Bryson's Birth Story: Yes We Can!
I always wanted another baby if I could have my VBAC to avoid the “mandatory” C-section our local hospital insists upon. So, when I became pregnant on a day in January after working for seven hours on the Obama primary campaign, and confirmed it in February, I was naturally nervous. I had not lined up anything for a VBAC, and was finding many dead ends. One of two midwives in town claimed she was the only VBAC provider, and she wasn’t taking on any new patients. In early March, I contacted another midwife who lived an hour and fifteen minutes away and she was willing to meet with me, but my husband Bryan and I declined as we were leery of the distance.
My OB offered me VBAC, in a very hush, hush manner, which included a move to a city two and a half hours away during the last six weeks-one month of my pregnancy. I couldn’t imagine leaving my Kindergartener and husband—nor could I fathom pulling her out of her second month of school, even if Bryan could get a transfer for a month. We would have been able to live rent-free there, but then came the “backpedaling” by the OB: “Don’t let it get around town that I told you you could do this” and “It’s really not wise of me, as I am cutting into my earnings and taking money from the hospital.” And, “You and I will be called before a board at the hospital before they allow you to transfer and we will be admonished. They’ll tell me I’m a stupid doctor and I don’t know the risks associated with VBAC, and that you are a stupid mother, and don’t know the risks either.” I think she realized that I was quite non-confrontational and would likely bow obediently into my C-Section in October.
She almost had me convinced that there was nothing I could do, until a key turning point came in late March when I went to a direct marketing party hosted by my girlfriend who’d had a homebirth. The hostess and the salesperson had used the same midwife. And, that midwife showed up to that party that night. She’d not been in my friend’s home for 2-3 years, so it was odd that she showed up that night. Furthermore, The Business of Being Born was next on my Netflix queue, and I discovered that night that I could watch it on demand. Of course I did so as soon as I could, and I got Bryan to see the movie too.
I read up on VBAC, old articles in Mothering magazine, and then we went to meet Nora, the midwife. The way to her house made me firmly know that this was meant to be, just as our first meeting had been. The street to her house was the name of the county where I feel most at home, although I no longer live there. Then, I turned on the street with the name of the town where I was raised. In going to Nora’s house, I was truly going “home”—to my home birth, that is.
In May I transitioned from OB scare (oops, I meant care) to midwife care, and never looked back once, except on the day my C section should have been scheduled for, and then only with wonder and rejoicing.
Thus, we come to the final week of my healthy and highly uneventful pregnancy. On Saturday, October 18, at 39 weeks, 5 days, I began to wonder whether I’d recognize what contractions felt like since I’d only had back labor with Audrey. I knew plenty about Braxton Hicks contractions, but didn’t know that I’d know when to start timing “real labor”.
Sunday, October 19 rolled around and I went into uber nesting mode. 5 loads of laundry later, the car loaded, and all last-minute baby stuff taken care of, this watched pot (as I’d been feeling with everyone calling) was ready. Bryan had been humoring me, asking for updates ever since I started losing my mucous plug and seeing bloody show that morning, and he was compliantly and uncomplainingly doing whatever I asked.
Around 12:45 P.M. I went by a clock in the kitchen, and at 1:00 I went by again, and noticed I’d had a significant number of contractions during that 15 minutes. I completed several more projects and then got into bed around 2 for a rest, and to start timing contractions on Contractionmaster.com. The interface was annoying to me, with the seconds counting away so noticeably that I couldn’t stand it. So, between contractions, I would play the word game at freerice.com. Bryan remembered a contraction timer for his IPod, and downloaded it, but not before we realized they were 3-5 minutes apart and I was having trouble concentrating on definitions of words I knew and had taught for years. So, we called Nora. She said we could head on over to her house where we were birthing, and she was going to take a nap. She told us to make ourselves comfortable.
