to have the external confirmation and definitive answers. Accordingly, I decided I would test before my period was actually due. The first test was... amusing. I don't do well at peeing on a stick. The control line did not show up immediately, or in the first minute; it did finally make an appearance after eight minutes. The second line did appear within five minutes of the control line, but not within the required ten minutes after starting the test. Ambiguity! The next day, I peed into a cup before dipping the test. The results appeared much quicker and confirmed what I already knew - she was on her way Earthside.
My pregnancy proceeded in much the way I had envisioned and planned, but there were a few exceptions. While I had expected an unassisted pregnancy and birth to mean delving into myself and finding my own resources, to some extent I had unconsciously planned on more emotional support from my husband than he was either able or willing to give. For a time I was resentful of this, but as the time for birth approached, I decided to just accept it as what was, and move forward. Part of this pregnancy and birth was about letting go of plans; part of it was truly relying on myself and only myself. While I intellectually knew that no one could "do it for me," I had to come to accept that on every level.
At one point I considered having a midwife as a back-up. I went so far as to contact one local midwife, speaking with her on the telephone. The details aren't important; what is important is that in that act, I realized I didn't want or need a back-up. I didn't want to deal with anyone, really; I was just willing to make a few exceptions. Like my husband. ;)
Given everything I had already learned during the conception process and pregnancy, I don't know why I persisted in thinking that I could somehow anticipate when PC would decide to "pop out," as FB put it. Sure, my mother had predicted EG's birth to within 15 minutes, and had had the closest guess (two days) with FB, but there was no reason to think that either she or I would manage to get that close in predicting PC's arrival. It was a nice thought, though, that perhaps I would be one of those people who had a baby at thirty-seven or thirty-eight weeks, and that at the very least, I should surely have her near my due date... right?
In retrospect, I can see that for many reasons, PC came at the best possible time. There were some issues with our car that had to be resolved, that couldn't be resolved until mid-November. There were things that needed to be done with EG and FB. One fear I had about labor and birth was that FB's last memory of "before PC" would be going to bed one night. Since he often fought going to bed, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of my own (why sleep when there may be exciting things happening?), if I were to go into labor at night (as I had previously) and birth relatively quickly (as I had previously), then his memory would be likely of being upset about having to go to sleep! All of these potential issues were avoided or resolved by the actual timing of labor and birth.
So as forty weeks approached and then receded into the past, I was unhappy. By the time forty-one weeks approached, though, I was both more and less irritated and impatient. Irritated because I was in mild to moderate pain most of the time, from SPD. Impatient because I had had no intentions of being more than forty weeks pregnant when I gave birth. Yet, I was starting to reflect on the pregnancy and I began to think that PC had at least one more thing to teach me before she was fully Earthside. The attention I got when I was out in public made me distinctly unhappy, but staying at home didn't sound appealing, either!
Right at forty-one weeks, I had a tiny amount of bloody show. Nothing else happened for over a day. Finally, just as I started to go to bed on Wednesday, November 19 (41+1, if we're keeping track), I had what I considered a significant amount of bloody mucus. I went to bed, buoyed by the fact that it seemed something was happening.
Throughout the night, I woke often, as I had for several weeks, both to use the restroom and to change positions in bed - my SPD made it near impossible to roll over without wakening fully. Each time I woke, I had more bloody show. I had contractions that were noticeable throughout the night, but they were short in duration, as well as infrequent and irregular. When the morning came, I had a light breakfast, took a shower (I was feeling the contractions in my back, despite her anterior positioning), and then decided to rest. Until noon, I stayed in bed. I dozed, helped EG with her schoolwork, listened to the Hypnobabies track "Come OUT, Baby!" as well as the "Birthing Day Affirmations," and waited for something to happen, one way or another. My answer was the contractions spacing out so much that I essentially would think they had stopped altogether, and would then have a short one, just enough that I could not totally discount the idea that this was some form of early labor. In a three hour time span, I had only three or four contractions.
Around noon, I got out of bed, took another shower (my back was sore, even if it wasn't actively hurting), and ate a bit of lunch. Again, it was light, and I didn't feel like eating much. The contractions were still quite spaced out, though perhaps a bit closer together again, going back to the 15 to 30 minute intervals they had been before I rested. Later in the afternoon, we went to pick up milk; being in the car during a contraction, short as these were, was not fun, and I was once again glad that I was staying home for the birth.
Everything continued as it had been throughout the afternoon. By now, both my mother and my husband expressed surprise at how this was unfolding. After all, with both of my others, I hadn't had any sort of early labor; I had just jumped into active labor, with contractions immediately close together. With my both of my other two, I had had some cramping leading up to active labor (five hours' worth with my first, and two and a half days' worth with my second), yet this time I had had no cramping, just these short, irregular contractions. I wouldn't necessarily remember the lesson later, but during this time, I did remember - PC had already 'upset the apple cart' a few times; why should labor be any different? I felt amazingly calm and at peace; I wasn't sure if this was early labor or merely some "false" labor that would stop for a time before "the real thing," but in those moments, it wasn't a huge concern to me.
As evening approached, my husband arrived home from work, and my mother prepared to take my oldest to both swimming lessons and Girl Scouts. All of the coming and going took place around 5 pm, and my husband spent twenty or thirty minutes hanging out with FB before the two of them came into the bedroom and joined me. We spent the next forty minutes on the bed, just talking, and this - this was indeed the type of memory I wanted him to have as a last "pre-PC" memory. I was having the contractions much more regularly, beginning at this point, though they were still short in duration (only 30 seconds or so). I didn't really time them, per se, but I think they were between three and ten minutes apart, the time between them still varying. We moved into the sunroom and I checked various websites, including posting something totally not about labor; there was a part of me that wanted to put out there on the internet that I was around, but I didn't want to announce what was potentially happening. I read that the space shuttle was either just still visible or had just been visible; we all trekked outside to look for it, and I had a longer stretch at that point between the contractions. My mom arrived back from dropping EG at Girl Scouts as we went back in the house. Within seconds, I had another contraction. That was the last time I had a significant break between contractions. The longest I went after that was five minutes. It was approximately 6:20 pm.
