Community Birth Story: Saoirse

Community Birth Story: Saoirse

As told by Nannette:   12642790_10205936114948161_8485059573286676699_n

I have to tell some back story first. I never wrote my birth stories for my first two children, which I plan to rectify starting here.

Jonah was my firstborn. I had just finished my nurse-midwife training program and taken my board exams. That was a long grueling 3 years, during which I got pregnant and miscarried. I discovered I was pregnant with Jonah just weeks after I passed my midwifery boards. The news arrived the same day our miscarried baby would have been due. Bittersweet. I was a young midwife just starting her homebirth practice, and I knew immediately I would have a homebirth with my son. My mother had cesareans for all 3 of us. But it was for a known problem related to an auto accident messing up her pelvis. I never doubted that these strong Irish hips could handle childbirth. There were not many choices of midwives in my area, but we settled on a very nice midwife and started the journey. I convinced my husband, who had just started his first full time job, to invest the time in Bradley classes (along with my best friend who was going to be at my birth as support and photographer). Things bumped along, I was having a healthy pregnancy and was busy with side jobs while I started my little homebirth practice. My due date came and went, but no biggie, I was a primip. Weekly visits with the midwife became concerning, though, as my son did not engage in my pelvis as he should have. When I passed the 42 week mark, and he was still not engaged despite regular bouts of prodromal labor, I went to see my “backup” hospital midwife on a Wednesday afternoon at 4pm. We had a BPP done, and it wasn’t great. And they told me Jonah (I found out he was a boy at this point) was 12.5 lbs, which frankly scared me as a first timer. And he was still not engaged. And my hospital midwife, who had been my preceptor in midwifery training, looked at me and bluntly said, ” you know the answer, Nannette. You just need to make up your mind.” I cried and asked to be induced (which wasn’t a good idea because he was so high in my pelvis and showing signs of stress), and then I accepted that my son was going to be born by cesarean. I looked at the doctor and asked to have it done right away. “If I go home, I don’t know if I can make myself come back.” So Jonah Graham was born at 7:21pm on June 29th by cesarean section weighing 10lbs8oz. It was a surreal experience. I was on automatic pilot for a lot of it. One thing I remember the most was how I panicked and almost cancelled the plan when I was getting the spinal anesthesia (they stuck me several times and kept hitting a nerve, which was excruciating and nearly sent me into a panic attack). The spinal finally took, I got draped and swabbed, the docs did their thing, and when I heard them lift him out of my stomach I didn’t breath again until he cried. And then I let myself break down. That was the start of a long, dark slide into postpartum depression. A story for another day.

Fast forward 10 months. I am in the middle of getting help for the PPD when I become pregnant again. We had treated Jonah for torticullis and we linked his malposition to an injury that I had had around 36 weeks that apparently had really torqued my pelvis. So with regular chiropractic care I was confident this was a problem that would not repeat itself. I was working with a midwife that was confident in VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), and I decided to plan a homebirth for my second baby. I worked through the PPD and the emotional issues that surround having a VBAC, and reached 36 weeks with our baby girl. She turned breech at that point, and it forced me to stop working and pay attention to her. We did 2 weeks of alternative/complementary techniques and successfully turned her back to head down. I then got extremely ill from the flu about a week before her due date. Not cool. In hindsight, I should have been hospitalized. On Easter Sunday, my 40 week mark, we were eating dinner with my husband’s mother, and contractions began. They felt like the prodromal ones I’d had with Jonah, which was encouraging! They slowly intensified through the night, and at 7am the next morning I was dealing with them in the living room and prayed for a clear sign because I wasn’t sure if I was being a wuss about them or if I was really in labor. Than, hallelujah, my water broke! It was on! My labor had started spontaneously at 40 weeks and 1 day! Major VBAC milestone! I was in active labor by late morning, but it was a really rough day. I constantly vomited and became dehydrated, and also had some terrible pelvic pain which even the chiropractor could not resolve with a visit while I was in labor. I reached 8 cm and the contractions started to wane. I nearly fell asleep in the pool. And it wasn’t the good sleep that midwives are thankful for, a pause to gather yourself. It was an exhaustion borne of utter depletion. I called my birth team and said, “I know I can do this. But I don’t think I can do it here.” And with that we called the hospital, praised God that Dr. Baltierra was on, and I counted in my head the 4 contractions I would endure in the car for the ride to the hospital. I got to JMH, checked in, got an epidural, eventually got an IUPC and pitocin to get contractions going again, and about 5 hours after I arrived at the hospital I woke up in a panic because the epidural WASN’T WORKING ANYMORE!!! And lo and behold I was complete and ready to push! They hiked me up and got out the mirror and at 5:39am on April 2nd, 2013, I pushed my beautiful 10 lb daughter out in 20 minutes! I did it! I birthed vaginally! And then I blacked out when I sat up to nurse and we discovered I had been severely anemic, probably an effect of the severe flu I should have been hospitalized for, and I had to get blood transfusions even though I had hardly bled with the birth. I also suffered some SPD damage and couldn’t walk normally for several weeks. But it was worth it for my VBAC!!

