The (Not-According-to-Plan) Birth Story of My Son
Updated: Feb 20, 2021
The birth of my son didn't go how I planned. Before I ever conceived I had planned for a low intervention, natural, vaginal birth. And when I became pregnant that's what I worked toward. I got connected with a birthing center where I had my prenatal appointments with midwives. My husband and I hired a doula. I started taking a whole foods prenatal vitamin and we registered for organic and natural baby care products.
I am someone who prides myself on my health and wellness and this absolutely carried over into my pregnancy. I kept up my exercise regimen (I was running up until the week of his birth--three days before, in fact!), I focused on eating healthy veggies, bone broth, dates, and pregnancy tea, and cut out unsafe foods and drinks. When people asked me how I was feeling during pregnancy, I would answer "Good!" because truly from week one until I went into labor I did feel really good. My body adapted to pregnancy easily and it was great.
The ease of pregnancy gave me more confidence that the birth would go smoothly as well. I created a birth affirmations poster and envisioned a gentle, calm birth in the birthing center bathtub with dimmed lighting and my birthing playlist. I read many natural birthing books and practiced breathing techniques. I knew labor and birth would be hard but I was very optimistic and confident that with the work I put in and the strength I had built in other areas of my life such as achieving fitness goals, I would achieve the birth I imagined. Yes, I was still nervous about tearing and intimacy after birth, but I had made my padsicles and had my sitz bath and peri bottle at the ready.
There was practically nothing about birth I hadn't researched and prepared for--or so I thought.
Little did I know that my labor and birth story would take a drastic turn and I would end up in the operating room at the hospital being prepped for an emergency C-section.
Before I fill in the gaps of what happened between my confident preparation for birth and the birth of my baby by emergency C-section for NRFHR (Non-reassuring Fetal Heartrate), I'll say a word on how I and I think many in the natural birth community view(ed) C-sections; and that is, as too often unnecessary and possibly even as a failure on a birthing person's part to advocate for another option. At over 30 percent of all births in the U.S., I still believe that the C-section rate is much too high, but after being counted among that number, my thoughts on the matter are much more tempered to say the least. I went into my labor denying that a C-section would be a possibility for me. It was so anathema to all I held dear about what I envisioned for my birth and what I valued that I took the approach that if I prepared enough and willed it enough, it wouldn't happen. To me, a C-section represented the medical establishment (and this is another story, but I have a fraught history with doctors and the medical establishment that I have only recently been beginning to come to terms with and work through in a healthy way); it often happened to those who weren't aware of the cascade of interventions, and it left babies at a disadvantage from the start with the lack of oxytocin and delayed contact with their mother.
I had already cleared so many tests and hurdles. My pregnancy was the epitome of a low risk, healthy pregnancy. I passed the glucose test with flying colors, my placenta was initially low-lying, but at the second ultrasound it had moved, I tested negative for GBS, baby was in a head down position and was healthy at every appointment. My midwives and the doctor I saw for my two ultrasounds had both cleared me for a low risk, vaginal birth. Everything seemed to have fallen into place once I reached my 38th week of pregnancy, and now we were just awaiting the arrival of our little boy.
My birthday eve came on January 23rd when I was 38 weeks, two days, and hubby and I had planned a mini babymoon/staycation at a posh hotel downtown. It was only a few miles from our home, so we were close by in the event labor started and we needed to leave. We joked about baby Grayson coming on my birthday and I said he better not because I didn't want to have to share my birthday with him, but we didn't seriously think my labor would start then. After all, everyone warned me that it was much more likely for first-time moms to go past their due date.
We checked into the Jefferson and spent the late afternoon and evening luxuriating in the large bathroom and bed. We ordered room service, watched HGTV, and released all the oxytocin. ;) We fell asleep around 10:30-11pm.
Just after midnight on my birthday I woke with a start. My underwear were soaking. A shot of adrenaline got me out of bed so fast that Vinny also woke with a start. "I think my water broke," I told him shakily, half smiling, not having a clue what I was in for in the next 30 hours.
I searched frantically on my phone to find the instructions my doula had given me for what to do if I thought my water had broken: stay in polar bear for 15 minutes (elbows down, booty up position) and if you stand up and feel a gush, that's your water breaking. The fifteen minutes seemed endless. I told Vinny to place a towel on the carpet next to me in case there was a gush when I stood up.
There was a gush alright.
I had assumed it wouldn't be like in the movies, but oh, it was just like in the movies. We just stood there looking at each other for elongated seconds while it happened. Then we were like, "Okay, this is really happening."
Even though contractions hadn't really started at this point, we decided to go home. I had texted my doula and her instructions were to relax and do all I could to rest before labor really kicked in. She also said that she was teaching a training that day so I would likely be assisted by one of the other doulas which I was disappointed about at first, but we ended up absolutely loving our stand-in doula.
