I have a pretty awesome friend who left Colorado (TEARS!) and moved back to her home state a few years back. Despite the distance, we keep in touch and she happens to have just had baby numero dos. Here, she writes about encapsulating her placenta. There are so many things to say about this. First, I think the idea behind doing this is awesome. If there is a way to prevent postpartum depression/anxiety, increase milk supply, decrease bleeding…why not? The idea of eating ones placenta, however, is not appetizing so I am grateful for the amazing women who have figured out a way to make them into vitamin-like capsules. I will write a more detailed post about this with more research and links at a later time. For now, enjoy reading about a personal experience.
In honor of Evelyn’s 2nd birthday, I am re-posting the story of her birth. I always get so nostalgic around my baby’s births. I relive every minute leading up to their arrival and am filled with so much joy recalling their special day. Evelyn’s birth was incredible. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoy sharing it.
…was my own. This is the birth story of Evelyn Taylor who made her way Earth side on Monday, May 20th at 5:39pm weighing 6 pounds & 14 ounces and stretching out to 18 and 3/4 inches. Her story begins on Sunday, May 19th…
On Sunday morning I woke up feeling tired, which was nothing new, but I could barely keep my eyes open. B headed to work and it was just me and Logan for the day. However, I knew I had to get some help with Logan so I called my parents and they gladly took him for several hours so I could sleep some more. As I was getting Logan ready I noticed contractions coming and going. This was nothing new as I had been in prodormal labor for weeks at this point. Of course I secretly hoped “today is the day” but all the false labor did not have me convinced.
I came home, ate some lunch and slept for a few hours through some mild contractions. Around 1:30 I woke up, feeling a lot more cramps in my low back. Again, I had been feeling these pains on and off for several days, but noticed they started off very close together, 2-3 minutes apart and rather uncomfortable. I updated my parents and B and tried to see if I could get labor going. I was still not sure if this was the real deal, but I figured walking and bouncing on the ball would help if it was.
After a few hours, I called B to come home a little early. I was beginning to think this was going to be the night and we had to get some things together. My parents had to drop Logan back off with us for a few hours before we left. I wanted to try and labor at home as long as possible. As of the previous Friday, I was 2cm dilated and 50% effaced with a very posterior cervix. So I labored away, contractions coming a little stronger and still every 2-3 minutes apart. Logan and I walked around our cul de sac as it was a beautiful night. The dogs ran around the circle with us and I knew this would be the last thing I would be doing with Logan before he became a big brother. Somehow, I held my emotions together most of the evening until it was time for us to leave for the hospital.
I was bouncing on the ball watching Bruno Mars open up the Billboard Music Awards. I had already called the triage nurse and was instructed it was time to come in. I called the hospital and everyone was ready for us. So I took Logan into my arms and told him his sister was going to be coming today, that he was going to be a big brother. I told him we were going back to Lolly and Pop Pop’s so he could have a sleep over with Pop Pop and then tomorrow, Grandma Mac would come and play with him after school. He seemed to understand everything, repeating what I told him. My eyes filled and I gave him a huge hug and kiss. Logan hates seeing me cry so I choked back the tears and off we went.
We dropped Logan off with my dad and picked my mom up. She and B were going to be my birth partners, taking turns helping me through this birthing process. We had a 30 minute drive to the hospital. Contractions stayed regular. Everything everyone else says about labor in a car is true–it sucks!! I could not wait to get to the hospital!
We arrived at the hospital just after 8pm. I was still 2cm and 50% so I got into the tub to see if that would help relax me. It worked! After 2 hours I was nearly 4cm and was admitted. The first attempt to get a hep lock in blew my vein but the 2nd one was done beautifully. The best part was that I did not need to be hooked up to anything. I was drinking plenty of water on my own and it was “just in case” and hospital policy.