I had wanted to wait until my mother arrived to try taking yet another shower for my sore back. As soon as she arrived, I went straight for it. She timed some of my contractions during that time. Just after seven, she and Jacob went to pick up EG from Girl Scouts, and she asked if she should call my dad (who was FB's 'support person') to start driving to Marietta from Chattanooga. By this point, I was enough in the throes of labor to be completely indecisive. "I don't know. Just wait. I don't want him to drive down for something that's not real." Luckily, my mother recognized this for what it was and went ahead and called him as she went to get EG.
During this time, I was going back and forth between consciously using my Hypnobabies and not concentrating fully on it. Even when I was consciously using it, the pain in my back did not abate. In retrospect, I spent much of my Hypnobabies time focused on contractions and labor as something that only happened in the ventral portion of the body. It was a bit ridiculous for someone who typically feels everything in her back (like gallbladder pain), but there it was. As a result, I felt nothing but pressure in the front, but actual pain in my back.
After I abandoned the shower, I spent time sitting on the edge of my bed. I alternated loosely between rocking during the contractions, and standing and swaying during the contractions. I had the heating pad on my sore, aching back throughout this time period. My mom and the kids arrived back around 7:45, and she immediately set them up in the sunroom with some Christmas videos.
Then she and Spousal Unit got busy. I don't recall all the details here, but while the bed had been transformed during my shower, now it was time for preparing the foldout couch in the living room, blowing up the birth pool, brewing tea, and other things of which I was essentially unaware. I moved to the living room (with my good friend the heating pad) and spent time laboring both on hands and knees and then sitting on a folding chair. I was essentially unaware of time passing at that point. I knew the contractions were even closer together, every two or three minutes, and I knew they still weren't very long, just forty-five seconds or so.
At some point, the birth pool started calling to me, and I asked if it were full. It wasn't completely full, but it was near the fill line, so in I went. In a scene eerily reminiscent of FB's birth, I was in the tub for just a few contractions before transition was upon me. At some point, I checked myself, and decided I still had four or five centimeters left to go. I announced that there was too much cervix left, and I didn't like it. I made a lot of noise about Demerol, told Spousal Unit and my mother that it was too much trouble to go to the hospital just for Demerol, and then asked if they thought some EMTs would just bring me some Demerol and then leave. They assured me that, no, the EMTs did not carry Demerol. This was vaguely upsetting to me, and I remember moaning about it not really being fair.
It was just moments after I had checked myself that I felt an irresistable urge to stand. Considering how difficult I found moving up until that point, even in that moment I wondered how it was that I had stood so easily and fluidly. I labored through just one more contraction before I felt her moving down and felt increased pressure on my tailbone.
Here is where knowledge could have gotten me into trouble, but further knowledge helped make sure it didn't. It had been no more than five or ten minutes since I had felt a considerable amount of cervix remaining between my hand and PC's head, but I had a distinct urge to push. If I had merely listened to dictums about not pushing until "complete," I might have tried to resist that urge. Luckily, I had read enough and heard enough about laboring down, in addition to simply believing in the wisdom of my body, that I didn't resist it. I pushed. One contraction. Another.
"I can feel her moving down."
"Do you need to push?"
"I am pushing."
A third contraction, then a fourth, and a fifth, still pushing, still standing. During the fifth, my dad arrived, fresh from his drive south. My mom called out to him, letting him know the kids were in the sunroom. After the fifth, I decided to check our progress again. PC's head was an inch or two inside me. It was a far cry from the behind five cm of cervix I had found just minutes earlier!
When the next contraction hit, I started pushing. I don't know if I decided it was time for her to be born, or if it was entirely my body, but she moved down, fast. I had my hand on her head and felt it come down, then start the crowning process. At some point, I managed to communicate this, as well as the fact that I wasn't going to be able to catch her myself. Spousal Unit moved so that he could do so. I didn't really feel a "ring of fire;" I did feel the tissues stretching prior to her actually crowning. Even as she was crowning, I both would not and could not stop pushing. Her head slid most of the way out, and then I had a moment of panic. I could not get my body to cooperate to push suddenly. My mom calmly suggested I wrap both arms around her neck, just letting myself hang, and try again. I did that, and PC quickly slid into her dad's hands. I immediately turned, lifted my leg over the cord, and pulled her into my arms. Then we moved onto the fold-out couch, and my dad and the kids came into the living room to meet PC.
She was very peaceful; her eyes were closed for some time after the birth. Her color was good, but she was definitely a little 'gurgly;' she coughed up mucus several times in her first twenty four hours. I think this probably had a little to do with just how fast she came down and out - less time for the fetal heimlich to have any effect.
PC was born at 9:15 pm on Thursday, November 20, 2008. She weighed approximately seven pounds eight ounces, and was about twenty-one inches long. Her height was exactly in between the heights of my older children; her weight was closer to her big sister than her big brother. Both of my older children arrived in the morning hours, as the sun was rising, but PC arrived after sunset, as the day was ending. In many ways, her birth, from the onset of active labor, was similar to my other two births, but in other ways, it was different. In the end, PC's pregnancy and birth indeed taught me that I really cannot plan everything, and that I truly had not needed anyone else. Just myself, and my own resources. I thought I knew that during the process of planning an unassisted pregnancy and unassisted birth, but the difference between intellectually knowing it and knowing it fully was immense and a road that had to be traversed.
