I'm totally convinced I understand how this "forgetting" thing works... There's something about childbirth that disables the part of your brain responsible for short-term memory, so that within a few days you're completely convinced that it's possible you could consider giving birth again – even if your family is now supposed to be "complete". I've been promising to write a letter to myself about this:
Dear Self,
You DO NOT want to be pregnant again, or give birth again. It's a really bad idea.... etc etc.
Already I am looking at that sentence and thinking, yeah right... alright for you to say... but what about me... What about what I want???
Dude. I am you (can clucky women be reasoned with??)
But how unthinkable to close the door on the tiniest of possibilities that there might be another time in my life where I gaze down into those newborn eyes, alternating between focus and fading out into milk-sated bliss. I will blink and this time will be gone, I remember that much from before.
Other things from before? – Not so much. Anyone would think I'd never had a baby with the amount of stuff I've forgotten how to do. Seems I'd also forgotten about the delights of engorgement and finding myself drenched in fusty breast milk (fresh and regurgitated), married with the magical experience of bleeding for the first time in 10 months as well as the associated injuries of childbirth.
To add insult to injury is –of course – the emotional fragility that accompanies such a 'messy' physical and emotional state. It's the first time in a long time I've felt tears spring forth so readily and with such drama! It's like literally drowning in tears at times, at the drop of a hat. It's happened on a couple of occasions... most notably when Cole decided he was going to express his displeasure/frustration by smashing his poor little head deliberately against the floorboards in the lounge room. I felt it like a knife through the heart, to think that he was feeling such intense and confusing emotions that this was the only way he could deal with it. We both cried and hugged and it was the first time I dropped my "happy face" that I'd been putting on and said, "It's hard, isn't it?" – it felt so good to be honest in that moment, even if he had no idea what I was talking about. It has been hard to see my firstborn child become (necessarily, I suppose) something else in my eyes... I had expected to have conflicting feelings about, and toward, the new baby – but not to have my feelings for Cole messed with in such a full-on way.
Everything between he and I had been perfect. Maybe it's not "true" that this has changed, but I am doubting myself: wondering if things have to change, or if there's room for another love as big as the one he and I have shared?
Funnily enough, it's actually Cole who's showing me the extent to which this might be possible. Only a week and a day in and he surprised me tonight (completely overtired) by wanting to give Freya a goodnight kiss without being prompted. He is such an affectionate and sweet little soul, that I don't want to buy into this fear and doubt that managed to creep in when I've been at my most vulnerable. But I expect I'll have more to report on this as time goes on.
Today I had to ring Helen because I had forgotten what 'happens' when the umbilical stump comes away. I could smell it through Freya's clothes this morning, it was truly gross... and when I looked, her singlet was bloodstained and the dried stump was hanging from the inner granula by a thread. I thought the general state of things looked pretty bad so I was worried about infection, but Helen assured me it all sounded very normal – although I would need to clean it very thoroughly. I also took the opportunity to complain (shock, horror!) about my graze, as it has been hurting rather a lot (for a graze, I'm thinking) and she reminded me about the Manuka honey and made me feel like I should definitely go and get some; as well as some alcohol swabs to clean Freya's umbilical region.
So it's been a day of grossness, to some degree; with smelly, oozy, decaying flesh to deal with... followed by a nice slathering of honey on the nether-regions. Of course, if it's for medical reasons, it's perfectly okay to mention it in one's blog. If it had been for more recreational purposes, then it probably wouldn't... although I guess nobody would be expected there to be any recreation taking place quite so soon!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
The goose that laid the golden egg
Wow - I really thought there's be more entries leading up to this one!! (honest!!). I thought there'd be more time. More time to call people, answer questions and generally mull over things a little more. But I guess that's not the way things like birth work. They just happen when they happen.
So I was one of the 5%. In fact, Freya's time of birth was 12:59pm on Thursday the 9th of Feb. When they told me it was only lunchtime I didn't believe it!! I didn't know where I'd been all that time.... it felt endless... I guess I was inside myself, going on the journey with her, struggling with her to find a way for her to come out. She was coming anyway, I should have known that much; but truly I did not know what to expect; logically, I feel I should have – but it was still the most confronting physical challenge I have ever met, and the most powerfully transformative experience of my life.
The night before was a subdued one. We knew enough about where we were at to try and go to bed and try and get some sleep. I think I slept until about 2:45am before I was woken by more regular contractions again. I wanted to try and sleep more, but I didn't think I wasn't going to have much hope. By 4am I was resigned to the fact that they were definitely coming continuously (at about 6-7mins apart) and I made a nest of pillows and cushions on the bed so I could flop face-down in them and rest/snooze in between. For the record, I'll say at this point that "resting between contractions" is the kind of idea you get from reading books and other peoples' birth stories - and seriously, when you're doing it, you just feel like a dick because it seems like the most futile activity in the universe! Well, it did for me, anyway!!
So, up at 6 or so to stare at the affirmation wall and settle into some serious timing and pacing and wondering. I dealt with Cole when he woke up, but it was hard to make space for what was going on. More diarrhoea ensued and whilst I wasn't conscious of contracting while that was happening, it was interesting how to explain it all to Cole who was hovering around me in the bathroom. I had a whiteboard marker with me because I'd written down a couple of timings that I'd missed using the app on my phone. Cole wanted the marker so I gave it to him and encouraged him to do drawings on top of the white pedal-bin that we use for laundry in the bathroom. The marker didn't really work (it was a black one) so I offered to get him one that did, but he seemed very suspicious of the new marker and clung to the old one; despite this, there was much continuing chatter about it not working... and as time ticked by, a couple more contractions came and went ... I went and got another marker out for myself so I could record them. Update from Cole was that the marker really wasn't working, so eventually he came around to swapping to the new one. A couple more toilet trips ensued - I offered Cole to swap his black marker with my bright red one: the resulting artwork looks exactly like a black and red placenta print on top of the round bin!
When Tom got up we started making plans. First was to call his parents and ask them to come ASAP to pick up Cole. All good, but probably wouldn't happen until 9. I called our midwife; she said it all sounded great and that we just needed to call her when we felt we needed her. I was coping, so I guess I thought it probably wasn't time for that... as much as I might have said differently during the contractions that lasted about a minute each. Then I heard from my mum: a text that said she was on her way to work when I thought she was on a plane on the way to a conference. I had texted her first to say she was probably going to miss the birth (as she wasn't to return until the following evening). So it meant she was actually able to could come and entertain Cole until his other grandparents arrived and, considering what a distraction Cole was turning out to be, I readily agreed. Tom and I also agreed that it was a good idea to summon my cousin Bec, one of our support people, who'd been prepared the night before for the possibility of being needed. We didn't hear from her right away, but she arrived shortly before our midwife.
In the meantime, we ended up with a quite needy Cole, who was reacting a bit to the sight of me dealing with my contractions; and either distracting me, or distracting Tom from being able to focus on me completely, which was what I desperately wanted. When my mum arrived, it was great to have the extra help. Then Tom's parents arrived... and suddenly the house was full of our parents! We hadn't envisaged any of them being present during labour, but everyone did a great job of working out how to be useful and then scooting off pretty quickly once Tom was able to come back to me and focus on helping me through.
There was actually an unbelievably soothing quality about having him with me – as strange as it might seem for me to express a note of surprise about that! I just hadn't really thought about him as one of my "support people". To me, he was as emotionally invested in the birth as I was – but after the trauma of our last birth experience (for both of us) I had encouraged him to organise his own support for this birth, as I didn't want him to end up in a position where it was 'all about me', especially as that had been so tiring for him last time. It's certainly not that I felt he couldn't be supportive of me: but I suppose I just mean that we hadn't prepared for it (ie. talking about any techniques he might use, or positions we might try). However, when he placed his hands on me and comforted me, it all just worked and he was really my rock. So much so that if I couldn't have him near me for a contraction, I would get quite teary and vulnerable, which made all the other feelings so much harder to deal with.
When I heard Bec arrive, I was in the middle of some very seriously hard work! Nic was on her way... but I was feeling teary; then actually felt quite terrible to think of my poor (pre-childbearing) cousin arriving right at a time where she was going to hear me bellowing the house down. I know some women are very contained – and labour inwardly, and even silently – I am NOT one of those people!! My experience of labour was intense, and very difficult for me to embrace.... the only way I could ride the contractions was to roar, groan or even sing along with them. It was a very noisy little house that day. Tom said he didn't think it sounded like I was screaming my head off (eg. 'One Born Every Minute' style) but to me, it really felt like I was screaming. Luckily Bec had actually spoken to my mum before coming and mum had given her a heads up about how advanced things were likely to look by the time she arrived, so it wasn't quite the unprepared entrance I'd assumed she was making.
She fitted in seamlessly with just the right energy, low-keyness and willingness to help. She had a gentle presence, similar to Tom's and they both were completely focused on comforting me. I felt extremely vulnerable and really probably quite afraid of the intensity, as it reminded me a fair bit of my labour with Cole and I still didn't quite know where this labour was heading. I was still waiting for our midwife to arrive.... and knew that it would then be some time after that before we went to hospital. Visualising the time stretching ahead was pretty challenging, and not a good idea when you're trying to get from moment to moment. When Nic arrived, I was on all fours in the bottom of the bath with the hot shower on my back. 'The Team' reported to her that things seemed to be under control. The hot water had been helping and the contractions had been shorter and more predictable (with a very challenging part in the middle that I could see coming and going, which made me feel a bit more grounded.) But the hot water was running out, and Nic offered to examine me to check my progress which I knew I wanted her to do. I just had to know where I was at. I would have been lost without knowing, even if hearing it meant hearing something dispiriting and challenging to my feelings about continuing.
Getting from the shower to the couch was awful and contemplating lying on my back for the exam and risking contracting in that position filled me with dread. I had 3 before she was able to examine me... and the examination concluded with one of my less graceful manoeuvres as I rolled off the couch into the 4th contraction with not enough control of my body to support my weight. Tom tried to catch me but it was pretty useless and I was completely lost during that one, which always seemed to make them worse. If I could "go inside" the experience, it was infinitely better, but I'd be hard pressed to present anyone with a more impossible task than getting "into" the experience of intense labour. Every previous experience in my life had taught me to fear and reject such intense and confronting physical experiences as being "wrong" or "bad" – and this phase of labour is especially challenging because it's so impossible to know how much further you have to go. Even if you can meet the challenge: you're doing it blindfolded. At best, I would say that I thought I 'coped' (inwardly) with 2 out of every 3 contractions I experienced during my labour this time around. With Cole's, it was more like 1 in 3 (while the going was good).
My team were undaunted, telling me how brilliantly I was doing and truly holding me throughout. Nic's news after the examination was neither terrible nor what I particularly wanted to hear. I was 4cm dilated and the head still seemed a bit high. She thought if we went to hospital there and then I would have less chance of avoiding intervention so suggested we stay put a little longer. However, I was not about to get off lightly. She said I now had a job to do to try and get the head to descend, and I'm sure I must have paled: any suggestion of change, that would force me to make it through a contraction in a different way than I had previously, caused me internal panic. Fresh doubt would arise and with the hourglass already flipped, time escaping steadily before I'd have to do it all again. She explained that I would need to encourage the baby to move down and that the best way to do it was to walk from the kitchen, through the lounge room and up the hallway, raising each knee up while I walked... I was to do this silly walk until I had another contraction, and then she brought a stool for me to keep one foot up on while I was having the contraction and either lunge into it, or open my hip out to the side to allow the baby's head to descend. Somwhere in there Tom managed to make a joke about how I needed to do that move from Beyonce's Single Ladies flimclip where the dancers all wriggle their way suggestively down toward the floor! I can't say that this matched with any idea I had of myself at that moment (!!!) except that the idea of seeing myself in a one shouldered black leotard while in my current condition was potentially amusing.
I made it to the top of the hall way near the front door. I spent a few contractions here, alternating legs up on the stool and carrying through with the plan. I was unwilling, but it was also good to have a focus, I think. Also, I felt the baby's head descend – and even though I knew it was the head, found myself telling everyone "I'm going to poo, I'm going to poo" because I thought it would be better to offer some warning just in case I did! Nic looked me square in the eye and told me that the baby's head would feel like a giant poo and then when I was pushing, it would feel like the baby was being born through my bottom. I think this was possibly the only thought that went through my head. It was like she was telling me precisely what was going to happen next... as I don't know how long it was before I was pushing, but it didn't feel like very long. The next thing that happened was that my waters broke and it was on!
