The Birth of Dexter

 In honor of CBAC (Cesarean birth after a Cesarean) awareness month, I am sharing my CBAC with you all! 

A little background on me, my first birth with my twins was a cesarean. Both were breach position with no room to flip, so I knew early on that I would be having a c-section. My water broke at 36 weeks, and they came into the world in an uneventful c-section a couple hours later!

I had my third child this November in a what most people would call a “failed TOLAC”, but I love the idea of calling it a CBAC. Even though I REALLY wanted my VBAC, my son was absolutely born the way he needed to be born. 

I had dreamed of a “natural birth” ever since my first pregnancy. When I got pregnant with my third baby I researched and read everything I could about VBACs and natural birth. I picked a midwifery practice that had experience with VBACs and had delivery privileges at a local hospital. I was SET.

Then 35 weeks hit and I started to have high blood pressure. I skated by the next several weeks, but I knew that I would most likely need induced with my blood pressures. Despite this, I stayed ever positive that I would get my VBAC. 

On a Saturday, at 39 weeks, 3 days, my blood pressures spiked and I went into the hospital for monitoring. They diagnosed me officially with gestational hypertension. Despite the recommendation from the MFM that we go straight to a c-section, my midwife advocated for me. The OB on the floor was also up for trying a VBAC, so we moved forward with an induction.

At 3am on a Sunday morning the cook catheter was placed. It’s basically two balloons that sit on either side of the cervix and uses mechanical pressure to dilate. 12 hours later at 3pm it fell out and I did a little dance with my nurses and midwife! I was SO excited that things were starting to progress, and was filled with hope that I was going to get my VBAC. I had never experienced contractions or real labor, so I was excited to have the experience and meet my son. At this point I was not consistently contracting on my own, so they put me on the lowest dose of Pitocin. 

I was on Pitocin for about 3 hours. I had progressed to 5cm, but still was not feeling any contractions. Finally, around 8pm my water broke on its own! I went from feeling nothing, to feeling intense contractions about a minute apart. It got serious RIGHT now lol. I worked through the first dozen or so sway-dancing with my husband. They were coming so fast that they were able to take me off Pitocin, and my body took over on its own. I got into the tub as I started to shake uncontrollably. Even though this was intense, I felt encouraged! I thought for sure I was entering transition and my body was doing what it needed. I rocked through the intense pain with each contraction, my hubby and midwife silently supporting me through each one like rock stars. Things were going just as planned!

Then, things started to turn. After 3.5 hours of intense contractions and uncontrollable shaking, I had only progressed to 6.5cm. My blood pressure was incredibly high and it would not come down. I could hear the nurses and midwife discussing concernedly to the side. I asked for the epidural with the hope that it would bring down my blood pressure and help me progress. If an epidural helped me to ultimately have my VBAC, then it was worth it! 

I was thankfully able to rest with the epidural. I slept off and on until about 2am, hopeful that I would soon be able to push my son out and meet him! The nurse started to come in every 10 minutes or so to turn me. She said my son’s heartrate kept dropping, and that changing positions may help it recover. They actually gave me medicine to stop contractions and let him catch up. It still was not enough. The midwife came in and said she had tried everything she knew to help him, and she was out of ideas. She suspected there was an issue with my placenta, because his heart rate drops were random and not timed with contractions. I still I had not progressed past 6.5cm. She didn’t mention going to c-section, but my gut told me this was where we needed to go. 

I decided with my husband that it was time to do a repeat c-section. It was not an emergency yet, but if we waited much longer, it would become one. I wanted to meet my son in a calm environment, with no rush to save either of our lives. My midwife, who had been an amazing labor coach, nodded her affirmation that this was the right course of action. I could tell she was sad on my behalf, that I would not have the VBAC I had worked so hard for, but I felt an intense peace. I had given it my all, and now it was time to set my wants aside for the health of my son. They prepped and wheeled me into the OR. 

The hospital doctors and nurses were amazing. They let me play music on my phone during the surgery to stay calm. My midwife stayed with me through the surgery to provide support to me and my husband and aid in skin-to-skin while they sewed me up. As they pulled my son out, “I Get to Be the One” by JJ Heller played on my phone. It pierced my heart. They held him up for me to see and I began to ugly cry with relief and happiness. After over 24 hours of induction and labor, he was here, healthy and whole.

Right before leaving the OR, I asked hastily to see my placenta. I had heard it looked pretty cool so I wanted to see for myself. The nurse held it up, and my midwife exclaimed, “so that’s why he was distressed!”. Apparently, I had a velamentous cord insertion. My son also came out with his cord wrapped around his arm and leg. He was basically bungie-jumping in my uterus, with a less-then sturdy cord connection. I felt blessed and incredibly lucky that he and I had made it through unscathed. My talented care team took such good care of me, and helped us to make informed decisions. It was a wild ride, but I felt fulfilled and at peace with my birth experience.

The HBAVBA3C of baby E

 We are called not merely to do something new but to restore our internal balance and fulfill our soul’s fundamental needs. Answering your call is more than making a silent promise to yourself or a proclamation of intent. Infused with fierce and unswerving determination, you begin by taking small, practical, necessary steps toward realizing what you are called to do. In the process, a maturation and reorientation of the mind and soul inevitably take place. 

 —Pam England, Ancient Map for Modern Birth

Though I was pretty certain I wanted more children—six seems to be the number that I keep coming back to—after Nora’s birth, I did not know if I would be born a mother again. My husband and I tried to get pregnant for about 18 months, but our attempts were not resulting in a viable pregnancy. Then, a series of family disasters made us stop trying and pretty much think we were done-there was too much on our plates to adequately take care of the four children we had or ourselves, let alone make and take care of an additional human. 

Then, at probably the most stressful season in our life, I found I was once again pregnant. I was in denial (or super angry) about this pregnancy for a long time. About halfway through though, I realized this baby was coming and I needed to prepare, so I started going to birth related meet-ups at least every other week. I knew I needed a strong tribe of women who were passionate about birth to lean on as I prepared for this journey. One of the most important aspects of birth preparation this time around was location-where would our birth take place? We knew we did not want to have a hospital birth.  