So fast forward 2 years. I was a very busy homebirth midwife at the time. I had recently gone through some very stressful transitions in my business partnership, and was praying for a year without change, just some stability so I could heal from the pretty bad emotional trauma. My daughter was weaning, and I knew that a pregnancy was possible soon. I am lucky enough to not ovulate until my babies stop nursing altogether. My cycle started, and repeated, and as the third round was finishing I looked at my husband and said, “all bets are off, you know.” We didn’t attempt to prevent, and sure enough, there was a positive. As stressful as it was, I was also thankful for the gift of another baby. I knew I would not be able to keep up the pace I was at with another child, and made the decision at that point, after a lot of prayer and counsel, to grow my homebirth practice instead of close it. God was watching out, and at the same time I decided I would hire one or two midwives, I was contacted by 2 midwives who were just what I wanted for Riverside. So I entered the second trimester with a good plan for work/family balance and the knowledge that this time I was going to get a proper maternity leave. I was so thankful for a healthy pregnancy. It was the best of all of them. I had good help, I was getting good sleep and exercise, I didn’t gain weight until the last few weeks. My belly measurements were consistently on track, which was better than my first two pregnancies which had always measured ahead, so my midwives thought this baby was going to be smaller which was nice to think of having had 10+lb’rs. I had amazing community support and was shown so much love by truly incredible women I am blessed to know and work with! I even got a surprise mother blessing! Jonah and Tabi were in love with the baby and so interested and involved in the pregnancy. I had an ultrasound but the baby wouldn’t play the gender reveal game, so it was really a surprise! We had a boy name and a girl name, Jonah and Tabi were excited to be there for the birth, and my midwife was really wonderful for me, a great pregnancy all around. I was “due” December 29th, so Jonah was expecting a Christmas time baby which just blew his 4 year old mind with anticipation. Christmas came, and went. New Year’s came as well, and went. The week after came. And went. And the mind games that accompany going overdue began. Thankfully, this was not my first VBAC, I knew my body was quite capable. And I thought this was a boy baby, so I figured maybe my boy babies just go late. I was encouraged and supported, and got wonderful help from friends and my fellow birthworkers during this time. I didn’t do anything really aggressive to start labor as I wasn’t worried over anything. I was fine, baby was fine, it was just taking a bit. I had a cervical exam at 41 weeks or so, and it was favorable, and I got a BPP done at 42 weeks, and it was just fine. But going overdue is emotionally taxing, and I cried on more than one morning when I woke up still pregnant. I worked on a labor music list. I crowd sourced some suggestions for music with a heavy bass line that would just carry you along without thinking. I didn’t to think too much. I’m a midwife, and know a lot, and I didn’t need to go down certain lines of thought. I was fine, baby was fine, my midwives were relaxed, I was just gestating a while.

