May 6th - 7th, 2011
There I was. 41 weeks and still hugely pregnant, but still no contractions, my uterus was still posterior (turned to the back) and my cervix had not dilated past 1 cm. {For reference, a woman in labor is normally not admitted to the hospital until 4 or 5 cm, and a baby is born when the cervix reaches 10 cm}. After taking the required stress test and getting an ultrasound, I got a call from an OB/GYN at the hospital saying that she was concerned about what she found on the ultrasound regarding the baby's kidneys and low amniotic fluid. She wanted me to come into the hospital as soon as possible to be induced. Slightly panicked and concerned but also a little excited, I got my stuff together and headed for the hospital for an overnight induction. The next morning, I was put on Pitocin to increase the contractions and labored for several hours as they increased the amount bit by bit. But still no dilation. Stuck at 1 cm. So the OB/GYN on duty decided it might help to break my water (which, now that I know better, was a horrible decision and should never done that early in the dilation process) and then kept increasing the Pit. levels. After nearly 30 some hours of laboring while chained to an IV and monitors, on Pitocin with no pain medication, no food, limited fluid and no sleep, I was still only at 1 cm dilation and given only one option: an emergency c-section. The OB/GYN and nurses had no idea why the induction wasn't working for me and came to the conclusion that it must be something wrong with my body and that this baby wasn't going to come out without surgery. I broke down weeping from frustration and fear and exhaustion and just wanted the nightmare to end. It ended with two attempts at a spinal tap, a lot of nausea and discomfort, and 30 seconds of looking at my baby girl before they took her away to NICU because of fluid in her lungs {surprisingly, her kidneys were in perfect condition}. Then I was told I would not be able to see Zoë or hold her for 8 hours. More weeping. I was left alone while my husband stayed with our baby and then went home for the night. Sleepless in the dark room, I kept living the nightmare. Fear. Abandonment. Regret. Anger. Bitterness. Pain. Inadequacy. Failure.
These emotions did not fade away with time. In fact, they just grew stronger and darker as I battled with post-traumatic stress and depression. To the outside world I was "fine," but my husband saw the change in me, and neither of us knew what to do with it. How could I tell people the feelings and thoughts I had flowing through my heart and mind? The anger and rage I felt charging through my blood? Anytime I would start to express my emotions, I would get responses like "You just need to get over it" or "You should just be happy that you have a beautiful, healthy baby."
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| Zoë Anastasia 8:52 P.M. May 7th, 2011 9 lbs. 10 oz., 22 in. |
I didn't get over it.
Two years went by, and I was still haunted by the memory of the experience and the horrible months that followed. Could I go through that all over again? Would I ever have another child? Do I even want to have another child if that is what it will be like?
We did want another child and began talking about trying to get pregnant. We prayed that God would heal my body, and fix whatever was "wrong" with it in the first place. I prayed and prayed and prayed that this time, it would be different.
With hardly any effort, we conceived and were filled with a lot of excitement, but I still battled the fear. I did everything I could to make sure this would be a different experience. I found Women's Healthcare Associates - a clinic full of Certified Nurse Midwives who delivered at the hospital and were willing to accept me as a VBAC or VTOL (Vaginal Trial of Labor) patient. I decided I was going to try for a natural, non-medicated birth and to avoid any medical interventions as much as possible. I hired a doula who had experience both as a labor and delivery nurse and as a doula for other VBAC women (not to mention her own successful VBAC story). She loaded me down with book after book and binders full of information about the cesarean epidemic, VBAC labors and births, charts filled with the statistics of how medical interventions could increase the likelihood of a c-section, natural birth handbooks written for midwives and birth plan examples from previous VBAC patients. I read them (most of them) and found myself having to relive the nightmare as I came face-to-face with the reality of what had happened and why. I finally found closure knowing that it wasn't a problem with my body. It was not because my body "failed" to do something it was naturally created to do. My body wasn't ready yet, and it wasn't given enough time. Some women can go through the phase of pre-labor in a matter of hours, and some can take days. DAYS. I was hooked up, jump-started and expected to deliver in a matter of hours, but my body still in the very early stages of labor. And it was never given the chance to even make it to active labor. I was forced to finally deal with bitterness and come to forgive the medical staff, and, most importantly, to forgive myself.
May 6th - 7th, 2014
Three years later - to the day - I went in for my 40 week appointment. I had been having Braxton-Hicks (prepatory) contractions for nearly two weeks. I was hugely pregnant, and slightly disappointed to find that once again, my uterus was still posterior and I had not dilated past 1 cm. But the Braxton-Hicks contractions were a good sign. They scheduled my stress test and ultrasound for later that week and I started to get a little anxious. Not again. Please not again.
I didn't even make it out of the clinic door before my contractions suddenly got much more intense. We went home and I spent the evening getting decorations ready for Zoë's birthday party the next day. Around 9:00 pm, I realized that I just might not be there for her Princess Tea Birthday Party since the contractions had continued to get stronger and stronger, and closer together. I called my doula, Allie, and she started packing her bag. I called my mom and told her "I think this is it!" and she left right away. We spent the entire night in our living room with Zac, Allie and my mom keeping me moving or resting, eating and drinking, and relaxed.