Back at home I made sure my birth bags were packed (we had brought them to the hotel anyway just in case) and I crawled into bed. Sleep was not about to come, though. If I had known I would barely sleep for the next few days, I probably would have tried a bit harder, but my adrenaline was through the roof. Around 3am contractions began in earnest and the first bit of fear mixed with my excitement. Throughout this time we were contacting my doula and midwives. They were giving us advice and suggested I try a warm bath. I did, but contractions only intensified. Pretty soon my contractions were coming closer together and I was fully immersed in the intensity of them. Our stand-in doula arrived and we worked on breathing through the contractions. We tried different laboring positions both upstairs and downstairs, in the bathroom, on the bed. By this point, I just wanted to go to the birthing center and get in their big tub and hopefully have my baby soon.
We arrived at the birthing center just after 8am on my birthday. I labored there for a bit and then one of the midwives did a cervical exam.
I was only two centimeters dilated. "You've still got some work to do," she said, and my heart plummeted. I already felt like I was nearing my limit, and I was beginning to realize this may be only the beginning. The midwives suggested I go back home where I could be most comfortable. The car ride back was agony. I labored at home several more hours before we again drove to the birthing center. It has to be soon now, I thought.
Again, my midwives performed a cervical exam. I could tell by their faces that it wasn't positive news. I was only five centimeters dilated. At that point I was so consumed by pain that having to accept that my son's birth was still an interminable amount of time away was crushing. Still, I labored on. I labored in the tub, on the bed, on the toilet, on the rebozo. I nearly broke my husband's fingers and probably those of my doula and midwives too. I could barely form a coherent sentence at this point but I was still acutely cognizant of the pain and what I would have to endure. Where was the oxytocin that was supposed to be getting me through this active labor stage??
The hours dragged on in elongated waves of pain. I was experiencing double peaking contractions at this point and my body had expelled everything it had in it. After throwing up I felt temporary relief, but it wasn't long before the nausea came back. My voice was so hoarse from yelling through the contractions and my throat felt like an inflamed desert even though my husband or doula gave me a sip of water after almost every contraction. On top of this, my midwives had picked up a decel on the doppler heartrate monitor which was concerning for baby.
Because of this, they monitored his heartbeat as I labored. We decided to have another cervical exam at this point and my midwife asked if she could do the exam while I had a contraction to check what was going on with baby while my body experienced a contraction.
After the exam, my heart plummeted further. I was still only at six to seven centimeters dilated, and when I experienced a contraction, baby's head came down a bit but was actually going further back after the contraction receded.
Shortly after, when my midwife gently said that I could keep laboring there if I wished but that going to the hospital for an epidural to get some rest because I was clearly spent may be the best option, I didn't argue.
I've pondered pain a lot, both before and after labor. I've run many races including a marathon. I've gotten some pretty terrible injuries, including a laceration to my arm, a sprained ankle, injured IT bands, and more, but nothing compared to this pain. I had always thought I could push through pain if it had a purpose (a baby!), but when I was in it, it was all-consuming. I felt like a shell of myself. The duration and intensity had stripped away all inhibitions and other desires so that all I wanted in this life was relief from the blinding waves of pain.
Post-labor I am left wondering how women who claim to have had a pain free birth did it. Did the breathing techniques truly get them through? I spoke to my midwife post-birth and voiced my disappointment that I wasn't able to get to that place of zen, but she assured me that wasn't why the birth didn't go as I planned. Perhaps, as she told me, I simply had a particularly rough labor. Was it really much harder than most? I can't say and I don't want to scare any other first-time moms (I'd still try for a natural birth if I have another baby--but I'd have the epidural on deck, if for nothing more than peace of mind). My experience is my own and everyone's birth story is different, which is why I want to tell mine.
All I can say at this point in the story is THANK GOD for our doula. As a sidenote, I used to view doulas only as compatible with a natural, vaginal birth, but as much as our doula (stand-in doula at that--we had never met previously except briefly via Zoom) was helpful in my labor, she was absolutely essential for that midnight transfer to the hospital. She packed my bags in no time and we followed her since she knew exactly where to go. She is a master of anticipating needs and taking care of them. Hospitals are big conglomerates in my mind, and in the state I was in it would have been hellish to have to figure out where we should park and where to go. In this case, all I had to do was focus on getting through each contraction and follow my husband who was following our doula. We got into the hospital (I was yelling/breathing through a contraction right in the lobby) and were quickly led to a room where intake procedures were started and I began to be prepped for an epidural. At this point the contractions were still agonizing but with each one I told myself that relief was coming and that did help.
That was really what got to me at the birthing center: having no end in sight. If my midwives had been more optimistic and assured me that I was close I think I would have been able to draw on some last mental reserve to get through the physical pain, but knowing that it would likely be hours yet till I even got to the pushing stage in my exhausted, hurting, nauseated state was too much.