After my magical VBA3C birth, I knew if I had any other babies, I wanted to birth them at home. This was far-fetched, as I have had three cesarean births. In spite of what we were up against, our family did everything possible to prepare for our newest to “accidentally” be born at home. 

My body is not a democracy. I say what is okay and what is not. No medical provider, medical machine, politician, political party, religious leader, no person or God has a say. My body is not a democracy. I am the dictator. I am in charge of me.

I don’t really believe in due dates, because babies come when they come and a due date is a made up estimate of when a baby might come based on old data. However, that being said, I did not plan on my baby coming until the end of September at the earliest. As such, I planned my last teaching day to be the middle of September, so I could have a buffer to “nest”/get some things done. My last day for work was a Tuesday in mid September. That night, I headed to a mammas meet-up. While there, the ladies in attendance blessed my birth, writing words of encouragement on a picture frame for my birth space. We talked about common issues with pregnancy. I am not sure I was really listening to any of it though, because I was pretty tired and was breathing through some discomfort/contractions. After the meet-up, I went home and tried to clean the kitchen, but I fell asleep wiping the countertop, so I texted my husband,  that I could not pick him up and he needed to get a ride home from work (we are a one car family and he got off at 1:30 AM). Then, I went to bed. When my husband got home, he finished the henna tattoo on my stomach (while I slept). 

You are not separate from the whole. You are one with the sun, the earth, the air. You don’t have a life. You are life. 

--ekjeart tolle 

The next morning, I went to my OBGYN appointment. I was really uncomfortable during the appointment, because I was having contractions the entire time while there. They hooked me up to do a non-stress test and I read from the Birthing from Within book I had brought with me. When a contraction would come, I would stop reading and breathe through it. This went on for over an hour. Eventually, the doctor came in and looked at the paper print out of my test and said, she needed me to have a contraction or she needed to perform an ultrasound, so she could see how my baby was responding. It was an eye-opening moment for me, because it was clear to me that I had been experiencing consistent contractions throughout the entire duration of my appointment-much of which had been monitored by a machine AND that the almighty machine was not registering that contractions were, in fact, happening. My doctor, a good doctor, was paying more attention to a machine’s read out than she was to her patient. It made me think once again about our broken medical system that trains doctors to treat their patients as objects rather than humans and trust machines and technology more than women and their intuition. Though I knew I was at least in early stages of labor, I thought this could last for days or weeks, and I did not want to alarm anyone or put myself on any kind of timeline. So eventually, I just asked to have the ultrasound, so I could leave the doctor’s office. I had the ultrasound. Everything was normal/baby was not in distress (all things I knew). I went home and picked up my husband and we headed to a birth preparation class. 

The class was two hours long and the topic was pain coping techniques. This was perfect, since I was in labor anyway, we practiced a bunch of pain coping that helped me progress through laborland. By the end of the class, I was pretty much in a trance-like state with one goal in mind-I wanted to take a nap. My body needed to rest for what was to come. Wednesdays are pretty busy days for us, and I was not planning on having a baby. I needed to be ready to take my husband to work and pick up my girls from school, then take my oldest to ballet class, then the two oldest had church youth group activities they participate in. I needed that nap. 

On the way home, my husband decided to stop at the wholesale bread store. He was also feeling a need to nest. About 40 loaves of bread later, we were headed home. I went directly into my bedroom, turned on Hypnobabies and laid down to rest.

After about 15 minutes, at about 3:30 PM my husband came in to tell me he needed a ride to work. I let him know that I would not be driving anyone anywhere today/tonight. He read the room and made a phone call. He would not be going to work tonight. He headed out to pick up our middle children. Shortly after that, he took our oldest to ballet. I stayed in our bedroom-sometimes on the physio-ball, sometimes on the bed, sometimes on the floor moving and breathing-doing the work to bring our baby earthside.

I think I went around the house, trying to tidy up/clean a bit/yelling at the three youngest children to clean up/help momma/get their bags packed right after my husband left, but decided pretty quickly that this was a futile endeavor. I sent a text to my best friend, to let her know I was in labor and there was a possibility the kids would go to her house (the plan only if things got too intense/scary for them or if I needed to transfer to a hospital) tonight. 

Sometime around 5:30 PM, I texted my husband telling him to get home quickly/now; what he thought I meant was come home after running some errands AFTER our daughter’s ballet class. I was starting to realize that I could not do what needed to be done-namely contact the birth team and photographer, prepare the bed for labor and delivery and set up the birth tub (and feed our kids). He promptly texted back that he was on it, so I thought people would be arriving in the next 30 minutes or so. 

I turned my focus to those who were in the space with me-my youngest three children. I wanted to do something with them that could help normalize birth, that I could actually do while laboring. While in labor with my fourth child, I tried to cook, but that was too much for me. So, while baking cookies with them crossed my mind, I settled on a game I coined Color and Scream. The rules are pretty basic, while mom is coloring, everyone colors and when mom stops coloring and starts screaming, everyone screams. The goal is to scream-make sounds-the most like mom. We colored a picture of a sun and moon-much like the mandala on my belly. We played for a while-probably an hour. It was fun. 

Sometimes the fear won’t go away, so you’ll have to do it afraid. 

My husband and oldest child arrived home around 7. By then, I was definitely done with Color and Scream. The little ones left our bedroom (and started watching movies).  Throughout the laboring process, the chidden would run into the birthing space to support me or check things out. My oldest fed herself and her little siblings dinner and found herself a ride to her church activity. My husband started trying to make the bed and set up the birthing tub. I threw up. My husband was putting the wrong size sheet protector on the bed. I could not talk coherently enough to tell him where the right sheet protector was, so I just helped him put the wrong sheet protector on the bed. The pump my husband was using to blow up the tub was making a lot of noise/was annoying, so he tried to do it manually. This was not really working. I was laboring in downward dog (Yoga pose). My legs were shaking a lot. I was feeling both out of control and pathetic-like I could not keep doing this thing that I was doing because it was too hard and no one was there to support me yet. So, I decided that I needed to be my own doula. 

