As a birth worker, I get asked a lot about my own birth experiences. People want to know where my views about birth come from, and how I ended up working in the birth world. The truth is, I am passionate about birth. Its beautiful. From the first signs of pregnancy to the blossoming love of a growing family, its all so incredibly amazing. My passion isn’t born out of my own fairy tale experiences, though. Quite the opposite actually.
This is how it happened…
I was twenty years old when I had my first child. We lived in a town with a generally narrow view surrounding birth. Doctors were trusted to deliver babies, not women. Since I didn’t know any better, I went ahead and sought out the “best” doctor in town. He was well known, well
liked, and experienced. My prenatal care was standard, and I was never encouraged to do any independent education on pregnancy or childbirth. I wasn’t very well informed and didn’t have any strong beliefs about birth, one way or another. All I knew was that I wanted to try to give birth without an epidural. I didn’t know how to make that happen or what it really entailed, but I brought it up to my doctor on multiple occasions. He would laughed it off and tell me that I could try if I wanted, but an epidural would always be made available to me if I changed my mind.
As my pregnancy progressed into the late third trimester, I was struggling to make it through the day. When I told
my doctor how I was feeling, he mentioned elective induction. He spoke about it so casually, I just figured that was how things were done. I don’t recall ever talking about the risks. It didn’t seem like there was really any down side. We went ahead and scheduled an induction for 39 weeks.
I went in for my induction at midnight, bursting with excitement. My cervix was ripened and we started Pitocin. For hours my husband and I played games, danced around the room, and entertained ourselves. It was the middle of the night, but we couldn’t sleep. I wish I had known how hungry I would be. It had been many hours since I had eaten, even before we came to the hospital. I was only offered ice, which left me starving and lacking in energy. Still, I didn’t let anything dampen my mood. In the morning, my doctor stopped by before he went to the office. He ruptured my membranes in hopes of delivering my baby on his lunch break. It seemed to be routine, so I didn’t question it at all. In fact, I don’t recall even being asked.
Once my membranes ruptured, the pain intensified. Contractions were coming so strong and close together, I couldn’t even catch my breath. I hadn’t taken any Childbirth education classes and had no real advocate with me. No one knew how to help me. My screams echoed throughout the hallways.
Mind you, this whole time through all of these interventions (Cervidil, Pitocin, AROM), my doctor knew I wanted to deliver without a epidural. He never once told me that these procedures caused a MORE PAINFUL labor than letting everything happen naturally.
So, the nurses came to the room rather hurriedly. They offered the good ole’ epidural and I emphatically agreed. Soon I was numb from my abdomen down to my toes. The entire ordeal was exhausting, so I took a nap. About an hour later (conveniently at lunch time) I was woken up by the nursing staff telling me that I was ready to give birth. They had to tell me because I couldn’t feel anything. I sat partially reclined and attempted a few “practice pushes” as the medical team instructed. Eventually we were close and the doctor swooped in. He moved around the room getting himself ready and telling us all about his lunch. The nurses were busy pulling out equipment, maneuvering the bed, and positioned my body for the doctor’s convenience. I felt like a spectator. I knew nothing and could do nothing. This was all just happening to me.
As I was lying there waiting for instructions, everyone in the room chatted breezily. I stayed silent, feeling alone. Eventually I was instructed to push, but the epidural was preventing me from really accomplishing anything. My husband had to physically push our daughter out as the doctor pulled. The doctor looked at her and congratulated my husband. Now I love my husband, but…come on. I spent nine months pregnant and just went through this entire ordeal. No congratulations. No one really spoke to me at all. My daughter was whisked away to be cleaned, weighed, footprinted, measured, and wrapped up. It felt like such a long time before I held her. The last thing I remember my doctor saying to me before he left was “Aren’t you glad you got the epidural? There’s no dignity in giving birth without it. No one is going to give you a medal.”
Everyone was healthy, which was great, however I do not look back on this event with fondness. The best moments were when I was free to move around and entertain myself through contractions. Everything else was terrible. Years have passed, but my feelings have not faded.
My Second Birth
I was pregnant with my second child soon after my first one was born. She was a beautiful little surprise. I saw the same doctor, but had a different outlook on birth. If you’re thinking that I wised up, learned from the experience, and went into my second pregnancy more confident and informed, get ready for disappointment. All I could think was, if what I had experienced before was “normal”, then there was no way I could give birth without an epidural. I couldn’t do it. My body wasn’t able.