One of the motivations I had for having an unassisted birth was so that I would be truly unhindered, so that my body would not react to the presence of a stranger or strangers. I wasn't sure what that would mean exactly for the birth. What did happen in those last moments is exactly what Michel Odent says should happen in all births - that when the mother feels truly safe, the birth is ended by the "fetal ejection reflex." Sarah Buckley explained it thusly in a Mothering magazine article: "After an undisturbed labor, however, when the moment of birth is imminent, these hormones act in a different way. There is a sudden increase in CA levels, especially noradrenaline, which actives the fetal ejection reflex. The mother experiences a sudden rush of energy; she will be upright and alert, with a dry mouth and shallow breathing and perhaps the urge to grasp something. She may express fear, anger, or excitement, and the CA rush will cause several very strong contractions, which will birth the baby quickly and easily."
At some point during my pregnancy, I read some book or another that suggested an exercise for preparing for birth. I don't know the exact exercise, but looking at what I wrote, I can guess that it was to write a letter to your baby about your plans for the birth. I do remember that after writing the letter, the instructions stated to put the pencil into the non-dominant hand, attempt to clear the mind, and write your baby's "response." The last sentence of my letter was "I want them to leave us alone - we know what to do." The response that came, written messily by my left hand, was simple. Yes. We know how to do it all perfectly.
And we did.
11.11.10
Thankfulness, Days Seventeen & Eighteen
Day Seventeen
• After I posted on Tuesday, I went for a run. I had technically finished the Couch to 5K program almost four weeks ago, but I had completed it by focusing on time rather than distance. Tuesday, I ran a full 5K on the treadmill. I know it isn't for everyone, but for me, that runner's high is amazing and addictive.
Day Eighteen
• Today is my leaping day, so named from this quote from Wicked: "Too late for second-guessing, too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap." I'm thankful for the reminder to trust my instincts and my intuition. I have never regretted trusting my gut; I have regretted going against what I knew, deep down, I should do or not do.
Want to hear the song? The soundtrack version; This amazing Firefly/Serenity vid using the song is where I was introduced to it. The Glee version is lovely, but is missing the important line at the end (the one that goes with November 20): "And if you care to find me, look to the western sky/as someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly/And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free."
• After I posted on Tuesday, I went for a run. I had technically finished the Couch to 5K program almost four weeks ago, but I had completed it by focusing on time rather than distance. Tuesday, I ran a full 5K on the treadmill. I know it isn't for everyone, but for me, that runner's high is amazing and addictive.
Day Eighteen
• Today is my leaping day, so named from this quote from Wicked: "Too late for second-guessing, too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap." I'm thankful for the reminder to trust my instincts and my intuition. I have never regretted trusting my gut; I have regretted going against what I knew, deep down, I should do or not do.
Want to hear the song? The soundtrack version; This amazing Firefly/Serenity vid using the song is where I was introduced to it. The Glee version is lovely, but is missing the important line at the end (the one that goes with November 20): "And if you care to find me, look to the western sky/as someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly/And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free."
5.8.10
Ten
Ten years ago, some of the top songs were "Kryptonite," "Oops... I Did It Again," and "With Arms Wide Open." It was the end of the 20th century; it was the end of the millennium. It was designated as World Mathematical Year. The Republican National Convention had just ended, and despite his nomination as their candidate, I did not truly believe George W. Bush would ever take the oath of office. Sir Alec Guinness died. It was the "Year of the Golden Dragon." Millennium babies, in retrospect, would outnumber those born in the years immediately previous and immediately following; it was a baby boomlet for the year 2000. X-Men, The Perfect Storm, and The Patriot were playing in movie theaters across the country. Earlier that summer, you might have enjoyed Scary Movie or Mission: Impossible II. This was, after all, long before Tom Cruise jumped on couches and went a little bit crazy.
Ten years ago, Saddam Hussein was in power, and so were the Taliban. The World Trade Center towers still stood in Manhattan, and no one had ever driven a plane into the Pentagon. I had, just two months before, dreamed of a plane going down in a field, a field and a setting I'd never seen. I wouldn't see that field, in Pennsylvania, until September 11 the next year. Katrina had not yet hit New Orleans, soldiers had not died in Iraq, oil had not plunged out of the Gulf of Mexico, we had never had an African-American president. When there was a presidential election, we knew the outcome before sunrise on Wednesday. If we wanted to listen to music while we exercised or merely walked down the street, we need a Walkman or a Discman. Napster was huge. No one had tweeted. Some people had cellular phones, but a lot of people didn't.
Ten years ago, I was nineteen, and all that that might encompass. I knew exactly what I wanted, and like any good college student, I knew absolutely everything. Except, perhaps, organic chemistry, but I knew enough about it to pass the class. I hadn't been on a horse in months; I didn't realize it would be years before I would be again.
Ten years ago, on a sunny Saturday, at 8 am, I pushed out one tiny (7 lb 1 oz) baby girl, sitting in a hospital bed in Cobb county. It was the last time I'd have a child where all of the grandparents would meet the child on the day of birth. I put her on my bare chest immediately. I felt both exhausted and exhilarated.
For ten years, I've had the privilege to watch her grow. In the beginning, I tried hard to be both parent and student. Two weeks after she was born, the fall semester started. I remember someone asking me where I had gotten a baby; needless to say, I hadn't been showing much during spring classes. Life had a rhythm, busy though it was. We did our best.
She showed an understanding of sets at barely two; I knew, somewhere, what that meant, though I never anticipated her tackling algebra at age nine. She loved to nurse, though I never expected her to wean two days after her fifth birthday. She loved to be read to, and I wasn't surprised when she read early. She has sung, she has danced, she has been serious and silly. I cannot sum her in words.
In the end, I'll quote Loudon Wainwright III. That's my daughter in the water - who'd've ever thought her?
Ten years ago, Saddam Hussein was in power, and so were the Taliban. The World Trade Center towers still stood in Manhattan, and no one had ever driven a plane into the Pentagon. I had, just two months before, dreamed of a plane going down in a field, a field and a setting I'd never seen. I wouldn't see that field, in Pennsylvania, until September 11 the next year. Katrina had not yet hit New Orleans, soldiers had not died in Iraq, oil had not plunged out of the Gulf of Mexico, we had never had an African-American president. When there was a presidential election, we knew the outcome before sunrise on Wednesday. If we wanted to listen to music while we exercised or merely walked down the street, we need a Walkman or a Discman. Napster was huge. No one had tweeted. Some people had cellular phones, but a lot of people didn't.