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On a Wednesday evening April 13th, 42 weeks and 1 day, I had some regular almost-contractions, and we inflated the pool just in case. But Thursday morning, I woke up well slept and still pregnant. On Friday evening, some good friends took my kids to the local Backyard Inflatables while I got acupuncture. I was relaxed, and we made plans to get some Glory Doughnuts for breakfast the next morning. You should definitely get doughnuts from them some time. Ah-mazing. So Saturday morning, January 16th, I woke up around 6am. The house was quiet, and I felt like getting up and just hanging out by myself. I had a few of the usual braxton hicks as I was sitting in my rocker petting one of the cats. I noticed they had some good pelvic floor pressure to them, which was an encouraging thought as that meant baby’s head was where it should be. But they were just BH as usual. My husband got up around 8:00, kids were sleeping in from getting worn out playing the evening before. We did a few chores, and I mentioned the doughnuts plan. So he left at 9:00 to get some. I took a picture of my sweet sleeping kids, climbing up on the bunk bed (timestamp 9:26am). No contractions. Just a nice, quiet Saturday morning. My midwives texted to check in. One midwife mentioned coming by to do some things to maybe encourage labor. I let her know I’d had some braxton hicks that had a little pressure to them, but that my kids weren’t awake yet so I didn’t think labor would start knowing they were about to get up. Then, I had one. A painful contraction. Not too long, but definitely different. Jonah woke up at 9:40, came downstairs. I had another one. I sent him to watch some cartoons and realized I had been a little short tempered with him. I had another one. I decided to go upstairs, and couldn’t get up the stairs before another hit. Well, well! I made it to my bathroom and texted my husband, “on your way back?” (timestamp 9:57am). My midwife texted a two part question, and I barely had time to text back “yeah”. (she later said she immediately knew it was time to come, that was not a usual texting style for me). Within 20 minutes of the first contraction I was in full blown labor. I could only stand, I had the sudden fear of my water breaking in my pants and undressed. I started vocalizing. I remember thinking vaguely “if it feels better to make noise then I must be in active labor?” The contractions hurt. A lot. And were fast. I couldn’t time them. I couldn’t text or call anyone. I couldn’t do anything. I tried to kneel, and couldn’t handle being bent and stood right back up. I paced around the bathroom, and kept saying in an attempt to keep myself grounded “this is how babies are born, this is how babies are born, oh God, this is how babies are born” as I experienced huge amounts of pressure with seemingly eternal contractions with hardly time to breath twice between them (later the chart said they were 90 seconds long and 30 seconds apart, so I wasn’t imagining it). My husband got up there, got the pool filling, got the babysitter and photographer on the way, texted the midwives (or called) to make sure they were enroute. In short he did a great job getting things in place and rolling. I starting feeling lightheaded and a little panicky, the contractions were even stronger. Chris, one of my midwives, arrived at 10:40. I started to cry and kept saying they hurt. She was very calm, listened to baby with the doppler, and started getting things out. She encouraged me to try to get in the pool. I felt locked in standing mode, afraid to move lest the contractions get EVEN stronger. But I managed to scoot over to the pool and climb in (at 11:00 per the chart). As I sunk into the water the next contraction crested. That was kind of awful. The feeling of my belly getting buoyant but then getting driven down in the contraction. The next one was better though, and I settled into the pool. The contractions got a little more spaced, maybe a minute apart, but then I started feeling them in my legs. Thankfully I was in the water, the pain in my thighs wouldn’t have been great with standing up. I complained. A lot. And cried, and repeated that things hurt and that I couldn’t do this forever. But I mostly had my eyes closed and my face down making lots of noise. A little after 11:00 I looked up and Lindsey, my photographer, had arrived. Grace arrived at that point, too. Grace has been with me a long time. My first birth assistant when I started catching babies while pregnant with Jonah. My doula for Tabi’s birth. My friend. And planning to catch this baby as my student midwife.

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Bradley was there (I made a point to clock his presence as I had actually blanked out his presence at Tabi’s birth).

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I looked up at some point and saw Jonah sitting on the side of the bed watching me labor. Mary was there, my good friend and my children’s nanny, I never worried about Jonah and Tabi being cared for.

At this point I feel like I was being dramatic but just needed to be allowed to not have my s*%^ together for once. This labor felt like a tsunami and I was just rolling around in the water underneath. I think I repeated that I couldn’t do this for 6 more hours and Grace assured me it wasn’t going to be that long. After what seemed like FOREVER my water broke (timestamp 11:10). My midwife voice automatically asked if the water was clear, which it was.

