I was so afraid that when labor finally started I would not recognize it, or I would be one of those people who thinks they are in labor, but really just has gas.  My two previous births had been c-sections scheduled far earlier than they should have been (38 and 39 weeks), so I had no idea what to expect. I woke up on Friday May 1^st at midnight feeling like I might throw up. When I went to the bathroom I also discovered I was obviously having bloody show. My contractions suddenly seemed steadier as well, painless, but coming about 15minutes apart. I had Braxton Hicks for months, but nothing rhythmic like this. I felt like it was Christmas Eve! Finally something was happening.  It has been a long journey to this point, and I was ready to show the world what I could do.

    This story really  began last August. In the last two years I have developed a habit of questioning everything due to some life events and epiphanies that made me realize things are rarely what they seem. When I discovered I was pregnant, I guessed I would probably be having a third cesarean. I hopped online to see how dangerous this was. Instead I found out about vbac’s, and the further I studied, the more convicted I felt that this was what I was supposed to do.  I quickly became adamant that there was no way, barring a life threatening situation, that they were going to cut me open again, I found out my previous sections were completely unnecessary. I found out I had been lied to. I found out I had completely betrayed myself by not researching this with either of my previous pregnancies. Then I got angry, so I put on my battle gear, and prepared for the fight of my life. Fortunately Knowledge is a powerful weapon.

     I went to a birth center, and was turned away for being too high risk (Colorado Law does not allow midwives to attend a vba2c unless there has been a previous vaginal birth). I went to a Dr. who basically told me I was trying to kill myself and my child, and tried to back this up with completely inaccurate information. I left quickly, but not without informing her just how skewed her facts were. Let’s put it this way, when I came in the next week to complete the last of my blood work scheduled with them, she would not even look at me when we passed in the hallway. I suspect I was the first patient to ever stand up to her. Finally I called the birth center back for a recommendation on an OB. They sent me to a Dr I will call Dr. Not bad, as he is pretty darn cool for a trained surgeon. I went to his office and was thrilled to learn he had done many vbamc’s and was more than willing to “let” me try. I was thrilled, but deep inside, my research was leading me to harbor dreams of another  kind of birth, a birth that did not involve anyone “letting” me do anything.  A birth where all attendants, including myself, trusted in my bodies ability to perform it’s natural function, and where every action taken would be only taken to facilitate this intrinsic truth. 

     I kept reading story after story of incredible homebirths. On a logical level I knew I would be safest. And much more likely to succeed at home, or at least away from the hospital. I had the will. I had a Husband as open to homebirth as myself. What I lacked was the money to hire a midwife, a midwife willing to risk her career for me, and a home to give birth in. I am not homeless, but we do rent a large house with my parents, and my Mom let me know early on that she would in no way support a home birth. In fact our battles over this were probably the most stressful part of my pregnancy,  I knew I could not have the peaceful birth I dreamed about with her in the back ground grousing about how I was trying to kill her daughter and her grandchild. With all this against me I settled into acceptance of the fact that I would likely have to give birth in a hospital and take on all the struggles that entails. I had not given up completely however. It was at this point I began emailing every midwife I could find in Colorado, explaining my situation and literally begging for help. I figured if a homebirth was meant to be, somehow everything would come together in time.

    Weeks went by. My OB continued to encourage the vbac, albeit with a nice set of rules I would have to comply with due to hospital policy. No midwives responded. I was still broke, and my mom was still angry whenever I mentioned being upset that the system did not allow for me to give birth in the safest way possible, at home. Hope was dwindling, and then the miracles (at least I think of them that way), began to occur. First we did our taxes and found out we were getting back about $4000 more than we expected. Then, a few days later, 35 weeks pregnant,  I opened my email and found a letter from a midwife willing to talk to me about  homebirth. I called her and set up an interview.  It went wonderfully. She decided she was willing to take me on despite the risk to her license and career. We just had to keep it on the down low. Best part? Her fee with all the testing and stuff, came out to just about $3700, almost exactly the amount of excess we were getting on our tax return. When we walked out of her house that day I was elated, but sure my DH would never agree to spend that kind of money on this when we had plenty of other bills needing paid. I can not describe the joy  I felt when five minutes later, in the car, he announced he felt very peaceful around the midwife and her assistants, and we should definitely hire her. I was going to have my homebirth! Only one hurdle remained, a house to have it in. I called my Aunt who lives nearby in Englewood. She is a massage therapist, and very open and knowledgeable about holistic practices. She and my Uncle agreed to let me use their house without hesitation.  Like I said, if it was meant to be, everything would come together, and boy did it!

     I am not going to say everything was smooth sailing from this point. When my mom found out I was going to go forward with my plans, there was a heck of a fireworks show. I continued to see my OB, and I hated lying to him, as he truly is a kind man, and he never once pulled the bait and switch on me, even to the very end. In fact he recently took on another vba2c, and a vba3c. If I had to transfer for any reason, I trusted no one but him, so I did not want to burn bridges, hence the shadow care.  It was a hectic month of two prenatal appointments a week (OB and Midwife), getting a birth kit together, and getting a birth team prepared. I come from a crazy close family and there were a few people, mostly my cousins, I knew would be a very positive influence on my labor and delivery. I wanted this to be a peaceful happy family affair, and it was definitely shaping up that way. 

