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Midwife-assisted unmedicated hospital birth

6K views 6 replies 7 participants last post by  Argelia Lindsey 
#1 ·
Pregnancy ticked by week by week. 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41 … My co-workers were surprised to see me every morning. As a smaller woman, my belly grew to hilarious proportions. My hips and back ached. Baby squirmed and squiggled, content in the warmth and comfort of the increasingly tight enclosure. Why give up a constant supply of food from the cord?

Mild Braxton-Hicks had been a companion for weeks, but never a nuisance or uncomfortable. Just strong hugs to let baby know space was at a premium and get my body ready for its first birth. I felt womanly, maternal, strong, and ready.
I awoke at 2am one Sunday morning feeling different. My uterus cramped and back singed. I lay in bed and breathed. The pain passed. The pain returned. After weeks of wondering, now I knew: this was labor!

I rose awkwardly from the bed. My husband B stirred. Both of us had lost sleep to my tossing and turning, but he knew this was it. Together, we went to the living room and called the midwives to let them know baby would be on his or her way. I walked, crouched, moaned, sat, and swayed. B lay his strong hands on my back, providing counterpressure and some level of relief. He timed contractions, noting their irregularity as I noted their strength. We continued as the sun rose.

Things slowed. My body didn’t like the sun’s intrusion on this private, vulnerable moment. I ate something. B made sure I drank water. Time became meaningless, my mind unfocused. Sunlight brought a sharpness which didn’t agree with my laboring body, making it impossible to hide and moan in the shadows. I waited for evening as the day passed in a blur.

The sun set. My contractions became stronger again, and more regular. I ate. I filled the bath and relaxed in the dim light and warm water. Sharp reality intruded when B knocked on the door and turned the lights on to check on me. I slipped back into labor mode, the world grown hazy.

As night progressed I felt weaker. The contractions were still strong but irregular, not a signal to head to the hospital. I vomited. Again. I tried and failed to drink water. Call the midwife – let’s see how you are. Time to go.
A contraction on the way out the door, another as I started to sit in the car. Four more on the 20 minute drive in the wee hours of the morning. B was unaware, focused on driving. I had fully given in. By deciding to leave home, I freed my mind and body to do what they needed to, break from reality, follow the great motherly instinct. B dropped me at the emergency entrance and went to park the car. Paperwork flowed. B returned. We were escorted through security doors, the back way, to the mother-baby unit. I stopped to grab the railing and swayed through contractions.

Check in, awkwardly lay on this table, vitals on mom and baby all good, place a hep lock and give the antibiotics for GBS. Give saline, cold and burning. Blanket. Vomit. Bile. Time for an anti-emetic. Better. Rate your pain on a scale… my midwife E pushed back: she doesn’t want that. Thank you, E. Dilating, still not fully but moving there. Bulging bag of waters at the cervix. Walk to the laboring room.

B puts on music while E fills the labor tub and places electric candles around the bathroom. Warm and dark, jets provide back relief. I moan and roll around, alternating between sitting and all fours. I trust my body. B offers water and a cool popsicle. As I turn to all fours I feel a pop and gush. Waters broke. Urge to push. Call E back to my side. B and E help me out of the tub … where to? The bed, I guess.

Sway next to the bed and lean over it for support. B pushes my back. Feel I would be split apart without him to hold me together. Climb on the bed, roll from front to back. Learn to push. Feel the progress. Look at that hair! I reach down to feel the otherworldliness of inch long hair on another’s scalp emerging from my body. Push. I feel baby move forward but then recede. Two steps forward, one step back. Vitals still ok. B, E, and the nurse offering such loving support and direction. My body is in charge but feeds on their advice and strength. Turn and vomit on the poor nurse. Push.

The first rays of sunlight sneak between the slats of the blind. My enemy. Will baby ever come out? Can I do this? Feeling weaker, tired. How much longer? No sense of true time passing, only labor time. Push again. Baby’s scalp peeks out and recedes again. E examines me, stretches my perineum. She leans in close to my ear and softly suggests an episiotomy. I quickly agree. Get this baby out, make a bigger space. No pain as E goes to work.

Next contraction, strong push. Slow down? I can’t. Baby is out. Cry. Sigh. Lay on my chest, little one, here is food. Head bobbing for boob, baby latches and gulps. Boy or girl? E didn’t look yet. Boy! B cuts the cord and admires his son. I relax. Our calm little boy C takes finishes first drink of milk and sleeps.
Baby snuggles. Ready to recover and get to know one another. It was all worth it to welcome C to this world. Now that day is a happy memory, the sharpness gone, filled with love.
 
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