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I had some urge to push with that contraction. And then I had a blessed, blessed, 2 minute pause. I came up for air. My head cleared. I thought, and I think I said, “I can do this part. I know how to push.” Because I did. I revisited how I had pushed Tabi out in 20 minutes, my first vaginal birth. And how proud I had been (and am) of that. I had no idea how long I had been in labor for, but now it was time to push and I came back to center. Everyone was quiet. My ears were kind of ringing. I don’t know how loud I was on the outside, but there had been a whole lot going on in my head and it had all stopped. That long, blessed, 2 minute break. And then the contraction came and the deep, throat/abdomen/pelvic “HUHHHH” started. My body was pushing. A couple of contractions, and I clearly felt the round head of my baby descend. It did not feel like pooping. It felt like a large round hard thing moving down in my pelvis. That was my baby’s head! I hadn’t felt this with Tabi, being on the epidural. It was AMAZING to be aware of it. I felt some burning and said something like “am I crowning?! Please tell me I’m crowning!”, to which there was no reply. Crickets. “Crap, I’m not crowning…” Next contraction. There was some burning, which I clearly identified to be at the place I had had a minor tear with Tabi’s birth. I was ok with that. I was breathing through these. Not really on purpose. I was just trying to ride these suddenly close again contractions that were pushing my baby out. All of my energy was focused, I had to stay stretched out, one hand out on the side of the pool, body extended back. A straight path for the baby. Nothing in the way. My body doing its thing like I’d know from my first pregnancy that it could. I breathed and grunted and didn’t add any pushing effort and the baby came down and around and I felt the head birth. So amazing. I heard Jonah and Tabi’s voices, they were there at the pool side and saw the baby’s head and face. I had really hoped they would have that experience of seeing their sibling enter the world.

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A minute passed, and another. I felt midwives’ hands back there. No one was worried, though I wasn’t really looking at faces, and I wasn’t worried. I did have the sudden thought that this had been long enough and it was time to push baby out. So I did push to finish the birth. And then I heard those words, “grab your baby!” I reached down, and glimpsed cord around the baby’s neck as Grace did, we turned baby in the water to unwind the cord and bring baby up.Saoirse2016-35

And there she was. My baby girl. Born at 11:27am, less than 2 hours from the first recognizable contraction. “It’s done!” She took a minute to breath. It had, after all, been a fast birth. I gave her some puffs and stimulation to her back and feet she drew in her first air. Grace helped her with some postural drainage. I cried and thanked God it was over.

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Tabi was absolutely thrilled that it was a girl!! “It’s a girl, it’s Saoirse!”

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And she lifted her sweet little hand up and my baby was with me. Oh lordy. The tears <3

She weighed 9lbs 4 oz, nearly a pound less than my others. My postpartum experience was worlds away better. Resting in my own bed, being well taken care of, my children coming to see their baby sister. Normal, unhurried, quiet. As a midwife, I work hard to provide this experience to families. And I had finally had it myself. It was truly my best birth. And one of the best times of my life.

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Something came up the week after the birth that I want to include here. There is a blog that I follow, Birth Without Fear, by a woman name Jan. Last year she had described being pregnant again; she had had cesareans, than a VBAC, than another baby, and was planning a homebirth again. She went overdue, and one morning woke up and knew it was time to have her baby and had a walk in cesarean. She felt empowered, she owned her decision and experience. But she described having an emotional breakdown just before the surgery, and how she had realized based on her past birth experiences that she was transitioning emotionally at that moment as she was getting ready to meet her baby. It was an incredibly healing read for me. I had experienced labor in all its raw, unmediated strength. I had “lost it” for a bit, felt panicky, cried, let out a lot of emotion. And I realized that I had done that before with Tabi’s birth, when I woke up panicky and ready to push. And I realized that the moment when I almost broke down while preparing for Jonah’s surgical birth HAD BEEN MY TRANSITION MOMENT. Realizing that connected all my births. It healed something I thought I had been over in my experience with Jonah. I did birth him. I went through the depths emotionally, though not necessarily physically. I realized I had carried some shame about how I almost had a panic attack with the spinal being inserted at Jonah’s birth. And with waking up all freaking out at Tabi’s birth. But those were my transition moments. It’s just what I do. I have to let go for a minute. And just let things happen. And just birth my babies.

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Birth photos credit: Lindsey Welch Photography

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Click HERE to learn more about the Community Birth Stories Project or to submit your own birth story.

Community Birth Story: Emory Vail

Community Birth Story: Emory Vail

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As told by Brittany:

Despite the fact that my first 2 children decided to come post-due date, I was still really hoping that my 3rdwould come earlier.  I think pregnancy is such an amazing journey, and one to be cherished and appreciated… but once I hit those last few weeks, a switch is “flipped” in my head where I start to become a crazy/anxious/depressed woman.  With this pregnancy, we found out at 20 weeks that we were expecting our 3rd little girl and were ecstatic.  As my due date approached, the house had been organized and labeled to oblivion, and I. Was. Ready. After witnessing my friend Beth’s home birth 2 years prior, and then doing a lot of research and soul-searching, I found myself craving the same serene, love-rich environment.  Bob and I took the Bradley Method class series from a local instructor, and I also did the Hypnobabies home study course.  I was determined to enjoy the process to the fullest extent.  

