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.

The Birth of Gabriel Oak

Gabriel's Birth Story

My due date came and went, as had my daughter's, and I struggled emotionally with this as the phone calls rolled in wondering where the baby was and wondering if everything was OK. I had random contractions for days that never turned into labor, always going away in the middle of the night and leaving me tired and disappointed in the morning.

On Jan. 16^th, a Saturday night, 10 days past my due date, my contractions finally picked up enough to text my doula, Dianne. She suggested I do the Miles Circuit since they were not in a time-able pattern. Ken and I tried to do it together, but I was really struggling with the pain (already!) and was having a hard time focusing. I called one of my best friends who happens to be a doula and VBAC mama, Abby, and she came right over to help me through it. I'm so glad I did that. She helped me focus and gave me the tough coaching I needed to finish the Miles Circuit and get active labor going. I labored through the night with Abby's encouragement, and she called Dianne to come over at 4am. Dianne helped us try different positions to get my contractions going stronger and I spent a lot of time laboring on the toilet. One of my best friends, Lisa, came over around this time to pick up Aly. She came in and visited me and I remember wanting to tell her, “I'm doing it! I'm almost there!” Little did I know I had a long way to go. My midwife, Dr. Anne Marie Palzer, and her assistant, Lisette, came over at 8:30am and I was so excited to see them. I knew Dianne wouldn't call her if I wasn't close, so I knew I had made some progress in her eyes

Around 11am, I was getting really tired and discouraged with my progress and wondering if something was wrong with the pace of my labor. Anne Marie wanted to do a cervical exam and I was adamantly against it. She had tried to do one before and it was so painful, and I didn't want to know how dilated I was because I knew it would discourage me. Later I found out I was a 6-7. I started to break down and freak out. I told Dianne I wanted to go to the hospital because it wasn't working out. She reminded me that that was not what I really wanted at all. For example, we would have to drive there and that would be so hard, and the cervical exams, the pressure for a c-section, etc. I told her I would walk there. I just wanted to be done. Dianne suggested I go outside for a walk with Ken and decide what I wanted to do. This was the turning point for me. Ken told me he was sorry that he kept encouraging me to take the easy road out. Dianne came out and I told her I wanted to have courage to finish this task. She prayed with me and told me to go inside and tell Anne Marie I would do a cervical check to see what was going on and that I was ready to do whatever I needed to get this done.

Throughout this whole process, God was continually calling me to surrender. Before labor, when I invited God into my birth experience, I thought there would be this one moment of surrender, and the baby would be born. For me, every contraction was an opportunity to surrender my desire to give up, to rely on my own strength, to say I couldn't do it, etc. My labor was an exercise in confession. In between contractions, I confessed to God my fears, my selfish desires, my dreams. I've never felt so close to Him. I never knew the connection between God and labor and birth until this time, and it was so special to me. Even though it was the hardest day of my life, I would never trade it for the relief found in pain medication or a repeat c-section. I needed to cling to him, and this is how he wanted me to do it.

Before Anne Marie checked me, Abby read me something. I can't remember what, but it helped calm me. Abby was my rock during this time. I clung to her because I knew she knew my heart, what I wanted out of this birth, which was to grow closer to God, and I knew she had been through it before with her VBACs. It was such a blessing to have her there. Anne Marie checked me and didn't tell me, but I was an 8. If she would have told me I would have been disappointed, even though I progressed since that morning, because that's where I got stuck with Aly, and it would have been a stumbling block for me to continue. I labored on and at 5pm my water broke. This was amazing to me because with Aly my water broke before labor started and I was so thankful to not have that time line working against me. At this point I started pushing but had a tiny lip of cervix and Anne Marie wanted me to go through a couple contractions without pushing, sitting on the birth stool, leaning back against Dianne. This was unbearable for me and I cried a lot. Another step in surrender. After just a few minutes Anne Marie checked, and the lip was gone and I could get to pushing! I cried tears of joy. It was another way I saw God show up in my labor; one more step forward.

