Mabrey Larew was born March 30th, 2012, at 5:00 a.m. on the dot, weighing 7lbs 12oz and measuring 21″ long. She has taught me how to live fearlessly. This is the story of her birth.
During week 34 of my pregnancy with Mabrey, I suddenly became fearful.
My last pregnancy {with Everett} had ended with an intense precipitous labor and delivery. 48 minutes start to finish. It might sound desirable but I wouldn’t wish that kind of labor on my worst enemy. I had no control, no down time, no vision – literally, I couldn’t see. What I did have was a hellacious kind of pain that makes my uterus itself curl up in the fetal position just thinking about it now. Fortunately, everything turned out okay even though babies born precipitously are at risk of complications from moving through the birth canal so rapidly. Everett was healthy, perfect.
When I unexpectedly found myself pregnant three years later, I was told I was at risk for another precipitous labor. I figured I had nine months until I needed to worry about it so I filed the idea of precipitous labor away in the back of my mind behind “holy cow! we’re having another baby.”
But by week 34, the fear of precipitous labor had climbed its way to the forefront of my thoughts. What if I’m home alone with the boys? Will I scare/scar them? What if Steve is at work? What if I don’t make it to the hospital on time? {Everett was ten minutes shy of being an in-the-car, on-the-highway birth.} What if this baby doesn’t fare so well? All of these what if’s.
I mentioned something about it on the blog and asked for suggestions to help me mentally during labor. I received many comments and appreciated them all but one really stuck with me. It was Kara Sue {Kara Sue, if you are reading this, you are my hero} who said:
Have you read Ina May Gaskin’s Guide to Childbirth? I don’t remember taking specific breathing exercises from it, but the overall positive tone on unmedicated births, especially in the personal stories, greatly helped me through mine. The book made me feel very empowered, much more so than any hospital birthing class did.
Could reading a book – as opposed to actually learning a coping method – really get me through an unmedicated birth? I like any excuse to read so the next day I checked out the book from my local library. The librarian said “oh, this is about the midwife who delivers babies on a farm in Tennessee.” I froze. WTF? I am not giving birth in a barn stall.
It took several chapters to shake that WTF feeling. The majority of the book is a compilation of true birth stories attended by Ina May. Yes, the births take place on a farm in Tennessee but there are proper accommodations for delivery. Usually small cabins. No barn stalls. There are graphic pictures. It all felt a little hippie-ish and free-spirited to me at first. But by the end, I was empowered. I can’t explain it. Somewhere between page 1 and page 368, I discovered confidence. Confidence in myself as a woman. Confidence in my body. Confidence in nature. Confidence in the birthing process.
One of Ina May’s suggestions for pregnant women is to have a doula present during labor and delivery. Is a doula really necessary? I thought. I mean, Steve can rub my back and tell me I’m doing great. I’ll handle everything else. But the personal birth stories in the book kept coming back to me. Then I realized something profound. At nearly every single birth, the birthing mother was surrounded by other women. The women talked with her, laughed with her, breathed with her, pushed with her, sweat with her, swayed with her. The woman’s partner was usually in attendance as well for support but I couldn’t get over the women.
It wasn’t the same as having a mother, a sister or an aunt in the delivery room. No one crying and holding a leg. No one in charge of taking pictures. No one posting updates on social media. Okay, maybe social media didn’t exist when the book was written but you catch my drift.
That’s when I decided I needed a doula. I told Steve and he was a little weirded out but totally supportive, like always. Here’s the thing. Men {even male obstetricians} can read every book on pregnancy, labor and delivery but they will always lack personal experience. They do not and will not ever know what it is like to give birth. And my man isn’t all that comfortable with blood and pain {he once *almost* fainted at the podiatrist} and the fear of childbirth shows on his face no matter how hard he is squeezing my hand. That’s why I needed a doula.
The next day I found a certified doula on DONA.org. Her name was Janet. She was local. I told her my fear of another precipitous labor. She reassured me she would be present even if I couldn’t make it to the hospital. We met several times during those last few weeks of my pregnancy. Sometimes she came to our apartment. Sometimes we went to the park. Sometimes we met for lunch. She shared her own birth stories with me {one of which was a stillbirth}, recommended more books chronicling real life birth stories, helped me nail down a birth plan with my OB and gave me things to keep in mind during labor.
On Thursday, March 29th, 2012, I had a checkup with my OB. I was 4cm dilated but baby’s head was still high. I was due in one week. I had never made it to my due date with my previous children and I had an inkling that this baby would make an appearance over the weekend. The boys’ spring break started the next day so Steve and I decided to let them spend the weekend at my dad’s just in case it was the weekend. We drove them out to my dad’s, stayed for dinner and a movie then returned to our apartment.
At midnight I was wide awake in bed. Steve was sound asleep. I was waiting. Waiting for something. Anything. Then a mild contraction hit me. Then another. And another. They weren’t awful but I could tell they weren’t Braxton-Hicks either. I muffled my labored breathing during contractions with my pillow. I didn’t want to wake up Steve. By 1:00 a.m., I was contracting regularly but I could tell this labor wasn’t like my last one. It had already lasted fifteen minutes longer, the contractions weren’t as intense early on and I had down time in between them. While my doula wasn’t particularly worried about a precipitous labor again, she did think I would progress quickly and thought we should play it safe as far as leaving for the hospital. So I woke up Steve and told him I was in labor. I thought we should call Janet.