Here, I'll have to flash forward to our next 'setting' which was in the lounge room and ultimately where our baby would be born. Tom was sitting on a dining chair and I was collapsed over his lap, kneeling on the floorboards on pillows that had been hastily shoved under my knees in the hope of relieving some of the agony I felt in my over-worked (or, should I say, HUGELY underprepared) legs. I had my arms around his seated form, leaning rich the way over to grip the rear two chair legs with a force that I'm surprised the chair withstood. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and Tom's clothes felt completely sodden where our bodies made contact. I could hear everything quite clearly in between contractions; something about if we were going to go to hospital, we needed to go now (not a chance in hell - most preposterous suggestion I'd ever heard!); then Nicola saying she needed to go and get her kit out of the car (she hadn't done that yet???!!). Questions about the location of gloves and drop sheets, and various other instructions for poor Bec who was trying to find things (I knew where they were, but couldn't speak to tell anyone). While she was running around getting hot water and cloths and rubber gloves out from under the sink, she was also texting my mum to give her an update amongst all of this! I also heard a snipped of Nic's phone call to Helen; and the words, "she's pushing"... are all I remember.
Somehow I'd gone from that uninspiring examination: to roaring on the floor like a feral animal and feeling my entire body (and bottom!) open up to this being who had suddenly decided she was going to come roaring down through my body, propelled by the force of a muscle that was clearly the most impressively toned and efficient one in my entire body! If only I could wear it on the outside!!
Far from being the scarred organ with a potentially life-threatening "weak link" in this birth story, as the medical profession had it labelled, it was now the star of the show. I was an unwilling spectator, but was peeking through my fingers in awe of what was occurring inside of me. Whilst it was unbearably intense, I cannot accurately describe it as "pain". There were bits that "hurt" – my legs and knees are actually the first thing that springs to mind. As well as something about my hips being forced apart that made the back and sides of my hips really hurt. In terms of the pushing, it was really just the uncontrolled spasming that was overwhelming, and that made my voice crack as I cried out and every time – which felt to me (and sounded like) I was something I couldn't cope with. It made each contraction so hard to mentally prepare for; but as for whether I would describe it as PAIN– ??? It was mostly just the sheer FORCE and INTENSITY that was so mind-blowing!! Even if it was; already I'm finding it so difficult to remember the intricacies of the sensation: the only part I can actually recall is my thoughts and feelings about it as it happened.
The warning of the next contraction came quickly, giving me just enough time to expect the complete retraction of my uterus behind the baby's head, followed by the pummelling sensation of the her body being driven down into the waiting space. Bec was force feeding me teaspoons of honey that stuck in my mouth and the long strands of hair in front of my eyes and I heard Nic saying it would help with the expulsive reflex. I think that term stuck with me: expulsive reflex. The baby was definitely being expelled!!!
The feeling of the uterus pushing the baby down – all by itself and without any input from me – was, as I had heard/read others describe it, quite satisfying in its own way... but still too intense for me to consider pleasurable. I think the pleasurable part was the completeness of the focus; the absolute certainly of where you're at; the complete anticipation of the baby's birth and it all being over! Maybe that makes it sound terrible, but it isn't. It's just so overwhelming and so tiring. Wishing for it to be over has very little do with how difficult each part is in isolation. Most of us wouldn't say that vomiting is the worst thing that's ever happened to us in our entire lives, but when you're body is wracked with uncontrollable spasms and you're vomiting (or having diarrhoea) you are definitely wishing for it to be over in that moment because it's all jut too much for your brain to process. Birth is like that – times 100! But you know you're not sick and you know why it's happening... and the anticipation and the effort; and the transformation that you undergo; makes it more bearable than any other experience of that magnitude could ever be.
At times I was moaning, "No, no, no" over and over as the waves would come... and Helen was coaching me not to say no, but to say yes. The most lucid thing I had to say in that moment was that I didn't mean "No" ... it was just something I had to say in order to surrender... to acknowledge that it was hard and that I had gone completely inside that world without running away from any of it. I was pushing my daughter into this world... and to be honest, more completely focused, not on the end result, but on trying not to rip myself open in the process!
As the head and body were pushed down, I could feel the driving force being naturally slowed by the stretching of my perineum, and the associated heat and not-quite-burning sensation. I think it would have burned or stung more if more damage was being done – but it was quite clear to me that if I allowed this 'slowing' to occur naturally at the end... even though I knew it would mean more contractions and going through the whole process all over again .... then maybe I wouldn't tear. Ladies, birth is a powerful thing... and as much as I wanted the job to be done, I still was able to think clearly enough and didn't quite consider it worth it to 'hurry things along' and push through that barrier. Don't get me wrong, the thought crossed my mind: just push through, all in one go, bugger the consequences and have the job done! But I know that pushing through that barrier would definitely have hurt like hell, if only for a minute, and would definitely have left me far worse off than I am right now. And as enthusiastic as I might have been about my own progress, I hadn't heard those words yet: "I can see the head" and I was puffing and panting and suffering and wondering when the hell I was going to hear them say it. Then, the moment arrived where the awful continuous retracting of the body had stopped and the baby remained in the birth canal. The moment had arrived.
I knew I had to be careful. Those contractions were powerful and would now be barrelling down directly against the skin that needed to be stretched. It was agonisingly difficult to try and be inert. I could feel her crowning and Nic and Helen frantically urging me not to push but to breathe, making me copy their light puffing sounds. I didn't feel like I was doing a very good job of that, but I was seized with internal concentration. It was happening whether I pushed or not - - so now was the time to slam on the brakes! I braked like buggery on that steep hill and the head kept coming and the stretching kept happening and I hoped to hell that I was going to come out in one piece. Bec pushed the screen of my phone under my nose and made me look at the ghostly picture of my daughter's completely inert head and face protruding from my body. Her head was out!! My brain couldn't look at the picture and concentrate on the feeling of it at the same time. It was sensory overload. But I had done it.
"One more push and your baby will be here".... Are there any more welcome words in the world? Those words are echoing out in every language under the sun, countless times a day, and women everywhere are sharing in that moment. The moment where all you do is want to cry and thank God and the galaxy and the stars and every little thing you could have possibly done to deserve such amazingly good news. There is not even enough time in the waiting space between the head being out and the body being born to enjoy the full splendour of that sentence. In a matter of moments, it seemed, she was out.... and time was on fast forward with action and voices and I was able to lift my head from the place it had been hiding to come out and have a look around. My body was shattered... They were saying, "Pick up your baby, take your baby" ... and there was this little vernix smeared body on the towels beneath me, too small and limp and slippery for me to pick up. I was crying and laughing and saying "I can't pick her up" and so they helped me as I incredibly awkwardly got my hands under her arms and tried to hold her against me. She was so warm and floppy and small, it was just so surreal. I was trembling all over, wanting to see her, wanting to do it all right. But she was so content and peaceful and patient with me, as I brought her to me and Tom was kissing me and everything was suddenly right with the universe. My baby girl had arrived in my own house into my own arms and absolutely nothing had gone wrong. I had just experienced the perfect birth.
Smiling faces were everywhere around me. I was moved to the plastic covered and linen-draped couch to rest and wait for the placenta to follow. We were absolutely covered in muck - I was sweat sodden and smeared with blood and vernix and remnants of the giant meconium poo that the baby had done on the way out. It would have been nice to be still, but my body was aching and trembling and letting me know just how hard it had worked. Looking down at her face made it all okay, but I guess it was not completely over just yet. Helen said I would feel a lot better after the placenta was out, but I could not feel anything coming just yet.
It took a while, but eventually I decided I could get up again and just before the hour was up I was helped to walk to the bathroom where I could sit on the toilet and properly concentrate on the urge to push the placenta out. They had been absolutely right! The relief was fantastic. Tom came over and cut the cord, which he hadn't been planning to do, but everything was just so relaxed it seemed
Tom said, "So is she Freya?" and looking down at her face, with her strange, spidery lashes and fair brows and those distinctive, almond shaped eyes I simply said, "Yes". She looked so much like Freya to me, I couldn't even remember what other names we'd picked out. The perfection of the moment was sealed in the simplicity and seeming-rightness of this decision. We then involved the surrounding committee with selecting an appropriate middle name; as Bec had the laptop ready to fill out the details of her birth announcement at http://hascoleslittlesister.beenbornyet.com so that waiting subscribers could get the news.
It was hard to believe that it was only lunch time and there we all were, gathered around this beautiful little being, already named and already looking so different from that blue and yellow creature who'd emerged from the deep. She was rosy pink and smooth-skinned as Nic gently placed her face down on the baby scale on a warm towel (with her first clothes warming in the dryer) and we took some photos of this impossibly peaceful new Earthling. A hot pink crocheted hat was retrieved from the hospital bag and placed on her head to keep her warm and caused another flurry of photographic activity - she looked like one of those picture postcard babies, although accidentally so. It seems everything that was so perfect about this birth was completely unorchestrated... and I'm convinced that this is the only way it could have resulted in such perfection.
The bond with Freya has been instantly strong and a seamless continuation of our relationship from within me to without. It is like she has always been here - her sweet little soul. Our little Norse goddess of love, charging into our lives on her gilded chariot (pulled by two cats!) She has charmed us effortlessly; and we are not surprised to learn that Freya was also the goddess of childbirth! She is a very healthy and peaceful baby and everything she has touched has also been healthy and peaceful. I was worried about my capacity to love her, but loving her is simple and natural.
As the days have gone on, I am learning to love the experience of her birth. It has taken some time to process - which makes sense, given that the birth itself was quite quick. Tom kept asking me if I was proud of myself; and kept telling me he was proud of me... saying, rather cheekily, "Aren't you the goose that laid the golden egg". He had pressed me to understand why I didn't immediately beam with pride over my 'achievement'... I am very proud of my daughter and my part in her creation and safe entry to the world. I've just been unsure as to how much credit I can actually take for it. It was going to happen, no matter which way! But maybe I can take credit for all the work I did leading up to it. All the mental preparation, that at times made me wonder if I had over-thought the whole thing and actually made it less likely I'd have a good experience.
But my capacity to love has been expanded, and my capacity to be open. Whether or not the transformation had taken place before the birth... I can certainly claim it as my own afterward: my love for Freya; for Tom; and for the incredible women who helped me and showed me how to open myself up to birth my baby and then how to celebrate it! I am very proud of myself for allowing this transformation to take place. I have made myself more vulnerable and more open to all aspects of myself, including my faults. Including the part of myself that wailed, "No, no, no," as Freya's birth drew near. I am not judging my performance the way I might have before; none of it feels "wrong" to me. I can accept it for what it is – and myself for who I am. I know have a beautiful and complete (?) family and I am have been healed by my home birth experience in ways I could not have imagined before or during.
I truly believe that after months of reading, research and hospital appointments that I had the healthiest and safest birth I possibly could. I needed truckloads of reassurance and I got that from Helen and Nicola. Through our trust relationship I was able to really listen to them during the most challenging aspects of my experience and make the most of their wisdom, their faith in me and desire to see me succeed. I know for a fact that they would never have done anything to compromise my safety, including packing me into a car when it became clear the time had passed. They humbly made space for every automatic function that they knew my body and my baby were capable of achieving, and in that quiet and sacred zone, mother nature demonstrated her awesome wisdom to everyone present. Everything the hospital staff told me I "needed", I didn't need. I'm not saying I was invincible, but I believe that the respect we showed for the natural processes of labour and birth, in an undisturbed environment, meant an optimal outcome for me and my baby... from my mindset at the beginning of labour, through to the effective delivery of baby, placenta and the natural and effective establishment of breastfeeding. I did not necessarily "believe" this could be clearly attributed to birthing at home before I had the experience, but now that I have done it, it seems odd that we considered there should be any other way. Our accidental home birth has been the antidote to every negative thing that's happened to us in the past... and nobody pushed us to do it. It just "happened" and that's what made it so perfect.
So I was one of the 5%. In fact, Freya's time of birth was 12:59pm on Thursday the 9th of Feb. When they told me it was only lunchtime I didn't believe it!! I didn't know where I'd been all that time.... it felt endless... I guess I was inside myself, going on the journey with her, struggling with her to find a way for her to come out. She was coming anyway, I should have known that much; but truly I did not know what to expect; logically, I feel I should have – but it was still the most confronting physical challenge I have ever met, and the most powerfully transformative experience of my life.
The night before was a subdued one. We knew enough about where we were at to try and go to bed and try and get some sleep. I think I slept until about 2:45am before I was woken by more regular contractions again. I wanted to try and sleep more, but I didn't think I wasn't going to have much hope. By 4am I was resigned to the fact that they were definitely coming continuously (at about 6-7mins apart) and I made a nest of pillows and cushions on the bed so I could flop face-down in them and rest/snooze in between. For the record, I'll say at this point that "resting between contractions" is the kind of idea you get from reading books and other peoples' birth stories - and seriously, when you're doing it, you just feel like a dick because it seems like the most futile activity in the universe! Well, it did for me, anyway!!
