The saying goes that we make plans as God laughs. I don’t know where I stand on the God issue but I certainly agree that our plans don’t always go as, well, as planned.
I’ve always been a planner and childbirth was no different. Of course, in the back of my mind, I was “prepared” for anything, knowing that my baby and my body would call the shots that day and that my very detailed, bulleted birth plan may not have made it to my baby in utero. I mean, I was sure my child would be intelligent but perhaps not quite able to read this important document yet. No matter how prepared you are for the unexpected though, it still sucks when it happens.
You see, I didn’t think I could ever have a child. An ode to my irresponsible college years, I had undergone multiple surgeries related to cervical cancer. I have also suffered from endometriosis since I was a teenager and saw my share of surgeries due to that as well. Basically, my reproductive organs had been through hell and back and weren’t exactly in “like new” condition. Add to that the fact that I was single at 30 years old with no promising prospects. I’d basically come to terms with the fact that this mommy thing just wasn’t meant to be.
When, only six months into my relationship with CC, I found out I was pregnant, I was overcome with emotions. Surprise, fear, excitement, nausea and love. I had no idea how I would tell CC. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was (playing 80s Madonna here) keeping my baby and that I would do everything I could to give this child, this miracle, the very best life.
Believing that life begins at conception, that meant my very best had to start immediately. I started eating a better diet, doing prenatal yoga and reading everything I could on babies and pregnancy. I learned about childbirth. Now that may sound silly but I never thought about the birthing process much before other than, well, ow. But there’s a lot of info out there about medications used for pain relief, to induce labor, to slow down labor, etc. While I used to watch all the baby shows on Lifetime and think the women who turned down epidurals were out of their minds, I became educated about these “magic” drugs and, suddenly, I became one of these women. Now I support every woman’s right to make her own decisions when it comes to her pregnancy and her birth. For me, however, it was all so clear; I wouldn’t dream of putting harmful drugs into my system while I was pregnant, not even Tylenol, despite the doctor saying this was safe. Why would I give that up right before my child was born and suddenly inject narcotics into myself and, therefore, my child? No, that wasn’t for me. I wanted to be aware of every mind numbing pain. I wanted to be clear and alert. And I wanted my child to be as well. For me, natural childbirth became the plan, no questions about it.
CC and I switched from my regular OBGYN to midwives when we learned that the OBGYN was not so supportive of natural childbirth and was not agreeable to me not having an IV. We signed up for Bradley classes, spending hundreds of dollars to prepare for our blessed event. We did the workbook, watched the movies. I did the exercises religiously. I took evening primrose oil to help soften my cervix. I did practice labor exercises with CC and our instructor. I was excited and totally prepared. For nothing.
40 weeks came and went and the midwives began putting the pressure on for induction. We had multiple biophysicals done to make sure that the baby was still doing well in utero, that there was plenty of fluid, etc. The baby was 100% fine and was in position, ready to go. Except baby didn’t want to go anywhere. Baby was content in my apparently very accomodating uterus. And so, at 41 weeks and 3 days, we agreed to allow the midwives to do a membrane sweep to encourage labor. Except the midwife we saw that day had an injured finger and, as a result of which, stated that she was unable to reach in enough to do the sweep. So, our induction was scheduled as I sat there in hysterics. This isn’t what I wanted. Cervadil, Pitocin, it was all against everything I felt was right. I was excited to meet my baby, to find out if it was a boy or girl who had been doing karate in there for the past ten months. But this wasn’t how I wanted to find out. It was my job to protect my child and, here I was, preparing myself to have drugs I believed were harmful, into myself and my baby. I was devestated. I went home that night and pleaded to my friends on Facebook to pray for me that labor would come on spontaneously before the scheduled induction, two days away. And then, I drank castor oil.