As my due date approached and passed, I became focused on making relaxation my #1 commitment.  I saw my chiropractor and acupuncturist often.  I listened to my Hypnobabies tracks multiple times a day.  I bounced on the birth ball, drank raspberry leaf tea, had sex, ate curry, took baths, ate spicy Mexican food, drank a glass of wine, and tried to listen to my body.  On Sunday, March 4th 2012, we awoke with the intent of going to church, getting a bite to eat in town, and then running several errands.  I started having pressure waves (contractions) in church, and almost felt annoyed at their presence.  I had been having them on and off for a week or more and they never seemed to amount to anything other than continued exhaustion.  I mentioned to my friend Ashley in church that I had a few during the service and her excited reaction made me feel loved, but I wasn’t hopeful.  The waves weren’t enough to distract me too much, and I could barely tell when they were really starting and stopping.  After the service we asked our girls where they wanted to eat lunch, and they requested Red Robin (“they give out BALLOONS, Mom!”).  By the time we took our seats at the restaurant and ordered our food, I was noticing the pressure waves more and more.  I was surprised that even though I felt relaxed, that they were now staying consistent.  I ordered a turkey burger and broke out my cell phone to start keeping track of the waves.  As time passed, things started to get more serious and I felt like I needed to get my (normally very comfortable and elastic) skirt off.  I inhaled the middle portion of my burger and told Bob it was time to get the check.  By the time we got to the car I was ripping off my skirt out of discomfort.  We got home around 1:30pm, and I sent our midwives a text to let them know that things were picking up.  I was still unsure if they would continue, so I didn’t request them to start driving yet (they live just over an hour away). Bob went into high gear- straightening the house like a tidying madman.   He filled up the birth tub with super hot water, assuming it would be a while before I needed it. I sat on my birth ball and tried to welcome the waves, concentrating on the word OPEN.  By 3pm I knew we were in business and I figured we might have a baby by morning.  The pressure waves were demanding my focus now, so I had Bob call the midwives to tell them to head over. I texted a few friends and let them know to come over.  Quickly I lost the ability to concentrate on anything else during the waves and then suddenly I yearned for the tub.  I remember thinking that I wanted to wait as long as possible before getting in, afraid it would slow down my labor… but when the time came, there was no stopping me.  By 4pm our house was an excited bustle of loving support- we had our family of 4 (almost 5!), our dog Koda, our 3 midwives, 4 friends (Ashley, Maya, Beth, and Kristin), and my mother and stepfather.  My pressure waves were demanding so much of my attention that my early labor period (where I thought I would be chatting between waves and baking with company) was nonexistent.

Brielle and Finley, who are 6 and 4 years old, kept busy with the loved ones around, checking in on mommy every so often.  They had prepared for the birth by watching many birth videos, reading homebirth-centered books, and had lots of long chats.  I was so relieved to see that they didn’t seem scared in the slightest- they went straight to work as I labored; excitedly pouring water on my back or patting my arm as the waves overcame me.  

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At this point in my head I was making all kinds of sad noises, but those around me said I labored silently.  One thing I made quite clear, however- I needed Bob to give counter-pressure to my back labor during EVERY pressure wave.  If he rubbed or pressed incorrectly or started 1 second too late, the back pain was unbearable.  He has since told me that the amount of pressure I was requesting made him worry that he would rub my skin off, bruise me badly, or both.  But it was what I desperately needed and without his patience and stamina, I don’t know how I would have made it through.  His concentration on me became my ability to concentrate in labor.  If he focused on the girls, or answering someone’s question while I was in a pressure wave it hurt so much worse…. and I let him know it!  