So, up at 6 or so to stare at the affirmation wall and settle into some serious timing and pacing and wondering. I dealt with Cole when he woke up, but it was hard to make space for what was going on. More diarrhoea ensued and whilst I wasn't conscious of contracting while that was happening, it was interesting how to explain it all to Cole who was hovering around me in the bathroom. I had a whiteboard marker with me because I'd written down a couple of timings that I'd missed using the app on my phone. Cole wanted the marker so I gave it to him and encouraged him to do drawings on top of the white pedal-bin that we use for laundry in the bathroom. The marker didn't really work (it was a black one) so I offered to get him one that did, but he seemed very suspicious of the new marker and clung to the old one; despite this, there was much continuing chatter about it not working... and as time ticked by, a couple more contractions came and went ... I went and got another marker out for myself so I could record them. Update from Cole was that the marker really wasn't working, so eventually he came around to swapping to the new one. A couple more toilet trips ensued - I offered Cole to swap his black marker with my bright red one: the resulting artwork looks exactly like a black and red placenta print on top of the round bin!
When Tom got up we started making plans. First was to call his parents and ask them to come ASAP to pick up Cole. All good, but probably wouldn't happen until 9. I called our midwife; she said it all sounded great and that we just needed to call her when we felt we needed her. I was coping, so I guess I thought it probably wasn't time for that... as much as I might have said differently during the contractions that lasted about a minute each. Then I heard from my mum: a text that said she was on her way to work when I thought she was on a plane on the way to a conference. I had texted her first to say she was probably going to miss the birth (as she wasn't to return until the following evening). So it meant she was actually able to could come and entertain Cole until his other grandparents arrived and, considering what a distraction Cole was turning out to be, I readily agreed. Tom and I also agreed that it was a good idea to summon my cousin Bec, one of our support people, who'd been prepared the night before for the possibility of being needed. We didn't hear from her right away, but she arrived shortly before our midwife.
In the meantime, we ended up with a quite needy Cole, who was reacting a bit to the sight of me dealing with my contractions; and either distracting me, or distracting Tom from being able to focus on me completely, which was what I desperately wanted. When my mum arrived, it was great to have the extra help. Then Tom's parents arrived... and suddenly the house was full of our parents! We hadn't envisaged any of them being present during labour, but everyone did a great job of working out how to be useful and then scooting off pretty quickly once Tom was able to come back to me and focus on helping me through.
There was actually an unbelievably soothing quality about having him with me – as strange as it might seem for me to express a note of surprise about that! I just hadn't really thought about him as one of my "support people". To me, he was as emotionally invested in the birth as I was – but after the trauma of our last birth experience (for both of us) I had encouraged him to organise his own support for this birth, as I didn't want him to end up in a position where it was 'all about me', especially as that had been so tiring for him last time. It's certainly not that I felt he couldn't be supportive of me: but I suppose I just mean that we hadn't prepared for it (ie. talking about any techniques he might use, or positions we might try). However, when he placed his hands on me and comforted me, it all just worked and he was really my rock. So much so that if I couldn't have him near me for a contraction, I would get quite teary and vulnerable, which made all the other feelings so much harder to deal with.
When I heard Bec arrive, I was in the middle of some very seriously hard work! Nic was on her way... but I was feeling teary; then actually felt quite terrible to think of my poor (pre-childbearing) cousin arriving right at a time where she was going to hear me bellowing the house down. I know some women are very contained – and labour inwardly, and even silently – I am NOT one of those people!! My experience of labour was intense, and very difficult for me to embrace.... the only way I could ride the contractions was to roar, groan or even sing along with them. It was a very noisy little house that day. Tom said he didn't think it sounded like I was screaming my head off (eg. 'One Born Every Minute' style) but to me, it really felt like I was screaming. Luckily Bec had actually spoken to my mum before coming and mum had given her a heads up about how advanced things were likely to look by the time she arrived, so it wasn't quite the unprepared entrance I'd assumed she was making.
She fitted in seamlessly with just the right energy, low-keyness and willingness to help. She had a gentle presence, similar to Tom's and they both were completely focused on comforting me. I felt extremely vulnerable and really probably quite afraid of the intensity, as it reminded me a fair bit of my labour with Cole and I still didn't quite know where this labour was heading. I was still waiting for our midwife to arrive.... and knew that it would then be some time after that before we went to hospital. Visualising the time stretching ahead was pretty challenging, and not a good idea when you're trying to get from moment to moment. When Nic arrived, I was on all fours in the bottom of the bath with the hot shower on my back. 'The Team' reported to her that things seemed to be under control. The hot water had been helping and the contractions had been shorter and more predictable (with a very challenging part in the middle that I could see coming and going, which made me feel a bit more grounded.) But the hot water was running out, and Nic offered to examine me to check my progress which I knew I wanted her to do. I just had to know where I was at. I would have been lost without knowing, even if hearing it meant hearing something dispiriting and challenging to my feelings about continuing.
Getting from the shower to the couch was awful and contemplating lying on my back for the exam and risking contracting in that position filled me with dread. I had 3 before she was able to examine me... and the examination concluded with one of my less graceful manoeuvres as I rolled off the couch into the 4th contraction with not enough control of my body to support my weight. Tom tried to catch me but it was pretty useless and I was completely lost during that one, which always seemed to make them worse. If I could "go inside" the experience, it was infinitely better, but I'd be hard pressed to present anyone with a more impossible task than getting "into" the experience of intense labour. Every previous experience in my life had taught me to fear and reject such intense and confronting physical experiences as being "wrong" or "bad" – and this phase of labour is especially challenging because it's so impossible to know how much further you have to go. Even if you can meet the challenge: you're doing it blindfolded. At best, I would say that I thought I 'coped' (inwardly) with 2 out of every 3 contractions I experienced during my labour this time around. With Cole's, it was more like 1 in 3 (while the going was good).
My team were undaunted, telling me how brilliantly I was doing and truly holding me throughout. Nic's news after the examination was neither terrible nor what I particularly wanted to hear. I was 4cm dilated and the head still seemed a bit high. She thought if we went to hospital there and then I would have less chance of avoiding intervention so suggested we stay put a little longer. However, I was not about to get off lightly. She said I now had a job to do to try and get the head to descend, and I'm sure I must have paled: any suggestion of change, that would force me to make it through a contraction in a different way than I had previously, caused me internal panic. Fresh doubt would arise and with the hourglass already flipped, time escaping steadily before I'd have to do it all again. She explained that I would need to encourage the baby to move down and that the best way to do it was to walk from the kitchen, through the lounge room and up the hallway, raising each knee up while I walked... I was to do this silly walk until I had another contraction, and then she brought a stool for me to keep one foot up on while I was having the contraction and either lunge into it, or open my hip out to the side to allow the baby's head to descend. Somwhere in there Tom managed to make a joke about how I needed to do that move from Beyonce's Single Ladies flimclip where the dancers all wriggle their way suggestively down toward the floor! I can't say that this matched with any idea I had of myself at that moment (!!!) except that the idea of seeing myself in a one shouldered black leotard while in my current condition was potentially amusing.
I made it to the top of the hall way near the front door. I spent a few contractions here, alternating legs up on the stool and carrying through with the plan. I was unwilling, but it was also good to have a focus, I think. Also, I felt the baby's head descend – and even though I knew it was the head, found myself telling everyone "I'm going to poo, I'm going to poo" because I thought it would be better to offer some warning just in case I did! Nic looked me square in the eye and told me that the baby's head would feel like a giant poo and then when I was pushing, it would feel like the baby was being born through my bottom. I think this was possibly the only thought that went through my head. It was like she was telling me precisely what was going to happen next... as I don't know how long it was before I was pushing, but it didn't feel like very long. The next thing that happened was that my waters broke and it was on!
Here, I'll have to flash forward to our next 'setting' which was in the lounge room and ultimately where our baby would be born. Tom was sitting on a dining chair and I was collapsed over his lap, kneeling on the floorboards on pillows that had been hastily shoved under my knees in the hope of relieving some of the agony I felt in my over-worked (or, should I say, HUGELY underprepared) legs. I had my arms around his seated form, leaning rich the way over to grip the rear two chair legs with a force that I'm surprised the chair withstood. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and Tom's clothes felt completely sodden where our bodies made contact. I could hear everything quite clearly in between contractions; something about if we were going to go to hospital, we needed to go now (not a chance in hell - most preposterous suggestion I'd ever heard!); then Nicola saying she needed to go and get her kit out of the car (she hadn't done that yet???!!). Questions about the location of gloves and drop sheets, and various other instructions for poor Bec who was trying to find things (I knew where they were, but couldn't speak to tell anyone). While she was running around getting hot water and cloths and rubber gloves out from under the sink, she was also texting my mum to give her an update amongst all of this! I also heard a snipped of Nic's phone call to Helen; and the words, "she's pushing"... are all I remember.
Somehow I'd gone from that uninspiring examination: to roaring on the floor like a feral animal and feeling my entire body (and bottom!) open up to this being who had suddenly decided she was going to come roaring down through my body, propelled by the force of a muscle that was clearly the most impressively toned and efficient one in my entire body! If only I could wear it on the outside!!
Far from being the scarred organ with a potentially life-threatening "weak link" in this birth story, as the medical profession had it labelled, it was now the star of the show. I was an unwilling spectator, but was peeking through my fingers in awe of what was occurring inside of me. Whilst it was unbearably intense, I cannot accurately describe it as "pain". There were bits that "hurt" – my legs and knees are actually the first thing that springs to mind. As well as something about my hips being forced apart that made the back and sides of my hips really hurt. In terms of the pushing, it was really just the uncontrolled spasming that was overwhelming, and that made my voice crack as I cried out and every time – which felt to me (and sounded like) I was something I couldn't cope with. It made each contraction so hard to mentally prepare for; but as for whether I would describe it as PAIN– ??? It was mostly just the sheer FORCE and INTENSITY that was so mind-blowing!! Even if it was; already I'm finding it so difficult to remember the intricacies of the sensation: the only part I can actually recall is my thoughts and feelings about it as it happened.
The warning of the next contraction came quickly, giving me just enough time to expect the complete retraction of my uterus behind the baby's head, followed by the pummelling sensation of the her body being driven down into the waiting space. Bec was force feeding me teaspoons of honey that stuck in my mouth and the long strands of hair in front of my eyes and I heard Nic saying it would help with the expulsive reflex. I think that term stuck with me: expulsive reflex. The baby was definitely being expelled!!!
The feeling of the uterus pushing the baby down – all by itself and without any input from me – was, as I had heard/read others describe it, quite satisfying in its own way... but still too intense for me to consider pleasurable. I think the pleasurable part was the completeness of the focus; the absolute certainly of where you're at; the complete anticipation of the baby's birth and it all being over! Maybe that makes it sound terrible, but it isn't. It's just so overwhelming and so tiring. Wishing for it to be over has very little do with how difficult each part is in isolation. Most of us wouldn't say that vomiting is the worst thing that's ever happened to us in our entire lives, but when you're body is wracked with uncontrollable spasms and you're vomiting (or having diarrhoea) you are definitely wishing for it to be over in that moment because it's all jut too much for your brain to process. Birth is like that – times 100! But you know you're not sick and you know why it's happening... and the anticipation and the effort; and the transformation that you undergo; makes it more bearable than any other experience of that magnitude could ever be.
At times I was moaning, "No, no, no" over and over as the waves would come... and Helen was coaching me not to say no, but to say yes. The most lucid thing I had to say in that moment was that I didn't mean "No" ... it was just something I had to say in order to surrender... to acknowledge that it was hard and that I had gone completely inside that world without running away from any of it. I was pushing my daughter into this world... and to be honest, more completely focused, not on the end result, but on trying not to rip myself open in the process!
As the head and body were pushed down, I could feel the driving force being naturally slowed by the stretching of my perineum, and the associated heat and not-quite-burning sensation. I think it would have burned or stung more if more damage was being done – but it was quite clear to me that if I allowed this 'slowing' to occur naturally at the end... even though I knew it would mean more contractions and going through the whole process all over again .... then maybe I wouldn't tear. Ladies, birth is a powerful thing... and as much as I wanted the job to be done, I still was able to think clearly enough and didn't quite consider it worth it to 'hurry things along' and push through that barrier. Don't get me wrong, the thought crossed my mind: just push through, all in one go, bugger the consequences and have the job done! But I know that pushing through that barrier would definitely have hurt like hell, if only for a minute, and would definitely have left me far worse off than I am right now. And as enthusiastic as I might have been about my own progress, I hadn't heard those words yet: "I can see the head" and I was puffing and panting and suffering and wondering when the hell I was going to hear them say it. Then, the moment arrived where the awful continuous retracting of the body had stopped and the baby remained in the birth canal. The moment had arrived.
