A Complicated, yet Positive Birth Story

This birth story is going to be unique. Not because I’m personally special (although my belief is that we all are) but simply because I had a very normal pregnancy that ended in a dramatic, unplanned birth in a hospital. I had chosen to birth with midwives at the Tucson Birth Center (this was before El Rio took over the Birth Center) and wanted the midwifery model of care for my birth and pregnancy. I went through Centering childbirth education classes and I was very prepared for natural birth by the time my body started the warm-up contractions, about one month before the birth event. These contractions were confusing to me as a first time mom: When should I go to the birth center? Why did the surges of contractions keep ending just when I started getting excited and anxious that the baby was coming soon? Why did my body keep trying to go into labor and then closing down and stopping the contractions? I wonder all of this as I walked up and down hills in my neighborhood to get things moving (sometimes exercise can kick your body into labor so if you are post-due this is a good way to keep things moving in a good direction). I asked my husband what he thought about the confusing nature of my "braxton hicks" contractions. He said, “Well the midwives say it’s normal and not to worry.” This didn't really stop me from worrying but I was glad that at least one parent was not worried about the birth of our baby.

 I knew it was not normal that I was so scared to give birth—instinctively--- but no one listened to my instincts—not even me. Who was I, a first time mom who had never done this before, after all? I listened to all the better educated midwives (I had been seen by them all by the time I was ready to give birth) who had seen birth more often than I had. I was raised in America. We Americans like to hide birth as if it is dirty and unclean and not for the eyes of young children. I had never seen a birth in America before. I had seen many births in other cultures both in my travels in South America and in the many documentary films that I was drawn to about giving birth in other cultures (this was a research interest as well as a pregnant woman's interest). Having seen so many live births was one reason why I was able to trust the process of birth and my body and it was why I chose midwives over OB’s to care for me when I became pregnant.

My husband had also seen birth in other cultures. We knew that women were designed for it. We trusted my body. What we forgot to factor in was this really important detail: I had a history of being the victim of sexual assault in my past. At the time I did not even know this could be influencing whether I was “allowing” myself to go into labor. However, after much soul searching and healing I can see, five years later, that I mentally prevented myself from going into labor. Every time I started feeling vulnerable and scared about being in a room on ‘display’ with strangers near my private areas---I freaked out and closed down. I disconnected from my body—very unconsciously—I went away, very far away in my mind. Since I had not shared this rape event with my midwives (I did not want that incident to influence how they looked at me—with pity) the midwives did not have all the information to guide me in my lead-up to birth. They assumed that my body was going to go into the real deal when it was ready---but I was never going to be ready—because I had not dealt with my emotional issues surrounding being vulnerable during birth.

My husband did not even know the full extent of what was ‘holding me back’ although he said many times that I just needed to ‘let go’ and ‘give in’ and ‘relax’ once I started feeling the contractions start up. He did not know why I was so tense, being a naturally easy going and confident woman who trusted the process of birth. He was confused, concerned and supportive. He was the one that told me that he would be by my side no matter where we birthed. He told me that we had a good plan but if it needed to be changed, that was just fine with him. He wanted a positive birth experience for us as parents and a healthy baby—that could happen in any form of giving birth as long as we were together during the birth, he reasoned very logically with my irrational fears. He whispered these types of encouraging words when I expressed my fear and uncertainty and he held me close when I had no words and all I did was cry. I wanted a drug free birth—for the baby’s sake—I was going to meet the challenge of birth without medications—at least that was my plan.

So, I tried to release the tensions. I tried to take baths,. I tried to pray to God. I tried to cry out the horrible pain from the rape. I tried all these things in private—in isolating turmoil while I was very angry that once again—this event was able to cast a shadow over my happiness. I was so angry and so scared. That was not a good recipe for going into labor but at the time, I had no idea that this was likely why I did not go into labor at all.

In fact after two weeks of on-again off-again contractions, my body started to give-out on me. I started to have protein in my urine. My placenta began to age and die. My baby needed to be born in a hospital with Pitocin. Fran told me one evening, after our routine check-in, that she was going to schedule a stress test and that I would need to stay overnight at Tucson Medical Center and then we could find out what was the issue causing my body stress. She said, “We need to find out what is going on.”  I had risked out of the birth center once I started needing special attention because of the proteins in my urine (that is a test they can do at the b.c). This was only a week before I actually gave birth. At that point I almost blurted out the truth about the date rape incident. I was so frustrated with myself and the entire situation. I was not going to get to have the Birth Center birth that I had been planning. I was devastated and blamed myself. That’s typical of victims of sexual assault, they take at least part of the blame for what has happened to them and they take all the blame for how they deal with it later in life.