Ten years ago, I was nineteen, and all that that might encompass. I knew exactly what I wanted, and like any good college student, I knew absolutely everything. Except, perhaps, organic chemistry, but I knew enough about it to pass the class. I hadn't been on a horse in months; I didn't realize it would be years before I would be again.
Ten years ago, on a sunny Saturday, at 8 am, I pushed out one tiny (7 lb 1 oz) baby girl, sitting in a hospital bed in Cobb county. It was the last time I'd have a child where all of the grandparents would meet the child on the day of birth. I put her on my bare chest immediately. I felt both exhausted and exhilarated.
For ten years, I've had the privilege to watch her grow. In the beginning, I tried hard to be both parent and student. Two weeks after she was born, the fall semester started. I remember someone asking me where I had gotten a baby; needless to say, I hadn't been showing much during spring classes. Life had a rhythm, busy though it was. We did our best.
She showed an understanding of sets at barely two; I knew, somewhere, what that meant, though I never anticipated her tackling algebra at age nine. She loved to nurse, though I never expected her to wean two days after her fifth birthday. She loved to be read to, and I wasn't surprised when she read early. She has sung, she has danced, she has been serious and silly. I cannot sum her in words.
In the end, I'll quote Loudon Wainwright III. That's my daughter in the water - who'd've ever thought her?
9.2.10
Marginalization in the Birth Community
If I confessed that, in fact, I spend my spare time as a Civil War re-enactor, I doubt many of you would ask me when I had plans to go back to college and get a degree in history, or maybe enter grad school and get a Masters or even a PhD focusing on the Civil War. You might express surprise as my choice of weekend activity, though.
Similarly, if I were to say that I enjoy backyard astronomy as a hobby, few people would suggest I should find a way to make money from my hobby. I could continue with other examples - SCA is one that also stands out in my mind.
When I say that I'm a birth activist, however, or a birth advocate - when I suggest that birth is in some way my hobby - it's suggested in ways subtle and overt that I should be professionalizing my interest. Is it a misbegotten attempt to be helpful in suggesting a way for me to earn money while also homeschooling? In general, I don't think so. Is it indicative of an attitude that participation in the birth community is legitimate only for professionals? I have come to believe that it is the latter.
In fact, I've long had the inkling that the birth community doesn't have much room for non-professionals. It especially does not have room for general birth advocates, as opposed to midwifery advocates, doula advocates, or ICAN members. There are many niches for those who want to be professional in some way - childbirth educator, doula, postpartum doula, midwife. There are even a few niches for those who do not wish to be any sort of birth professional - in a state where non nurse-midwifery is not explicitly legal, there is legitimacy to be found in being an advocate for licensure of certified professional midwives, or in advocating for some other change in the law of the state. Equally, those who have had a cesarean section and subsequently joined ICAN are seen as having a place in the birth community.
What does not seem to be present is acceptance of general birth advocates, who have no desire to be any type of professional, and who are not pregnant. Pregnancy does afford some legitimacy to participation in the birth community.
As I said above, this is not a new thing, this feeling that there isn't a place for some people. It was crystallized for me last year, however. There was a rally organized at our city's busiest hospital, to protest the cesarean section rate both at that hospital specifically and in the United States overall. Some friends and I made plans to go, feeling that this was an important issue, and worth our time as birth advocates. The rally was planned by a local "birth network" that is made up of doulas and other birth professionals, in cooperation with the local ICAN chapter. As we stood on the sidewalk, holding signs in the rain, one of the leaders of the ICAN group came down the line, and introduced herself. She asked us if we were members of ICAN. No, we weren't. Were we members of the "birth network," doulas or maybe apprenticing midwives? No, we weren't. And she actually said it - "Why are you here, then?"
It took my breath away for a split second. Sure, I had suspected such an attitude, but to hear it stated explicitly was beyond my expectations! She asked the question, and it hung in the air for a moment. A beat, then another, before she began talking again, faster, a little more desperate. "Not that it's not great you're here, of course!"
Of course.
Birth is a passion of mine. I feel like birth is vitally important to both mother and baby. It is just that - a passion and a hobby. I have other hobbies, other passions, and to participate in those, no one asks that I become a professional in order to legitimatize my participation. To be fair, no one has explicitly told me that I needed to be pregnant, professional, or gone, but the attitude is at times present. I do wonder what the situation is in states where non-nurse midwifery is legal; is the situation similar or does it vary?
The best answer to a situation with which one is not entirely comfortable is to change it. That's exactly what some friends of mine & I are doing (the inestimable Smrt Mama amongst them), starting a new organization to serve as a general birth advocacy and education group.
It's a start, yes. It doesn't change underlying attitudes, however. There's legitimacy to be found in birth as a passion or a hobby, even if I never choose to professionalize that passion.
Similarly, if I were to say that I enjoy backyard astronomy as a hobby, few people would suggest I should find a way to make money from my hobby. I could continue with other examples - SCA is one that also stands out in my mind.
When I say that I'm a birth activist, however, or a birth advocate - when I suggest that birth is in some way my hobby - it's suggested in ways subtle and overt that I should be professionalizing my interest. Is it a misbegotten attempt to be helpful in suggesting a way for me to earn money while also homeschooling? In general, I don't think so. Is it indicative of an attitude that participation in the birth community is legitimate only for professionals? I have come to believe that it is the latter.
In fact, I've long had the inkling that the birth community doesn't have much room for non-professionals. It especially does not have room for general birth advocates, as opposed to midwifery advocates, doula advocates, or ICAN members. There are many niches for those who want to be professional in some way - childbirth educator, doula, postpartum doula, midwife. There are even a few niches for those who do not wish to be any sort of birth professional - in a state where non nurse-midwifery is not explicitly legal, there is legitimacy to be found in being an advocate for licensure of certified professional midwives, or in advocating for some other change in the law of the state. Equally, those who have had a cesarean section and subsequently joined ICAN are seen as having a place in the birth community.