Janet arrived at our apartment at 1:30 a.m. My contractions were getting stronger. I was sitting on the bed with my legs bent under me. When I felt a contraction coming on, I instinctively raised up onto my knees, bent at the waist and buried my head down in my pillow. It felt so good to be on my knees blowing into my pillow during the contractions. Steve pressed into my lower back.
I was having a lot of back pain like I did with my very first labor. My first baby was posterior, pushing up against my spine and tailbone. This pain was familiar. I got a little worried because after 15 hours of labor my first time around the labor & delivery block, my baby was literally stuck. He was facing the wrong way for his head to properly maneuver through the birth canal. He was under distress. My OB had suggested a “walking epidural” to help relax my uterus and get me on my hands and knees. One hour later, Layne was born vaginally sunny side up with a huge purple cone head and a low Apgar score. But he ended up being just fine. {I put a hat on him until he was a few weeks old and his head was no longer molded and bruised.} Still, I worried about delivering another posterior baby.
Janet was reassuring. She was vocally encouraging during contractions, her voice soft and kind. Knowing. In between contractions, she smiled and talked. An hour later, I started whimpering during the contractions. Janet reminded me to keep my mouth open and my voice deep. She suggested we head for the hospital. Part of me wanted to stay at the apartment in my bed. I was leery of my labor petering out and slowing at the hospital because of its cold rooms, hard beds, bright lights and constant prodding.
Steve dropped me off at the emergency entrance. I waited leaning against a wall while Steve and Janet parked their cars. The receptionist offered me a chair or a wheelchair. I declined. Sitting was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to move.
We all made it to the delivery room. It was 2:30 a.m. I was 6-7cm. I had the best nurse. She upheld my birth plan without criticism and I was able to move around without being hooked up to an I.V. or fetal monitors. She even turned off the bright lights. I worked through more contractions and more positions. I circled my hips on a birthing ball. I got on my knees in the bed. I stood and wrapped my arms around Steve’s neck, swaying. If I stopped moving my body, my mind would take over. This is what you wanted? This hurts. It’s going to get a lot harder you know. You can’t do this.
And then I would hear Janet. “You are so strong. You are doing good work. You have progressed so well. It won’t be much longer. Baby will be here soon.”
I was still having intense back pain. I asked the nurse if the baby was posterior. She said it was a possibility. I took that as a yes. At 4:00 a.m., I was nearing the end. I was tired. Really tired. I was having doubts. I was having trouble staying on top of the powerful contractions. The OB on duty came in and introduced himself. He was from my OB’s office but I had never met him before. He was short and reminded me of the dad on Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. He asked if I wanted to have my water bag broken to speed things up. He was on his way to an emergency D&C in 15 minutes and wouldn’t be able to deliver me until after that if I waited.
I thought he was an asshole and secretly hoped the baby would come during the D&C. I nearly got my wish.
Everyone says there is so much pressure at the end of labor but I say there is pain and burning and PAIN. Maybe a little pressure. My younger sister who is a marathon runner and not a mother once asked me about natural childbirth. I told her if she could run marathons, she could have a baby. She replied, “Yeah, but it’s not like I’m running marathons with my vagina.” So, I guess natural childbirth is like a triathlon for your vagina. And I was about to cross the finish line sounding like a dying cow.
I felt like the baby was coming any minute whether I pushed or not. I told Janet. Then my water broke. On its own. Not ten minutes after the OB had asked to rupture my membranes. Take that Rick Moranis wannabe. I was getting feisty. More nurses had set up shop in the room. Somehow I had missed all that while my vagina was sprinting. The new nurses were telling me not to push. To wait for the doctor.
Wayne Szalinski entered the room. I could barely see him over the delivery bed. I was already pushing. I couldn’t help it. It was the first time my back had touched the bed. It was so uncomfortable. The OB told me to move down towards him. In my head – not out loud – I cursed him. It wasn’t my fault he had short arms. I was squeezing Steve’s arm so tight. Janet said the baby had lots of dark hair.
Instant relief. The OB laid the baby on me with its crotch right in my face. “Congratulations, it’s a girl!” Well, yes, I can see that. Thank you, Mr. Obvious. I looked up at Steve. I will never, ever forget the puddles he had for eyes at that very moment. Janet was beaming.
I couldn’t get over how cute, calm and alert our babygirl was. She didn’t cry. She was taking it all in – even lifting up her head to look around. I had always envisioned myself surrounded by a family of boys – big and little – and here was this girl. What in the world do I do with a girl?
Talk with her. Laugh with her. Breathe with her. Sweat with her. Push with her. Share with her.
Let her move freely. Remind her of her strength. Encourage her and tell her she is doing good work. Reassure her when she is scared.
Because even non-girly women need women.
images: Dana Miller
family life, inspiration, kid-friendly