You see, I did not know that the rape was not my fault at all. I did not know that this happened (never going into labor out of extreme fear) to a lot of other women with a history of sexual assault in childhood or teen or adult years. I wish I had met some of those women while I was on my pregnancy journey but since I had decided long ago to hide what happened to me, I never met those strong survivors and I didn’t count myself among anything that was strong.

 I knew that my mind would never betray me but I feared that my body would. I knew that the best laid plans can turn into a nightmare in seconds, with a last minute decision that someone could make for me and my body and without my consent. I knew that something beautiful could turn into something ugly within a few hours. I knew what it felt like to be treated like nothing, to be used and abused-- supposedly for my own good. Worst of all, I knew that anyone touching my vagina was going to trigger flashbacks whether it was with a person I trusted or not. I did not trust anyone to behave as they said that they would. I can see all of this fear and anxiety and irrational thought processes with the clarity of wisdom and age right now, but when I was first pregnant, I was young, idealistic and very recently wounded. I had found love in my husband and healing in his arms in our gentle care for one another physically and emotionally. I thought that this was all I needed to put the rape behind me. I did not know that it was going to shadow my birth plans and take them from me. Although it did take from me my right to a Birth Center birth—it did not take from me my right to refuse pain medications ( ie drugs).

Even though I had to be induced with Pitocin (synthetic oxytocin) by sheer force of will and determination I resolved to stick to one part of my birth plan—my baby would not be drugged with pain meds so that he struggled to nurse or cry at birth. The the extreme pain of Pitocin contractions (much stronger and faster than natural birthing contractions) made that plan very challenging for me. I was among the very few women in the world who get induced with Pitocin and don’t have an epidural adminstered a few hours after the Pit kicks in (although I was very tempted and may have even told Fran that I was needing the drugs at least one time). This was when J was moving down my into my pelvis and the labor back pains were crippling my resolve. Fran said, well you said you didn't want the drugs and I have some ideas to help the pain. I said, "ok, well let's do them then--what should I do." Fran said flip over on your hands and knees and rock over this birth ball (she handed me an oval, not round shaped ball, that fit on the bed) and I began to rock through the pain. It lifted slightly and I had enough relief in that position that the nurse was hard pressed to suggest anything else for quite awhile. I did not care about her stupid monitors not getting a "good enough read" or anything else she said to me. I rocked my baby down with each wave and fought the urge to throw up. Even though one nurse and one other person in my birthing room (who had invited herself to the birth) offered to get someone who could give me those drugs--- temptingly while I was in extreme pain—I never caved in to the temptation. They asked out of care and concern, not out of nastiness. I think they wanted me to get the drugs so that I became managable and stopped behaving so extremely while in labor and also, probably because it made them feel uncomfortable to see me struggle. None of this was done because I could not handle the pain though. I could handle it and I did handle it without the pain drugs even though I wondered myself if it was worth taking this strong natural birthing stance in the moment that a contraction peaked and slammed into me. I have always been able to see the far ranging consequences of my actions and others actions though and so I just focused my attention on getting through the next awful contraction so that my baby would not be drugged. Time seemed to be liminal. I was somewhere else but I did not know where (maybe God was with me and that’s how I got through those painful contractions?) I tend to think this is utter truth myself because that is my worldview.

My baby was very stressed out by the hard contractions though. My baby was very weak from having been inside my body with an aged placenta for at least a week. My baby had low amniotic fluid available to him when the birth began. My baby was so stressed that during the pushing phase, my midwife Fran, called the neonatal team in case the baby needed to be resuscitated at birth. During one of the most intensely painful moments of my life—the room began to spin and I passed out cold. The nurse freaked out—screaming at my mom and my husband to ‘help me breathe’ while Fran calmly looked at her and said “Get the oxygen mask--- it’s over there.” [This is something that I have no personal memory of—I asked Fran what happened later and she told me the specifics]. The nurse put the oxygen mask over my mouth and I could finally fill my lungs with lovely, fresh, clean air. The Pit contractions slammed into my body one wave after another in such quick succession that I could not catch my breath. I was barely remaining conscious and Fran decided that I needed to consider an episiotomy as a viable option for the infant's sake—to get the baby out and assess the risk of the baby being able to breathe too. She knew that if the mama was having a hard time getting oxygen, then the baby was too. Fran decided to try helping me manually first. She reached up into my pelvis and manually and gently helped J get into a better position to move down the birth canal. Then, she allowed me to push two more times with all the strength left in my bones. I pushed with so much strength that I did not even recognize myself and he moved down closer. He was not born yet though and I was exhausted.