     Now we have come full circle, to Friday may 1^st. Picture this: A 30 year old pregnant mamma rushing around the house scrubbing dishes, and packing bags at midnight thirty. I am singing at the top of my lungs to distract me from clock watching. I pray the contractions will speed up so I have an excuse to call my husband home from work ( we are night people, and his job schedule reflects this). Finally at 3 am I can contain myself no longer, and just call him home anyway. We are like little kids, antsy and excitable as we time contractions. Finally, at ten the next morning, with contractions about 7-10 minutes apart, we call the midwife. She is very kind, as she does not inform me they are too far apart to get too excited quite yet, instead she agrees to meet us at the house where the birth will be occurring, to see how I am doing and start setting things up. We call all my crazy cousins I have invited, and head to the grocery store to purchase goodies, then we make our way to the house.

    The midwives and cousins arrive at the house. The midwife and her assistant know I have a ways to go, but they get the pool set up, and check my stats. We all sit there for about two hours with no progress. The midwife and her assistant decide to go get some rest at the assistants house right down the street as it is likely to be a long night. DH, the cousins, and I go pick up some take out Chinese. I don’t think the restaurant owners are too thrilled with me laboring in their lobby ( I had two or three decent contractions while we were there.). The contractions are getting stronger, but no closer together.  We all sit down and eat. After a couple of hours of truly inappropriate and bizarre conversation and laughter with my cousins (we all have bizarre minds, and when we get together it is never a very classy gathering) the contractions are picking up intensity. I am laughing so hard at one point,  I have to beg them to stop as it is making my contractions feel a whole lot worse,(let’s just say the conversation had turned to the possibility of me dressed up like a bird lady with my children dressed like cats all around me, and my dad cooking eggs in a muumuu(sp?) and a wig.)  I have them sing to me through a few contractions, Tura lura lura and a few other ditties. Told you, we are weird, but it sure makes this part of labor a lot of fun.

     At around 10:00 pm my cousin Audrey and I (who is incidentally also pregnant, albeit only about 30 weeks at this point) decide to go for a walk. We walk about a mile, stopping during my contractions as they are strong enough to necessitate a pause. Back at the house the intensity increases more. I alternate between bouncing on my birth ball, and holding the doorjambs swaying with my DH helping stabilize me with pressure on my hips. This feels the best. At one point DH is not paying attention when a contraction hits. Deciding this calls for something obnoxious to get him to notice, I shout out “It’s hammer time”. The phrase sticks, and just about every contraction up to transition is thereafter preceded by that phrase. We are all strongly considering having everyone that attended the birth get Hammer Time tattoos as a matter of fact (J/K, Kind ofJ)

     At about 11:30 pm I decide to take a rest In the bed. My aunt is a shiatsu masseuse, so she comes in and works some acupressure points for me to help speed things up, as only the intensity of the contractions has increased.  Boy, is that ever the kick in the butt I need. By midnight, we have hit 5 minutes apart, and by 1 am the midwife has been called and is on her way.

    At this point I decide the water looks nice. I climb in the pool and spend the next few hours in there ( my sense of time at this point has started to get very sketchy so the rest of the story will be pretty general as far as timing goes). The contractions are strong, and I remember growling  through  a lot of them. I recall hearing someone saying I look like a vampire. I also recall a lot of comments about how beautiful I look and how strong I am which help me a great deal, even the vampire comment, because vampires are really pretty cool.  I know that around five or six am, transition has hit, and I want out of the water. I go into the bedroom and crawl onto the bed on my hands and knees.

    I labor here for about an hour. It is the incredible point of labor where the contractions are just these insane waves of power, followed by minutes of almost an unconscious sleep state. I start to feel a bit pushy so I finally ask my midwife to check me ( she is wonderfully hands off and will only do VE’s  by request).  I am dilated to ten, but I have a lip. This is made apparent when, about five minutes later the pushiness subsides, and I start to feel like I am back in transition. It is back on the bed for me. Once more, I have the contraction/sleep cycle. This actually goes on till about 11 am. My midwives and DH are all dead tired at this point, so they too are laying down between contractions. This part is oddly one of my favorite parts of labor, as they were all sprawled out on the floor in this incredibly tiny bedroom, and every time I have a contraction they pop up like a triple Jack in the box, cheer me on, then pop down to sleep when the contraction ends. I can actually hear them snoring, though at the time it barely registers in my mind. I also want to comment here, that one thing I love about my midwife is that at no time, during this multiple hour transition does the word transfer cross her lips. She just waits patiently for my body to do what it knows how to do. At about 10:30 am I start to cry. This is never going to end. I will never get rid of this cervical lip. All is lost. Everyone reassures and encourages me that I rock, and  I will do this, and do it well. I start to laugh. I just now catch on that I have just gone through and incredibly long transition. Finally at about 11:00 am I am feeling pushy again. We check, and the cervical lip is gone! I start trying to push on the bed, but it feels wrong. I want to be upright.