What does not seem to be present is acceptance of general birth advocates, who have no desire to be any type of professional, and who are not pregnant. Pregnancy does afford some legitimacy to participation in the birth community.
As I said above, this is not a new thing, this feeling that there isn't a place for some people. It was crystallized for me last year, however. There was a rally organized at our city's busiest hospital, to protest the cesarean section rate both at that hospital specifically and in the United States overall. Some friends and I made plans to go, feeling that this was an important issue, and worth our time as birth advocates. The rally was planned by a local "birth network" that is made up of doulas and other birth professionals, in cooperation with the local ICAN chapter. As we stood on the sidewalk, holding signs in the rain, one of the leaders of the ICAN group came down the line, and introduced herself. She asked us if we were members of ICAN. No, we weren't. Were we members of the "birth network," doulas or maybe apprenticing midwives? No, we weren't. And she actually said it - "Why are you here, then?"
It took my breath away for a split second. Sure, I had suspected such an attitude, but to hear it stated explicitly was beyond my expectations! She asked the question, and it hung in the air for a moment. A beat, then another, before she began talking again, faster, a little more desperate. "Not that it's not great you're here, of course!"
Of course.
Birth is a passion of mine. I feel like birth is vitally important to both mother and baby. It is just that - a passion and a hobby. I have other hobbies, other passions, and to participate in those, no one asks that I become a professional in order to legitimatize my participation. To be fair, no one has explicitly told me that I needed to be pregnant, professional, or gone, but the attitude is at times present. I do wonder what the situation is in states where non-nurse midwifery is legal; is the situation similar or does it vary?
The best answer to a situation with which one is not entirely comfortable is to change it. That's exactly what some friends of mine & I are doing (the inestimable Smrt Mama amongst them), starting a new organization to serve as a general birth advocacy and education group.
It's a start, yes. It doesn't change underlying attitudes, however. There's legitimacy to be found in birth as a passion or a hobby, even if I never choose to professionalize that passion.
1.2.10
Prenatal Care: It Ain't What Happens in 15 Minutes At An OB's Office
Just to interject something else into my near-constant stream of homeschooling posts, I thought perhaps I'd reference the part of my "about me" description that says "I'm also passionate about birth, breastfeeding, and politics, so there are posts about those from time to time." So here's something about birth. :)
After each of my homebirths, we packed ourselves into the family vehicle and went to the county records office so that we could obtain a birth certificate for our new addition. Generally, the workers glance at you, see a small baby in some kind of baby carrier, and immediately ask if you're there to register a homebirth.
One of the question on the worksheet deals with the amount of prenatal care received. This is measured through answering the question "How many prenatal visits did the mother have?" Since I never chose dual care, I answered "zero" after each homebirth.
When I had my oldest, in the hospital, most of the worksheet was completed by a nurse, using our file, and I don't remember specifically what number was listed. At a guess, I would say twelve, plus or minus two. When I had my middle child, I laughed, because I had spent an hour at every prenatal, which totaled many more hours in formal prenatal care. By the time I had my third child, the question made me downright ornery. I had to list myself as having had no prenatal care, a state which most would label irresponsible. The truth was, while I had had no formal appointments with any care provider for the sole purpose of monitoring my pregnancy, I had experienced superior prenatal care through my own self-care.
All women practice self-care, I can hear people commenting. How was what you did any different than any other pregnant woman?
Ultimately, responsibility. When a woman who is having an unassisted pregnancy (UP) takes on responsibility for the care of herself and her baby, she knows that there is, generally, no "back up." If she misses the fact that she's anemic, no one else will notice at her appointments. As an illustration of what I mean, I'll use an anecdote from my own pregnancies.
While pregnant with my second child, I began experiencing what I could only call "woozy sessions." I would feel light-headed and as if I could fall. At first, I assumed it was related to my blood sugar, and would take steps to quickly raise it. When that did not help, I thought perhaps that my blood sugar was too high, and I took steps to moderate my blood sugar levels. I had no sign of issues with blood sugar, however, other than the "woozy" feelings, and all efforts I took had no effect on the way I would feel from time to time. When I mentioned this to the midwife that I had hired, she suggested that perhaps it was related to my blood pressure, but that the only way to know for sure was to monitor it during one of these sessions. She also wasn't nearly as convinced it wasn't my blood sugar, despite all lack of evidence and my statement that I had had low blood sugar at times in the past (when I had not eaten enough), and I could tell the difference in how I felt. Eventually, the woozy times became less frequent, and they disappeared altogether when my son was born.
When I got pregnant with my third child, then, I was dismayed when the woozy sessions began again, earlier than before and more frequent. This time, I had a blood pressure cuff, thanks to both my status as a UPer (someone who has an unassisted pregnancy) and my desire to foist it on my mother once I had the baby, since her doctor had suggested home monitoring of her blood pressure (and yet she didn't buy a machine). I took my blood pressure during a woozy time. Repeatedly. It was clear that it did not originate from blood pressure. I tried all the blood sugar ideas again, to no effect. I drank water, to make sure I was not dehydrated. Again, no effect. I intuitively felt that there was a reason it should be worse during a subsequent pregnancy. After much reading, I began to suspect that I was anemic. During my second pregnancy, as part of the care I received from the midwife, the iron level in my blood was tested. I was not anemic. I have never tested as someone who is anemic. I was, however, symptomatic.
I bought an iron supplement. I began taking it at the recommended dosage. Within a week, the woozy feelings had almost disappeared; two weeks after beginning the supplement, they were completely gone, and remained gone for the rest of the pregnancy. I was functionally anemic. Knowing I was the only expert involved in my pregnancy, I could not simply accept an outsider's explanation. Even though I thought I was taking responsibility for my care in previous pregnancies, I can clearly see now how easy it was to abdicate some of the responsibility.