I was emotionally and physically in a full fledged panic wondering if the baby would be dead, wondering if my life with this child was going to be stolen from me, wondering awful fears that all mothers have when they feel stressed out and panicked with the pain. Fran could see the fear in my eyes and my husband was holding me in bed giving me encouragement but his hands were shaking—I knew that he was worried about our baby too. My mom was wiping my brow with a cool cloth (she was a doula to me) while the nurse stared at the monitors with intense emotion. My mom looked at me and said “Nearly there, hang on, it’s almost over.” I believed her and I believed that I could do it for a little bit longer.

The nurse asked me if I was a marathon runner—“What?” I said, “No, that’s an idiotic question,” I said. My mom said "No it’s not. You’ve always been an amazing athlete and that is why your blood pressure is low even though you are under extreme stress.” The nurse seemed satisfied that I was just one of those women who was in extremely good physical shape—that is why the monitors where telling her something different than what she had been expecting. I looked at Fran and I pleaded with her as another peak of pain hit me “Just get this baby out of me!!!!!” I screamed. Fran said,” You told me that you did not want to be cut.” I said, “ If the baby is in trouble, I don’t care.”  She said “Okay, let’s give one more push and if he’s not born by then---I will get him out.” I gave another primal push that left me shaking from head to toe. He still had not been born. Fran asked for the scissors and the nurse handed them over with great relief in the features on her face.

 Fran gave me an extensive episiotomy, which allowed J’s head to plop into her hands without me having to push at all. There was a hush in the room and then eight-ten (not sure of the exact number but it was a crowd) medical specialists swooped in closer to my bed to assess if the baby needed help breathing. My first born beautiful boy looked up at me and let out a very angry wail! Everyone was relieved and my husband began to cry with relief. I was crying with relief too. My mom was crying with emotion---I’m not sure exactly what she was thinking but she never doubted that both me and my baby would be just fine. Fran looked at my son and said “Well, you made things interesting, didn’t you little man?” My son nuzzled into my arms and gave me a look which clearly went along the lines of: What in the world just happened to me? I felt exactly the same. We bonded instantly and much too soon the nurses wanted to take him away for APGAR assessments. I never appreciated (until much later) that Fran had handed the baby to me first—instead of what an OB would have done—handed him to the specialists. Fran had ruled that hospital room with calm and experienced midwifery skills. They had all bowed down to her in their own panicky states. Everyone knew who should be and who was in Charge. I have no doubt that if Fran had not been attending my birth that I would have had an unnecessary cesarean because no OB would have weighed what I had wanted and desired as more important than malpractice insurance. Fran is a heroine to me. I told her that shortly after the birth but she was right, when I said those words, to deflect the credit and place it back onto me.

 She said “You are now among the very few women who can claim a natural birth, after pit induction, in a hospital with a midwife attending.” Everyone in the room laughed and the nurse said under her breath “Only birth center women who risk- out and come here do that. Crazy!” Her tone was half exasperated and half in awe. I looked at her and I said “Why were you asking me about marathons—that was a distracting question!?” She said  “Because your blood pressure should have been high but it was low—I’ve never seen that before.” And I said “Well, maybe it was God.” And she said “Yeah, maybe and then walked away.” Then my mom said "Yes, it was and smiled at me." Then Fran told me that the placenta had arrived without my needing to push much (in light of my happiness that the birth was finally over and my baby was safe, I had completed forgotten about the final stage of birth i.e.delivering the placenta!) Fran asked if I wanted to see my placenta. I said “Yes, I want to see if that Pit was necessary---let me see the aged placenta, please.”

So, Fran and the nurse described to me what a placenta that was healthy looked like and then they showed me the areas of my placenta that looked aged. It had white calcifications over half of it and the other half looked healthy-normal. My husband leaned in closer and said “Oh, yeah, that looks different from the ones I’ve seen in Peru” and I said “Yeah, it does and many of those women were malnourished during pregnancy—my placenta looks ugly.” My husband said philosophically, "Not ugly, just done supporting a baby." There was no doubt that my placenta did not look like a healthy placenta though. The Pit Induction had been absolutely necessary and likely I had been induced just in time to avoid a bad outcome with my baby. After looking over my placenta I began to feel the remaining strength leave my power again. The hospital room began to tilt out of focus and my whole body began to shake uncontrollably. I was so cold. I was so tired. I was so happy and invigorated and exhausted and feeling a surge of vitality that was completely new as a feeling. I wanted to nurse my baby so I gathered my breath, did some yoga deep breathing techniques and the room came back into focus. The nurse brought a warmed blanket and put it over me to still the shaking of my limbs. Fran said that she would stay and help me nurse J but then she would need to leave to attend another birth. I looked at her and was amazed that she still had more babies to catch that night. What a job!? I expressed  to Fran (what a cool job, I thought to myself privately).