We scheduled an induction for 39 weeks, as per the usual apparently, but I ended up going into labor the day before. I actually had no idea what to do. My doctor never discussed what would happen if I went into labor naturally. I just panicked and rushed off to the hospital, still in early labor. After all, the last thing I wanted was to experience the same pain I had with my first labor after my membranes were ruptured. As soon as we got to the hospital, I requested an epidural. Was I in pain? No. Was I afraid? Yes. The staff was happy to oblige. I saw the anesthesiologist promptly and was left to labor in bed, on my back, completely numb.
My husband left to grab some food for himself. I was completely alone and unable to move. He finally returned and fell asleep soon after. While he rested, I sat awake. My body was in pain from being stuck and unable to move. My eyes were burning from the lamp above my bed that I couldn’t turn off. The nurse had taken my ice cup away because it had melted and apparently water wasn’t allowed. It was the middle of the night and I was more miserable than I had ever been. Nothing I tried was waking up my husband. No one was there for me.
I will never forget the feeling of being in that hospital bed, helpless and alone.
After about twelve hours in the bed, I felt a small urge to push. I let my nurse know and they called in the doctor. Everything happened similarly from that point on. My husband didn’t have to push for me this time, but otherwise it was business as usual.
Despite the incredible pain of my first labor, I consider this to be my worst birth experience. Recovery was the awful because I had an epidural for such an extended period of time. I felt like my husband had let me down. I have no positive memories aside from being able to mildly feel the urge to push. Physically and emotionally, I felt complete failure.
My Last Chance
I didn’t think I would want to have another baby, but the fever struck. We had moved across the state, so I sought out a new doctor. He was friendly and responsive to what I talked to him about. My pregnancy turned out to be extremely difficult. I was chasing around two toddlers and the glow of pregnancy affected my husband very little this time around. I developed gestational diabetes and had to restrict my diet. Worst of all, I was having extreme exhaustion and chest pain. My doctor referred me out to a cardiologist who discovered a heart condition I had apparently been living with for several years. The severity of my heart condition worsened with pregnancy, and any activity at all was near impossible.
At my 38 week appointment, I had a complete emotional breakdown in the doctor’s office. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not. I was not well and I was not stable. Sobbing uncontrollably and feeling hopeless, my doctor felt it was best to send me to the hospital for induction rather than leaving me in my current state. I was able to eat a meal before going in, and I knew what I was going to be facing.
When I got to the hospital, we ripened my cervix. I was confined to the bed for constant fetal monitoring, which resulted in fetal distress. The nurses kept asking me to change positions, as long as those positions included lying in bed on my back. Of course that didn’t seem to help. Every time my nurse came in, she asked me if I wanted an epidural. I had decided previously that I wanted to give birth without an epidural since this would be my last pregnancy. I was contracting but I wasn’t really in pain. I let her know each time that I wasn’t interested, but she kept asking. My husband slept through most of this.
Suddenly the nurse came in and told me that the on-call doctor was coming to rupture my membranes due to the fetal distress. My doctor
left specific instructions to be called when I was ready or if something needed his attention, but the on-call doctor told the nurses to disregard his orders. I began to panic, remembering my first labor when my membranes were ruptured. The nurse told me that this would be my last opportunity to get an epidural, so I hesitantly agreed. When the anesthesiologist came, I was nervous and felt like backing out. I flinched during the procedure. It ended up only working on half of my body, but left my entire back in pain. I regretted it immediately, but the doctor was already in the room to rupture my membranes. I had never met her before and she was not friendly at all.
There ended up being meconium in the fluid, so we worked on a quick delivery. Once I had given birth to my son, a family member told me I had done a good job. The doctor looked at me and said that it was “average”. It broke my heart. Once again, things did not go according to plan. This was my last baby; my last chance at a satisfying birth experience.
I don’t place all of the blame my doctors for these experiences. I definitely didn’t do anything to ensure better births. For the most part, they thought they were doing what was best for me. I didn’t know what I believed about birth, so their beliefs shaped my experiences. That is really the major problem here. I didn’t know any better. Maybe my experiences weren’t that bad, but I look back on them with sadness because I didn’t feel like I had any control. I didn’t feel heard. I felt fear, confusion, loneliness, and pressure (not the good kind). I wanted my births to be beautiful. I wanted my opportunity to show what my body was capable of. I wanted the most miraculous moments of my life to look like actual miracles instead of a string of medical procedures. Unfortunately, I lacked the education and support that was needed to accomplish these goals. I won’t have another chance to have the birth of my dreams, but I do have the opportunity to help other women walk into their births feeling informed and empowered, and walk away feeling like champions. I want to educate and support families through this amazing journey. This is why I love birth work. This is where my passion comes from.