I highly recommend the book Expecting Trouble to anyone interested in prenatal care and the various forms it can take. The author makes the important point in several ways that prenatal care is not actually about preventing problems. It's about the detection of problems. True preventative prenatal care would be focused on nutrition, exercise, the position of the baby, and preparation for childbirth.
All of which any woman can do on her own. If she does not choose to do so, there's no issue with that, but I think it's vitally important to remember that preventative prenatal care has to begin and end with the woman herself.
After each of my homebirths, we packed ourselves into the family vehicle and went to the county records office so that we could obtain a birth certificate for our new addition. Generally, the workers glance at you, see a small baby in some kind of baby carrier, and immediately ask if you're there to register a homebirth.
One of the question on the worksheet deals with the amount of prenatal care received. This is measured through answering the question "How many prenatal visits did the mother have?" Since I never chose dual care, I answered "zero" after each homebirth.
When I had my oldest, in the hospital, most of the worksheet was completed by a nurse, using our file, and I don't remember specifically what number was listed. At a guess, I would say twelve, plus or minus two. When I had my middle child, I laughed, because I had spent an hour at every prenatal, which totaled many more hours in formal prenatal care. By the time I had my third child, the question made me downright ornery. I had to list myself as having had no prenatal care, a state which most would label irresponsible. The truth was, while I had had no formal appointments with any care provider for the sole purpose of monitoring my pregnancy, I had experienced superior prenatal care through my own self-care.
All women practice self-care, I can hear people commenting. How was what you did any different than any other pregnant woman?
Ultimately, responsibility. When a woman who is having an unassisted pregnancy (UP) takes on responsibility for the care of herself and her baby, she knows that there is, generally, no "back up." If she misses the fact that she's anemic, no one else will notice at her appointments. As an illustration of what I mean, I'll use an anecdote from my own pregnancies.
While pregnant with my second child, I began experiencing what I could only call "woozy sessions." I would feel light-headed and as if I could fall. At first, I assumed it was related to my blood sugar, and would take steps to quickly raise it. When that did not help, I thought perhaps that my blood sugar was too high, and I took steps to moderate my blood sugar levels. I had no sign of issues with blood sugar, however, other than the "woozy" feelings, and all efforts I took had no effect on the way I would feel from time to time. When I mentioned this to the midwife that I had hired, she suggested that perhaps it was related to my blood pressure, but that the only way to know for sure was to monitor it during one of these sessions. She also wasn't nearly as convinced it wasn't my blood sugar, despite all lack of evidence and my statement that I had had low blood sugar at times in the past (when I had not eaten enough), and I could tell the difference in how I felt. Eventually, the woozy times became less frequent, and they disappeared altogether when my son was born.
When I got pregnant with my third child, then, I was dismayed when the woozy sessions began again, earlier than before and more frequent. This time, I had a blood pressure cuff, thanks to both my status as a UPer (someone who has an unassisted pregnancy) and my desire to foist it on my mother once I had the baby, since her doctor had suggested home monitoring of her blood pressure (and yet she didn't buy a machine). I took my blood pressure during a woozy time. Repeatedly. It was clear that it did not originate from blood pressure. I tried all the blood sugar ideas again, to no effect. I drank water, to make sure I was not dehydrated. Again, no effect. I intuitively felt that there was a reason it should be worse during a subsequent pregnancy. After much reading, I began to suspect that I was anemic. During my second pregnancy, as part of the care I received from the midwife, the iron level in my blood was tested. I was not anemic. I have never tested as someone who is anemic. I was, however, symptomatic.
I bought an iron supplement. I began taking it at the recommended dosage. Within a week, the woozy feelings had almost disappeared; two weeks after beginning the supplement, they were completely gone, and remained gone for the rest of the pregnancy. I was functionally anemic. Knowing I was the only expert involved in my pregnancy, I could not simply accept an outsider's explanation. Even though I thought I was taking responsibility for my care in previous pregnancies, I can clearly see now how easy it was to abdicate some of the responsibility.
I highly recommend the book Expecting Trouble to anyone interested in prenatal care and the various forms it can take. The author makes the important point in several ways that prenatal care is not actually about preventing problems. It's about the detection of problems. True preventative prenatal care would be focused on nutrition, exercise, the position of the baby, and preparation for childbirth.
All of which any woman can do on her own. If she does not choose to do so, there's no issue with that, but I think it's vitally important to remember that preventative prenatal care has to begin and end with the woman herself.
11.11.09
And Leap
Throughout each of my pregnancies, I've had certain songs that resonated with me during that time. When I was pregnant with Brigid, one of the songs that I listened to repeatedly was "Defying Gravity," from the show Wicked. There were a couple of lines that particularly stood out. One of them is above, particular the second sentence.
November 11, 2008, was my official due date. I hoped I'd have Brigid before that date, but the morning November 11 dawned with me still pregnant, and no sign of impending labor. In fact, it would be nine days later, on November 20, 2008, before Brigid would make her appearance at last, but on November 11, I was still hopeful that I'd be holding her ex utero within just a day or two.
Choosing an unassisted pregnancy and an unassisted birth had been the easy part. The best way to describe an unassisted pregnancy for me is blissful. No, I didn't have formal prenatal care from an outside source, but I took excellent care of myself. I monitored myself for issues, in more or less the same manner that a care provider would have monitored me. For many reasons, I approached my due date feeling good (with the exception of the SPD, but I have yet to find a care provider who can do much more than offer sympathy or a chiropractor recommendation for that!).
Really, going "past my due date" was the hard part. Not the birth (which was quick, but you have to wait until next Friday to hear about it), but the nine days that stretched in front of me. Many times when you read of women who have gone past their due dates, they are readying to be defiant in the face of pressure to induce or submit to testing they feel is unnecessary. There's a feeling of empowerment, I suspect, that comes from that defiance.