I knew I had to be careful. Those contractions were powerful and would now be barrelling down directly against the skin that needed to be stretched. It was agonisingly difficult to try and be inert. I could feel her crowning and Nic and Helen frantically urging me not to push but to breathe, making me copy their light puffing sounds. I didn't feel like I was doing a very good job of that, but I was seized with internal concentration. It was happening whether I pushed or not - - so now was the time to slam on the brakes! I braked like buggery on that steep hill and the head kept coming and the stretching kept happening and I hoped to hell that I was going to come out in one piece. Bec pushed the screen of my phone under my nose and made me look at the ghostly picture of my daughter's completely inert head and face protruding from my body. Her head was out!! My brain couldn't look at the picture and concentrate on the feeling of it at the same time. It was sensory overload. But I had done it.
"One more push and your baby will be here".... Are there any more welcome words in the world? Those words are echoing out in every language under the sun, countless times a day, and women everywhere are sharing in that moment. The moment where all you do is want to cry and thank God and the galaxy and the stars and every little thing you could have possibly done to deserve such amazingly good news. There is not even enough time in the waiting space between the head being out and the body being born to enjoy the full splendour of that sentence. In a matter of moments, it seemed, she was out.... and time was on fast forward with action and voices and I was able to lift my head from the place it had been hiding to come out and have a look around. My body was shattered... They were saying, "Pick up your baby, take your baby" ... and there was this little vernix smeared body on the towels beneath me, too small and limp and slippery for me to pick up. I was crying and laughing and saying "I can't pick her up" and so they helped me as I incredibly awkwardly got my hands under her arms and tried to hold her against me. She was so warm and floppy and small, it was just so surreal. I was trembling all over, wanting to see her, wanting to do it all right. But she was so content and peaceful and patient with me, as I brought her to me and Tom was kissing me and everything was suddenly right with the universe. My baby girl had arrived in my own house into my own arms and absolutely nothing had gone wrong. I had just experienced the perfect birth.
Smiling faces were everywhere around me. I was moved to the plastic covered and linen-draped couch to rest and wait for the placenta to follow. We were absolutely covered in muck - I was sweat sodden and smeared with blood and vernix and remnants of the giant meconium poo that the baby had done on the way out. It would have been nice to be still, but my body was aching and trembling and letting me know just how hard it had worked. Looking down at her face made it all okay, but I guess it was not completely over just yet. Helen said I would feel a lot better after the placenta was out, but I could not feel anything coming just yet.
It took a while, but eventually I decided I could get up again and just before the hour was up I was helped to walk to the bathroom where I could sit on the toilet and properly concentrate on the urge to push the placenta out. They had been absolutely right! The relief was fantastic. Tom came over and cut the cord, which he hadn't been planning to do, but everything was just so relaxed it seemed
Tom said, "So is she Freya?" and looking down at her face, with her strange, spidery lashes and fair brows and those distinctive, almond shaped eyes I simply said, "Yes". She looked so much like Freya to me, I couldn't even remember what other names we'd picked out. The perfection of the moment was sealed in the simplicity and seeming-rightness of this decision. We then involved the surrounding committee with selecting an appropriate middle name; as Bec had the laptop ready to fill out the details of her birth announcement at http://hascoleslittlesister.beenbornyet.com so that waiting subscribers could get the news.
It was hard to believe that it was only lunch time and there we all were, gathered around this beautiful little being, already named and already looking so different from that blue and yellow creature who'd emerged from the deep. She was rosy pink and smooth-skinned as Nic gently placed her face down on the baby scale on a warm towel (with her first clothes warming in the dryer) and we took some photos of this impossibly peaceful new Earthling. A hot pink crocheted hat was retrieved from the hospital bag and placed on her head to keep her warm and caused another flurry of photographic activity - she looked like one of those picture postcard babies, although accidentally so. It seems everything that was so perfect about this birth was completely unorchestrated... and I'm convinced that this is the only way it could have resulted in such perfection.
The bond with Freya has been instantly strong and a seamless continuation of our relationship from within me to without. It is like she has always been here - her sweet little soul. Our little Norse goddess of love, charging into our lives on her gilded chariot (pulled by two cats!) She has charmed us effortlessly; and we are not surprised to learn that Freya was also the goddess of childbirth! She is a very healthy and peaceful baby and everything she has touched has also been healthy and peaceful. I was worried about my capacity to love her, but loving her is simple and natural.
As the days have gone on, I am learning to love the experience of her birth. It has taken some time to process - which makes sense, given that the birth itself was quite quick. Tom kept asking me if I was proud of myself; and kept telling me he was proud of me... saying, rather cheekily, "Aren't you the goose that laid the golden egg". He had pressed me to understand why I didn't immediately beam with pride over my 'achievement'... I am very proud of my daughter and my part in her creation and safe entry to the world. I've just been unsure as to how much credit I can actually take for it. It was going to happen, no matter which way! But maybe I can take credit for all the work I did leading up to it. All the mental preparation, that at times made me wonder if I had over-thought the whole thing and actually made it less likely I'd have a good experience.
But my capacity to love has been expanded, and my capacity to be open. Whether or not the transformation had taken place before the birth... I can certainly claim it as my own afterward: my love for Freya; for Tom; and for the incredible women who helped me and showed me how to open myself up to birth my baby and then how to celebrate it! I am very proud of myself for allowing this transformation to take place. I have made myself more vulnerable and more open to all aspects of myself, including my faults. Including the part of myself that wailed, "No, no, no," as Freya's birth drew near. I am not judging my performance the way I might have before; none of it feels "wrong" to me. I can accept it for what it is – and myself for who I am. I know have a beautiful and complete (?) family and I am have been healed by my home birth experience in ways I could not have imagined before or during.
I truly believe that after months of reading, research and hospital appointments that I had the healthiest and safest birth I possibly could. I needed truckloads of reassurance and I got that from Helen and Nicola. Through our trust relationship I was able to really listen to them during the most challenging aspects of my experience and make the most of their wisdom, their faith in me and desire to see me succeed. I know for a fact that they would never have done anything to compromise my safety, including packing me into a car when it became clear the time had passed. They humbly made space for every automatic function that they knew my body and my baby were capable of achieving, and in that quiet and sacred zone, mother nature demonstrated her awesome wisdom to everyone present. Everything the hospital staff told me I "needed", I didn't need. I'm not saying I was invincible, but I believe that the respect we showed for the natural processes of labour and birth, in an undisturbed environment, meant an optimal outcome for me and my baby... from my mindset at the beginning of labour, through to the effective delivery of baby, placenta and the natural and effective establishment of breastfeeding. I did not necessarily "believe" this could be clearly attributed to birthing at home before I had the experience, but now that I have done it, it seems odd that we considered there should be any other way. Our accidental home birth has been the antidote to every negative thing that's happened to us in the past... and nobody pushed us to do it. It just "happened" and that's what made it so perfect.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
The show's on the road
So I had my appointment today at the hospital and it was just 'meh'. More of the same with the miscommunications... More: "But you really will HAVE to .... " Yeah? Well, whatever. Whatever is my coping strategy when it comes to that place now!! It's like it's not worth the fight. If I'm going to say no to stuff, it'd better be in the moment because that's the only time they're going to listen anyway.
I came away feeling positive that things were going to happen soon, not for any particular reason (or anything they were able to tell me). Maybe it was just because they didn't suggest otherwise?
I picked up Cole from mum and dad's place and it was clear he was going to need a sleep soon. He was even dozing off in the back of the car and I thought 'great' - I'm going to chuck him in the pram and go and walk around and see what I can get going. So I did... Went down to Savers and did a few rounds. Then went to Paint Spot and picked up the drop sheets that I thought we'd better have on the bed just in case my waters broke. Then, like a miracle, I arrived home to see the "show" - an astonishing moment!! The proverbial "ah-ha" moment... It's hard to describe my reaction. I think I mainly felt like all of my talk about wanting to "bring it on!" was momentarily flooded under a dozen spotlights, checking my enthusiasm for weaknesses. Had I been lying to myself about being excited? Was I simply talking myself into the fact that I really WANT to be in labour?? Because here was the sign that I had been waiting for.... and I felt.... Yeah, maybe momentarily a little freaked out; but in a good way, I think. I was intensely aware of the reality hitting home, but once I could see it so clearly, it became pretty exciting again. Even more so, in fact.
Next job? - keep excitement in check. It could still be a while.
Anxiously pace through rooms of house, wondering if contractions will start to get regular - or if these Braxton Hicks are just Braxton Hicks, or actually just not very painful contractions. No answer to be found there. Cole was still awake and berating me for things like "More cheese mummy! More cheese!!" - and I worked hard to satisfy his cravings while taking regular toilet breaks (my body decided that all extraneous detritus needed to be evacuated - and in a huge way!) and trying to keep everything moving - and press the start/stop button on my contraction timer app on the phone (bloody difficult, as I kept misplacing the thing EVERY time).
Cole's in bed now and Tom's home. We are being cool for the time being. I think we know enough just to know that we will "KNOW" when something is really happening... if we still have to ask, then I suppose that's the answer!
I'm still having contractions but they are between 7 - 15 mins apart and are quite bearable. They are 'real' ones though, mostly - of that much I'm sure. Now it's just a question of getting into established labour, a place I've never been before. How do I get there without doubting it into impossibility? I hope I'm doing the right thing by not getting excited. By staying calm and staying put. Part of me wants to get outside and get walking again, just do whatever needs to be done until there is not a shred of doubt left. There is another voice in there that says, "your body will just do it - your job is just not to get in the way". I need to relax and step aside - put myself aside.
Anyway, if anyone's actually reading this, then I beg you not to get TOO excited!! We haven't even called our midwife yet! Once things are at a 'need to know' level, then we will start contacting the relevant people. Otherwise it could be a very long night (or series of nights) for everyone. It's 8:30pm now, so I will give it at least another couple of hours to see how things are progressing. Time has now become 'labour time' - where an hour is 'X' number of contractions long. It seems way shorter than 60 whole minutes, that's for sure.
Am I about to be one of the 5% who give birth on their due date?? How bizarre - nobody could be more surprised than me if I did!!
I came away feeling positive that things were going to happen soon, not for any particular reason (or anything they were able to tell me). Maybe it was just because they didn't suggest otherwise?
I picked up Cole from mum and dad's place and it was clear he was going to need a sleep soon. He was even dozing off in the back of the car and I thought 'great' - I'm going to chuck him in the pram and go and walk around and see what I can get going. So I did... Went down to Savers and did a few rounds. Then went to Paint Spot and picked up the drop sheets that I thought we'd better have on the bed just in case my waters broke. Then, like a miracle, I arrived home to see the "show" - an astonishing moment!! The proverbial "ah-ha" moment... It's hard to describe my reaction. I think I mainly felt like all of my talk about wanting to "bring it on!" was momentarily flooded under a dozen spotlights, checking my enthusiasm for weaknesses. Had I been lying to myself about being excited? Was I simply talking myself into the fact that I really WANT to be in labour?? Because here was the sign that I had been waiting for.... and I felt.... Yeah, maybe momentarily a little freaked out; but in a good way, I think. I was intensely aware of the reality hitting home, but once I could see it so clearly, it became pretty exciting again. Even more so, in fact.
Next job? - keep excitement in check. It could still be a while.
Anxiously pace through rooms of house, wondering if contractions will start to get regular - or if these Braxton Hicks are just Braxton Hicks, or actually just not very painful contractions. No answer to be found there. Cole was still awake and berating me for things like "More cheese mummy! More cheese!!" - and I worked hard to satisfy his cravings while taking regular toilet breaks (my body decided that all extraneous detritus needed to be evacuated - and in a huge way!) and trying to keep everything moving - and press the start/stop button on my contraction timer app on the phone (bloody difficult, as I kept misplacing the thing EVERY time).
Cole's in bed now and Tom's home. We are being cool for the time being. I think we know enough just to know that we will "KNOW" when something is really happening... if we still have to ask, then I suppose that's the answer!
I'm still having contractions but they are between 7 - 15 mins apart and are quite bearable. They are 'real' ones though, mostly - of that much I'm sure. Now it's just a question of getting into established labour, a place I've never been before. How do I get there without doubting it into impossibility? I hope I'm doing the right thing by not getting excited. By staying calm and staying put. Part of me wants to get outside and get walking again, just do whatever needs to be done until there is not a shred of doubt left. There is another voice in there that says, "your body will just do it - your job is just not to get in the way". I need to relax and step aside - put myself aside.