They whispered to [me], “You cannot withstand the storm.”[I] roared back, “I am the storm!”  

I reminded myself out loud that shaking while laboring is normal and natural and good that my body was doing what it needed to do to bring my baby to me. While I was notably anxious to meet my little one, I reminded myself that the terra incognita of laborland is a magical, sacred place. I knew that there are a finite amount of times in my life (this time and maybe one more) that I was going to get to experience my reproductive organs (and the rest of my body) pushed to these physical (and emotional and spiritual) limits and I wanted to slow things down, so I could process what was happening. I slowed my breath. I went super internal. I began to really ride and enjoy the waves of labor. I randomly became aware that the children were watching Phantom of the Opera in the living room and that the volume was turned up really loud. I thought to myself, “Of course they would choose something super, over-the-top dramatic to watch while I am in labor. Thanks kids.” It was about at this time that the birth photographer arrived. She helped my husband finish making the bed-with a flat sheet, because no one could find the right sized fitted sheet and I could not tell them where to find larger sheets. They also tried to (and eventually gave up on) fill the birth tub with water. This was not going to be a water birth.  

My midwife and her assistant arrived at 7:50 PM. My husband got really involved in supporting me/quit trying to do extra things and accepted what was not done would not happen. I moved from laboring on the floor to the bed at 8:05 PM. I was in transition at this point. My sacrum was moving downward and my pelvis widening. My husband went to get my second child, so she could see her brother’s birth. My water broke at 8:30 PM. I reached down and felt baby crown at 8:32 PM. I focused on pushing him out slowly. I wanted to feel the “ring of fire;” more than that, I didn’t want to tear. My baby was born at 8:36 PM.

My husband caught our baby and assisted him as he slid out of my body. I reached to take my son. I held him on my chest and my husband and I both laughed and cried. The older kiddos came in and crawled on the bed and then on top of us. My oldest got home from her activity at 8:40 PM and met her new brother. At 8:53 I birthed the placenta-baby’s tree of life and likely the last or second to last placenta my body will make (this realization is still bittersweet/weird/surreal). It sat in a bowl by my side as we all enjoyed a snack. At 8:55 baby felt ready to eat and latched on to my right breast.  The rest of us ate strawberries. 

I clamped my son’s umbilical chord at 9:27 PM and my oldest cut it. The girls all gloved up and examined the placenta. After the placenta was sufficiently examined, everyone (except baby boy and I) changed into pajamas. I passed our baby to my husband and I went on a walk to the bathroom for necessary postpartum care. Baby was weighed and measured and the midwife checked for other brain and body functionality. The midwife gave baby the hat she made for him and she and the girls sang Happy Birthday to him. I cried-the happiest of tears. 

We all piled back into bed and snuggled a bit. The midwife and photographer left. My husband put the (older) babies to bed. I marveled in the wonder that is the birthing experience-grateful, so grateful for my insistence on manifesting the birth I knew my body was capable of. I have said it before and I will say it again, birth is a natural event that sometimes needs medical attention, not a medical event that sometimes occurs naturally. Birth is sacred. Birth is individual. The way we birth matters.  The way we are treated while both pregnant and birthing matters. It matters for babies and it matters for mammas. Cesarean mothers are not broken. All mothers deserve empowering birthing experiences. I am on a mission to make a tangible, quantifiable difference in the birth world through talking about birth as well as supporting birthing moms and fighting for my own empowered birthing experiences. 

Some people may be upset because you did things your way and they really thought it wasn’t going to work out for you, but it did, even better than expected. Don’t be afraid to own that because you followed your intuition instead of convention and created a new model of success. 

 —Maryam Hasnaa 

-Mama S

The Birth of Bradford

I woke up Saturday morning at 4am, and contractions started soon after about ten minutes apart. After breakfast and a long walk, they fizzled out. I was heartbroken and crying that I was failing to go into labor. My husband and I decided to distract ourselves by driving out to Cabela's with our two-year-old. For lunch, I wanted to try getting labor going with the spiciest food my heartburn could handle-Chipotle mild salsa (I'm such a spice wimp). I had a bunch of bloody show, the contractions were back, and we needed to leave NOW. Adrenaline pumping, we called everyone-our doula Dianne, Diane the on-call midwife, and my sister to be ready to come watch our son. It took us an hour to get back with awful traffic while I was having contractions every seven minutes. This was it! The moment we got home, the pattern started falling apart. I was so disappointed that I went through all that for nothing. 

Dianne suggested trying the Miles circuit which did something but not much. Then I lay on my side with one leg up switching every fifteen minutes. After several rounds, the intensity overwhelmed me. I had three long contractions in five minutes that barely let me breathe, and I started crying this must be transition. Then, yet again, they abruptly spaced out to more than ten minutes. I was so done and defeated. Twelve hours of this had worn me down. My phone disappeared because my husband could see that obsessing about timing things was not helping. I tried to nap, but I was so angry. Angry at my body, at labor, at everything. Didn't sleep much, but I finally started to accept this would not be a fast straight-forward labor like I had with my first. 

Around 6pm, contractions started yet again, this time stronger and six minutes apart. But I was in denial. I wasn't really going into labor, and this time wouldn't stick either. We went out for dinner, but I wasn't handling contractions very well.  I didn't want anyone to see me trying to cope, and they were getting so intense I couldn't keep eating so we left. Honestly I can't believe how much time I spent laboring in the car. The birth center is walking distance from where we live. When we were planning this birth, I was thrilled that I would only have a contraction or two in the car. Well, plan didn't work out. 

We got home and put the toddler to bed. I cried my eyes out singing him to sleep for the last time as my only child. My husband was texting Dianne keeping her updated on my progress. By 8pm, we made the decision that it was time to go in. 

We got to the birth center at 9pm. The assistant Lindsay introduced herself, but I didn't feel like pretending to be social. I just wanted to curl up in bed. Finally deciding to go flipped a switch in me. This was real this time, and I wasn't going to escape it. I was going to have a baby that night before we left. Was I ready to do this-the unmedicated birth I started planning four years ago, the vbac I had been hoping for for two years? 