When you're the only care provider you have, there's nothing to defy. There's no reason to be empowered in the face of adversity, because there is no adversity. There's just you, and there's just waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Instead of defiance, there is surrender.
When I had gotten pregnant, I had known what I wanted to do for my pregnancy and birth. It was "too late" for me to change my mind, even at the beginning of the pregnancy. I had trusted my instincts, and I had even closed my eyes to the outside pressures and naysayers.
It wasn't Brigid's birthday. In retrospect, though, I can say that November 11, 2008 was the day that I leapt.
15.8.09
I'm a Birth Advocate... not a Midwife Advocate
There was recently an interesting discussion on a mailing list to which I subscribe. It was, as so many conversations are, an offshoot of a previous thread. When retitled, its new name became "Is birth for everyone?"
The original author went on to elaborate her position. I'd like to quote most of a paragraph: "Nearly every basically healthy, normal woman can give birth entirely on her own. The most serious handicap most of us face is our mental state. After that are general health concerns like adequate nutrition, sanitation, and serious disease or malformations."
She further makes a statement which with anthropological researchers such as Wenda Trevathan would take issue.
"Birthing on our own is normal. 'Assisted' birth is a choice."
Another respondent rephrased that statement as "People don't NEED doctors/midwives for birth... they want them."
This also then began a good discussion on the fact that true choice must be truly informed to be any sort of real choice. Further, it was pointed out that it is very difficult to know how many women are truly benefitted by having an assisted birth, and since that knowledge is missing, it can be hard for mothers to make an informed choice. One of the theoretical, somewhat rhetorical questions then posed struck a chord with me (and I apologize for the pun) - "Does a cord around the baby's neck make a midwife a hero?"
Because too often I see midwifery advocates and clients not offering up midwives as partners, who can help women to reclaim both responsibility and freedom, but instead substitutes for obstetricians. Yes, the skills of a midwife can be important in some births, in ensuring the health of the mother or the baby. Yes, the support of a midwife can make a true difference in a woman's emotional and mental state, giving her the power to continue through a difficult labor or long period of pushing. However, midwives are frequently portrayed as saviors, just as obstetricians are. How they act as saviors does differ - obstetricians often save the day with the snip of a perineum or the slice of a belly, and the "saving" they provide may be unnecessary and necessitated by their own actions earlier in the course of labor. Midwives, on the other hand, are presented as the saviors in that women hand their own power to the midwives. Rather than "I did it," the woman may, in effect, say "My midwife and I did it!" The woman may give credit to an intervention performed by the midwife that "allowed" to experience a natural or vaginal birth. Many times, motives and actions will be ascribed to the nameless, faceless Hospital Doctors, and the actions of the midwives will be contrasted with those that the woman supposes would have happened had she been in a different location, with different care providers.
Make no mistake - location of birth and choice of provider (and choice to have a provider) are fundamentally important, and no two decisions will have greater impact on a woman's eventual birth experience. However, there often remains an ascribing of actions to an external locus of control, even by the women who had their beautiful, midwife-attended homebirth. This redirection of power is a negative thing, and can only serve to stroke the ego of midwives across the country.
Unassisted birth is emphatically not for everyone. However, the premise that midwives can be heroes and saviors must, I feel, be rejected. What must be remembered by all birth advocates is that birth is ultimately about the mother and the baby, and all involved in a birth should be careful not to take the power of the mother from her.
The original author went on to elaborate her position. I'd like to quote most of a paragraph: "Nearly every basically healthy, normal woman can give birth entirely on her own. The most serious handicap most of us face is our mental state. After that are general health concerns like adequate nutrition, sanitation, and serious disease or malformations."
She further makes a statement which with anthropological researchers such as Wenda Trevathan would take issue.
"Birthing on our own is normal. 'Assisted' birth is a choice."
Another respondent rephrased that statement as "People don't NEED doctors/midwives for birth... they want them."
This also then began a good discussion on the fact that true choice must be truly informed to be any sort of real choice. Further, it was pointed out that it is very difficult to know how many women are truly benefitted by having an assisted birth, and since that knowledge is missing, it can be hard for mothers to make an informed choice. One of the theoretical, somewhat rhetorical questions then posed struck a chord with me (and I apologize for the pun) - "Does a cord around the baby's neck make a midwife a hero?"
Because too often I see midwifery advocates and clients not offering up midwives as partners, who can help women to reclaim both responsibility and freedom, but instead substitutes for obstetricians. Yes, the skills of a midwife can be important in some births, in ensuring the health of the mother or the baby. Yes, the support of a midwife can make a true difference in a woman's emotional and mental state, giving her the power to continue through a difficult labor or long period of pushing. However, midwives are frequently portrayed as saviors, just as obstetricians are. How they act as saviors does differ - obstetricians often save the day with the snip of a perineum or the slice of a belly, and the "saving" they provide may be unnecessary and necessitated by their own actions earlier in the course of labor. Midwives, on the other hand, are presented as the saviors in that women hand their own power to the midwives. Rather than "I did it," the woman may, in effect, say "My midwife and I did it!" The woman may give credit to an intervention performed by the midwife that "allowed" to experience a natural or vaginal birth. Many times, motives and actions will be ascribed to the nameless, faceless Hospital Doctors, and the actions of the midwives will be contrasted with those that the woman supposes would have happened had she been in a different location, with different care providers.
Make no mistake - location of birth and choice of provider (and choice to have a provider) are fundamentally important, and no two decisions will have greater impact on a woman's eventual birth experience. However, there often remains an ascribing of actions to an external locus of control, even by the women who had their beautiful, midwife-attended homebirth. This redirection of power is a negative thing, and can only serve to stroke the ego of midwives across the country.
Unassisted birth is emphatically not for everyone. However, the premise that midwives can be heroes and saviors must, I feel, be rejected. What must be remembered by all birth advocates is that birth is ultimately about the mother and the baby, and all involved in a birth should be careful not to take the power of the mother from her.