I love the midwife, Lani, who was there when I walked in but she was off at 7am Monday morning. At this point, I’m very vague as to the timing of certain checks, but I would guess that between 10pm and 2am we walked the halls, I got back into the tub, and prayed for progress. Labor pains were still manageable but strong enough for me to stop and breathe. I was no longer able to talk through them. Around 5am I was checked again and made a little more progress, nearly 5cm with a bulging bag of waters. Up until this point, though I had been admitted, I had been laboring for over 12 hours and was making very slow progress. Both the nurses and my midwife talked about letting us go home to labor on our own, but I knew that was a bad idea. I knew my anxiety would shoot through the roof. I’d have no idea when it would be time for us to come back and that was another hour round trip in the car going through much harder labor than hours before. So when we found I was 5cm with a bulging bag, we all agreed that breaking my water was the best choice. At this point, I had been awake for over 24 hours and was really starting to feel exhausted.
After my water broke, we kept walking the halls. SIX hours later and I had made NO progress. I was so upset. At this point, I wasn’t going home because my water was broken so we decided that if by 1pm I was still 6cm we would start some pitocin. I labored on some more, contractions getting much stronger. We all really thought this meant I was progressing and baby was coming down more.
Around 1:30pm, Cassie, my midwife, came and checked me again. NOTHING. Maybe some more effacement around 75%, so it was time for some pitocin. My body was in labor, but taking it’s sweet time. Problem was I was so terribly tired I could barely keep my eyes open and I needed a break. Pitocin does not offer breaks! As they hooked me up to the pitocin, my nurse started things off nice and slow and I was given some fentenyl to take the edge off and help me rest. I laid in bed for about an hour. Contractions kind of went all over the place for a bit, but once the pitocin was flowing the contractions became really strong and very regular, about 2 minutes apart. Around 4:30pm I started begging for an epidural. My mom kept asking me if I was sure and I kept yelling yes! A true sign of transition. 😉
Some fluids were hooked up and I was given another dose of fentenyl as there was someone in front of me for the epidural. I was starting to lose it. Everything was an absolute blur. I could not move in bed. I just sat up and grabbed both sides of the bed, shaking my legs back and forth during contractions that were now nearly on top of each other. I was breathing hard and fast which made me feel light headed between contractions but I almost think that was a good thing. It was almost euphoric for a few seconds. This is where I realize now that the pains were not going to get any worse. With Logan’s birth, I was saying “no, no, no!” over and over again. It was only moments before Evie was born that I started to say things like “no!” and “where is my effing epidural?!”
My nurse Marilyn was amazing. She was so calm and supportive the entire time I labored. At one point she suggested she better check me because 2nd babies come faster. I was 8cm and fully effaced. She set everything up. Cassie came in to check on me and said she’d be in the OR training but as soon as I needed her she would be there. Moments later the anesthesiologist walked in. I said, “Thank you Jesus!!” I wonder how many women say that to him. 😉 He started to work very quickly. There were no breaks for me anymore and I was certain I was dying. Obviously, I wasn’t…it was just only a few moments before baby would come. He had me sit up and lean over a table. The change in position must have been all baby needed to really come down because I was suddenly pushing and could feel her head right there! The anesthesiologist had placed the cath and administered a small dose, but there was no relief and before I knew it I was screaming that I couldn’t stop pushing. I leaned over, almost on top of all the needles and things needed for the epidural.
Nurses filled the room and Cassie was still not there. Another doctor showed up, ready to deliver the baby and I yelled for someone to go get Cassie (which I know someone already had). She was really the only one I wanted to catch my baby. Then, she was there. She sat on the side of the bed. She made me look at her and she coached me through 3 of the most intense pushes and pain I have ever experienced in my entire life. I even remember yelling “I feel everything!!” and she said that was how it was going to be. As baby crowned she had me breathe her head out. I felt the ring of fire and remember telling myself it was for just a few seconds. Baby’s head would be out and the fire would go away. One more push and baby slid right into my hands. Cassie helped her head out and I reached down and caught my baby! I pulled her up onto my chest. She had a short cord so she laid mostly on my stomach. I spread the legs apart, B standing just to my right and together we saw she was a girl! We exclaimed with joy that baby was a girl and we all started to cry and laugh! I knew she was a girl and Logan especially knew he was going to have a sister.