At my one and only check, I was 6 cm. This was real, but I still had a while to go. Sometime around then, Dianne arrived at the birth center. My husband put on the music I had prepared, and I heard the words

"I will not fear when darkness falls

His strength will help me scale these walls

I’ll see the dawn of the rising sun

The Lord is my salvation"

That gave me so much hope that the sun was going to come up, and I would be holding my baby. 

Tried laboring on the bed, in the shower, on the toilet, and on the ball, but nothing seemed to help with the pain. My legs were so tired, I couldn't be upright for more than three contractions at a time. They had me use the peanut ball, and while my husband was applying counter pressure, it felt like he was trying to shatter my pelvis. I smacked him and demanded he stop touching me. Only a little while before I was was insisting on holding his hand every contraction. After some more scary ones, I just wanted to run away from labor. 

The women were all cheering me on that I could do this, and mid-contraction, I started arguing with everyone that no, I couldn't. They told me it was time to get in the tub. Someone asked me what I wanted to wear which seemed completely unimportant in the moment. Spent what felt like an eternity freaking out every contraction and then apologizing in between. I got to a breaking point where there was no way out only through. I didn't have flashbacks of my first birth, but I did hit all those same fears of not being able to escape. That was terrifying. 

My husband was sitting behind me, and I clung to his arms like my life depended on it. I needed him so much to get through this. The women kept telling me I was the only one who could do this for my baby and that he really was going to come out. I wanted to believe them, but I didn't have any hope left. Then I yelled that I needed to push. With what felt like a bang, my water exploded. They asked if I could feel his head. And I could! He really was head down. But what if he couldn't come out? I heard so many stories of babies getting stuck. I pushed and pushed and felt him moving down. I kept saying "Come on, Baby!" So amazing to feel his head come into my hands. Then pain, burning, and pop! His head was out. I felt a shoulder off to one side, and I panicked. Uuum, now what? Was he stuck? How do I get that out? Not sure how, but I did. My baby was on my chest with the cord still attached just like I had always dreamed. Tears. Joy. Relief that we were ok. I had pushed for only 25 minutes! After the placenta was detached, Diane asked me to push. With what? But there it was. I never got to see my first one, and I was so proud of what my body had done growing and birthing this baby. 

He was born at 2:01am 7lbs 6oz, 20 inches long. I did have a small 1st degree tear that wasn't even worth sewing up. My recovery has been night and day different from my first birth. I actually wept during my shower at the birth center because I felt so normal and was up walking without any pain. It was amazing to be holding my baby watching the morning peek around the curtains. Five hours after he was born, we were home. So relieved and thankful everything went so beautifully.  

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, and I really didn't. I had labored before. I had made it past 8cm so I thought I should've been able to handle it. No, this took me to the edge of where I thought I could go. And then I went past it. When things were getting really bad, I kept thinking "whatever you do, don't say you want a csection. You know that's not true." As I watched those words leave my mouth, I wanted to slap myself upside the head. But I have learned that a mother is not called to be perfect, to know everything, or to have it all together but to keep giving love. 

The entire vbac process has been very healing. These months since have brought the release of so many hurts-both big scary ones that loomed over me and little ones that were a choke hold around my heart. God has been so gracious and abundantly provided and given hope. 

My birth verse was 1 Peter 5:10.  "And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you." I love those four verbs-God is the one who has restored what has been broken, confirmed who I am as His beloved daughter, given strength for the challenge, and established me on the path He has for me.

You can check out Bradfords beautiful birth video here if you would like to see more photos.  

The Birth of Alexandra

Alexandra was born on the very first day of September. Had I remained a patient with my then regular doctor, she would have come August 21st, via cesarean. Had the second doctor had his way, she would have come sometime between August 21st and August 29th, probably after a long and unsuccessful induction, via cesarean. But instead, she was caught by a patient midwife and she came via vagina.

The parts about Alexandra's birth story that I want to stick with me and that I want to share with the world are simple: trust your gut, believe in yourself, rely on your partner and your tribe, and always, always, always know your options as well as or better than anyone giving them to you.

When you wake up 30-something weeks pregnant and every cell in your body is screaming at you to hire a doula: you find Jetta on doula match and decide to hire her the moment you hear her voice.

When your parents offer to come *before* your due date: you say "thank you."

When your husband takes advantage of his flexible schedule and offers to accompany you to the OB appointment on your due date: through ALL THE TEARS, you say "yes, please."

Leaving the first OB, at seven weeks, was easy. I was barely pregnant and based on my own extensive VBAC research, I knew she was either blatantly lying to me because her practice parameters made a VBAC patient inconvenient or she was so out of touch that I didn't want her to be my doctor anyway. Leaving the second OB, at 40 weeks, was tougher. But when the conversation about induction turned from my concerns to his mentioning xbox as a suitable form of childcare for his own kids during my delivery: we said, "no, thank you." Then we called our doula and made plan B.

Someone told me once they didn't understand why I was so obsessed with a VBAC for Alex. At the time I explained it as an intense desire to avoid the pain (physical and emotional) of the recovery from another cesarean birth and a chance to heal emotionally from that experience. And while those things were true, upon reflection it was so much more than that. First, I wasn't technically obsessed with having a successful VBAC; I was obsessed with giving myself the greatest chance possible at a VBAC. And second, I knew in my heart that my body could do it. I believed that my body deserved a second chance and that I wasn't broken. And when you believe something with your whole heart, it gives you the courage to make otherwise seemingly "odd" decisions.

That belief and courage inspired me to find Jetta and to convince my husband to invite a relative stranger to our daughter's birth. It enabled me to share some of my heaviest sorrows and fears with Jetta, who in turn helped unburden my brain and encouraged me to let Alexandra have her very own birth story independent of anything that happened with her brother. It enabled me to commit to an unmedicated delivery in a culture that rains nothing but fear. It enabled me to believe that my baby wasn't too big; she was a masterpiece that was perfectly built by my body. And finally, in the final moments before we met Alexandra, that same belief and courage enabled me to trust my team when they told me I could push my baby out without an epidural, just as I had planned. It was sketchy there for a while and I tried to quit but that's the thing about a tribe: they have your back (or in this case both of your legs) until the end.