At some point during labor one of the midwives whom I had grown very close to came over to check on me and told me, “Brittany, its time to go inside”.  From that point on, I got to work.  Each pressure wave demanded all of my attention and overall, I really wasn’t “present” at all.  I now resided completely in laborland, unable to hear anyone around me unless I purposefully focused (for example, during the times the midwives came to check baby’s heartbeat).  Our girls bustled about, chatting with friends or eating dinner downstairs, and the midwives were nearby in the bedroom knitting and listening with stunning wisdom.  As long as Bobby was focused on me, I felt in control and focused on letting the waves work their magic.  Back labor is no joke, people. I tried to work on my hands and knees as much as possible to move baby into a better position.  One of the midwives suggested early on that I roll my hips between the pressure waves and that I squat during them.  All of my being was focused on the task of trying not to fight each pressure wave, but to rather let it dilate me more and more.  

At times the waves seem short and intense, and after some time, they got longer and sometimes they wouldn’t “let go”.   I opened up my hips, lunging on one leg during a pressure wave, and put pressure on the inside of my groin for focus. During the next wave, I placed two fingers inside my vagina to see if baby’s station was progressing (I still had never requested a cervical check by the midwives), and I could feel that baby’s head was really far down.  I felt my cervix as the pressure wave continued- a particularly difficult one.  This moment I will ever forget.  As the pain increased and my body became tense, I felt my cervix hold steady.  I was so tired, yet so centered on meeting my baby girl.  So I concentrated on relaxing myself (thinking “OPEN”, “RELAX”, “BREATHE”) through the pain, and as I did this, I felt my cervix thin and melt further underneath my fingertips.  It was the craziest feeling- I was relaxing myself into dilating!  My bag of waters felt smooth like rubber, unbroken.  

After a few more pressure waves, I felt some rectal pressure and wondered if I would need to push soon.  As the next one started, I realized it wasn’t her head that I needed to push out… it was poop.  I motioned towards the bathroom door (only 2 feet away from the tub), climbed out quickly with some assistance, and closed myself into the tiny room.  Outside of the bathroom I heard the room erupt in excited chatter, as everyone who had been trying so desperately to respect our quiet space broke concentration with anxious (and loud!) anticipation.  I filled the toilet with poop during my next pressure wave; so very happy that I wasn’t in the tub.  I made a mental note that I needed to RACE back to my husband’s massaging hands and the warmth of the water because HOLY COW it was so much more painful without them.  I quickly wiped, flushed, and flew back to the tub, surprising everyone in the room.  My next wave began, and one of the midwives asked me if I had a bowel movement in the bathroom.  I nodded yes and got into position again. I felt Bobby touch my butt and I scolded him saying, “stop touching my butt!”.  I later found out that I hadn’t quite emptied my colon… and what I thought was hubby’s hands was actually a fishnet taking care of a rogue terd, ha!  

On all fours now, despite being relatively silent previously, I started making a deep, guttural sound deep in my chest.  I said, “I’m pushing”.  This caught everyone by surprise and they all sprung into action, grabbing cameras and yelling for my daughters to come into the room.  During that wave, I felt my bag of waters burst into my hand, and her head bulged out right behind it.  There was actually no “pushing” on my part- my body was in charge!  Her head seemed to pop out suddenly, and my mind was racing.  

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The next wave came and I squeezed her body out of me, right into my husbands waiting hands.  In one smooth movement, I turned over and she was passed under my leg, and then placed on my fast beating heart at 6:51pm.  

I held her there in complete shock of the speed at which she was just born.  Then I looked and saw her face- pink, alert, and perfect.  Intensely beautiful.  

 

Welcome to our world, Emory Vail.

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Brielle and Finley somehow were immediately in the pool, and the look on their faces cannot be explained in words.  Daddy’s first words were, “She is beautiful, honey!”  We all held her, kissed her, and stared at her for quite a while.  After about 15 minutes or so, I birthed her placenta. The girls were particularly interested in knowing all about it- the midwife took her time to show them every detail and explained things in depth.  Brielle gladly took on the task of cutting the cord.  One interesting side note- baby girl had a perfect “true” knot in her cord.  

We hung out in the tub and Emory nursed vigorously.  She continued to nurse frequently the rest of the evening too.  Afterwards, I passed her out of the tub and into the arms of some very eager friends, family, and midwives who continued the lovefest.  I showered, got dressed, and got into my very comfortable bed where we nursed and cuddled some more.  She weighed in at 8lbs, 4oz and was 19.5inches in length.   I felt amazing.  My husband looked blissfully content.  My older girls were fascinated.  And my baby was alert, chubby, and calm.  I feel immense gratitude to have experienced Emory’s birth in the comfort of my home with such wise, experienced midwives at hand.