Since we’d already loaded the car, all we had to do was grab our food bag and we were off. Bryan drove very cautiously, and even let the second of two white trucks turn in front of us in one of those questionable right-of-way situations at our four way stop before the freeway. That was a big mistake. This guy, in the smaller (non-raised) of two white trucks, drove next to his buddy in the raised white truck all the way up the hill, blocking the passing lane and carrying on a conversation through open windows at 40 mph. No one got to pass. Bryan laid on the horn when one of them was about to drive into oncoming traffic, and that set these yahoos into further action. They slowed down further and tormented us with a low speed for the entire unpassable portion of the highway, then sped up as soon as there were two lanes again. At this point my contractions were about 2 minutes apart, and these guys were infuriating us. Bryan laid on the horn again, and one of the drivers somehow maneuvered behind us (thus spotting our Obama ’08 sticker) while a very dapper African American man passed and tipped his hat to us. Then, the smaller white truck accelerated from behind us and got dangerously close to us before blocking our path again, to point at his McCain/Palin sticker for a mile before he finally gave up. He drove erratically during that time, and I begged Bryan to exit the freeway and go an alternate route. I mean, come on, petty partisanship and political harassment while I’m in labor? What more could happen?
We got to Nora’s house otherwise uneventfully. We made ourselves at home and explored the back yard a bit to calm me. The water feature back there was so refreshing to listen to, and the cool grass between my toes was just what I needed to reconnect to the real task at hand. Nora checked me at about 3:30, and I was dilated to 4 cm. We celebrated because I had only gotten to 3 with Audrey. She told us it would probably be a long time, so we should go get something to eat, as I’d not be able to eat later as labor picked up. She also suggested we take a walk on the river trail, and then come back. We ended up going for Jamba Juice, as she suggested carbs, with only limited protein. So, Audrey and I split a pink Jamba, and I started having stronger contractions while waiting for it to be made. We went to get Bryan a burrito, and I got a side of rice—it sounded and was soooo good. Although it was between lunch and dinner on a Sunday, I started getting really annoyed by my surroundings. I suggested we head out. Bryan went to get a soda at the grocery store, and we left, after a couple more very strong contractions in the parking lot.
After getting back to Nora’s I changed into my XXL Viva Obama! shirt. We labored back at Nora’s for a while in the back yard, on the birthing ball, but mostly on my hands and knees, with Bryan giving counter pressure on my sacrum during contractions. Audrey opened several gifts I’d included in her “go bag” and during a contraction she would sometimes give me a kiss or rub my belly. Around 6:30 Nora came in and checked me—I was dilated to 7 and had been nauseous—to the point where contractions over the trash can were the most comfortable.
At some point, I tried to shower, then tried a bath, but quickly felt overheated and so went back to the birthing room—which was all ready for the birth! Bryan put Audrey down for sleep in the guest room, but since she’s rarely slept alone and we’d not brought any of her favorite stuffed animals, she came back in and tried to rest in the bean bag. She covered her head during my more vocal contractions, but otherwise stayed the whole time.
I let me body do what it needed to during contractions. When I would feel my toes curl and body tense, I’d remind myself to “open to the pain.” Because I had been so nauseous during the pregnancy and labor, I though that I would throw up as a sign of transition. Because I thought I had a low pain tolerance, I thought I’d say I couldn’t handle pushing a baby out. Transition happened, but because I didn’t notice, I was reluctant to admit that I was feeling “pushy.” The midwife and her assistants could tell by the quality of my moans, but I had to get there mentally too.
As soon as it was too dark to see in the room with the lights off, I closed my eyes and they stayed closed the whole time, aside from my attempts to check on Audrey. My contractions spaced out a little when I started pushing. I can’t really say what time that was. I am positive that I fell asleep in between contractions while I was pushing.
Nora wanted me to try pushing in side-lying position, and although I protested, she reminded me that if it sounded uncomfortable it was exactly what I needed, so I complied. At one point I got up to pee, and she noticed that I pushed on the toilet, so she got out her portable commode and I continued pushing there. I pushed for a while squatting, with Bryan supporting me off the edge of the birthing platform, and when that was over he left the room to use the bathroom. My contractions were coming quickly at that point, and while I was turning into a different position to push, I ended up on hands and knees. When Bryan came back into the room, the baby was crowning. It moved so quickly. The “ring of fire” everyone always mentions was sending that Johnny Cash song through my mind, and it wasn’t quite fire only when he was crowning, but for a lot of the time before too. At one point I reached down and just felt a bunch of skin. Without my glasses I couldn’t tell what I was looking at/feeling, and it turns out that it was some of the tears I’d been developing while I was pushing. When he was born, I was on hands and knees, and despite my prior fear of dropping him (not in the moment, mind you) someone handed him to me and I twisted to my side and cuddled with my new little one. It was an amazing mix of disbelief, euphoria and absolute awe at my accomplishment. We stayed cuddled there, reclined on the birthing platform, with Bryan at my side, Audrey at his, and our new baby crying at my breast. The midwives did their checks of me—the baby was clearly fine, and I remembered to ask the sex—it was a boy, just as we had been told at the 18 week ultrasound.