Evie was covered in vernix. She had it in her ears and all over her little body. She was slow to pink up so she had some O2 placed over her face. She was so calm, barely cried. We waited for the cord to stop pulsing before B cut it. Evie pinked up quickly and the O2 was removed. She stayed on my chest for an entire hour while I delivered the placenta. I recall thinking, “oh yeah that thing has to come out too…” and it did easily. Cassie fixed a small tear with a few stitches and soon enough I was cleaned up and just enjoying my baby girl. Logan and B’s mom came by. Logan was a little overwhelmed by all the lights and instruments around the room, but he did take a few moments to say hi to me and his new sister. He gave me a “Mama” necklace and Evie a pink monkey. Their visit was short but just what I needed to get through the rest of the night without my first born.
It was a few hours before we were moved over to women’s care. I was able to get up and go to the bathroom on my own, something which I had not been able to do for several hours after Logan was born due to the epidural.
Putting this birth into words is hard. Yes, I wrote out as much as I could but to capture how truly incredible it was feels impossible. I’m still in awe that I gave birth naturally, without an epidural and so quickly. We figure my labor was just under 20 hours and less than 5 minutes of pushing. As far as a 2nd birth goes, the only part that seemed typical was how quickly she was born and I am so grateful that when she was ready, she came.
It’s no surprise to anyone in the birthing community that breastfeeding is being more heavily encouraged. More hospitals are obtaining an official “Baby Friendly Hospital” status, which means that baby will be placed skin to skin, encouraged to nurse within the first hour, room in with mom, and breastfeeding encouragement throughout the mom’s stay. She is given a pumping kit to use and take home as she tries to help her milk come in. Sometimes, mom may use a spoon or syringe to feed baby the tiny drops of precious colostrum while they both continue to learn how to latch and nurse. This all sounds wonderful, right? Sometimes, it’s not. Sometimes, breastfeeding is just not going to work. Or maybe it does, but mom feels frustrated or is in pain. There are a laundry list of reasons why breastfeeding may or may not work out. Here is the one thing you need to know, my friends, that ANY amount of breastfeeding is awesome, even if it is only for one day! You did it!! Don’t you let ANYONE discourage you or tell you that you “failed” at breastfeeding.
Below, is a story that a mom shared on a motherhood group I’m apart of on Facebook. This group has nearly 1000 members. Of all the stories and questions I’ve ever seen there, this story struck my heart. Right to the core. I was instantly weeping for this woman. With her permission, I am sharing her story below. As a warning, this may trigger something you’ve experienced. It involves breastfeeding, three-stepping, and post-partum depression. I have talked with Chelsea a few times since she shared her story and she’s an incredible mother!! I feel honored to share her story. I know she is not alone. If you or someone you know has experienced something similar, please share this post.
This is the saddest thing I will ever write…ever. It makes me even sadder that I want to share it because that means that someone else is just as sad and needs to hear this to validate their sadness and hopefully feel understood. I felt completely misunderstood and like a flat our terrorist in my community of Colorado Crunchy Mothers when I “failed” at breastfeeding.
It all started out so well. I am a yoga teacher, fit, fertile, and was READY to have a baby! I got knocked up on my first try after getting my IUD yanked and man was I ready to be a Mommy! My husband and I moved out of the city back to our small town “community” of friends and family and my other family known as my “yoga family.” As the cosmos would have it we all got pregnant within WEEKS of one another. A bunch of us would gather at our studio for our prenatal yoga classes then waddle down the block to gorge on ribs and cake, feeling blissful about being able to indulge during our pregnancies. Ahhh, bliss! We all talked about our plans to chant mantra during our contractions and some of us wanted home births some of us too scared to do so BUT, would totally have a Doula there, no matter what to tell our Doctors (who have a PHD not a Doula Cert) to shove it when we beg for pain meds. Yes, we all had a plan…
Then we all signed up for a “Goddess Breastfeeding Course.” Wowza was this some crazy informational stuff; there was even a PowerPoint presentation! I bought a copy of Ina May’s “Guide to Breastfeeding,” and read it cover to cover. I was ready. Ready for my “as natural” as possible childbirth and my breastfeeding success! I even went as far as being a bit of a snark to new Mom’s in my “Welcome to Motherhood” Facebook group who were “struggling” to nurse. I think I even said something like…”read this book and it will fix all your problems,” or “don’t you know how easy this should be? It is our gift to our babies..blah blah fuck me, blah.” So yeah, I was a psycho preggo bitch who had not a CLUE what the hell I was up against. So that is how it went for my second trimester. Prenatal yoga, ribs, boobs, birth, yadda yadda. I felt good.