So there I was in the hospital waiting on the bag of fluids to get into my system so I could get the epidural. I know at that point I was so engulfed by the pain that my inhibitions were gone and I kept asking everyone how long it would be. Finally, the anesthesiologist came in. He was prepping his tools and letting me know what was going to happen when a Code Blue came through. Literally as he was about to insert the needle into my spine, he had to lay it back down and attend to this emergency first. While rationally I knew a woman experiencing pain from labor with no other known complications was not an emergency, I sure felt like it was. As the anesthesiologist left the room, I remember looking at my doula and nearly breaking down in tears. "I can't," I told her and everyone else in the room, not caring how whiny I sounded.
I can now see the humor in that part of the story, along with my water breaking so dramatically at the Jefferson hours earlier, but at the time it was a living hell. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was back in what was probably about 15 minutes. And this time he administered the epidural and I began to feel some relief. It was honestly like I came back into my body which was completely opposite of what I had believed it would feel like before experiencing labor. I hadn't wanted pain relief because I thought having a natural birth and listening to my body would be my best chance to be in tune with my labor and my baby. I still wish that were true for me, but once I felt that pain dull it was euphoria. I could talk again. I could thank my husband and doula for all they were doing. My husband even commented that my eyes looked normal and not glazed over. Labor for me was truly an out of body experience, and sadly, not a positive one.
I wish that I can say that the epidural worked to relax me and my labor progressed from that point forward, but soon there were nurses and doctors coming into our room while we tried to rest, concerned about more decels as they monitored baby's heartbeat. They told me my labor still wasn't progressing, and in fact my contractions were spacing out. They wanted to give me Pitocin, but couldn't due to baby's unstable heartrate. They thought perhaps his cord was around his neck and was restricting his oxygen due to loss of amniotic fluid for him to float in. At this point, I had the added risk of having my water broken for over 24 hours.
A couple hours went by with nurses and doctors coming and going, monitoring baby's heartrate. It had stabilized somewhat but was still showing concerning dips, and my contractions were now spaced out to nine minutes. They tried inserting more fluid to see if that would get his heartrate back up to normal, but that proved unsuccessful. Then, some time around 4:30am the doctor and nurses came in, clearly concerned. They put an oxygen mask to my face and told me to take deep breaths for the baby. His heartrate was plummeting. My doula later told me it was in the 80s and 90s when it should have been in the 130s or 140s. These moments are mostly a blur to me, but before I knew it the doctor and nurses had started to hurriedly wheel me out of the room. The panic that knifed through my body when I heard "C-section" is still hard to bear as I write this. Here was everything I had tried to avoid. It felt like I was catapulting down the road of ultimate failure in this birth, and now I was scared for my baby too.
Next I knew I was in the operating room and I focused on understanding what was concerning the doctor and nurses to warrant such a hurried procedure. They explained that baby was showing signs of distress and that since my labor wasn't progressing and Pitocin wasn't an option, a C-section was necessary. As they hooked up baby's heartrate monitor in the OR, I said I needed to talk to my husband and doula. They told me I could once they made sure baby's heartrate was stable enough. It was and soon Vinny and our doula were with me, even though they had initially told me no one but spouses were allowed in the OR.
My doula and husband assured me this was a case in which a C-section really was necessary. Knowing my doula was an advocate of natural birth and hearing her say this was comforting. "I trust you," I told her. The midwife on staff at the hospital also told me that she had four daughters and two granddaughters and if any of them had been in my situation she would have told them to have the C-section too. I asked the doctor one more time to ensure that this really was the only option and she assured me it was.
At that point, by God's grace, I was able to accept it. I even somehow felt a flood of peace like the oxytocin that I had been waiting for all this time. I asked the doctor for a "Gentle Cesarean"--delayed cord cutting (as much as they can delay it in a C-section--my doula tells me it is one minute), as soon as possible skin-to-skin with baby, and a vaginal swab so that baby could absorb my microbiome since he wouldn't be passing through the birth canal. In that moment, as the medical staff promptly complied with these wishes, wiping the vaginal swab on my chest to prepare for initial skin-to-skin with baby, I was glad I hadn't skipped over the sections on C-section delivery in all those books I had read. It was serving me well.
I was told I would feel some pressure, but there was no pain. The surgery itself didn't scare me and I felt calm. In only a few minutes, my husband and I heard the precious cry of our son. Soon after, he was put on my chest. His head showed how hard the two of us had worked to get him out, but otherwise he looked perfectly healthy. In those first few minutes he even opened his tiny mouth and wanted to latch.
While my husband, doula, and I marveled at our baby, one of the nurses showed me my placenta which I had requested to see and save. The doctor worked quickly to stitch up my incision and I was transferred to another bed and wheeled back to our room.