I pushed for hours, in many different positions, which I really liked as opposed to trying to relax through contractions. Finally, I could DO something! I got tired very fast. I started bleeding pretty heavily and then, after pushing, Oak's heart tones started not recovering as fast as they would have liked ,so they said it was time to transfer to the hospital. Anne Marie put an oxygen mask on me and coached me through breathing deeply to try to get the baby more air. Dianne said there was going to be a lot of commotion and a lot of people coming in my home. I looked at Ken and he looked really terrified. I however, was not. I was done. I knew everything would be OK, one way or another, and that I was about to meet my baby. The EMTs came in my room, and they looked terrified too. Anne Marie was very calm and tried to relay the situation to them, but they were a little flabbergasted. I was told not to push anymore, but by that point I had an uncontrollable desire to push and could not help it. I got up on the gurney and they started wheeling me out of my house. I was wearing nothing but a tiny, black sports bra and asked them for a blanket to cover me as we went outside. They gave me the smallest blanket that did not cover my body and I remember being a little embarrassed. As they put me in the ambulance, I told Ken not to worry, that I had peace from God and everything would be OK. I also yelled for him to grab the birth plan, but then quickly remembered what high ideals of a natural birth it outlined and how I was over that. As we drove away I coached the EMTs on how this was going to go. Upon arriving at the hospital I wanted an immediate c-section with Dr. Guzman and I wasn't discussing any other options. They looked confused because I was pushing my baby out as I said this. The ambulance ride was quick. The EMTs were busy poking and prodding me and telling me not to push and they all looked pretty concerned.

I was wheeled into the delivery room and there were a lot of people doing a lot of things, and I was yelling that I wanted a c-section. Dianne came over and encouraged me that my baby was almost here. I told her I couldn't do it like this. I was in too much pain. I was tired and I was flat on my back in a cold, unfamiliar room with strangers and it felt like torture. The hospital doctor came in and did a very painful cervical exam against my consent and that made me just done. I didn't think I was allowed to have an epidural at 10cm and pushing, but Dianne said I could have one and that made me OK with trying for a vaginal delivery. They got me one and I was immediately relieved of pain and working to push my baby out. After a few minutes, Dr. Guzman came in and said I could have a forceps delivery or a c-section. I looked at Anne Marie for advice and she said she would trust him to do a good job with the forceps. Dr. Guzman said he'd try one time and if he didn't have a good hold, we were on our way to the operating room. He slipped in the forceps and out popped my baby! His head was just a little bit stuck to the side. It all happened so fast and he was immediately placed on my chest. My very first thought was, “You look just like your sister!” I felt so relieved to meet my baby boy.

Dianne was right by my head and said right away, “You did it, you got your VBAC!” I didn't really feel like I had. I feel like it now, as I reflect on how hard I worked to get my baby out, but at the time, with the epidural, it all felt a little unreal, which was kind of disappointing.

In recovery I developed a fever and a high heart rate which revealed a uterine infection. They put me on antibiotics and I had to stay three nights until they got my levels stabilized. I also had a complication from the epidural that gave me terrible neck pain. I had a blood patch procedure done to my epidural site that took care of it, but it was pretty traumatic and painful. I also almost had to have a blood transfusion because of the amount of blood I lost during delivery. I suffered

a 3^rd degree tear and a fractured tailbone which I am still recovering from. Our time in the hospital was overall very good. The nursing staff was fantastic, and Ken and I had a lot of time alone working together, reflecting on the birth and getting a lot of good rest and good food.

Despite all of this, I would not have traded this experience for anything. It was incredible to be in my home with the most amazing birth team supporting me. I experienced God in a way that I never have before in those hard hours. I heard Him calling me to lay down my fear and follow Him into the unknown. He gave me the strength to cling to Him and other people when I wanted to give up. I really never imagined this birth story for me, it was very different than what I expected, and that is a testimony of it being God's plan, not my own.