Then my crotch started to hurt, like hurt nonstop and I started to not be able to walk as easily then one day I fell. My back went out and I fell on the floor and was stuck there for hours before my husband came home and found me. This was the beginning of the end…the end of all of my prenatal dreams, my mental health, my nursing efforts…my everything. I was diagnosed with SPD, which basically means my vagina was expanding too much. Ouch, huh. So, I was put on pain meds for the remainder of my pregnancy and was also restricted from yoga, exercise and existing in the world altogether. Depression set in, and it got really scary.
My midwife was concerned and wanted to put me on anti-depressants during my 36th week but I refused, worried that it would get passed along to the baby in my milk, because I was still going to nurse damnit! I knew deep down I was headed for a C-Section but I kept it secret and kept up with my crunchy friends and their amazing pregnancies. They all felt sorry for me but told me to hang in there, they will BE THERE FOR ME. Famous last words.
After 3 months of misery I went in for a prenatal visit to find out that we needed to go ahead and get baby out. My fluid was low and I was in so much pain it wasn’t really worth the wait anymore…we were a bit scared. I went in the next morning with all of my loving family by my side, my amazing husband who had put up with my craziness (crazy was just starting by the way, he had no idea what was yet to come) and checked into the hospital, ready to go. Within 45 minutes my son was out, squealing and totally folded in half, frank breech and 7lb 8oz. I was so happy to have him OUT! I was reunited with him in recovery very fast and we started nursing right away. It didn’t even hurt and I got this insane drunk love feeling that rocked my world…I was hooked.
That first day would be the only day that I felt this way…
In Colorado, we had the flood of the century the day my son was born in September. It was national news and my doctors were running around like chickens with their heads cut off treating patients from surround hospitals that were not accessible. We began to fall through the cracks. I had amazing nurses, amazing! They all helped with the latch which was not going well and were all sympathetic to my fatigue and even showed me how to use my breast pump which we were seeing some colostrum come out of. However my son was not amazing, he was miserable. He screamed nonstop for the first 3 days of his life, only stopping out of sheer exhaustion and what I can only imagine defeat from not being fed. He began to turn yellow and look thin but I was in such a haze I didn’t really notice. Then the nurses started to raise their eyebrow at my mental condition. My midwife stopped my husband in the hall and said “watch her, I am worried…” I was a mess…my mother came to my side and begged me to rest but no, I had to get this nursing down, I had to it was vital. Everything else had been ripped from me; I had to get this right.
A new nurse came in the last day I was in the hospital. She was pregnant and so sweet. She took one look at my situation and suggested we “supplement.” I had been warned of this phrase, RED ALERT! NO! My husband was beginning to get angry and he is cool by nature. He made the call, he gave my son his first bottle of formula. My son sighed and cooed and drank it up like his life depended on it, which it may have. Meanwhile, I had not gotten a weight on my son since his birth, and we were about to be discharged. I asked the nurses to weigh him and I heard gasps from all of them. “That cannot be right, weigh him again.” Silence. “Oh, my, god.” The lactation consultant came over and said he had dropped 20% of his body weight to 6.4lbs and we had to alert the pediatrician right away. The pediatrician who had signed our discharge papers, the one who SAID we could go home. My poor baby, he had morphed from a healthy glowing bundle to a yellow, eyes clenched shut, stiff, stressed infant that was not happy…I decided to give in. We gave him formula the rest of the day and they let us go home, and we had a follow up the next day. I snapped a picture of him at the hospital on our way out in his going home outfit, and to this day it haunts me. He looks terrifyingly unhealthy and I save it as a reminder of how far we have come.