The actual C-section procedure was less traumatic than I would have imagined, but it was the unexpectedness that was difficult for me. The flood of emotions and the disparity between the birth I planned for and envisioned and the birth that would become my and my son's story is something that was extremely difficult to grapple with, especially in the first few days postpartum. Although the physical healing has been fairly straightforward, the emotional toll is something that I know will take time to fully process.
Our doula stayed with us through baby Grayson's first exams (an APGAR score of nine!) and helped me to begin breastfeeding. Then we were taken upstairs to rest and recover.
We were in the hospital two nights (three if you count the night we got there around 1am from the birthing center), and we were honestly so impressed and thankful for the level of care we received (Shoutout to Henrico Doctors Hospital!). We somehow got a whole suite, and it felt like we had servants who would bring us food and anything we needed at all hours of the day and night. After what we went through, this was such a blessing.
So. The birth story of my son was hard. Unexpected. Painful, physically and emotionally. At first I felt deeply saddened by the turn of events and not being able to give my baby the gentle birth I wanted, but already that sadness is fading and is being replaced by strength. The quiet strength of deeper empathy and compassion, of knowing that I am capable of enduring circumstances that take a turn for the worse and are beyond my control. What at first felt disempowering has already spread nascent wings of resilience in my life.
So many people have already spoken into the gamut of emotions I have felt. My birth center midwives, midwives at the hospital, my mother, my doula. Their words have been a balm for my soul. My mother said that just because I didn't have the birth I wanted doesn't mean it wasn't a "natural" birth, and that my son's life will ultimately eclipse the way he came into this world. My midwife encouraged me to tell this story, especially so that other "natural" mamas would know that sometimes birth doesn't go as planned and that's okay. My doula helped me process what happened since she was there every step of the way and said that perhaps I am cut out for birth work since I got to experience the full spectrum of labor in a birthing center to an emergency medical procedure to bring my son into the world.
Author and podcaster Ally Fallon whom I have never met but believe is a kindred spirit had posted this on her Instagram the day we came home from the hospital, and it deeply spoke to me:
"Do you believe everything happens for a reason? I do not. I used to but now I believe things happen - period - and that we assign or prescribe meaning to what takes place.
Because we get to invent the meaning, we get to create our reality in a way. Not because we can manipulate circumstances (we often can’t). But because when it comes to 'why' this happened, we get to decide.
And in fact sometimes the reason we pick is... 🤷🏻♀️
When Nella was born, I planned to have a birth center birth. I meditated and visualized myself in that bath tub and with all my support people present. I spent a hundred hours probably preparing for the birth I wanted to have. And for some reason (that only I get to invent) I ended up being rushed to the hospital with sky-high blood pressure and laboring for over 3 hours alone (@mmford26 wasn’t allowed to come up until he 'passed a health inspection' although there was literally no reason they wouldn’t let him up) only to have Nella rushed to the NICU when she was born. I didn’t see her for two days after that.
It was NOT the birth I imagined.
But my point is that when things don’t go the way we plan or want, we get to decide what kind of story we make up about 'why'. Is it because I did something wrong or didn’t work hard enough to get the birth I wanted? Or is it because sometimes things just don’t turn out the way we plan?
I am the only one who can make meaning of my story. And the meaning I make will impact the way I see myself in the story, the way I experience myself in the world, and the way I experience my life.
I’m convinced most of our suffering in life comes from the meaning we make of our stories. If we can let go of needing the meaning to be one certain way, I believe we can open up infinite possibilities for how we experience ourselves and our lives."
I do believe and am continually choosing to believe that it was God's Providence that got me to the end of my endurance rope and made me open to transferring to the hospital for an epidural. It very well may have saved my baby's life. Plus, having the epidural already administered when baby's heartrate began dropping fast ensured I wouldn't have to be put under general anesthesia which would have been much worse and prevented me from witnessing my baby's first moments. I'm sure there is deeper meaning to this experience and this story than I even now know. Perhaps I will know it more fully in this life, and perhaps I won't.
I am grateful for the help we received throughout our son's birth. And I truly mean HELP. I am a reserved person and don't let my inhibitions down lightly, but birth forces you to let go of everything, and in the process I have experienced a closeness with people that I can't remember ever having experiencing before, COVID notwithstanding.
I am just over one week postpartum and it is still so early in this journey that I don't intend for this story to be neatly tied up in a bow; but I hope it may offer some encouragement, whether you are pregnant or experiencing anything else in life that is just simply HARD. I think I've often sailed through life like a golden child, but contrary to what I may have thought, this trial hasn't broken me. Or perhaps it has broken me in a way, but it is the brokenness that is the bridge to empathy. It is painful for a time, but ultimately beautiful.
Oh, and my baby? Still so so worth it.
*Thanks to our doula, Hunter Moore, for most of these pictures. Unobtrusive photographer: just another of the many job descriptions of a doula.
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