Anyway, if anyone's actually reading this, then I beg you not to get TOO excited!! We haven't even called our midwife yet! Once things are at a 'need to know' level, then we will start contacting the relevant people. Otherwise it could be a very long night (or series of nights) for everyone. It's 8:30pm now, so I will give it at least another couple of hours to see how things are progressing. Time has now become 'labour time' - where an hour is 'X' number of contractions long. It seems way shorter than 60 whole minutes, that's for sure.
Am I about to be one of the 5% who give birth on their due date?? How bizarre - nobody could be more surprised than me if I did!!
A ray of hope
Get ready for a serious cliché... but you know when there are storm clouds and you just can't see anything else? ... and then, all of a sudden....
This is testimony to the good work a few fabulous women can do for each other, if only the person suffering allows themselves to reach out around themselves and ask for the help they need. This is something I often struggle with - I'm not really sure why. It's like the worse I feel, the less I feel I deserve others' support. If course, I know enough about human nature (and the shoe being on the other foot) to understand that other people will be only too happy to help me if they can - if they have the time and energy themselves - and if they love me, of course.
So I'm feeling very loved right now!! :-)
My excellent independent midwife has dealt with the barrage of unanswerable, circular and rhetorical questions that I seem to come up with whenever I get upset (as an insurance policy against finding answers, I presume!) and has calmly redirected me to my birth plan. A document that has been constructed with some difficulty, over quite a long period of time, that as much as possible reflects a completely unbiased account of everything I said I wanted when I wasn't feeling so messed up. If I'm now questioning what it is that I wrote in that document, then I would have to be coming from a pretty solid place to do so!!
Not talk of changing the plan. No suggestion that my being upset was a cue to change everything to accommodate this new batch of feelings, no matter how persuasive they may seem. No need to do anything except just hear me out and stay calm, focused, positive...
So I had a really great day yesterday. I combined IM therapy with some more casual banter with a good friend. I was having plenty of these really strong Braxton Hicks contractions, making me feel like everything's moving forward and my body is preparing for the birth. I haven't even been talking here about the kinds of things that are happening physically, because the mental aspect has been so overwhelming. So this is my purpose in writing this morning, to document some of the more mechanical aspects of this labour.
It feels very different to the way I recall late pregnancy last time. I remember wandering around in the weeks following my due date, wondering what it was I was supposed to be waiting for. I drove to the party where my labour ultimately 'started' but without any inkling that anything might happen, or I probably wouldn't have gone. I certainly didn't feel all of these pushing down sensations on my pelvic floor/cervix (whatever the hell it is!) - With my first pregnancy, my BH's felt like tightenings in my belly. Completely painless. Completely an 'outward/inward' contraction that hugged my baby... nothing like these ones that seem to be (inadvertently?) pushing the baby's head down further and (presumably?) thinning out my cervix. So far I've had a couple of days where they've been quite frequent and at least one day in between where they've almost completely stopped.... or been less noticeable.
Last night after dinner at my folks', I noticed they seemed a lot stronger. I could not lounger say they didn't hurt at all... My recent ones have had some accompanying sensations that I would associate with period pain (just without the "pain" part) that kind of slightly unpleasant dragging or aching sensation that some women might recognise. Not painful, just - - - I dunno - - - maybe, "sobering" is the right word!
Last night it was definitely period pain. I still haven't had any other signs. I'm waiting for a 'show' I suppose, considering I really hope my waters don't break (I don't need any such complicating factors to arise!!) ... so it's a funny state to be in. I've read that these BH can go on for weeks, even though it feels absolutely unfathomable. But I just have to trust that my body will take as long as it needs to do the necessary preparation - and that whatever preparation is done now should ultimately shorten my labour. I know I need to concentrate on getting things done, getting sleep and eating well in preparation. I woke up quite hungry after the couple of interruptions to my sleep from the strong BH and usual loo visits, so I've eaten eggs on toast for the protein hit, despite not really being into it. I guess now I'm in that headspace where I am preparing for the physical event and thinking about it like an athlete probably thinks about preparing their body for a race. I also prioritised the completion of my 'shrine/affirmation wall' last night, which looks quite impressive and also, I must say, really does make me feel better as I look at it and pick out whatever lines of wisdom make me feel better at that particular moment!
Off to the hospital at 11:30 this morning for my "Baby's meant to be here tomorrow" appointment. I am not thinking much about it yet (blogging before a cup of tea has been finished is inadvisable, but acceptable. Thinking about things that annoy me before a cup of tea is NOT!!) I should be expecting that the HOB's ideas about reviewing the situation at 41+3 will be challenged at this meeting, judging by my midwife's reaction to his relaxed view of going post-dates at our last appointment.
I want to keep it simple to avoid throwing fuel on the fire. Issues for discussion:
- Clarification between labouring in water vs. birthing in water (and associated qualifications of my attendant)
- Attitude of my hospital midwife to bringing independent midwife and whether this is going to be a problem
- How to best approach the shared care aspect of this arrangement; including any requested examinations, communications before reaching hospital and hand-over once we get to hospital
- Clarification about managed 3rd stage (considering conflicting advice has been given).
Whether my midwife will be able to answer this stuff for me or if I"m still waiting to hear from her boss remains to be seen!! Maybe we'll even see a baby before then!
This is testimony to the good work a few fabulous women can do for each other, if only the person suffering allows themselves to reach out around themselves and ask for the help they need. This is something I often struggle with - I'm not really sure why. It's like the worse I feel, the less I feel I deserve others' support. If course, I know enough about human nature (and the shoe being on the other foot) to understand that other people will be only too happy to help me if they can - if they have the time and energy themselves - and if they love me, of course.
So I'm feeling very loved right now!! :-)
My excellent independent midwife has dealt with the barrage of unanswerable, circular and rhetorical questions that I seem to come up with whenever I get upset (as an insurance policy against finding answers, I presume!) and has calmly redirected me to my birth plan. A document that has been constructed with some difficulty, over quite a long period of time, that as much as possible reflects a completely unbiased account of everything I said I wanted when I wasn't feeling so messed up. If I'm now questioning what it is that I wrote in that document, then I would have to be coming from a pretty solid place to do so!!
Not talk of changing the plan. No suggestion that my being upset was a cue to change everything to accommodate this new batch of feelings, no matter how persuasive they may seem. No need to do anything except just hear me out and stay calm, focused, positive...
So I had a really great day yesterday. I combined IM therapy with some more casual banter with a good friend. I was having plenty of these really strong Braxton Hicks contractions, making me feel like everything's moving forward and my body is preparing for the birth. I haven't even been talking here about the kinds of things that are happening physically, because the mental aspect has been so overwhelming. So this is my purpose in writing this morning, to document some of the more mechanical aspects of this labour.
It feels very different to the way I recall late pregnancy last time. I remember wandering around in the weeks following my due date, wondering what it was I was supposed to be waiting for. I drove to the party where my labour ultimately 'started' but without any inkling that anything might happen, or I probably wouldn't have gone. I certainly didn't feel all of these pushing down sensations on my pelvic floor/cervix (whatever the hell it is!) - With my first pregnancy, my BH's felt like tightenings in my belly. Completely painless. Completely an 'outward/inward' contraction that hugged my baby... nothing like these ones that seem to be (inadvertently?) pushing the baby's head down further and (presumably?) thinning out my cervix. So far I've had a couple of days where they've been quite frequent and at least one day in between where they've almost completely stopped.... or been less noticeable.
Last night after dinner at my folks', I noticed they seemed a lot stronger. I could not lounger say they didn't hurt at all... My recent ones have had some accompanying sensations that I would associate with period pain (just without the "pain" part) that kind of slightly unpleasant dragging or aching sensation that some women might recognise. Not painful, just - - - I dunno - - - maybe, "sobering" is the right word!
Last night it was definitely period pain. I still haven't had any other signs. I'm waiting for a 'show' I suppose, considering I really hope my waters don't break (I don't need any such complicating factors to arise!!) ... so it's a funny state to be in. I've read that these BH can go on for weeks, even though it feels absolutely unfathomable. But I just have to trust that my body will take as long as it needs to do the necessary preparation - and that whatever preparation is done now should ultimately shorten my labour. I know I need to concentrate on getting things done, getting sleep and eating well in preparation. I woke up quite hungry after the couple of interruptions to my sleep from the strong BH and usual loo visits, so I've eaten eggs on toast for the protein hit, despite not really being into it. I guess now I'm in that headspace where I am preparing for the physical event and thinking about it like an athlete probably thinks about preparing their body for a race. I also prioritised the completion of my 'shrine/affirmation wall' last night, which looks quite impressive and also, I must say, really does make me feel better as I look at it and pick out whatever lines of wisdom make me feel better at that particular moment!
Off to the hospital at 11:30 this morning for my "Baby's meant to be here tomorrow" appointment. I am not thinking much about it yet (blogging before a cup of tea has been finished is inadvisable, but acceptable. Thinking about things that annoy me before a cup of tea is NOT!!) I should be expecting that the HOB's ideas about reviewing the situation at 41+3 will be challenged at this meeting, judging by my midwife's reaction to his relaxed view of going post-dates at our last appointment.
I want to keep it simple to avoid throwing fuel on the fire. Issues for discussion:
- Clarification between labouring in water vs. birthing in water (and associated qualifications of my attendant)
- Attitude of my hospital midwife to bringing independent midwife and whether this is going to be a problem
- How to best approach the shared care aspect of this arrangement; including any requested examinations, communications before reaching hospital and hand-over once we get to hospital
- Clarification about managed 3rd stage (considering conflicting advice has been given).
Whether my midwife will be able to answer this stuff for me or if I"m still waiting to hear from her boss remains to be seen!! Maybe we'll even see a baby before then!
Monday, February 6, 2012
A new low, or a new perspective?
Strange experience last night, cruising some online forums - I found a question posted by someone about how it would be best to go about having the natural birth experience she wanted, but possibly also considering care by a pivate obstetrician. I responded by saying that (as money was not an issue) she could also have the best of both worlds - - as I felt I have tried to do - - by hiring an independent midwife to look after her in addition to any other model of care she may choose.
Imagine my surprise when somebody then took issue with my suggestion that an IM should be relegated to the role of support person, when they are a fully fledged medical professional who is able and willing to deliver babies in their own right! I can only presume that this respondent was a midwife (or IM) herself, although she didn't say so. I can't bring myself to go back and look, because I'm so upset by the idea that everything I've been wishing for for this birth means that all I'm going to do is upset the hospital midwives and upset my independent midwife as well... because I'm not letting either of them just "do their job" in the way they probably want to do it.
I stand by my assertion that it shouldn't really be about them. My understanding of midwifery is that it is woman-centred - but as a caring, fellow woman, I do feel bad about making any woman (or anyone, really) feel like their role in my care is going unappreciated. I just feel so DESPERATE!! ... I wish they could see that it's this uneasiness and sense of being twisted and pulled in different directions to somehow 'fit' the available models of care that is making me so anxious and so determined to involve as many care providers as I possibly can. I'm trying to create a love posse!! I know what it's like to go into hospital and try and ignore all of the 'hospitally stuff'. In particular, the brusque manner and slightly clipped and unnatural sounding comments by some of the staff (thinking of Midwife 2) makes it all the more alienating. Nobody seems to say what they really mean, or tell you what's really going on. Maybe they're just trying to protect people; but I find it really provoking when I can tell that there's stuff going on in the background that's the real driving force behind people's motivations, but I am left to merely speculate on what those things might be.
I'm having conversations with whoever I can about this, and driving either myself or them crazy with it all. I know that this is all part of getting ready. I know it's normal for me to be a basket-case because my past experience almost guarantees that I'm going to feel particularly anxious about how it's all going to go this time.
Most people are reminding me that things will be fine - my Love Posse will ensure that I have the best possible experience, and do everything to protect me from negative influences. My dad had a slightly different take on it. He is hospital analogy was to liken it to the courtroom. He suggested that the hospital midwives were like the lawyers for the prosecution, and that my hiring an IM was like engaging my own lawyer to come and represent me in court (which anyone would do!!) It's a clever comparison for summing up how it really feels... but it makes me deeply sad at the same time to think that any woman should feel she has to do this. Now I feel equally scummy that I'm making my IM come to a birth where she can't even be my midwife. I'm choosing this over a home birth.... and for what? Because it might save my life? Or does it really boil down to the fact that I'm saving money? (not my favourite reason for deciding about things that are important to me).