At the follow up they gave me what is called a 3 step plan. This plan means you nurse, supplement and pump…EVERY single time you feed. Around the clock. So, I had my hospital grade pump rented from the pharmacy and that is what I did for 3 weeks. I was delirious, I was so drained I couldn’t even muster up the energy to leave the house, eat or shower. I sat on the couch with my boppy, baby, pump and tiny bottle of formula. The rare times my son was satiated from nursing only gave me small triumphs that kept me going. Meanwhile, my Crunchy Mom Friends were all having their babies and their boobs were turning into Pam Anderson boobies and flowing milk and oxytocin bliss all over the place. Mine were not. Mine were pitifully producing hardly anything and that blissful feeling of drunk love was lingering and then soon gone.
This went on for another 3 weeks…It was then I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. My midwife took one look at me and said here is a prescription and you need to go buy formula, lots of it and use it. This has to stop. You cannot sustain this. I had just come to terms with this on the long ride home when my family arrived to see the baby. I heard a knock at the door and my neighbor bum rushed me and grabbed my son and looked dead into my eyes and said, “How is nursing going?” I quietly replied that I was trying but was having a tough time. “Awe, well don’t give up, it is the best thing you know. You have a good looking husband, a beautiful son why are you so sad?…blah blah blah,” I tuned out after that. My sister in law braced me and I excused myself into my bathroom where I wept for the millionth time, cursed god and grew even further from my son emotionally.
Meanwhile my friends were also giving me the same guilt trip but not a ONE came over to check on me or ask me how I was doing emotionally. I was falling apart. I even received an email from a friend (a man friend) saying I was a child abuser for using formula and that I was setting my son up for failure…this person has a Master’s Degree…and is an asshole.
This was it, I shut down I lost it. I was still 3 stepping my nursing and it was becoming exhausting. The only time I actually saw my son was to nurse him. Other than that my husband would take care of him or me…which was exhausting for him. I would send him to buy formula because I was too ashamed to do it myself. I would hide in my car and mix bottles of formula and hope people would think it was pumped breast milk I was giving to my baby. I started seeing a therapist at this point and taking medication.
I had become a total stranger in my body. I didn’t even recognize myself. I also gained more weight than I had during pregnancy because I was eating all the crap my friends suggested, taking supplements that made me sick and was NOT sleeping or taking care of myself. I was a train wreck for the first 3 months. On the day my son turned 3 months old I sat in bed and looked my husband in the eye and said, “I need you to tell me to stop, I need you to say Chelsea, stop this and it will all be ok.” So he did and I cried and died a little inside.
Later my friends and family would say things like, “you tried harder than anyone I have ever seen! You did your best.” The only people who told me I was a success was my husband my mother and my new friends who were not crunchy. “You did it for 3 months! You did it! You succeeded, not failed!” I still didn’t buy it until around 6 months postpartum. The fog started to lift a bit and I was dried up so my son wasn’t screaming every time I held him and I started to make bottles like it was second nature. They no longer felt like hot torches of failure in my hands, they felt comforting! I thought how amazingly lucky I am…to be able to have access to formula for my son. I am thankful to have the means to afford formula for my son. How thankful and blessed I am for that.
I changed myself forever during this process. I purged the judgmental, know it all person and turned into a humble, kind, grateful person who wants more than anything to advocate for new mothers struggling with mental illness and breastfeeding challenges. That shit is no joke. I was on the verge of being put into an institution and my doctors thankfully decided I was sane enough to go home and safely take care of my baby after they saw me at my 3-month postnatal checkup.
I have made new friends who feel for me and can appreciate my struggle and not judge me for how I feed my child. They judge my character, my authenticity as a person, as a mother and for the love I show when I feed my baby and when I do all the things Mommies do for their babies. I am a mother, I may not be perfect but I fought someone else’s war. I fought a war not meant for me. I fought out of fear, the fear of not fitting into everyone’s ideals of motherhood. That is my only regret. I do not regret switching to formula, I do not regret ditching those crunchy nut job friends and I do not regret the negativity I got from others…I regret the fear and letting that rule my first few months of motherhood.