Okay, I know that this is also a form of induction. One that is controversial to many. But the recipe had come from my midwife and I had discussed this option and it’s safety with our birthing instructor as well before making this difficult decision. And it was the most disgusting thing I have ever drank in my life. It was worth it to me, though, if it was going to help me meet my baby without the use of drugs. Sure enough, six hours later, at 2:30am, I started experiencing incredibly strong contractions. CC took the day off from work and sat with me in the bathroom for hours while I labored in the tub, wishing that I could have a water birth. Our hospital didn’t permit this. I kept busy around the house through early labor, including baking banana muffins to bring to the hospital. We watched movies, played Wheel of Fortune on Wii and timed my contractions. At approximately 8pm, when my contractions were three minutes apart and a minute long for over an hour, we went to the hospital. I was 4cm dilated and was admitted to labor and delivery.
We cheerfully provided the midwife on call with a copy of our birth plan and discussed our wishes verbally as well. My contractions were intense but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was a Bradley graduate after all. I could do this. And then, something happened. I will never know if the chain of events for my birth would have been different if the midwives hadn’t changed shifts or if the midwife who came in for the second shift had been someone else. All I know is that when they changed shifts, the midwife attending my birth was the one midwife in the practice that I didn’t trust or really like all that much to be honest. I had rescheduled prenatal appointments in the past to avoid having my appointments with her. And, here we were, about twenty hours into labor, and I didn’t exactly have a choice.
For those not familiar with the Bradley Method of childbirth, it is a natural, drug free approach to birthing. The idea is for the woman to be able to move freely and labor in any position that works for her and to vocalize when and how she needs to. This includes moaning, grunting, etc. Breathing is from deep within and instead of finding a distraction point, the woman focuses on the pain, on the fact that this is totally natural and is bringing her closer to meeting her baby. That it’s pain with a beautiful purpose and should be embraced. The Bradley Method encourages setting the mood, providing the woman with a comfortable environment in which to give birth. The idea is that the more relaxed the woman is, the more her body is able to do what it needs to do to get that baby out!
We filled our labor and delivery room with scented LED candles and meditation music. I had my own pillow and blanket from home as well as a birthing gown I had ordered handmade from India instead of having to wear a scratchy hospital gown that my ass would stick out of. With me was CC, armed with his training from Bradley class on how to support me emotionally and mentally during this time. We labored for several hours on and off in the shower which provided me a lot of relief. I was experiencing intense back labor, rarely feeling a contraction in the front. CC brought the shower head down and aimed it onto my lower back. After about twenty four hours of labor, we were both exhausted and the pain was more than anything I could have imagined. I sat on the floor of the shower to rest for a minute. Several minutes later, CC dozed off, dropping the shower head onto my head in the middle of a contraction. No, labor isn’t easy for anyone!
We returned to the labor bed to rest a little. I used the birth ball a few times, went on all fours in the bed, leaned on the top of the bed, etc. I tried every position I had learned and anything that just felt natural and I thought might help. I was groaning, grunting and screaming out profanities. I was fairly certain it wasn’t “time” for me to push yet but my body said push and so, I pushed. I pushed as hard as I could for as long as I could. And then there was a loud “pop” sound and water literally shot across the room. My water finally broke and it was no joke! Like something out of a movie, you heard it break, it covered me, the bed, the floor, CC and I’m pretty sure it hit the wall on the other side of the room. This was it! Yay!
Except that it wasn’t. All my water breaking did was start the clock ticking faster in the eyes of the midwife. My water broke, we had already been laboring for over twenty-four hours and, to the medical professionals there, it was time to get this baby out. The only person in the room, other than CC, who was supportive was a nurse and I will be forever grateful to her for bringing me some peace during this time. The midwife, who is supposed to be supportive of natural birthing, began firmly telling me to stop being so loud, to hold my breath while pushing, that the Bradley Method doesn’t work. How can one possibly stay relaxed in that environment? And how could my baby possibly work with me to come into this world if my body was tensing?
The midwife inserted her fingers in my vagina to check my progress. She could see my baby’s head like this. I was momentarily rejuvenated and pushed with all I had. I could do this, no matter what she said. Except that all of my pushing wasn’t bringing baby any further down.