A hospital is the place you want to be if your baby is without oxygen, or you're bleeding to death, or certain organs are bursting open - no doubt about that. But those things are so intangible.... and it's actually downright impossible to think about them for very long when you're imagining your birth experience, because it's natural to be dismissive of such ideas. It's even reasonable, I'd argue, given that it's so unlikely to happen! It's just like those moments when you're driving along in your car and have to brake suddenly, and there's a part of your brain that pictures the alternative scenario where you run into someone or somehow lose control. It crosses your mind. You take pause. But you get on with your day. You don't drive home a shaking ball of anxiety – resolving never to drive again without a surgeon on standby, a cannula in the back of your hand and a spare 10L of blood in the jerry can instead of spare fuel! You wouldn't be able to function.
The fact of the matter is that I NEED to function. I have a deep and insatiable emotional and psychological need to visualise positive things for this birth... and I have a two year old child who needs me to be present and focused on him, not ignoring him while I'm busy being a gibbering mess over something that may or may not happen. I feel like I'm wasting the 1:1 time I'm spending with him, and I'm wasting air time on here where I'd otherwise be musing about the potential "signs" of imminent labour... or bonding with my boys... or fabulous name ideas.
So I'm trying to get my shit back together. The last time I checked in, I had reached a constructive 'benign' phase. Now I've hit a low point, but I'm trying to tell myself that it's all necessary. If I go to this fragile and scary place now .... maybe I won't have to lose my shit when things get really tough? Maybe it's just a level of anxiety that's natural considering what I'm planning and looking forward to? Unfortunately, there are still difficult conversations to be had with my support people, IM and with the coordinator at the hospital. I might just try and be cool about it. I was feeling really edgy about maybe going into labour, thinking the intense Braxton Hicks contractions couldn't possibly just be 'nothing', especially when they made me exclaim out loud - but even that was unsustainable. Now I more like, whatever - it will definitely happen at some point and I'm very unlikely to know when that's going to be! This is definitely progress!!
... and speaking of progress: we talked names last night and think we might have actually come up with something! That was a little ray of frivolous sunshine peeking through the oppressive rain-cloud of serious issues.
Imagine my surprise when somebody then took issue with my suggestion that an IM should be relegated to the role of support person, when they are a fully fledged medical professional who is able and willing to deliver babies in their own right! I can only presume that this respondent was a midwife (or IM) herself, although she didn't say so. I can't bring myself to go back and look, because I'm so upset by the idea that everything I've been wishing for for this birth means that all I'm going to do is upset the hospital midwives and upset my independent midwife as well... because I'm not letting either of them just "do their job" in the way they probably want to do it.
I stand by my assertion that it shouldn't really be about them. My understanding of midwifery is that it is woman-centred - but as a caring, fellow woman, I do feel bad about making any woman (or anyone, really) feel like their role in my care is going unappreciated. I just feel so DESPERATE!! ... I wish they could see that it's this uneasiness and sense of being twisted and pulled in different directions to somehow 'fit' the available models of care that is making me so anxious and so determined to involve as many care providers as I possibly can. I'm trying to create a love posse!! I know what it's like to go into hospital and try and ignore all of the 'hospitally stuff'. In particular, the brusque manner and slightly clipped and unnatural sounding comments by some of the staff (thinking of Midwife 2) makes it all the more alienating. Nobody seems to say what they really mean, or tell you what's really going on. Maybe they're just trying to protect people; but I find it really provoking when I can tell that there's stuff going on in the background that's the real driving force behind people's motivations, but I am left to merely speculate on what those things might be.
I'm having conversations with whoever I can about this, and driving either myself or them crazy with it all. I know that this is all part of getting ready. I know it's normal for me to be a basket-case because my past experience almost guarantees that I'm going to feel particularly anxious about how it's all going to go this time.
Most people are reminding me that things will be fine - my Love Posse will ensure that I have the best possible experience, and do everything to protect me from negative influences. My dad had a slightly different take on it. He is hospital analogy was to liken it to the courtroom. He suggested that the hospital midwives were like the lawyers for the prosecution, and that my hiring an IM was like engaging my own lawyer to come and represent me in court (which anyone would do!!) It's a clever comparison for summing up how it really feels... but it makes me deeply sad at the same time to think that any woman should feel she has to do this. Now I feel equally scummy that I'm making my IM come to a birth where she can't even be my midwife. I'm choosing this over a home birth.... and for what? Because it might save my life? Or does it really boil down to the fact that I'm saving money? (not my favourite reason for deciding about things that are important to me).
A hospital is the place you want to be if your baby is without oxygen, or you're bleeding to death, or certain organs are bursting open - no doubt about that. But those things are so intangible.... and it's actually downright impossible to think about them for very long when you're imagining your birth experience, because it's natural to be dismissive of such ideas. It's even reasonable, I'd argue, given that it's so unlikely to happen! It's just like those moments when you're driving along in your car and have to brake suddenly, and there's a part of your brain that pictures the alternative scenario where you run into someone or somehow lose control. It crosses your mind. You take pause. But you get on with your day. You don't drive home a shaking ball of anxiety – resolving never to drive again without a surgeon on standby, a cannula in the back of your hand and a spare 10L of blood in the jerry can instead of spare fuel! You wouldn't be able to function.
The fact of the matter is that I NEED to function. I have a deep and insatiable emotional and psychological need to visualise positive things for this birth... and I have a two year old child who needs me to be present and focused on him, not ignoring him while I'm busy being a gibbering mess over something that may or may not happen. I feel like I'm wasting the 1:1 time I'm spending with him, and I'm wasting air time on here where I'd otherwise be musing about the potential "signs" of imminent labour... or bonding with my boys... or fabulous name ideas.
So I'm trying to get my shit back together. The last time I checked in, I had reached a constructive 'benign' phase. Now I've hit a low point, but I'm trying to tell myself that it's all necessary. If I go to this fragile and scary place now .... maybe I won't have to lose my shit when things get really tough? Maybe it's just a level of anxiety that's natural considering what I'm planning and looking forward to? Unfortunately, there are still difficult conversations to be had with my support people, IM and with the coordinator at the hospital. I might just try and be cool about it. I was feeling really edgy about maybe going into labour, thinking the intense Braxton Hicks contractions couldn't possibly just be 'nothing', especially when they made me exclaim out loud - but even that was unsustainable. Now I more like, whatever - it will definitely happen at some point and I'm very unlikely to know when that's going to be! This is definitely progress!!
... and speaking of progress: we talked names last night and think we might have actually come up with something! That was a little ray of frivolous sunshine peeking through the oppressive rain-cloud of serious issues.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Trial of Scar
I've just been reading this fantastic blog about the risks of VBAC after a difficult experience at my last hospital appointment.
Unfortunately, my hunch regarding the new midwife I've been assigned (younger, less opinionated) possibly being a better option in a scenario where I'm bringing my own independent midwife with me to hospital, turned out to be quite incorrect. Well, not incorrect in terms of her being younger and less opinionated - but rather that her lack of experience and knowledge means that her ability to form an opinion, or argument, seems to be heavily compromised.
I went in for my 39 week check and took her a copy of my birth plan to makes sure she knew exactly what I had in mind. She read through it, mildly, pausing every now and then to say, "Mmm... but you will have to have [...]" – and just kept repeating this over and over, even though my birth plan clearly states that I intend to decline many routine tests and procedures as long as my labour is progressing normally. It was a very strange experience, because she wasn't being at all unpleasant - - just inadvertently dismissive of my independence and ability (and right) to decide these things of myself. After all, I've already been through ALL of it with my previous midwife and the Head of Obstetrics (whom my previous midwife ensured I met with, so that everything could be as clear as possible before the big day).
This was confusing and frustrating, so I was still getting my head around all of it when I met the back-up midwife again, whom I'd actually met before, but only in passing. Her first words to me were, "So what's the deal with your independent midwife??" I kind of laughed because I was so taken aback, and I think I had no choice but to answer her question with another question: "What do you mean, what's the deal with my independent midwife??"
What IS the deal? I mean, surely I couldn't possibly be wanting any extra support after everything I've already been through? Surely I couldn't need anything other than the superb, second-to-none experience of being shunted through the busy public hospital system; where everybody seems so attuned to my needs and desires?
Shit. I mean, I could have asked, "What's the deal with you being a midwife? Aren't you supposed to make it your job to support women in childbirth? Truly - are you being so passive-agressive as to suggest that I mean to threaten you by choosing to bring my independent midwife to support the two of us through this new experience? Are you suggesting that another midwife (who will, legally, be required to sit on her hands in the hospital setting) be able to somehow displace your sense of purpose and authority?
My answer, in the moment, was to invite these two women to tell me how they would like it to work. I said, clearly and simply enough, that the role of our IM is to support us at home until we are ready to come to hospital - and to help us make the decision about when it's time to come. After that, we're in the hospital so the hospital midwives are the ones who'll be looking after us.................. aren't they?????
Instead of diffusing the situation, this woman maintained eye contact and continued to press her point that she thought it created a "grey area" and made it confusing as to who was the one giving the care. I could tell she had obviously had some negative experiences and that was shaping her reaction to our IM. But she wasn't listening to me AT ALL, even though I was quite clearly telling her that we had no intention of being uncooperative on her "turf"; and that the whole purpose of discussing everything beforehand was to avoid confusion and the potential for conflict. Something that I was acutely aware of during my first birth.
I came away feeling that the whole thing had been pointless. All of this effort to get into a 1:1 midwifery-led care program... only to be told that my VBAC 'status' meant that my care would be under the watchful eye of the attending registrar and that no matter who my midwife was going to be, they would be taking their orders from elsewhere (and would either be powerless (midwife 1) - or completely unwilling (midwife 2) - to advocate on my behalf).
Midwife 1, in her uncertainty about a number of issues, has assured me that her boss will give me a call before our appointment on Wednesday. It just so happens that her boss knows my IM, and so it's really doing my head in to try and understand how this inexperienced midwife can be passing on information to me about my "rights" that seem to contradict everything I've been told by my initial caregivers. I can't imagine for a second that her boss, knowing my IM, and knowing the kind of birth I'm planning, would think that passing on a note that says 'YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. THE END', would be remotely sufficient, or constructive, in my case.
I considered myself lucky to get into this 1:1 program. It has been a compromise since the beginning, as I was never in the catchment area for the midwife I was allocated; and instead of enjoying more relaxed appointments at a local clinic, the best she could do was meet me at the hospital. Now that I have my new midwife, I am meeting her at the hospital too.... only now I have found out that my original midwife was qualified to do water births (!!!) and that the new one isn't. Also, the back-up (snarky) midwife is qualified, but would be unwilling to do a water birth for a VBAC. But of course! (.... makes me wonder if this would be any old VBAC, or if I might be being given special treatment.)
When I speak to their boss, I really have to have it straight in my head the things I've been told are possible, and then things that have suddenly been taken off the table now that my baby is almost due.
I won't get into the stats here, but as I mentioned, the OB appt was to discuss the risks associated with things like uterine scar rupture, and he said that we had discussed it and that I understood the risks should I decline the monitoring. He didn't guarantee that another OB would respect that this conversation had taken place if I presented in labour and they didn't like the look of what was going on.... but if they didn't like the look of what was going on, then that would be a whole different ballgame! I'd be more than happy to have monitoring if things weren't progressing as they should. I just want to be able to reserve the right to not have it if things seem to be fine.
I had to ask about 3 times about the availability of a bath/birth pool. I was told 'yes' by the original midwife. 'Maybe' by the 2nd midwife... only if the telemetry (monitoring) works (which they infamously don't with interference/slipping out of position etc).... right down to eventually being told that there was the option of water birth and I hadn't even known about it!!! Except now that it's too late and I can't have it because I don't have a willing midwife. But hey, I'm supposed to get excited about the double showers instead.
I've been told I "have to" have a bung in the back of my hand in case I need emergency treatment. New midwife is insisting on this - probably her strongest opinion so far. She has also checked with her superiors and apparently I also "have to" have Syntometrine to contract my uterus when delivering the placenta, even though I was previously told this wouldn't be necessary if I'd had a natural birth.
Upon pressing and pressing these points with her over and over, I've managed to find out that her ideas are not her own; and whilst she has a mild, inoffensive manner and seems quite sympathetic; her style of talking in this way, without really thinking about what she's saying, reflects her inexperience and lack of confidence with independent decision making; dealing with senior staff; and ultimately being able to advocate on behalf of her clients. She is not really a midwife - she is more like a nurse - and that is disappointing to me. The only thing that she's had in common with my former midwife (the more experienced one) is that she has quite genuinely looked me in the eye and said, in earnest: "This is why you need to try and stay at home as long as possible". Because she knows that this is the only way I can truly - and freely - try and have the intervention-free experience I crave. This is the best advice a hospital midwife can give me, and the closest they can come to real advocacy.