That is the saddest thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve written it now, and I hope that someone out there reads this and I hope you are not as sad as I was. Know that you are loved, so loving and amazing. You create your reality with your baby; do not let fear create a chaotic, judging environment. I am happy to say that today my son is awesome, in every way possible! He is 18lbs 4 oz and is almost 9 months old and is the light of my life. I am hoping by sharing this story I can shed the last of my pain, let it go…air it out. My son said “ma ma” today and looked at me. I cried and knew it was time to share this.
Now go mix up that bottle Mama, and love that baby.
No better way to kick off new birth stories than to share one from a mom who’s already shared a previous birth story! Heather is a dear friend and recently had her second baby last spring. You can read her first birth story of her daughter Julie HERE. This is an amazing display of natural, hospital birth where mom and dad maintain control, while also allowing their midwife and staff to care for them. Also, this is the definition of a precipitous birth! Heather, you nearly had a baby at home, my love! 😉
Clark’s Birth Story
I started losing my plug at 35 weeks and 2 days. That combined with the fact that my first baby arrived at 38 weeks and 2 days had me convinced this one would be early too. I was a little worried because my husband was best man at a wedding in Texas (we live in Colorado) that fell right on my 38 week mark. So, while I was very ready for the baby to come, I was hoping he/she hold out so that Dad could be there too. As it turned out, there was no need to worry.
Despite wind storms, snow storms, and lots of false starts, May 10 came and went. Although I knew it’s not physically possible to be pregnant forever, it was sure starting to feel like I would be! I made my appointments for non-stress tests and ultrasounds and my induction date was set for May 24. My husband and I agreed that we wanted to leave no stone unturned before then in terms of getting things moving without medication. We continued walking everyday, I ramped up squats and started drinking more raspberry leaf tea. I went to the chiropractor and she suggested acupuncture, which we ultimately decided was worth a try.
Monday, May 12, I went to work as usual. As I was expecting to be gone by this point, there wasn’t much for me to do. I tinkered around with some things and then left a little early and headed to the chiropractor for my acupuncture session. I left feeling no different and with a follow up appointment scheduled for the next day. About 4:30 or so on Tuesday morning, I woke up with a useful feeling contraction, but after so many false starts that petered out after an hour or so, I refused to get my hopes up. I went to the bathroom and lie back down knowing that my daughter would be up soon.
Contractions continued, strong enough that I had to concentrate on them, but still nothing I hadn’t felt before. Like clockwork, my daughter got up at 5 and I went in to get her, thinking I’d let my husband sleep in a bit since I was already up. I had another contraction in the middle of our good morning conversation and I actually had to stop talking and brace myself. That’s when I knew the baby was coming for real. I went in to tell my husband that I was pretty sure it was the day, but I wanted to eat something and see how things played out before we alerted everyone (my in-laws were staying with us to watch our daughter while we were in the hospital). I texted our doula, around 5:30 or 5:45 just to let her know I’d had a few pretty serious contractions and that I was planning to eat breakfast and keep her posted.
My husband made my daughter breakfast and I started making some cream of wheat for myself, but the contractions were strong enough that I really wanted to be in a quiet area so I headed back upstairs. By the time my husband came up with my abandoned cream of wheat, I was starting to need help during my contractions. I had set up the heating pad on my back and was riding through contractions as best as I could on my hands and knees. My husband called our doula and the midwife’s office a little after 6. The midwife on call asked if we’d like to meet her at the office for a check before going over to the hospital or if we’d like to stay home a bit longer. My husband told her we were going to stay home; I was convinced I wasn’t very far along.