A year later, I am so full of joy. I am a proud parent but also a proud person and a proud woman. I am so in awe of her journey but also of my own. There were so many emotional and logistical and medical battles to be fought and I fought every last one til the very end. And I have no regrets and I have no unanswered questions this time. And I am grateful: for the journey, for the outcome, and for the million things that went my way.

The Birth of Nora

Writing Nora’s birth story is difficult for me. There are a few predominant reasons for

this. First, it almost feels too sacred to pen-that by recording it, the experience will

somehow lose its sanctification. Second, I feel that by writing it down, I am admitting

that this chapter of my life-the chapter I have worked hardest to author-is indeed over.

Thirdly, I have no idea where to start-her birth story could start with the day I brought her

earth-side, or perhaps when I was 38 weeks pregnant and found the courage and

wherewithal to change providers, or the day I learned I was pregnant, or the day I

conceived her, or almost three years ago when plagued with morbid post-partum

depression I attended my first ICAN support group meeting, or June 6, 2007, over eight

years ago, when the first Malan-McDonald baby girl was born via emergency cesarean.

Any of these would be appropriate places to start the record of this birth journey.

In spite (or perhaps because of) the internal struggle(s), I feel I have held the space of her

birth story for long enough and if I am to remember it as I want to, it needs to be written.

With that, I will try to figure out what to say and how to express what I want to convey,

though I admit, I will ultimately fall short-that is okay, perhaps even perfect.

On February 14 th , Valentines Day (and my “due date”), I stayed home from church. The

family had just recovered from a vicious onslaught of the flu, I was the last to get the bug,

and I wasn’t quite up to leaving my bed. However, LolaBella, my oldest, had planned a

Valentines party, so while the family was at church, I prepared food for the party and

tried to rest. We had our Valentines bash; the neighbors came over (and stayed a couple

hours longer than I wanted them to).

After cleaning up, Aaron, my husband, and I headed out for our nightly walk. It was

about 10 PM. During the walk, I felt a marked change in my contractions (which I had

been feeling for weeks). This was exciting to me and made me feel like my endeavors to

wait until my baby and body were ready were paying off (though I denied I was in labor

for at least the next 22 hours, this is really when it all started). We finished our walk and

went to bed. Throughout the night my contractions woke me up several times, but I was

always able to go back to sleep.

On Monday, President’s Day, February 15 th , I slept in, and rolled out/my kids pushed me

out of bed between 9 and 10 AM and started our daily routine with breakfast, making

beds, getting dressed etc. The day progressed as most Malan-McDonald Mondays do.

I continued to feel consistent, fairly intense contractions throughout the day, but was able

to breathe through them with the breath awareness and pain coping techniques I had been

practicing in Hypnobabies and my Birthing from Within class. I was in contact with my

doula throughout the day as well as my acupuncturist, my sister and my husband.

I still denied labor, but did feel encouraged that something was different. I texted

Shannon, my sister, “something has changed within me.” When I relayed my progression

to her, my doula let me know that things “sounded promising.” I still thought labor would

likely progress for days, but it was nice to feel my body doing something it had never

been given the chance to do before.

By mid-day, I let Aaron, my husband, know that I wanted him to take the next morning

off work. I had an OB appointment, an acupuncturist appointment (to hopefully

encourage labor) and was planning on meeting my backup doula (because my doula was

headed to Haiti in 10 days). I just did not feel like I could drive myself, if my “pressure

waves” continued like this or got stronger over the next day or so. I kept going with

school for the big girls with plans to finish their violin, science, Spanish and Latin lessons

then finally pack bags for the hospital/for the girls to go to friends then grandma and

grandpa’s house. When Aaron came home from work, we were supposed to head up to

South Mountain to take maternity photos of my very pregnant (and not yet photographed

in this pregnancy) belly and the beautiful henna tattoo he had painted on it.

Around 2 PM, my two year old, Wren, came up to me, grabbed my hand and asked if we

could snuggle on the couch. Though the school day was not quite over, her cuteness and

my fatigue took precedence to our schedule. So, I sent the big girls outside to play and

Wren and I snuggled/napped on the couch. I put in a birth visualization cd. About an hour

later, I woke up to an intense series of contractions (I remember thinking, “this is not

pressure, this hurts.”)-there was no going back to sleep. A couple of minutes later,

another one came.

I kept track of them for an hour and texted my doula-contractions were coming every

four minutes and lasting about thirty seconds. She again said this was “promising” news.

She advised that I eat something and get some rest to prepare for what was to come. I ate

an apple and peanut butter. I decided that though I was NOT in labor, I was close enough

to ”pre-labor” that I needed to start preparing.

I still was committed to the maternity photoshoot, so put on some make-up, looked for

some belly-less clothes to wear, turned on the curling iron-what goddess doesn’t have

flowing curly hair-and started to cook a dinner-my friend suggested that when I was in

the early stages of labor, I should cook a meal for after the baby comes, because “no food

would be made with more love.” The bag packing could wait; we still had time-probably

days…

While doing all the weird things mentioned above, I asked my girls to pack their bags,

because things were progressing for me and I was starting to feel a little stressed that I

would not get it all done. I texted my husband, “on the way home pick up bread, lunch

meat…etc. and get gas.” Two minutes later, I was on the kitchen floor on all fours, the

“pressure waves” were coming faster, lasting longer and were stronger than before.  I

could not deal with the contractions standing any longer.

I yelled at my girls who were running around the house like wild animals, “Your little

sister is coming. I don’t know if she will be here today, but she will be here this week.

PACK YOUR DAMN BAGS NOW!!!” I fell to the floor again in another “pressure

wave” and my daughters continued running through the house. After that contraction, I

texted my husband, “GET HOME.”

