How I got here, part 2: Gabriel's birth.

This is the birth story of my second son, Gabriel Charles, who was born June 23, 2009.

A lot changed in my life between the birth of my oldest son (who is now nearly 16), and the birth of my middle son, who turned 2 this past June.  For starters, I did a wealth of growing up.  By the time I peed on that stick and got 2 pink lines, the only thing that was the same about me was my name.

When I first moved to Pennsylvania, I suffered 2 miscarriages within less than 2 years.  The first was, I suppose, what you'd call a blighted ovum, or a chemical pregnancy.  The second was a missed miscarriage at 11 weeks.  I had a D&C at 13 weeks, and testing determined that the baby had Trisomy 16.  While there was nothing I could have done to prevent either miscarriage, I was determined when I got pregnant with Gabriel that I would do everything in my power to have a safe and healthy pregnancy.

This time around I had the support of a good man, and I decided that I would try to go "natural" with this labor and delivery.  After all, I already knew I could do it; I'd done it with my first, albeit unintentionally.  To that end, I started reading and researching.  I've always believed that knowledge is power, and I wanted to be informed so I could make the best possible decisions regarding my pregnancy, labor, and delivery.  I took Bradley Method childbirth classes, I ate well, and I did my exercises and Kegels.  As my June 24th due date approached, I was convinced that, when the time came, I had done everything in my power to have the kind of birth I wanted.

(The rest of this account was originally written for a small online community of moms that I am a member of, shortly after Gabriel was born in 2009.  I have made a few small edits to the original, for continuity.)

On Monday, June 22nd, I had my 40 week appointment with my OB.  He went ahead and set an induction date for July 8th, which would have been 42 weeks for me.  At that appointment, I was still only 3cm dilated and 60% effaced.  To give credit to my doctor, he did make a point of telling me that since it wasn't my first baby, it was possible if not probable that I wouldn't progress any more than that until I was in active labor, which kept me from stressing about the potential of an induction.  After my exam, I bled a lot for the rest of the day; more than just spotting, so I ended up going to Labor & Delivery late Monday afternoon, because I got concerned about it.  They checked me out there and decided that it was just from my exam, even though it was quite a bit of blood.  The baby still looked fine, and I had gone to 4cm and 70% since that morning, with contractions that were about 7 minutes apart, but inconsistent (I'd have them pretty regularly for an hour or so, then they'd stop.)

When we got home that evening, J talked me into taking a long walk around the neighborhood.  While we were walking, my contractions started up again, 3-5 minutes apart; they were uncomfortable enough that I had to stop walking during them, but not truly painful. I figured it was more "pre-labor", because when we sat down for 30 minutes so I could rest before we started back home, they went back to being 7-8 minutes apart.  The walk kinda wore me out, so when we made it back home, I read for a little while (still having contractions), then decided to go to bed.  J fell asleep, but I couldn't; I was just too uncomfortable.  (I was so annoyed with him for sleeping... mostly because I couldn't.)  I continued having contractions---I wasn't timing them, but they were about the same as I'd been having for days, right around the 7 minute mark.

Around 1am, I got up to pee.  While I was in the bathroom, I had 2 contractions fairly close together, so I decided to start timing them.  Just that quick, they went from 7ish minutes apart to 3 minutes apart.  When they stayed that way for 20 minutes, I woke J up and called the doctor.  By the time the doctor called back (3 contractions later), they were still 3 minutes apart, and painful enough that I couldn't talk through them.  The doctor told us to get to L&D, so off we went.  I live about 10 minutes from the hospital I delivered at, but I swear, that drive was the longest 10 minutes of my entire life.  Any bumps in the road were absolute torture during contractions; I actually made J come to a complete stop in the middle of the road, rather than go over railroad tracks while I was mid-contraction.  My contractions didn't slow down in the car, and got progressively more painful.  By the time we got to the hospital, there was no possible way I could have walked in---happily there was a wheelchair handy. (It made me giggle just a little bit to see J RUN to fetch it, while I waited in the car.)

When they checked me out, I was up to 5cm and 90%, so we knew we were there for the real deal.  I continued to labor in the side-lying position I had been using at home, and used some of the guided relaxation techniques I learned in my Bradley class.  J did a wonderful job keeping me focused and in the moment; I could never have done it without him.  I had a really hard time for a while, and had it not been for J's steadfast commitment to helping me have the birth experience I really wanted, I think I might have caved and asked for meds.  It wasn't back labor like I had with my first, but it was unlike anything I have ever heard anyone describe.  I felt my contractions starting in my hips, and as burning pain down the outside of both of my thighs.  It wasn't what I had been expecting, and it was really hard for me to deal with, because I felt unprepared.  When I got into the serious part of my labor, I found that the position in which I was most comfortable was sitting completely upright, with my legs open and hanging down over either side of the bed. I leaned forward into J. during contractions, and once I found this position, it really helped me a lot in managing my pain.  Something else that seemed to help was as I exhaled each breath during my contractions, I made this kind of groaning/moaning sound... it was sort of unconscious at first, but I realized that I felt better doing it, so I started doing it on purpose, and I feel like it really helped keep me from holding tension in my body during my contractions.  Around this time is when my water broke, just a small gush when I coughed.  My nurse checked, and said the fluid was clear, and everything was fine.