It defeats the purpose of all their arguments about my supposed "safety", and their own convictions about the importance of upholding policy whilst in the hospital setting. If they truly believed I should have the monitoring, they would not encourage me to stay away for as long as possible. Nor would she offer (as she has) to take off the monitor for 10 minutes out of every 30. Dumbest suggestion I ever heard – Not just because it wouldn't make any difference to my comfort – but because it undermines the so called "need" for the monitoring to be C.O.N.T.I.N.U.O.U.S.... Yes? If I only need it on for 2/3 of the time, then why do I need it on at all? Why can't you just listen to the baby with a doppeler every 5 mins and check that everything's fine? Because the computer is the one who does the listening and the thinking – and takes the record that will be tendered as evidence in court!!!
So now I have to "rock up" to Sunshine the same way I had to "rock up" to The Womens' and find out whoever the hell is on duty at the time, and hope to god they're not a total wanker. If they were trying to dissuade me from bringing my own midwife, they couldn't have convinced me any more thoroughly that bringing my own midwife is absolutely necessary!
It will be interesting to see whether the coordinator actually calls me. They are all extremely busy and I am now feeling this thickening fog of apathy settling over the idea of meeting with my midwife again on Wednesday. I think the only way to cope with this situation is to decide that I don't care about anything they do or say - that the reason that I'm going to hospital is to get prompt treatment in the event that something awful happens... and to say no to everything that is offered to me before the point where - in my mind - I'm actually a "patient". In my mind, I'm not a hospital patient until there's something wrong with me, or my baby. Whether or not they like it, they will be witnessing my attempt at a completely natural, physiological birth - an event they may have no control over whatsoever... and will not have to accept liability for, as long as they don't interfere where they're not welcome.
After watching this incredibly moving photographic slideshow (warning: shows some surgical stuff, but no "rude" bits) about a couple going from an emergency CS experience to a VBAC at home in water, I feel like there is not even any point going to hospital. But it's not just about me, and that much I accept... at least at this point. Right now. Today. But who knows? I am poised to change my mind!
If feel ignored, rushed or neglected by the hospital staff, then I'm sure I will feel I'm in safer hands with my infinitely patient independent midwives who are truly looking out for the best interests of me, my baby and our family. People have said to me, oh but they're being paid! .... and to that I say; yes, but they're also not insured, and nothing could be more motivating - in my view - in terms of providing the best possible level of care. It is ridiculous to suggest that there's anything in it for them not to do so. But the hospital midwives? What's the worst that can happen to them if they're not entirely on their game, or show a less than caring attitude?
All of the fixation is on this 'Trial of Scar' - this supposed 'weakness' that exists in my physical womb. The hospital may treat me as though this is all I am - or all I have the potential to be; but to me, the term "Trial of Scar" is the best description of what I'm now facing in relation to the emotional scars from my first birth experience. Those scars are being seriously tried and trialled and I am aiming for there not to be a rupture - not to reopen old wounds. How can there be women who call themselves midwives who can't look a woman in the face and see that there is more to it than the rare threat of a medical emergency? Even if they failed to have any real conviction in that belief themselves; they should at least be able to reconcile their offer of support with the fact that by working in a hospital, they are automatically equipped to provide emergency treatment in the extremely unlikely event that it's needed... and to judge when a woman is truly at risk, whether or not a beeping machine tells them so.
Hey!! I can beep!! I can say.... something's not right here! .............I'm a real, live person!! ... I've got a real brain and real feelings!! Hello.....?? Can anybody hear me??? ..............
Unfortunately, my hunch regarding the new midwife I've been assigned (younger, less opinionated) possibly being a better option in a scenario where I'm bringing my own independent midwife with me to hospital, turned out to be quite incorrect. Well, not incorrect in terms of her being younger and less opinionated - but rather that her lack of experience and knowledge means that her ability to form an opinion, or argument, seems to be heavily compromised.
I went in for my 39 week check and took her a copy of my birth plan to makes sure she knew exactly what I had in mind. She read through it, mildly, pausing every now and then to say, "Mmm... but you will have to have [...]" – and just kept repeating this over and over, even though my birth plan clearly states that I intend to decline many routine tests and procedures as long as my labour is progressing normally. It was a very strange experience, because she wasn't being at all unpleasant - - just inadvertently dismissive of my independence and ability (and right) to decide these things of myself. After all, I've already been through ALL of it with my previous midwife and the Head of Obstetrics (whom my previous midwife ensured I met with, so that everything could be as clear as possible before the big day).
This was confusing and frustrating, so I was still getting my head around all of it when I met the back-up midwife again, whom I'd actually met before, but only in passing. Her first words to me were, "So what's the deal with your independent midwife??" I kind of laughed because I was so taken aback, and I think I had no choice but to answer her question with another question: "What do you mean, what's the deal with my independent midwife??"
What IS the deal? I mean, surely I couldn't possibly be wanting any extra support after everything I've already been through? Surely I couldn't need anything other than the superb, second-to-none experience of being shunted through the busy public hospital system; where everybody seems so attuned to my needs and desires?
Shit. I mean, I could have asked, "What's the deal with you being a midwife? Aren't you supposed to make it your job to support women in childbirth? Truly - are you being so passive-agressive as to suggest that I mean to threaten you by choosing to bring my independent midwife to support the two of us through this new experience? Are you suggesting that another midwife (who will, legally, be required to sit on her hands in the hospital setting) be able to somehow displace your sense of purpose and authority?
My answer, in the moment, was to invite these two women to tell me how they would like it to work. I said, clearly and simply enough, that the role of our IM is to support us at home until we are ready to come to hospital - and to help us make the decision about when it's time to come. After that, we're in the hospital so the hospital midwives are the ones who'll be looking after us.................. aren't they?????
Instead of diffusing the situation, this woman maintained eye contact and continued to press her point that she thought it created a "grey area" and made it confusing as to who was the one giving the care. I could tell she had obviously had some negative experiences and that was shaping her reaction to our IM. But she wasn't listening to me AT ALL, even though I was quite clearly telling her that we had no intention of being uncooperative on her "turf"; and that the whole purpose of discussing everything beforehand was to avoid confusion and the potential for conflict. Something that I was acutely aware of during my first birth.
I came away feeling that the whole thing had been pointless. All of this effort to get into a 1:1 midwifery-led care program... only to be told that my VBAC 'status' meant that my care would be under the watchful eye of the attending registrar and that no matter who my midwife was going to be, they would be taking their orders from elsewhere (and would either be powerless (midwife 1) - or completely unwilling (midwife 2) - to advocate on my behalf).
Midwife 1, in her uncertainty about a number of issues, has assured me that her boss will give me a call before our appointment on Wednesday. It just so happens that her boss knows my IM, and so it's really doing my head in to try and understand how this inexperienced midwife can be passing on information to me about my "rights" that seem to contradict everything I've been told by my initial caregivers. I can't imagine for a second that her boss, knowing my IM, and knowing the kind of birth I'm planning, would think that passing on a note that says 'YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. THE END', would be remotely sufficient, or constructive, in my case.
I considered myself lucky to get into this 1:1 program. It has been a compromise since the beginning, as I was never in the catchment area for the midwife I was allocated; and instead of enjoying more relaxed appointments at a local clinic, the best she could do was meet me at the hospital. Now that I have my new midwife, I am meeting her at the hospital too.... only now I have found out that my original midwife was qualified to do water births (!!!) and that the new one isn't. Also, the back-up (snarky) midwife is qualified, but would be unwilling to do a water birth for a VBAC. But of course! (.... makes me wonder if this would be any old VBAC, or if I might be being given special treatment.)
When I speak to their boss, I really have to have it straight in my head the things I've been told are possible, and then things that have suddenly been taken off the table now that my baby is almost due.
I won't get into the stats here, but as I mentioned, the OB appt was to discuss the risks associated with things like uterine scar rupture, and he said that we had discussed it and that I understood the risks should I decline the monitoring. He didn't guarantee that another OB would respect that this conversation had taken place if I presented in labour and they didn't like the look of what was going on.... but if they didn't like the look of what was going on, then that would be a whole different ballgame! I'd be more than happy to have monitoring if things weren't progressing as they should. I just want to be able to reserve the right to not have it if things seem to be fine.
I had to ask about 3 times about the availability of a bath/birth pool. I was told 'yes' by the original midwife. 'Maybe' by the 2nd midwife... only if the telemetry (monitoring) works (which they infamously don't with interference/slipping out of position etc).... right down to eventually being told that there was the option of water birth and I hadn't even known about it!!! Except now that it's too late and I can't have it because I don't have a willing midwife. But hey, I'm supposed to get excited about the double showers instead.
I've been told I "have to" have a bung in the back of my hand in case I need emergency treatment. New midwife is insisting on this - probably her strongest opinion so far. She has also checked with her superiors and apparently I also "have to" have Syntometrine to contract my uterus when delivering the placenta, even though I was previously told this wouldn't be necessary if I'd had a natural birth.
Upon pressing and pressing these points with her over and over, I've managed to find out that her ideas are not her own; and whilst she has a mild, inoffensive manner and seems quite sympathetic; her style of talking in this way, without really thinking about what she's saying, reflects her inexperience and lack of confidence with independent decision making; dealing with senior staff; and ultimately being able to advocate on behalf of her clients. She is not really a midwife - she is more like a nurse - and that is disappointing to me. The only thing that she's had in common with my former midwife (the more experienced one) is that she has quite genuinely looked me in the eye and said, in earnest: "This is why you need to try and stay at home as long as possible". Because she knows that this is the only way I can truly - and freely - try and have the intervention-free experience I crave. This is the best advice a hospital midwife can give me, and the closest they can come to real advocacy.
It defeats the purpose of all their arguments about my supposed "safety", and their own convictions about the importance of upholding policy whilst in the hospital setting. If they truly believed I should have the monitoring, they would not encourage me to stay away for as long as possible. Nor would she offer (as she has) to take off the monitor for 10 minutes out of every 30. Dumbest suggestion I ever heard – Not just because it wouldn't make any difference to my comfort – but because it undermines the so called "need" for the monitoring to be C.O.N.T.I.N.U.O.U.S.... Yes? If I only need it on for 2/3 of the time, then why do I need it on at all? Why can't you just listen to the baby with a doppeler every 5 mins and check that everything's fine? Because the computer is the one who does the listening and the thinking – and takes the record that will be tendered as evidence in court!!!
So now I have to "rock up" to Sunshine the same way I had to "rock up" to The Womens' and find out whoever the hell is on duty at the time, and hope to god they're not a total wanker. If they were trying to dissuade me from bringing my own midwife, they couldn't have convinced me any more thoroughly that bringing my own midwife is absolutely necessary!
It will be interesting to see whether the coordinator actually calls me. They are all extremely busy and I am now feeling this thickening fog of apathy settling over the idea of meeting with my midwife again on Wednesday. I think the only way to cope with this situation is to decide that I don't care about anything they do or say - that the reason that I'm going to hospital is to get prompt treatment in the event that something awful happens... and to say no to everything that is offered to me before the point where - in my mind - I'm actually a "patient". In my mind, I'm not a hospital patient until there's something wrong with me, or my baby. Whether or not they like it, they will be witnessing my attempt at a completely natural, physiological birth - an event they may have no control over whatsoever... and will not have to accept liability for, as long as they don't interfere where they're not welcome.
After watching this incredibly moving photographic slideshow (warning: shows some surgical stuff, but no "rude" bits) about a couple going from an emergency CS experience to a VBAC at home in water, I feel like there is not even any point going to hospital. But it's not just about me, and that much I accept... at least at this point. Right now. Today. But who knows? I am poised to change my mind!
If feel ignored, rushed or neglected by the hospital staff, then I'm sure I will feel I'm in safer hands with my infinitely patient independent midwives who are truly looking out for the best interests of me, my baby and our family. People have said to me, oh but they're being paid! .... and to that I say; yes, but they're also not insured, and nothing could be more motivating - in my view - in terms of providing the best possible level of care. It is ridiculous to suggest that there's anything in it for them not to do so. But the hospital midwives? What's the worst that can happen to them if they're not entirely on their game, or show a less than caring attitude?
All of the fixation is on this 'Trial of Scar' - this supposed 'weakness' that exists in my physical womb. The hospital may treat me as though this is all I am - or all I have the potential to be; but to me, the term "Trial of Scar" is the best description of what I'm now facing in relation to the emotional scars from my first birth experience. Those scars are being seriously tried and trialled and I am aiming for there not to be a rupture - not to reopen old wounds. How can there be women who call themselves midwives who can't look a woman in the face and see that there is more to it than the rare threat of a medical emergency? Even if they failed to have any real conviction in that belief themselves; they should at least be able to reconcile their offer of support with the fact that by working in a hospital, they are automatically equipped to provide emergency treatment in the extremely unlikely event that it's needed... and to judge when a woman is truly at risk, whether or not a beeping machine tells them so.