 The nurses brought J over to me and I pulled down my white birthing gown (I had refused to wear a hospital gown because I hated how they flapped about in the behind area) and I nursed my beautiful, tiny, first born son. The level of love between my husband and I moved into a deeper place as he watched me nurse our son. He looked into my eyes and he said “I always knew you were amazing and now you just proved it to everyone else in this room!” I laughed at him modestly but I also glowed inside with his compliment. I had done it. I had given birth and I had chosen the exact correct model of care for my baby. He needed nothing except me making the final choices after all. What a big responsibility that was! This baby did not even know that he needed his daddy yet. He just wanted to be close to his mother and discover what being ‘on the outside’ was like. I almost pitied him. I felt it would be much harder to nourish and protect him now that he was an individual in the world. But hadn’t I just proved to myself that I was more than capable of mothering this child effectively? I sat back and thought about how I had never once thought of the rape during labor. It had not cast its nasty shadow over this beautiful and sacred event. It had stayed in the corner where I ordered it when we arrived into the delivery room. It never even prowled the edges of my mind because I refused to let it influence the birth of my son. Whoever says that birth is less about a mental state and more about a physical state---does not know one tiny thing about giving birth.

Birth is both a physical and a mental challenge. It is intense. It is painful but not beyond the range of being able to cope with the intense pain. It is a challenge that I met—with a lot of reservations—and conquered. I conquered my fears. I birthed my baby naturally with a midwife. I birthed my baby in the circle of my husband’s arms just as I had wanted to. I birthed my baby with my mom at my side—just as I had asked for her to be with me through it all. I held my head higher after that birth and I began my journey to process and understand why my birth was more complicated than other womens’ births even though physically I was very fit. Mentally I was still ill from the rape. I had not faced and recovered from the rape by the time I had gone into labor with J but giving birth to J (and my induction into the natural birthing community through the Birth Center) meant that I met and became friends with five amazing women from my centering childbirth education class. Those friendships carried me through the first year of parenting. Those ladies’ sense of humor, listening ears, group emails about vomit and breast milk at 4am and resources for dealing with breast lumps and crying jags and our discussions of unconditional parenting meant that I got through the first year of intense care nearly single handedly. My husband worked out of town four days each week leaving me to care for our infant alone and far away from my family members.

That first year was really hard but I can now celebrate the fifth year of being a mother with ease. As J’s fifth birthday approaches ( in a few days we will be having a party for him) all the memories of his birth flood back into my mind. I feel proud of myself and of the family that my husband and I created together (J has a younger brother). Our family is healthy, loving, protected and safe from harm at the moment. We have had many challenges, both big and small but we have weathered them with our faith and our love and our philosophy that unconditional love can heal any hurt. I know this is true. Because although I am still wounded and always will be from the rape event, I have battle scars just like any soldier yet I am mostly healed. I came through the awful events in my life and I've turned them from fear into compassion. God has helped me do that. For me personally ( although others might find other ways towards healing) only God could heal me fully and God is powerful. The God that I believe in does not belong to any religion—he or she or it---belongs to those who express love. My belief is that wherever you find love, there will be God on earth.

Let me relate something interesting about my perspective on the sacred nature of birth: To date I have been in the room at over 20 births. Those experiences have shown me that the room in which an infant arrives is a very sacred place. Birth should be given deep reverence. A mother should always feel safe and a father should always feel included in the process (if he wants to be included). That’s what I’ve learned about birth. I am sharing my story in the hopes that it will help another survivor of rape get closer to understanding how her life experiences may be influencing her ideas about giving birth and that there are many ways to release the fear naturally without dulling the pain physically. I recommend HypnoBirthing as a tactic for anyone who has a strong fear of birth. Release that fear before you start feeling contractions and you will be in a much healthier mental state as you approach the birth event. I also want to pass along some very simple advice:

You are strong, new mother. Do not doubt yourself! Surround yourself with love at birth. Surround yourself with wise and knowing and trusting birth attendants/advocates. You will never regret your birth if you do this, no matter what unexpected physical changes happen during birth, your strength of will and strength of mind will carry you through. You were born to give birth—you are a woman---trust BIRTH. Also, good luck and I hope your first birth is much easier and gentler than mine was. I think it’s highly likely that it will be!

Love, A