My contractions were strong but coming at very irregular intervals. I’d have a long one and then right after it ended, I’d have a shorter but just as strong piggy back contraction and then get a break (my midwife later told me she believes that this is because the baby was too big for my uterus to tighten all the way around him in a single contraction). My husband suggested that I get into the shower because he needed to load the car and get things ready and he knew from my first labor that I should be able to labor in the shower alone. I turned the hot water all the way up on my back and leaned my head on the cool tile and braced myself on the shower door handle. I was still having strong but irregular contractions when my husband got back. I told him I needed our doula and I couldn’t do it alone anymore. She arrived around 7:20 and I was on my hands and knees laboring in the way that worked best with my first labor. My arms were so tired though, so my doula brought up the exercise ball for me to rest my upper body on. My husband was squeezing my hips during contractions and my doula was rubbing my back and hips and legs between. The between-contraction massaging was so nice, because it kept me in the moment and didn’t let me dwell on the upcoming contraction and get scared. I was still sure I wasn’t far along because of how irregular the contractions were and the fact I had not had any show.
By 8, I was ready to go to the hospital no matter how far along I was because I really wanted to sit in a Jacuzzi bath. My husband called the midwife’s office and told them we were on our way. Meanwhile, I was starting to feel pushy during my contractions and my doula was worried we might have waited too long to leave. I kept repeating that I hadn’t had any show and she said that doesn’t matter. As she and my husband were helping me into the car, she started coaching him on when to pull over if things kept progressing. I knelt in the front seat facing backwards. My husband had kindly put a Tupperware back there in case I got sick. My doula had put a portable heating pad on my back before we left the house. I was still feeling pushy with every contraction and my poor husband was trying to drive as quickly and safely as possible while coaching me to breathe through the contractions and not push.
We arrived at the hospital and my husband asked if I wanted to go through emergency or if I wanted to park and walk and I chose to walk. It felt so good to be outside and the cool morning air gave me a second wind. My doula and my husband walked on either side of me and we made it in without having to deal with any contractions. I wanted to walk up to the labor and delivery floor but my doula talked me into using a wheelchair. I didn’t want to sit, so she helped position me kneeling backwards with my head resting on my husband’s chest. We made it to the hospital room around 9 and they hooked me up to the fetal heart rate monitors while the midwife checked my progress. To my total shock (and relief!), I was already 10 cm dilated. The midwife gave me the ok to push if I wanted to.
I started out on all fours with the back of the bed raised, the same way I pushed with my first. The nurse wanted to give me a hep-lock (which is something we said we were fine with in the birth plan), but in the moment I really didn’t want to have to mess with that. Plus I was holding pillows during contractions and I was paranoid that I wouldn’t be able to do that with a needle (or whatever) in my arm. My husband had to refuse a couple of times because the nurse was harping on the fact that if I needed a blood transfusion, this refusal would cost us precious time. My husband confirmed that that was alright. Meanwhile, pushing was getting me nowhere and the midwife said if I couldn’t make some good progress moving you down with the next few contractions that she wanted to go ahead and break my water. The baby was still at a -1 station and she thought that breaking the water would help move things along. She also suggested waiting to push until the contraction built some momentum so that I’d have that to help me.
After a couple more useless-feeling contractions, Someone (I have no idea who…it might even have been me!) decided it might help to squat and they got me a squat bar and everyone helped me change positions. The midwife said this would be a good time to break my water and stepped away to get her tool—just in time because my water broke on its own just then and would have covered her if she was still in the splash zone! It was like a movie, spurting several feet across the room! The baby didn’t like the new squatting position and both of our oxygen levels were too low for comfort so I got an oxygen mask and LOTS of reminders to breathe deeply between contractions. The baby’s heart rate was still dropping too low during contractions so the birth team helped me to get onto my left side first (no change) and then my right, which the baby seemed to like, but I was convinced would be a terrible position to push in. My birth team helped me to kind of squat on my side though, which seemed to help.
With everyone coaching me, I started to push with everything I had during every contraction. I could finally start to feel the baby sloooowly moving down. For sure it was the hardest thing I’ve done, physically. The baby started crowning a little after 10am and my midwife told me he/she was very big and I’d need to keep pushing hard to get the shoulders and the rest of the body out. A few more difficult contractions later, my son was born and my husband told me “It’s a boy!”. Everyone in the room marveled at his size as he was moved to my chest. He had some fuzzy hair and very large hands with long fingers and big feet—his footprints were bigger than the box on his chart! My midwife was also was shocked by the size of his placenta. I guess a big boy needs a big support system!