When Aaron got home, I was once again, on all fours on the kitchen floor, “breathing

through,” but probably fighting, a contraction-I had so many things yet to accomplish on

my “to do" list and this supposed “pre-labor” stuff was more intense/distracting than I

anticipated it would be. I rattled off the following nonsensical information to Aaron, “We

will leave for South Mountain to take pictures in fifteen minutes. I have started making

‘sweet and sour squash.’ Can you please start the rice so we have a meal to come home to

after baby is born?  My doula told me to count baby’s kicks. I am having a hard time

paying attention to baby movements due to the distracting contraction sensations. The

girls are out front. They need to pack their bags. We need to pack our bags.” I kept

standing up and dropping to the floor between relaying this information. I am pretty sure

he had no idea what I said.

Aaron started making a pizza (clearly we were not on the same page as the countertop

was covered in the squash I planned on making for dinner) and called my doula. I went

into the bathroom and tried to curl my hair while pulling toiletries out of the cabinet-to be

packed in the hospital bag. Since I kept dropping to the floor in pain, I gave up on the

hair curling idea, took off my underwear-I kept wetting myself anyway, grabbed my

pillow, succumbed to Yoga’s ‘child’s pose’ and burrowed my head into the pillow. I told

myself, “this is all just pre-labor; it will go away. Just take a little break, then you can

curl your hair, take the photos, make the dinner, take the Benadryl nap, pack your bag

My doula came over at around 6:30 or 7 PM. I was still on the floor waiting to feel it was

the right time for me to do all "the things". She checked and I was dilated to a two-better

than last Thursday when she could not sweep my membranes, but not very encouraging

to me. I vomited my dinner, of apples and peanut butter. I remember asking her why it

hurt so badly so early on? She told me that maybe it was not SO early on (by now, I

kinda wanted to kill Kerry Tuschoff, Hypnobabies founder, because what I was feeling

was pain, not pressure). My doula encouraged me to get into the bathtub; she got me

talking through my contractions and then she left me-she needed to take her friend (who

and…you still have time.”

also came along) to a midwives dinner.

Aaron brought my Hypnobabies ‘Come Out Baby’ into the bathroom and I listened to it

while in the tub (and for the rest of my birthing time). At first I really resisted what was

happening. I still had so much to do and I was confused as to how to accomplish it and

deal with the pain I was feeling. I just did not feel it was “time.”

While alone in the bathroom in a tub filled with only about 6 inches of water, I

remembered a dream I had had where a friend of mine had come to me in labor and told

me if I was going to have this baby, I was going to have to swear a lot more. I decided to

try “losing it in labor” as Alejandrina had suggested in birth prep classes and Kristin had

directed in my dream and just let a slew of nonsensical cursing mixed with Hypnobabies

mantras fly from my lips.

If angels are real, their ears burned off within seconds. I was about as crass as anyone has

ever been. I did not care, I physically felt my baby move down towards the roots of the

tree Aaron painted on my belly. The more I cursed, the farther down baby girl moved.

This was working. This was a turning point. Baby and I found our rhythm and that

rhythm required a lot of “naughty” words.

I got tired of the bathtub, there was not enough water to really feel comfortable and it was

getting cold. I got out of the tub and went into my room. I did not put on any clothes; I

needed to see my belly. I spent the next few hours on my bed, butt up in the air,

“breathing my baby" into the roots of the tree painted on my stomach. I really loved the

tattoo before my birthing time started, but it was such a beautiful guide as I was laboring.

I just kept looking at the tree and imagined myself as the “mother tree” breathing her

offspring into the roots.

My doula returned and was in my bedroom with me. I was too involved in what I was

doing to pay any attention to what she was doing. Aaron came into our room every once

in a while to check on me and offer encouragement/a back rub. There was some

commotion in trying to contact my OBGYN and getting the girls to a sitter and such.

When/if I was asked a question about any of these things, I just got annoyed. I was pretty

unaware of anything beyond my body at this point in time.

I was still not sure whether I was in labor or not. I kept thinking about all the things I

needed to do before I went into labor, let alone all the things I was going to do in labor-

the birth ball, the birthing tub, the twelve-hour wall sit, THE BENEDRYL NAP…At one

point in time, My doula asked me if I was glad that I was in labor-I think I might have

just mentioned/screamed that I wanted something for pain or that I just wanted to sleep

and she was trying to refocus me on my priorities. I cannot remember if I was positive

about being in labor or not. I was happy I was in labor, but I was not happy in the

moment-I was in pain.

My doula encouraged me to sit on the toilet. I was not sure why as I wanted to stay in

bed, but I decided that a change of position/space might be a good idea. I went into the

bathroom and spent most of the time in ‘child’s pose’ on the floor, rather than on the

toilet. No pee would come out, but blood did. My doula came in and asked if she could

check me as “that was a fair amount of bloody show.”

I made it back to the bedroom, lay on the bed and my doula checked me (I was dilated at

a 6. Per my request, she did not inform me of this.) I crawled in bed and she went into the

other room to tell my husband that it was time to go to the hospital. There was some

fighting with a printer, trying to find a pad absorbent enough to deal with what was

coming out of me, deciding to put my two-year- old’s diaper in my underwear instead of

the pad, trying to put pants on me and my demanding to wear a dress…the last thing I

remember was requesting my pillow. We got in the car and pulled out of the driveway.

I did not put my seatbelt on; I was laboring on all fours, screaming into my pillow. I did

not want to know what time it was, but I glanced at the clock when I got into the car. 9:37

PM. I committed to myself that I could keep on keeping on for 3 more hours. At 12:37

AM, I would reassess and commit to three more hours and then three hours after that I

would once again commit to three hours…I could do this.

During the five-mile car ride to the hospital, I continued to travel deeper into labor land

and Aaron talked on the phone with my doctor. I could not hear or pay attention to the

phone conversation, but I felt a greater determination and sense of urgency to have this

baby-soon (I later learned that the doctor was telling Aaron that since it is contraindicated

at that hospital to have a vaginal birth after three cesareans, the hospital staff was going

to try to make me have a repeat cesarean upon arrival.)

We got off the freeway and while waiting at the stoplight at the top of the “off-ramp” I

felt the most intense pressure ever and my water broke. It was amazing-such a beautiful,

wonderful sensation. This was the moment I was willing to let go of the Benadryl nap,

the birthing ball, the birthing tub, the twelve-hour wall sit and finally admit to myself that

this was really happening; I was in labor; I was pushing my baby into this world. We

were doing it! I was so, so happy.