Around 6:00 a.m. we decided it was time to head to the hospital. I was checked into Triage only to be sorely disappointed to find I was still only at 1 cm. BUT, my cervix had moved from posterior to anterior (facing forward, which is necessary for birth), and baby boy's head was low and engaged, so at least those 9 hours of contractions had done something. Hospital policy would require me to be sent home until I had reached 4 or 5 cm, but the midwife on duty (who knew my story well) came in and admitted me to Labor and Delivery because my contractions were already so strong, and she felt that I needed to be monitored in case of uterine rupture (the scariest risk of having a VBAC).
I was shown to my room and left alone for a few minutes while my labor support trio got all of our bags together. As I stood there I felt an overwhelming rush of God's presence washing over me, reminding me that I was not alone - that He had not and would not abandon me, and that His Spirit was active and at work in me and around me. I burst into song and was filled with joy and excitement. This sacred embrace rejuvenated me and gave me hope for the (still long) road ahead.
I continued to labor without medication using wireless telemetric monitors so that I was free to move around. Hours went by and I still had not progressed. My midwife checked the baby's position and noted that while his head was low, it seemed turned slightly and may be stuck on my coccyx. So began the laps around the halls doing a strange zombie-like walk and lunges to shake that little head into a better position. I must have looked a sight! Thank the Lord, this worked and his position changed. But still no further dilation.
We came to the beginning of the afternoon and had to make a difficult decision. I was exhausted and weary of the pain (but still stubborn enough to not ask for any pain medication). I broke down weeping from frustration of what felt like the same experience all over again. My mom came into the room with perfect timing holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers and an encouraging card, and gave me a great big hug.
Since I still had not dilated and technically wasn't supposed to be in Labor and Delivery, I was given the option of going home to try and rest, continuing to labor there until I was able to be admitted again. But my contractions were still very strong. My midwife also gave me the option of staying in my room and trying to nap with a little help (a.k.a., a couple doses of Ambien) to see if that would help my body relax and progress. I chose the latter, knowing it would be much more restful in the hospital than at home with a three-year-old birthday girl.
Though I wasn't able to sleep through the painful contractions, the "nap" did wonders. I jumped out of bed at one point, groggily exclaiming that my "bladder popped" (I don't actually recall any of this). It turns out it was, in fact, my water breaking; however, this time, it occurred naturally. By late afternoon I had FINALLY dilated to 5 cm and things moved quickly (in comparison) from then on. The evening was a blur of pain and moving up and down, in and out of bed, in and out of the shower, trying to find a more comfortable way to deal with the contractions. Through it all, Allie was my source of wisdom as she talked me through positions and kept me moving. Zac was my source of strength and he held me up and rocked with me back and forth, speaking words of encouragement and hope. And my mom - oh, my dear mother - was my constant source of emotional and physical support as she stayed by my side, massaging my feet or shoulders or back, helping me breathe deeply and without tension and praying over me continuously. And I was never once left alone.
Suddenly, around 11:00 p.m., the blur evaporated and I became fully alert. I screamed out in surprise and a little bit of fear. My body had suddenly started pushing with uncontrollable strength. The last time the midwife had checked me I was only measuring 5 cm, so she wasn't convinced that it was really time. She tried to get me to lay down to see how I had progressed, but I refused. I yelled, "I'm pushing!! He's coming!" and she decided she would just have to deal with me standing up. And a quick check later, she said, "Yep. His head is right there!" and ordered the delivery cart to be brought in ASAP. The squat bar didn't make it up in time. My mom held my hand and put her head against mine as she and I hissed out each "pushing" breath and squatted next to the bed. It was the most intense, exhilarating feeling - and after more than 24 hours of painful contractions, the pushing almost seemed "easy." The nurses rushed in with the cart and two minutes later, little Isaiah entered the world.
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Isaiah Benjamin
11:25 p.m., May 7th, 2014
8 lbs. 12 oz., 21 in.
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I only got to hold him for a short while and they quickly cut his cord as he was quite purple-blue. Once again, my newborn child was whisked off to NICU with fluid in his lungs, and stayed there for nearly 24 hours for monitoring. But instead of weeping, this time I was filled with joy and relief because his beautiful, natural birth was finally over, and rested for a couple of hours with my mom still at my side knowing that I would see and hold and nurse him shortly.
As I lay recovering, I quietly thanked God for his faithfulness and grace. He carried me through a long, painful three year journey, walking with me through the darkest of valleys, using the pain and brokenness to bring to light poisonous weeds that needed uprooted and replaced with His fruit. In His kindness, the Lord replaced my fears with peace, brought the healing of closure to my open wounds and led me to find freedom through forgiveness. And He walked with me through another birth - one that was similar in so many ways and yet so very different in the end. God blessed me with a team of supportive midwives and nurses who were ever so patient with the long process and encouraged me to trust my body, giving me choices and the space and time I needed. He gave me the gift of Allie, Zac and my mom who stayed by my side, holding me up and encouraging me to carry on through the long hours.
To many, it seemed like a crazy coincidence that both Zoë and Isaiah were born on May 7th. But I know without a doubt that God ordained it to be so as a constant reminder of the beginning and end of this journey of healing, the gracious redemption of childbirth, and the continuing promise of His faithfulness. And on May 7th each year, right around Mother's Day, I will celebrate the lives of these two beautiful, amazing children that the Lord has given to me. I am abundantly blessed.