My midwife was concerned that I had a very bad tear, but the doctor that came in to consult deemed it only a 2nd degree, same as with my first despite 2 lbs difference in their sizes. While my midwife stitched me up, I held my son (he was completely uninterested in breastfeeding right away) and chatted with my husband and doula, and the nurses. My doula helped me order some food and brought some for my husband and then left to attend another birth and said she’d be back later to check on us. I got a shot of pitocin and cytotec to help shrink my uterus and curb the bleeding and had some blood drawn to determine my iron levels while my son was weighed and measured. He came in at 9 lbs, 7 oz, and 21.5”. I couldn’t believe it! All of the nurses we had that day kept commenting on it too. Around noon we finally moved to the maternity ward and enjoyed our first few quiet moments of the day.
It has been FOREVER since I posted a few birth stories and we need to change that. I will post ANY kind of birth story. Home, hospital, c-section, loss…every birth story matters. YOUR birth story matters, no matter what. Please consider sharing your story, with or without pictures. As long or as short as you want. Leave a comment here or send me an email. Thanks!!
midwife101blog@ gmail . com
In the mean time, check out my kids’ birth stories by following their links above. Enjoy!
It’s been an INSANE few weeks, hense my lack of posts recently. Since I switched from working nights to days, I have been more busy with family on my days off and when I’m working I barley have a moment to drink my coffee hot, let alone type out a post (which I was able to do at night). Anyway, I am sporting a brace on my left wrist/thumb for a few weeks thanks to tendonitis in my thumb. Why/how you ask? From lifting my children, of course! No seriously…this pain had been coming and going for a long time. Nothing worth really worrying about until it became constant and then BAD. Like, WTF is wrong with my hand bad. So now I’m supposed to “rest” my thumb for 2-4 weeks to help the tendons heal. This is impossible without the brace and with it, I am so annoyed by it and I can’t even get gloves on over it without looking like a fool! Hopefully not much longer….
I’m loving that I have taken the summer off from school. Last summer, I had a baby the end of May so I had the whole summer off of school AND work. Pretty choice if you ask me. This summer has been packed full of sunny days to the splash park, working, late thunderstorms, and a butt load of sunblock. Seriously, we are almost out of all three of the bottles I bought back in May. But I can safely say that we have only all had one minor burn each (minus the baby, thankfully!).
Wanna really know what I’m up to all the time? Follow me on instagram. @midwife101
And just for fun, the internet has been so full of win lately, so here are my favorite links I’ve been loving.
This America’s Got Talent audition. You guys, I did NOT see that one coming and both B and I were in tears from laughing so hard!
All you fans of birth will love this video. It’s incredible. Dad is racing to the hospital with a GoPro on his head as his wife labors and delivers…where? Watch to find out!
This post about what happens after you have a baby. If anyone is truly wondering what my job entails, read #10. That is me, squating in front of you! 😉 I love it. I love taking care of women in such a precious, delicate time in their life!!
Do you like the Sam Smith song Stay With Me? Well, my buddy from college, Tyler Ward, is kind of a big deal on youtube and this is his cover of the song. Beautiful!
And lastly, because it’s Thursday, here is a throwback post about what defines a term baby.
Have a great day!
I’ve posted links to awesome articles, photos and posts in the past, but I’m going to make it a weekly feature. This week, check out:
- At Your Cervix: What I Wish I’d Learned About in School– great post about several things she wished she had learned in school about becoming a midwife. It’s not just about catching babies!
- The Skeptical OB: VBAC birth story– Before you all flip out on me…this is an important story to share. In the natural birth world, there are not enough stories that talk about the things that can go wrong, despite everyone’s best efforts. What I mean by that is…it’s easy to become blinded by happy, perfect births. But the truth is, birth is not perfect. Anything can happen. At home, in the hospital… this story is just a testament to why being in the hospital for a VBAC is a good idea.
- My OB Said What? You birthed like a warrior!– I’m pretty sure every mama wants to hear this! Even if she had a c/s.
- With Woman, a Midwife on the Path: We Had Prepared– mixture of emotions surrounding birth center regulations and babies picking their birthdays, just in time before induction!