The pain was intolerable and I begged for a c-section. I was told there was no medical reason for a c-section and they would not give me one. My options were to continue on or accept an epidural. An option I fought but gave in to after a lot of pressure.
After falling asleep for a bit with the epidural, I awoke to the urge to push. I could feel my contractions but they no longer hurt. And so I pushed. Only to be told then that my contractions were slowing and they were giving my pitocin. I felt defeated, ignored. I no longer felt like an active participant in my birth, it was as if I was watching all of this take place, all of these decisions being made. I no longer mattered.
After approximately three more hours of pushing, I was told I had to have a c-section. That it had been too long since my water broke and I was at risk of infection. I was also told that my baby was experiencing head swelling as a result of this prolonged labor, a labor that had now been ongoing for over thirty hours. (My baby’s head was totally fine btw). I was not about to let them sway my efforts at experiencing my child being born vaginally. Until I saw the concern on CC’s face. I gave in and consented to the c-section, crying hysterically the entire time. At this point, a nurse pushed the button to increase my pain killers, without asking me first. I didn’t want this done and I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.
As they prepped me for surgery I was told there would be narcotics placed in my IV, despite the fact I was already numbed. I was not permitted to refuse this. I was then told that I would be given Morphine through an IV afterwards. I told them I didn’t want this and that I had a previous problem with pain killers. They repeatedly tried to convince me that I would need it, that I wouldn’t survive recovery without it. No one was listening to me. I continued to refuse the Morphine and I won this battle. And I dealt with recovery just fine, thank you.
I heard my baby’s first cry and CC announced that it was a girl. I was so in love and couldn’t wait to hold my child. But where was she? I remember repeatedly asking “where’s my baby? Where’s my daughter?” They took her to an area behind me, where I could not see her, to clean her off, get her Apgar score, etc. All things we specifically requested not to have done. We wanted the vernix left on her, for us to massage into her skin. We wanted her placed immediately on my chest. Nothing we wanted was respected. I didn’t meet my daughter for approximately five minutes after her birth.
My daughter is amazing. When she was placed on my chest, she immediately lifted her head and looked at me. She found my breast on her own and began to nurse. She has filled mine and CC’s lives with so much love, laughter and amazement. When I asked for prayers to not be induced, someone on Facebook asked me if I would be the kind of mother who didn’t enjoy motherhood if my birth plan went off track. At the time, this made me angry. And of course now, it makes me angry and also sad.
We carry our children inside of our bodies for the better part of a year. We feel them kick, punch, flip. We experience their hiccups and watch them grow through the sonograms. We watch our bellies move around with them. We experience pregnancy, all of which is preparation for experiencing birth, however we choose. There is nothing in this world that would take away from my love of motherhood or for my child. But I do feel that I missed out on an incredible experience and moment of bonding with my child. I do feel robbed of these moments and I have a right to feel this way. I believe we all have a right to mourn our birth experience when it turns out to go so astray.
I didn’t feel immediately connected to my daughter. It’s hard to admit that but I didn’t. I didn’t feel her being born. I didn’t see her right away. She was just this person placed on my chest as strangers sewed me back up. I nursed her, held her, responded to her cries. But something was missing and it took a couple of weeks for that deep attachment to set in.
I would do anything for my little girl. I would die for her and I will do everything I can to give her everything she deserves. I hold her as much as I can. I watch her sleep. I worked past sore, bloody nipples, including her actually taking a chunk out of one of my nipples, to ensure she receives the best nutrition I can provide, my own milk. I am her mother and that’s the most incredible thing I have been and ever will be in my life. Nothing will take that away.
But I have a right to mourn the path my labor took. I have a right to be heartbroken over not having felt her birth, over having to receive drugs into my system and hers. Anyone who missed out on the birth they planned has the right to feel that way and to mourn in their own way. And they have the right to do so without judgement, without criticism and without shame.
Adrianna “Drea” Catherine, you amaze your father and I every moment of every day. We love you beyond reason, understanding and beyond words.
My Journey Through Mommyville 