Bringing Homebirth into the Hospital

By Debby Titlebaum Neuman
Issue 141 - March-April 2007

When I was pregnant with my first child, I knew that I wanted to birth at home. I also knew that in Israel, a country with socialized medicine, homebirth was costly. We couldn't afford it. So I became determined to do whatever it took to have a "homebirth" in the hospital.

As I began reading natural birthing literature, I resolved to tap into my instincts, connect with my child, and ensure a delivery free of intervention. I realized that my chances of natural birth were greater with the right doula. Luckily, I found Ruth.

As my pregnancy progressed, my husband, Avi, and I spent a lot of time with Ruth, who gave us our own personal childbirth education class. We talked about our expectations and fears of birthing. She gave me shiatsu massage treatments. We spoke about the ways in which each of us wanted to be supported, and the need for all of us to be open with one another throughout the birthing process. The three—four—of us were building something, and over time it grew more and more solid.

I was also building something on my own: spending three mornings a week in regular yoga practice, walking daily, eating well, giving and receiving massage, and always checking in with my baby. While walking to and from work, I would talk to her and ask her things, or simply tell her what I was thinking and doing.

Two weeks before I was due, I remember telling the baby that I would be sure to do everything to help her come into this world in the smoothest possible manner. Suddenly, I had a realization. I said, "Actually, you have to lead me—you are much purer and closer to knowing what is real. So I will listen to you. I will open myself and hear what you have to teach."

A week before my due date, while I was hanging out at home with Avi, my water broke. We stayed home cooking, listening to music, getting excited, enjoying the rush of energy we were feeling. We told Ruth we wanted some time alone, and she joined us four hours later. We had noticed that the birthing waters contained some meconium—a dark-greenish substance found in the digestive tract of the fetus that is usually discharged shortly after birth—and decided that it was safest to head for the hospital.

I had already packed bags full of things to make my hospital time more like home: food, music, candles, pillows, oils, books, and birthing cards I had made with words of inspiration and visualization exercises. Ruth drove, and Avi and I sat in back. During the 45-minute ride I had two contractions—incredible rushes of raw energy. All of my bodily senses were on high alert—the city lights were shining so brightly, and the world was so beautiful. I felt calm, and determined to bring this beauty into the hospital with me.

Once admitted, I was hooked up to a fetal monitor. I took everything in stride, knowing that being in a hospital meant dealing with some technology and procedures. When I needed to go to the bathroom, the monitor was taken off. We told the nurses that I had to use the bathroom a lot, and therefore it would be easier if we could hold the monitor in place by ourselves. They agreed, and I was free to roam as I pleased.

At this point I was having few contractions. I had told the admitting nurse that my water had broken just before we arrived, but the truth was we were already about five hours into labor. Ruth felt that if contractions did not begin to come regularly, the hospital staff would want to chemically induce labor.

Ruth began using acupressure to encourage stronger, more regular contractions. It was amazingly effective. Ruth and Avi would push on points, and within seconds I would feel the wave as a tingling in my fingers and toes. The energy would then build and slowly overtake me. Ruth advised me to close my eyes and invite the contractions to get stronger and last longer. I did, and was soon experiencing regular contractions. Avi and I walked outside under some trees, and when a contraction came I would grab a branch and squat. It felt so natural, primal, and true to the essence of birthing.

When we came back inside, we put on some mellow music and ate some beans and rice. I sat on a birthing ball and we hung out. Meanwhile, the contractions continued. Up to this point no one had checked my dilation, and now one of the nurses came in to do so. I had always joked that I would be a woman whose cervix would be dilated ten centimeters and not even know it, but the nurse discovered that I was dilated only three centimeters. I could have accepted this with ease, but she seemed to feel that the baby's presentation was not head-first. Three days before, I had been at the doctor and the baby's head was down. The nurse called for an ultrasound, which revealed that our baby was presenting breech. The doctor's exact words were "Your baby is breech. You will have to have a cesarean section." We were in shock. My pregnancy had been healthy, and up to this point the labor had been relatively smooth. We didn't know what to do. I sat on the bed, still surprisingly calm, aware of my surroundings but maintaining connection inside.

Around me began a hustle and bustle. A nurse approached with an IV. I refused, saying that I'd been drinking plenty of liquids and would continue to do so. She told me I needed to stop drinking because I would be having surgery. I retorted, "I have not yet decided that I am having surgery." The doctor then said, "We will not deliver your baby at this hospital any way other than C-section."