     My midwife pulls out the birth stool that both of her children were born on. My husband sits at my left hand, ready to catch his son. The midwife is in front of me to guide me and encourage. I begin to push. This part I do not like. I do not like the pressure. It is too much. I feel overwhelmed. I remind myself that this is the only way I am going to meet my son, and that helps. I begin to calm down, and breathe the baby down during the contractions, resting in between. I am sometimes chanting “down now baby, you can come out” while I push, and a few times I actually shout” I can do this, I am a f***ing rock star!  I drop the f bomb quite a bit during this stage and screech like a banshee regularly. I also feel the urge to “pull” while I push. A washcloth works for a while, but when I drop it I am sad to say DH’s ponytail takes it’s place. He is a trooper though, and never once complains, just holds me up and cheers me on. Finally I feel the baby enter the birth canal.

    My midwife massages my perineum as I push. It seems like the time between contractions has slowed down. It is so hard not to push with all my might. Every push the baby comes down more, but when I stop I feel him go back up. I know this is normal on an intellectual level, but it is still frustrating as all get out. Everyone around me is shouting encouragement. “You are doing it”. “You are amazing”. “You are beautiful” My midwife is reminding me to breathe the baby down gently. My instincts tell me to listen to her.  All the voices, including my own are reaching my ears, but when he crowns, and I reach down to feel his head, I stop “hearing” them and a fearful part of me momentarily takes over. I start to push as hard as I can, regardless of whether I am having a contraction or not. I feel myself rip, and reality seeps back in. From this point on, I listen to my instincts and my midwife and ease him down with contractions. Suddenly the air fills with electricity. Time stands still. His head is out. One more contraction and I feel his body follow.  My husband catches him and hands him up to me. I cry. “I did it! I had a baby! Look what I did” I am shouting and laughing, and weeping tears of joy.

    DH helps me up onto the bed, the baby still in my arms. His cord is short so we can not nurse yet, but I hold him and gaze in wonder at this Incredible child my body knew how to create, and birth.  On the periphery of my awareness I recognize talk that I am bleeding a bit much and I am having some decently strong after pains. I feel something pass out of me and thinking it is the placenta. It is not. It is a large blood clot. My midwife gives me some herbs. She seems concerned, but not scared so I focus on the baby. Everything stabilized after the herbs rather quickly, and I birth the placenta. My midwife says it is the largest placenta she has ever seen in her 15 years as a midwife. I feel oddly proud. I grow good placentasJ.

    An hour or so later the cord stops pulsing and my husband cuts it. The baby nurses quickly.  We let him nurse his fill, and then decide to weigh and measure him. Guesses are taken. I measured around two weeks small the entire pregnancy, and had two smaller babies previously, so most guesses come in at about 6 lbs. You should see the shock on our faces when he weighs in at a hefty 8lbs 1oz ( not extremely huge, I know, but far bigger a baby than anyone in our family has had). He is then revealed to be 21” long with a 14” head.

    I cuddle the baby while my midwife sews up my tear. I am fortunate that it is only first degree in most places. Only one small section of it is 2^nd degree and requires stitches. My mom, calmer now that she realizes  the baby and I are alive and fine brings my other three over to meet their new brother. After that  everyone leaves. I had plans to go home the evening of the birth, but when I get up to go to the  bathroom and nearly pass out on the toilet from lack of food and exhaustion ( I ate during labor, but lost my appetite when transition hit, so I have had nothing but energy drink for hours) it is decided that I need to stay the night at my aunts and go home in the morning. After a brief visit from my best friend Steph, DH, baby and I settle down for a much needed rest.

     For all of you that made it this far, thank you for joining me as a I reflect and record this Journey.  I look down at Dexter as I write this. He is sleeping in my arms, having just finished nursing. My arms, or my husbands arms is where he has been 90% of the time since birth (we do share him occasionally). I realize just how much I missed with my girls by having them taken from me during the hours after birth. I held them of course, and even nursed them (the eldest far longer than my younger daughter) but it was not the same. From their births, I was conditioned to encourage them to be independent from me. To cry it out, and sleep in their own beds. To feed them on my schedule, not their own. I feel like I have let them down, by not educating myself sooner.  With Dexter I will redeem myself.  I started the process with his birth, the way nature intended. I will nurse him when he wants, where he wants, for as long as he wants.  I will hold him as often as possible, and carry him when I can to encourage his security. He will sleep near to my heart and wake with me in the morning until he is ready to move on at his own pace.  I will continue to question everything, and do all in my power to be the best mother I can be. Tonight, when I tuck my girls in, I will hug my daughters extra tight, as a way to apologize for all I did not know, and take comfort in the fact that it is never too late to learn to listen to my instincts and use the knowledge I have gained to raise them. Together we will heal and move on as a family. We are off to a great start with the amazing birth of Dexter!