After my water broke, my body started pushing my baby out. There was no stopping this.

It was a reflex. I was not pushing; my body had taken over. We got to the hospital, My

doula ran in to get me a wheelchair. I was not sure why I needed to go anywhere-my

baby and my body had things well in hand. Several nurses/hospital staff ran out. I heard

someone whisper, “She is the one.”

My doula and I went into triage. Aaron went to park the car. One nurse kept telling me

not to push. Upon hearing this, I thought two things: first, “You are a labor and delivery

nurse, right? How many babies have you seen born-today? You do know that telling a

woman not to push is completely stupid, right? I am not pushing, it is a reflex; my body

has taken over. If you were to coach me through safely not pushing, that might be

effective, but yelling. ‘Don’t push!’ is just idiotic.” Secondly I thought, “There is no way

I am going to stop pushing this baby into the world. This is our birth. You are lucky

enough to get to witness this sacred event. The second I stop pushing, you or someone

else will assault me with a knife. No one is cutting me today.”

So, anyway the nurse is telling me not to push and everyone else is telling me to move

from the wheelchair to the gurney. This was all so confusing to me. I just wanted to be

left alone to push my baby out. I moved to the gurney. They took off my underwear. The

charge nurse checked me. I heard someone say I was dilated to a “plus two.” I did not

know what that meant, but based on what I was feeling, I assumed it meant that I was

having a baby-now.

The nurse kept telling me not to push. I kept allowing and inviting my body to keep doing

what it was doing. I was wheeled into the next room, a labor and delivery room because

they did not want me having a baby in triage. I was told to get onto the other bed-

“Seriously people, why the musical chairs? Can’t a girl just have a baby????!” I rolled

onto my left side; baby girl was crowning; I was not getting onto the other bed.

Aaron came in the room and was at my side. Nanoseconds later I opened my legs and

pushed a baby girl out of my vagina at 9:50 PM, 13 minutes after we left home. My doula

reminded us to catch our baby. Aaron and I reached down, caught our perfect, slimy,

bloody babe and put her on my chest. No one was taking her away from me. She did not

need to be evaluated. She needed her mamma and I needed her. This was our show.

The charge doctor came in and saw my baby and me and wanted to know what was going

on-he was planning on a cesarean…sorry, not sorry. He got some blood on him, got

angry and left to change his shirt (because labor and delivery doctors should never get

blood on them?)

The nurses tried to cut baby girl’s umbilical cord. Aaron did not let them do this because

we wanted to delay cord clamp. They kept telling us that it was too short, so I just

lowered baby girl from my chest to my tummy-problem solved; stop intervening.

I pushed the placenta out. The doctor came in to deliver my placenta and, exasperated,

asked, “What is going on in here?” He was still confused as to why I was not being

prepped for abdominal surgery. The charge nurse informed him they would talk about it

later. The charge doctor left in a huff. As he was leaving, I thanked him. I did not see him

again.

My doctor came in and made a joke about inviting her to the birth and congratulated us. I

tore, 2 nd degree (that is what happens when a baby decides to fly out of you instead of

slowly emerging), so she started sewing me up. I thanked her through tears and was so

happy I started singing opera. My sister, baby Shannon, arrived. I cried. I was so, SO

happy to share this experience with her.

There were nurses asking us stuff about vaccines and “checking us in”-we skipped that

part of the process because we arrived so late in my birthing. Shannon and Aaron were

calling people and my doula was posting things on facebook to announce the good news.

I was not paying much attention to any of this. I was falling in love with my perfect baby.

I talked to my dad, but he was asleep and had no idea what was going on. I just wanted to

get off the phone and look at my baby.

We did not feel much support from most of the hospital staff-they were either cranky

about our breaking the rules and my pushing a baby out of my vagina rather than

allowing for myself and my baby to be assaulted or they were focused on getting the job

done. As things settled and approximately an hour had passed, there was one nurse, Ruth,

who had been with us since I arrived, who whispered, “I am glad you got your VBAC.

My first baby was a cesarean. I have had three VBACs since. No one understands what

this means like a VBAC mom.” It was nice to feel compassion and support from someone

at the hospital-a place that I still saw as a “scary, though necessary evil.” My doula

showed us the placenta, baby girl’s "Tree of Life," then took it with her to encapsulate.

We headed to our recovery room. Soon after, Shannon left us (she had just worked a 12

hour shift and had another one the next day.) She took the dress I birthed my babe in with

her in the hopes that she could soak the blood etc. out of it.

Aaron fell asleep. I thought about sleeping or reading or watching television but I could

not. I did not want to. I was too in love. I spent the night kissing, cuddling, nursing and

just falling in love with my new baby girl.

We did it; Nora and I achieved something that almost everyone thought (and told us) was

"impossible"  -a VBA3C-but we did it and we did it safely and on our own terms. Over the

course of birthing, neither of us was exposed to any drugs; I only agreed to one

intervention-going to the hospital-I even birthed her in my own clothes.

I have never been so happy, nor have I ever felt so empowered.

I birthed a new, perfect baby and this birthing experience gave birth to a new me. I am a

different person. I have been reborn; rising triumphant from the ashes of three cesarean

births; like a Phoenix I fly. Every aspect of my life is forever changed.

Birth is sacred. It is time to reclaim birth. The way we birth matters. The way we are

treated while both pregnant and birthing matters. It matters for babies; it matters for

mommas.

It mattered for Nora.

It mattered for me.