He eventually latched—strongly—I delivered the placenta, Bryan and Audrey cut the cord, and there was a knot in it. It was only the 6th in Nora’s 30 years of midwifery! We were left alone to bond as a family. In that time we made calls to our parents, and to two close friends to tell them of the baby’s arrival. He was less than 1 hour old.
Eventually, the midwives came back in to get us cleaned up, and that boy had pooped a ton of meconium all over my leg. I got showered off, he got cleaned up, only to poop twice more, and I watched his newborn exam while Bryan taped it. He was 9 pounds even—might have been 9 lbs. 4 oz. like his daddy was at birth, if we’d weighed him before the poops (but that doesn’t matter). He was 20 inches long. He has dark hair and dark grey/brown eyes and he’s pretty perfect! His hands and feet were super wrinkly—too long in the “tub”?
The midwives then got me to the table to make repairs. He came quickly, so I had a number of second degree tears, in the perineum and other parts that “relocated” themselves. Bryan cuddled up with both kids while I got stitched up. Audrey was sound asleep by then. Since my midwife’s assistants are both in training, she was much more frank in her discussion of suturing. At one point, with the midwife assistant holding my hand, she said “you probably don’t want to hear all of this” I replied that because we’d become Grey’s Anatomy junkies over the summer that it didn’t phase me any longer.
We drove home on an abandoned Sunday night roads, and arrived home at 1 A.M. to a quiet house. We had not even been gone for 12 hours, and yet there were four of us returning home. Bryan got us all transferred up to bed, and we passed a pretty blissful night with me staring at our new babe at my breast or on Bryan’s chest.
Audrey got up the next day, ready to go to school. It was her one day of the week we’d scheduled for day care, and her one day of the month for hot lunch. She certainly either has my work ethic, or loves chicken nuggets, because she refused to miss any of it. She went off to school and Bryan had already downloaded pictures and sent off an email to our ambassadors—to spread the word and keep phone calls at bay so we could rest.
All night long I’d chanted the mantra of our baby boy’s possible name, with both of his grandfathers’ fathers’ names as middles together, so I called my folks to check and see if my dad would be okay with that. He said he’d be fine, although he’d never really liked the name Everett. My mom emailed everyone on their side announcing that he’d yet to be named, but that we were giving him two middle names, and wasn’t it a shame that so many kids these days have such long names. Bryan didn’t take to the second middle name idea very well, so we went with the name Bryson (Bryan’s son—because it was such a gift for Bryan to let go of his fears of departing the hospital for the peaceful environment of a homebirth ) and Albert (named for Bryan’s grandfathers, uncle and father’s middle name.)
This birth was easier than I had dared to hope for. I never once wanted drugs, and while I may have thought briefly that it would take forever, I pushed through the pain so I could meet my son. I love that my body worked so easily for me, and gave me this enormous gift that I knew it could. I birthed a 9 pound baby with minimal theatrics, no drugs, and in a way that I am endlessly proud of. I did it. Yes I can!
I am so thankful to so many people for supporting me through this birthing experience. My gratitude is far reaching, from the erstwhile yoga teachers who taught me endurance and to trust and listen to my body, to the girlfriend who orchestrated the meeting between me and my midwife—from my daughter for her gentle touches and kisses during labor, to my husband for questioning, but always supporting me. To my due date club for talking me through nearly 9 months of pregnancy, to all of the amazing women who have birthed on their terms before me and written their birth stories on MDC. Yes we can!
Once again, and most of all, I am grateful to my body. From those fainting spells brought on with early periods, and the excruciating cramps, I convinced myself there was a reason for it all. Perhaps both of my children didn’t get the same birth, but the last one did, and it’s because of Audrey’s less-than-perfect birth that I resolved even more strongly to do this one right—the way I knew I could. I learned that evening that I can muster strength to journey beyond pain and conquer the fear of the unknown. Yes I can!
I had my VBAC. I have my baby boy. I have a beautiful, sweet, loving daughter to whom I proved she can do whatever she resolves to. And I have a husband who talks about homebirth now with such boundless pride in his wife that I often think he must be talking about someone else—but he’s not. I did it! Yes we can!
:
: welcome to the world baby boy! 
to your new baby boy 
).