Hey!! I can beep!! I can say.... something's not right here! .............I'm a real, live person!! ... I've got a real brain and real feelings!! Hello.....?? Can anybody hear me??? ..............
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
"It won't happen to me"
As much as I might like to, I haven't been able to cruise through my pregnancies thinking that bad things won't happen to me. Too many bad things have happened to friends (or friends of friends) - either to themselves or their babies - for me to be under any illusions that those two little pink lines on a stick mean that you'll definitely be holding a healthy baby 9 months later.
I realise that my view of this is statistically skewed, considering that I know far more women who have lost babies at the end of their pregnancies than at the beginning when it is far more likely for a woman to miscarry. Generally, we are conditioned to expect that with good perinatal care, women and babies will survive just about anything that is thrown at them, provided they can get the right treatment in time. But what is bothering me more and more is that we have not left even the smallest opening in our minds to accept what is the harsh reality for the remaining few mothers and babies: that no matter what they do, or how cautious they might be... loss of life is still part and parcel of childbirth (and parenting) and few of us are prepared to really consider that as part of the journey.
Having just read this article in The Age, I am once again irritated by this "new" style of reporting that seems to be happening ALL THE TIME at the moment. I say it's "new" because I have never noticed it before, but maybe it's always been like this and I've just never noticed. Basically, it goes something like:
"Hey, a really horrible thing happened today. Just thought you should know because something equally bad might happen to you too! ... But I won't give you any of the details about how or why it happened, or how it could have been prevented... I'll just leave you with a whole bunch of ideas to piece together however you see fit. Okay? Cool. Thanks for reading".
Signed, Name of reporter (if you're lucky)
Awesome work!! Thanks so much for the brilliant display of investigative journalism. As a concerned 'consumer' about to give birth in hospital, but also being cared for by an independent midwife, I felt compelled somehow by this lack of sufficient information to find out more.... And presto! In about 30 seconds flat, I can jump online and find out what this 'journalist' has been too uninterested to discover (despite the lives and heartbreak of those involved). So what did I want to know? Well, if we know that this woman died of cardiac arrest - and we also know that she was at home when it happened - then it would also be good to also enquire as to whether the outcome would have been different if the woman had been in hospital... wouldn't it?
Through doing my own search, I was able to discover that cardiac arrest affects around 1 in 30,000 women and, disturbingly, they are usually young and healthy. According to the Society for Obstetric Anesthesia and Perinatology (SOAP) report I found:
"Cardiac arrest in the parturient has numerous causes. The most feared and deadly is amniotic fluid embolism (AFE). AFE can present with cardiac arrest, hypotension, bronchospasm, coagulopathy, fetal distress or cyanosis (2). Even with optimal treatment, AFE is associated with a high rate of morbidity and mortality. It has been reported that only 15% of patients who survive AFE are neurologically intact" – and this review, being conducted for hospital-based anaesthesiologists, presumes the woman is receiving hospital-based care and even goes on to list further potential risk-factors associated with being in the hospital environment!
Obviously, in this case, we don't understand the cause of the womans cardiac arrest (and it may not have been AFE), but I still think it's interesting to understand the rarity and seriousness of potential hazards to birthing mothers and their babies, such as cardiac arrest, or catastrophic uterine rupture (which is the adverse event that's been pinned up on the noticeboard for my own impending VBAC attempt).
Once again, another link has been drawn between home birthing and a tragic event, leaving the reader to deduce that it must be more dangerous to birth at home... when in fact, birthing AT ALL is just downright dangerous to the few mothers and babies who are affected by these kinds of adverse medical events. Just because we live in a society where excellent medical care is available to most people (leaving aside the fact that this is true for some more than others), I have only found out the limitations of what is "known" and is "safe" about giving birth through taking an actively inquisitive approach to both my pregnancies.... and ONLY because I was planning a home birth the first time around did I realise the responsibility I had to take for my OWN level of risk with regard to the entire pregnancy and birth. There was never going to be anyone else who was prepared to look me in the eye and promise me "it won't happen to you". I can't believe there are people out there who actually think that this is what home birth is all about, or what independent midwives out there are practicing. In fact, it was one of my independent midwives who pointed out that risk can be measured as a 1 in 100/1000/10, 000 chance..... but if it happens to you, your own risk is actually 100%. Now there's a statistical interpretation worth considering that many people just don't.
It saddens me that the partner and young children of the poor woman who lost her life - will have their grief overshadowed (and even disrespected) by some "debate" about whether she was "doing the right thing". In fact, it's kind of disgusting, now that I write it down in those terms!
Was she doing the right thing... planning to have a healthy baby and NOT have a cardiac arrest during labour? Isn't that what we're all planning to do when we plan to have our babies? - I know I am. Absolutely, I'm planning not to die and planning to have a healthy baby. But at least I'm not ignorant about the risks. At least I've spoken to my family about the risks and said to them, 'Well, so far, so good... but I've kind of just had to accept that there's about a 1 in 1000 risk of something pretty bad happening to me or to the baby. There's not a lot we can do about it, except be well informed and choose the best care providers we possibly can and hope for the best.
Our attempt, as human beings, to hope for the best - is what takes on the form, shape, colour and life to become our experiences. If, through hoping for the best, we wish to birth at home... we wish for a beautiful, peaceful water birth (or for a completely painless caesarean birth) ... and a wardrobe full of freshly washed baby clothes and a list containing those one or two (or 22!) perfect baby names... These are all ways that we are expressing our desire and attempting to 'actualise' this positive hope we all share. It is not recklessness or stupidity to plan for these things... but maybe it's idealistic to plan for them with the expectation that everything will definitely be okay.
It is so, so sad that for this family everything was not okay, and that there will be people judging them for it who wouldn't have judged them if they'd been in a hospital. I have packed my hospital bag, but am by no means confident that something like this won't happen to me or my baby; but we must carry out our plans knowing there is actually nothing I can do to "be safe" except wish it to be so.
It is the individual's family that lives with the outcomes of events like these, and it's nobody else's job to reconcile themselves to the circumstances surrounding a tragedy. We do not judge (in the same way) those who choose to live rurally or further away from a emergency facilities as being "irresponsible", yet this would sometimes mean the difference between life and death for many people in life-threatening circumstances – and is essentially the same issue that home birth presents: the actual distance between the potential for a medical emergency and the type of care that may be needed.
Anyway, enough from me about that. It's back to the sorting baby clothes and agonising over the baby name list... pacing expectantly and rubbing my belly and imagining that, soon, she will be here and that we can all be a family together. This is what the colour and the shape of my "hope" looks like.
Sure.... some people call it OCD, but I call it hope... and I think all women are equally entitled to it!
I realise that my view of this is statistically skewed, considering that I know far more women who have lost babies at the end of their pregnancies than at the beginning when it is far more likely for a woman to miscarry. Generally, we are conditioned to expect that with good perinatal care, women and babies will survive just about anything that is thrown at them, provided they can get the right treatment in time. But what is bothering me more and more is that we have not left even the smallest opening in our minds to accept what is the harsh reality for the remaining few mothers and babies: that no matter what they do, or how cautious they might be... loss of life is still part and parcel of childbirth (and parenting) and few of us are prepared to really consider that as part of the journey.
Having just read this article in The Age, I am once again irritated by this "new" style of reporting that seems to be happening ALL THE TIME at the moment. I say it's "new" because I have never noticed it before, but maybe it's always been like this and I've just never noticed. Basically, it goes something like:
"Hey, a really horrible thing happened today. Just thought you should know because something equally bad might happen to you too! ... But I won't give you any of the details about how or why it happened, or how it could have been prevented... I'll just leave you with a whole bunch of ideas to piece together however you see fit. Okay? Cool. Thanks for reading".
Signed, Name of reporter (if you're lucky)
Awesome work!! Thanks so much for the brilliant display of investigative journalism. As a concerned 'consumer' about to give birth in hospital, but also being cared for by an independent midwife, I felt compelled somehow by this lack of sufficient information to find out more.... And presto! In about 30 seconds flat, I can jump online and find out what this 'journalist' has been too uninterested to discover (despite the lives and heartbreak of those involved). So what did I want to know? Well, if we know that this woman died of cardiac arrest - and we also know that she was at home when it happened - then it would also be good to also enquire as to whether the outcome would have been different if the woman had been in hospital... wouldn't it?
Through doing my own search, I was able to discover that cardiac arrest affects around 1 in 30,000 women and, disturbingly, they are usually young and healthy. According to the Society for Obstetric Anesthesia and Perinatology (SOAP) report I found:
"Cardiac arrest in the parturient has numerous causes. The most feared and deadly is amniotic fluid embolism (AFE). AFE can present with cardiac arrest, hypotension, bronchospasm, coagulopathy, fetal distress or cyanosis (2). Even with optimal treatment, AFE is associated with a high rate of morbidity and mortality. It has been reported that only 15% of patients who survive AFE are neurologically intact" – and this review, being conducted for hospital-based anaesthesiologists, presumes the woman is receiving hospital-based care and even goes on to list further potential risk-factors associated with being in the hospital environment!
Obviously, in this case, we don't understand the cause of the womans cardiac arrest (and it may not have been AFE), but I still think it's interesting to understand the rarity and seriousness of potential hazards to birthing mothers and their babies, such as cardiac arrest, or catastrophic uterine rupture (which is the adverse event that's been pinned up on the noticeboard for my own impending VBAC attempt).
Once again, another link has been drawn between home birthing and a tragic event, leaving the reader to deduce that it must be more dangerous to birth at home... when in fact, birthing AT ALL is just downright dangerous to the few mothers and babies who are affected by these kinds of adverse medical events. Just because we live in a society where excellent medical care is available to most people (leaving aside the fact that this is true for some more than others), I have only found out the limitations of what is "known" and is "safe" about giving birth through taking an actively inquisitive approach to both my pregnancies.... and ONLY because I was planning a home birth the first time around did I realise the responsibility I had to take for my OWN level of risk with regard to the entire pregnancy and birth. There was never going to be anyone else who was prepared to look me in the eye and promise me "it won't happen to you". I can't believe there are people out there who actually think that this is what home birth is all about, or what independent midwives out there are practicing. In fact, it was one of my independent midwives who pointed out that risk can be measured as a 1 in 100/1000/10, 000 chance..... but if it happens to you, your own risk is actually 100%. Now there's a statistical interpretation worth considering that many people just don't.
It saddens me that the partner and young children of the poor woman who lost her life - will have their grief overshadowed (and even disrespected) by some "debate" about whether she was "doing the right thing". In fact, it's kind of disgusting, now that I write it down in those terms!
Was she doing the right thing... planning to have a healthy baby and NOT have a cardiac arrest during labour? Isn't that what we're all planning to do when we plan to have our babies? - I know I am. Absolutely, I'm planning not to die and planning to have a healthy baby. But at least I'm not ignorant about the risks. At least I've spoken to my family about the risks and said to them, 'Well, so far, so good... but I've kind of just had to accept that there's about a 1 in 1000 risk of something pretty bad happening to me or to the baby. There's not a lot we can do about it, except be well informed and choose the best care providers we possibly can and hope for the best.
Our attempt, as human beings, to hope for the best - is what takes on the form, shape, colour and life to become our experiences. If, through hoping for the best, we wish to birth at home... we wish for a beautiful, peaceful water birth (or for a completely painless caesarean birth) ... and a wardrobe full of freshly washed baby clothes and a list containing those one or two (or 22!) perfect baby names... These are all ways that we are expressing our desire and attempting to 'actualise' this positive hope we all share. It is not recklessness or stupidity to plan for these things... but maybe it's idealistic to plan for them with the expectation that everything will definitely be okay.
It is so, so sad that for this family everything was not okay, and that there will be people judging them for it who wouldn't have judged them if they'd been in a hospital. I have packed my hospital bag, but am by no means confident that something like this won't happen to me or my baby; but we must carry out our plans knowing there is actually nothing I can do to "be safe" except wish it to be so.
It is the individual's family that lives with the outcomes of events like these, and it's nobody else's job to reconcile themselves to the circumstances surrounding a tragedy. We do not judge (in the same way) those who choose to live rurally or further away from a emergency facilities as being "irresponsible", yet this would sometimes mean the difference between life and death for many people in life-threatening circumstances – and is essentially the same issue that home birth presents: the actual distance between the potential for a medical emergency and the type of care that may be needed.
Anyway, enough from me about that. It's back to the sorting baby clothes and agonising over the baby name list... pacing expectantly and rubbing my belly and imagining that, soon, she will be here and that we can all be a family together. This is what the colour and the shape of my "hope" looks like.
Sure.... some people call it OCD, but I call it hope... and I think all women are equally entitled to it!
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