The Birth of Andrew Zachary

When I got pregnant with my second child I could not decide for a while if I wanted to VBAC or just take an option of RCS. Based on my previous experience, RCS appeared to be more attractive, an easier option as the most trauma I received with my first was during the labor and recovery process. Having to go through almost vaginal delivery, pushing for 2.5 hours, having vacuum applied with no success and eventually with cesarean was pretty hard to recover from. When I finally selected to go VBAC route, my biggest fear was to repeat the same path I went through the first time. I did however learned a few lessons which I thought would set me on the right path even if things were to start going in the same directions. There were 5 things I was planning on doing differently this time:

1. If the water starts leaking with no contractions, I would delay going to the hospital for as long as possible (up to 24 hours) and explore various methods to get the labor started.
2. Once in the hospital I would eat light food and drink keeping in mind safety of course, but not letting the hospital to exhaust me to the point that I can’t push the baby out
3. Getting an epidural as late as possible so it doesn’t stall the labor (I was on epidural at 3sm with my first and for 13 hours before I even started pushing)
4. Hire a doula
5. Go to chiropractor regularly

My due date was on 5/7 so when I had more than a usual discharge on the evening of 4/25, I didn’t think much of it. By Tuesday morning I knew for sure that it was my water that has started leaking. Based on the previous experience I was determined not to go to the hospital for as much as I could. With advice of my doula I tried different exercises, walking, sitting on the birthing ball to get the contractions started. I also tried to eat and rest well so when I get to the hospital for the interventions I am well prepared. Later that afternoon I went to my doctor to verify that it was indeed the amniotic fluid which continued leaking. Once confirmed we decided that I would go to the hospital around 7pm that night. I was 2-3sm dilated and 70% effaced with baby being pretty high still (-3).

Once in the hospital, they started me on antibiotics and low dosage of Pitocin. By Wednesday morning the Pitocin was only at 4 which did absolutely nothing. But at least I could get 3-4 hours of sleep that night. I tried walking in the hallways of the Labor&Delivery, did more exercises, but nothing helped. When my doctor checked me Wednesday morning I was maybe 3+sm with the same effacement. Over the next few hours they increased Pitocin to 8.  With my doctor we have also decided that if there was no progress by 2pm they will disconnect me from everything, and let me eat and walk and rest for a few hours. That sounded so good. Once Pitocin was disconnected my barely noticable contractions went completely away. At that time I was already ruptured for 40 hours and in the hospital for 20 with no labor in sight. I can’t describe how grateful I am to my doctor and the hospital for not even once showing impatience with me and mentioning anything about c-section.

Once I was connected back to the monitoring and drugs I started feeling some contractions by the time Pitocin was at 6. My doula came to visit and we chatted for a while, my contractions were getting stronger as nurses were increasing Pitocin, but still not even close to what you would call painful. When doula left around 9pm, we decided I get some rest and call her when I need her. Well, it is then I realized I can’t sleep through those contractions (Pitocin was at 12 at that point) and soon after I needed to stand and breath through them. The nurse came in and said the contractions were 4 min apart and they needed those to be 3 min apart, so she increased Pitocin to 14. Well, finally they achieved what they were looking for. I was in pain and contractions were close enough together. My doula returned around 10:20pm and this is when I needed her the most. If you remember one of my objectives was to hold off on getting the epidural as long as possible. The nurses told me it would take about an hour to get an epidural in. I called for it around 12:45am after trying every position I could and the shower. I also felt guilty getting the epidural as I knew not much time has passed. My doula was very supportive though and told me that Pitocin contractions are much stronger so I should get it if I feel I needed it. But she advised me to be checked before it. I was 5-6sm, 100% effaced and baby at 0. It was a great progress and all I needed was to dilate some more. I felt really optimistic about the progress and that I would definitely have a successful VBAC this time around. The baby appeared to be smaller than my first one and I was in much better position (physically and emotionally) before they put the epidural in.

We slept for a bit and at 2:30am I was dilated to 10. The nurse has asked me to sit in certain position to “labor down” for an hour while they would call the doctor. I was closer than ever to my baby. I felt strong and rested compared to my first labor. When my doctor came in she advised me not to push, but rest some more. However my contractions felt painful down there and I really could not sleep through them. I either needed to push or another dosage of epidural. She agreed to have me start pushing. I had a mirror up and felt I was pushing way better than with my first as I could see what I was doing. However after an hour no baby has shown up. The doctor came in and called for anesthesiologist and said I really needed to rest. In the series of pushes my first push was good, but the second and third were weak. It was 4:30am Thursday morning.

At 6am we resumed, the doctor did not like how swollen I was down there, but she had the best attitude ever. She looked at me and said that we were going to push this baby out in 30 min. She said I needed to get mad during the pushing and assured me that I can certainly do it. I was super excited and empowered. However, 30 or so min later things didn’t progress as planned and because of the swell she could not assist me as she wanted to. Moreover I tore a bit and while she was trying to get that taken care of there were some concerns in their voices. At that point I didn’t have the mirror up and was not sure what was happening. It was the bleeding. They could not understand why I was bleeding so much. It was then when my doctor told me I needed to push this baby out in 10 min. I tried to push him out with the next push, but it was not successful. At that point the baby’s heart rate dropped, my heart rate skyrocketed to 130, my blood pressure fell to 80/40 and I felt sweaty and about to pass out. My doctor looked at me and said that I was bleeding very much and she just doesn’t know if this is from my uterus (aka rupture) or from somewhere else. I asked her what would she advise to do next and she said c-section. I had no doubt in my mind it was the best and safest decision at that point. There were no external factors driving that decision. Just my health and the health of my baby. And I was so in peace with it. I remember thinking “what was taking them so long to get me to the operating room”.

It turned out I was bleeding from the cervix, but my uterus was very thin. It hasn’t ruptured though, which was great. Baby had the cord around his neck and did have a big head and wide shoulders (according to one of the assisting doctor). While they commented that the baby was big, he was a whole pound less than my first, so for me he was tiny at just 7lb 12oz.

My recovery has been great. Physically and emotionally I feel very good. The baby latched to the breast right after the surgery and has such a strong grip that I am having a hard time unlatching him even with my finger. Very strong boy.

Here I was, having gone through exact same steps as I had with my first baby and which is what I was most scared off and yet feeling completely different about my whole experience. I am convinced it is the journey not a destination that is so awesome about the opportunity to VBAC. I have learned so much and have met so many awesome providers that I don’t regret a one bit that I have chosen this path. I hope you get your VBAC, but even if you don’t, through this journey you will have the opportunity to find the answers to the questions that may have been unanswered with your first c-section.