28.5.09
Freedom, Responsibility, and Leaving the Dominant Paradigm
A little over a year ago, I wrote about being in the first trimester of an unassisted pregnancy (UP), leading towards an unassisted birth, or UC (unassisted childbirth; also known as freebirth).
I wrote, in part,
"I wish I could be dumb. Ignorant. Unquestioning. Willing to worship at the altar of modern Western medicine.
A friend of mine said that her mother, when talking about birth, made the statement "...that is faith. You were willing to stand under, even when you did not understand."
And 99.9% of the time, I am content to have faith in pregnancy, faith in the process, faith in evolution. Yes, I realize the last is particularly ironic. But in those moments of doubt that come to all, every one else has something upon which to fall back. The early ultrasound, the heartbeat they heard on Doppler, the later ultrasounds, whatever.
All I have is myself. All I have to fall back upon is my own faith, and to a lesser extent, the faith in the process that is shared by Sam and by a handful of people in this world, in that I can look to their confidence and say, No, I am not insane to trust.
I don't have any particular doubts at the moment. It's just that I have the awareness that I am it. I am all that is standing, that is holding this space. It's an awareness that I will not leave this process the same person that began it. It's one thing to step outside the main paradigm for birthing, but this - this is somehow different. It's all on me.
It's scary... and it's extremely liberating and empowering."
Yes, it was and is scary. Yes, it is and was liberating and empowering. What I did not anticipate was the exhilaration.
My UP/UC baby turned six months old just over a week ago. The process of unassisted pregnancy and birth was scary at times, because I had to accept not just part of the responsibility, but rather, all of the responsibility. Taking on all responsibility is especially nerve-wracking in our society because it encourages the exact opposite action - to take on no responsibility for one's actions or the outcomes that result. In taking on the ultimate responsibility, though, I think there is immense freedom to be found.
Many times women will talk about wanting to refuse this prenatal screen or that procedure, and will ask for advice about how best to approach their provider with their desires. Many times, women find themselves compromising, and some are angry about this. However, the reason that they do not have this freedom is because they do not want to take the ultimate responsibility.
I'm not saying this as a condemnation. There are a variety of reasons that a woman may choose to have an attended birth, or may variously need an attendant at her birth, because of outstanding health issues. However, women need to understand that freedom and responsibility are joined. When an outside attendant becomes willing to take some of the responsibility, she (or he) necessarily has an investment in seeing that certain protocols are followed, those that best make she (or he) comfortable with the assumption of responsibility.
This is not a wholesale call for unassisted birthing. I don't feel that unassisted birthing should be a default state, and I definitely think that there are people that should not birth unassisted. In this, I find definite parallels between homeschooling and freebirth. Both require the parent or parents to take all responsibility for actions and outcomes. Beyond that, however, I certainly feel that both are decisions that need to be carefully made, and should not be made for the "wrong" reasons. There are many people who should never freebirth or homeschool. Quite apart from physical, mental, or emotional health, or intellectual ability, there is an inner willingness to assume all responsibility that must be present.
I found great joy in my decision to freebirth. It was a gift I was given, in exchange for the responsibility that I embraced.
I wrote, in part,
"I wish I could be dumb. Ignorant. Unquestioning. Willing to worship at the altar of modern Western medicine.
A friend of mine said that her mother, when talking about birth, made the statement "...that is faith. You were willing to stand under, even when you did not understand."
And 99.9% of the time, I am content to have faith in pregnancy, faith in the process, faith in evolution. Yes, I realize the last is particularly ironic. But in those moments of doubt that come to all, every one else has something upon which to fall back. The early ultrasound, the heartbeat they heard on Doppler, the later ultrasounds, whatever.
All I have is myself. All I have to fall back upon is my own faith, and to a lesser extent, the faith in the process that is shared by Sam and by a handful of people in this world, in that I can look to their confidence and say, No, I am not insane to trust.
I don't have any particular doubts at the moment. It's just that I have the awareness that I am it. I am all that is standing, that is holding this space. It's an awareness that I will not leave this process the same person that began it. It's one thing to step outside the main paradigm for birthing, but this - this is somehow different. It's all on me.
It's scary... and it's extremely liberating and empowering."
Yes, it was and is scary. Yes, it is and was liberating and empowering. What I did not anticipate was the exhilaration.
My UP/UC baby turned six months old just over a week ago. The process of unassisted pregnancy and birth was scary at times, because I had to accept not just part of the responsibility, but rather, all of the responsibility. Taking on all responsibility is especially nerve-wracking in our society because it encourages the exact opposite action - to take on no responsibility for one's actions or the outcomes that result. In taking on the ultimate responsibility, though, I think there is immense freedom to be found.
Many times women will talk about wanting to refuse this prenatal screen or that procedure, and will ask for advice about how best to approach their provider with their desires. Many times, women find themselves compromising, and some are angry about this. However, the reason that they do not have this freedom is because they do not want to take the ultimate responsibility.
I'm not saying this as a condemnation. There are a variety of reasons that a woman may choose to have an attended birth, or may variously need an attendant at her birth, because of outstanding health issues. However, women need to understand that freedom and responsibility are joined. When an outside attendant becomes willing to take some of the responsibility, she (or he) necessarily has an investment in seeing that certain protocols are followed, those that best make she (or he) comfortable with the assumption of responsibility.
This is not a wholesale call for unassisted birthing. I don't feel that unassisted birthing should be a default state, and I definitely think that there are people that should not birth unassisted. In this, I find definite parallels between homeschooling and freebirth. Both require the parent or parents to take all responsibility for actions and outcomes. Beyond that, however, I certainly feel that both are decisions that need to be carefully made, and should not be made for the "wrong" reasons. There are many people who should never freebirth or homeschool. Quite apart from physical, mental, or emotional health, or intellectual ability, there is an inner willingness to assume all responsibility that must be present.
I found great joy in my decision to freebirth. It was a gift I was given, in exchange for the responsibility that I embraced.