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Click HERE to learn more about the Community Birth Stories Project or to submit your own birth story.

Community Birth Story| Flick

Community Birth Story| Flick

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As told by Bergen:

It had been a long, hard pregnancy. That morning I woke up on the early side. I felt awful. And cranky. About as cranky as a woman hours from 40 weeks pregnant in the throws of Early September’s desperate cling to summer’s heat. Let me tell you, that’s pretty cranky. I missed the last step on my way downstairs and flat-footed too hard on the floor. My uterus made it breathtakingly clear that this kind of careless behavior was not appreciated.

I had been enjoying prodromal labor for a few weeks, once even rushing home from an appointment in DC just in case. I had been checking my own cervix every few days so I knew I was well effaced and chilling at a 3 or 4. Everyone was concerned that the birth could move fast. Third babies, man. I texted the midwife: “My uterus is being a bitch. Wanna come over?” It was just after 8 AM. “Sure. We’ll stay for brunch.” was the reply.

Evan had hurt his back just days prior and he had an appointment with the chiropractor — a skilled doc, nice office, lotta kids, I call her Mom. As a goodwill gesture he took Pip (20 mo) with him. Belle (4.5) kept me company as I wandered around the quiet house filling the time between contractions with toast and timers. She stayed close. The midwives arrived. We chatted for a while in the kitchen. There was more toast and some tea. I kept trying to crack jokes but it mostly came out snarky. The contractions were annoying the crap out of me and I wasn’t making any sense. They were manageable and not very painful, but so very distracting.

I called Evan to come home. He didn’t make his appointment. I was glad I asked the midwives to come when I did. Not because things moved precipitously fast after that, but because I very quickly lost track of chronology. I had every intention of calling my best friend to come — and I just…forgot. I was absorbed and utterly internal.

Brunch was unceremoniously cancelled so I waddled upstairs to my tub. My glorious tub. Evan and his dad designed and built our house about a year before. I had some input on the features but my only sticking point was a deep soaking tub. None of this 9″ to the overflow nonsense. I wanted a tub deep enough that my ears would get wet. No jets, bubbles, bells or whistles, just a big water-holder and a hot water heater to match. We use it every single day. I labored there for a while. Maybe an hour. I’m not sure. I could squat deep, deep and hold on to the edge of the tub for support and push my back against the other side, anchored. The metal of the faucet felt cool and smooth on my forehead. I don’t remember anyone with me for a long time. Just me in the tub. Hot and cool.

After a while I was overly hot and needed to stretch my legs. I wandered into our bedroom. The midwives, Shanna and Zellene, my mom, and Evan were there. I went straight to the foot of the bed, which has been my sacred labor zone for all three labors, knees on the floor, chest supported by the bed. The baby sounded good. The contractions hurt — always in my back. I tend to labor in my back, anyway, but this pregnancy I suffered from sciatica and a rib that just wouldn’t stay put. A third pregnancy and a, um, robust 32lb toddler meant my back had hurt this way for months. My mom brought a crock pot full of smooth black basalt stones. She and Evan took turns rubbing the hot rocks, slick and shiny with oil, over my back and hips. It felt so good. The rhythmic and ritualistic massage was the perfect focus. I’d suck my breath in at the start of a wave, the sign for a new hot rock, and together we would ooooooooh and circle our way through. We did that for what felt like years, but was probably just a few hours.

Suddenly my attitude changed. I got…bored? I was tired of working so hard. I was restless, annoyed, the rocks were irritating me. Everyone was irritating me. I felt stuck. I got up and tried a few different positions. Standing? No. Hands on bed? Nope. Leaning on Evan? No. Laying down? Oh, dear God, no. This sucks. I wanted a nap and to be left alone. Finally I settled for a deep lunge back at the foot of the bed. Deep, deeper lunge and then a little tiny pop, maybe felt, maybe imagined. A crossing of a threshold. “I can feel the baby in the birth canal.” I announced and I hoped I was right. I felt stupid, saying that. Birth canal. I waited for someone to correct me; “Let’s just make sure. No, it isn’t time yet.” But it never came. I was the authority here.

I wanted to want to push. That’s the best way I could describe it. I wanted to push this baby out. I tried. But it was like my muscles couldn’t remember what to do, like they couldn’t find traction. Ok. It isn’t time yet. Just be patient. More lunging, one knee up high, then the other. I could feel the pressure moving lower. I kept trying to try to push with every contraction. Nada. Finally I broke down and asked Shanna to check me. Like a good midwife she said only encouraging vagueness, lest her answer influence me one way or another. But, alas, the influence is in the observation and I thought for sure I had made it all up. I was still dialiating. The baby hadn’t moved down. It was all in my head. Shanna would have told me otherwise. Screw this.

I wandered out of the bedroom and figured I’d go pee while I was up. Some angelic soul (probably Zellene) had refilled the tub with fresh water. Steam curled from the surface. It looked scrumptious. I hadn’t planned a water birth. With Pippi’s labor the thought had been unappealing. I assumed I was solidly a land birther and if the baby was still high I might as well get back in for a while. I resumed my deep squat sandwiched between the walls of the tub when suddenly the whole house shook. I looked at Evan. “What was THAT?” “Your water just broke. I could feel it through the tub!” Immediately there was the baby. I panicked. “Shanna, the baby’s coming!” Everyone filled into the bathroom. “The baby’s coming!” I repeated, trying to convey my panic. “Now.” “That’s good.” Someone reassured. Didn’t they understand that there was a baby coming out, NOW?! With the girls I worked so hard to push them out. I didn’t have the self control to sink into the Ring of Fire and let them ease out; I was brute force and impatience. Now, I was simply so startled that all I could think of was keeping the baby in. I wasn’t ready. I even reached down as if to block the exit.

He was born nonetheless, into the water only a handful of eternal minutes after my water broke. I never did push. Felix, though here names don’t come until later, was born healthy and whole at home in the water at 3:28 PM. A boy — well that was something new. I scooped him up from between my legs with only a little untangling. We sat in the water. We nursed a bit. We said “Hi.” Then it was the long walk to the bed for the placenta. We didn’t make it. The midwives caught most of it, but I’m afraid that pile of books will never, ever be the same again.

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Everything was going well. The girls came home from Grandma’s and Belle cut the cord. We admired the placenta.

And now we are five.

Two hours after birth I started to bleed again. More and more. A trip to the bathroom resulted in a scene typical of a sitcom, the kind I always assumed was hyperbole, where everything turned gray and wavy and sounds became very distant, though only for a moment. The bleeding wouldn’t stop despite our collective bag of tricks, so we called it in.

The ambulance arrived just in time to worry my friends and neighbors. My sister herded the girls upstairs to the attic to play and they were never the wiser. The EMTs carried me down strapped into their stretcher-chair. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have made it down gracefully on my own, but it was still mortifying. Said a cordial Hello from my lofty position to my neighbor who had come by with congratulations (so awkward).

They sat the chair in front of the ambulance and waited. “Think you could climb into the ambulance?” “Sure.” I said. They waited. “But you’ll have to unstrap me first…” “Oh yeah. Sorry. Just a test!” “Did I pass? Can I go back upstairs to bed?” At least my snark remained unaffected. I didn’t want to go to the hospital, I didn’t feel that bad, but I was still bleeding. It was the responsible thing to do, though — go to the hospital before we tipped the scales from concerning to troublesome.

We spent a lot of time in triage, waiting. We hammed it up with the nurses. We waited. The bleeding slowed. When we finally went upstairs they hung a bag of Pit. It sucked, but it worked. Or, more likely, given just how very, very long we waited in triage, and that I had almost stopped bleeding before we were sent upstairs — the extra time gave my body a chance to catch up. I checked out physically and my blood work came back surprisingly reassuring. By 10 PM I was released and we headed for home. The trip to the hospital was a good decision, even if it wasn’t how I wanted to spend my evening. My gratitude to my midwives for making sure I was well cared for at all stages.

After pains tend to be worse with each baby, so by number three I had it coming, I knew it. But these were killer. I wasn’t bleeding much any more. My uterus was a nice hard grapefruit. No fever. But the cramps would knock me down and never really went away. On day three my mom came back to give Evan the adjustment he had missed. I got one, too, and suddenly, without a baby in the way, something in my back released that had been locked up for a very long time. I think a nerve, pinched for much of the third trimester, kept me from being able to push. We never did pin point the cause of the hemorrhage, though my diet-controlled anemic tendency was the most likely culprit.

We’re so happy to have you, little Flick. You make our family so joyful!

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