My transition was fast and dirty---a series of 9 contractions that came in groups of 3, one right after the other, with about a minute between each group (I confirmed this with J after the fact, just in case what I remembered wasn't really what happened.)  I kept waiting to feel the urge to push, but I didn't really feel it like I was expecting to.  It wasn't really a gotta-go-poo sort of sensation... just a great deal of pressure; I asked J to let the nurse know I was starting to feel an urge to push at the peak of my contractions.  I heard him tell her I was feeling an "urgent need to push", and I was in the process of saying that it wasn't urgent yet, when my next contraction hit.  It went from "kinda want to" to "I NEED TO" just that quick, from one contraction to the next; this is where things started to get interesting.

My nurse and one of the residents came in to check on me, and I was 9cm and 100%. When she examined me, the resident said that even though my water had broken (or sprung a leak, more accurately), she could feel a bulging bag, and she wanted to break it. I was on my back at this point because of the exam, and that made dealing with the contractions really difficult for me. I don't really have any visual memory of this part of my labor and delivery... all there was for me was the feel of my contractions, and J's voice talking to me.  It didn't even matter what he was saying---I just needed to hear his voice, so I knew he was still there, and I wasn't alone.  The nurse told the resident that she didn't think that breaking what was left of my bag of waters was a good idea, because my doctor hadn't even been called yet, and she thought that if it was broken, I'd go pretty quickly. The resident didn't listen, however.....

As my next contraction started, the resident said it would help what she was doing, and broke my bag... and all hell broke loose. I remember hearing the nurse say, "I TOLD you!....." People were yelling, and running.  Apparently, when the resident broke my waters, my baby was instantly in the birth canal. I felt a MASSIVE gush, and J looked down (HA! And he said he wasn't going to!), and told me he could see the baby's head. Someone (no idea who) was yelling at me not to push, and J was telling me to just breathe, that everything was going to be okay. I remember yelling, "Somebody HELP ME!" because they were telling me not to push, and I could stop myself; my body just took over, and did what it did.  They didn't even have time to get me upright (I was on my back from the resident doing the amniotomy), and my bed broke down for delivery.  J was holding one of my legs, the nurse held the other, and in just 2 contractions (I didn't even really push), Gabriel was born, weighing 9 lbs. 3 oz, delivered by the resident sitting on the foot of my bed. He was 21 inches long, and born about 3 hours after we got to the hospital, at 5:45am.  (Interestingly, I myself was also born at 5:45am, after an incredibly short labor.)

Time kinda stopped for me, but J told me after that the whole experience, from the time the resident went in to break my water until Gabriel was born, was about 5 minutes.  Apparently I covered the resident (and the floor, and the medical students who were watching, and the nurse...) in fluid and blood; the L&D room looked like a massacre happened in it, instead of the birth of a baby.  The force of my involuntary pushing was so great that fluid didn't just gush out---it sprayed.  J seemed to find it kinda funny, because he's the only person I didn't get.  There was even blood on the curtains, which we noticed while they were cleaning me up.

I needed a couple of stitches for a small first degree tear, but other than that, I was perfect. When I became "aware" of what was happening around me again, I realized that there were like 8 people in the room. The doctor on-call for my OB arrived about then. I remember laughing and saying, "Oh, hi! Who the hell are all of you?"

I wasn't able to hold Gabriel and nurse him right away, nor leave his cord intact until it stopped pulsing; there was meconium in my amniotic fluid, so they took him right away, to make sure he was alright. (He was.)  J jokes that the resident going in there with the hook to break my water "shared the shit out of him."  His Apgars were 9 and 9, and he screamed bloody murder the whole time the NICU nurse had him. By the time they had me cleaned up and stitched up, the nurse had taken care of Gabriel, and they let me have him to hold. He didn't really nurse, but I put him on my chest and held him. (I had forgotten what a euphoric feeling that is the first time.... if only that feeling could be bottled and saved, you know?)

I had my orange juice (which the hospital provided---we forgot ours), and was able to get up to pee while still in the delivery room. We were there for about an hour and a half after delivery, and I totally could have gotten up and walked to my room in the postpartum unit, but they wouldn't let me.  I felt so much better than I had after Ethan's birth; it was completely surreal to me.  I had never imagined that it could be possible to feel that GOOD after pushing 9+ pounds of baby out of your vagina.  Crazy how your perspective and state of mind can alter your experience, isn't it?

How I got here, part 1: Ethan's birth.

"When I grow up, I want to be a birth doula."

These are not words I ever uttered as a little girl.  I wanted to be a fashion designer, or a veterinarian, or a professional horseback rider.  When I got a little older, I wanted to be a writer, and then a lawyer.  I wasn't planning on having children, ever.

My first child was born a month after my nineteenth birthday.  The only informational reading I did was the ever popular What to Expect When You're Expecting, and I was woefully and embarrassingly ignorant about labor and birth.  (I didn't have sense enough to realize that, however.)  I took a Lamaze class because I thought that was what you were supposed to do; I had no intention of laboring unmedicated, and I sure as hell wasn't planning to give birth without the strongest epidural it was possible to get, preferably in the parking lot, the moment I arrived at the hospital.  I didn't pay much attention, and I remember feeling fairly ridiculous when practicing the breathing techniques in the class.

I went into labor on my due date.  I am certain that I felt my very first contraction, and I was instantly in a panic that I needed to get to the hospital RIGHT NOW; this was around 4pm on November 8th.  At the time, I was living about 45 minutes away from the hospital I delivered at, and I was certain that I was going to have my baby by the side of the road, delivered in the backseat of the car by a state trooper, or something equally outrageous.  My mother, a veteran mother/infant nurse, convinced me that I should be sensible, and at least take a shower first.  So I showered, had a small snack, and paced and acted ridiculous for a few hours, convinced that we would never make it to the hospital, and it was going to be all my mother's fault.  (I find it completely hysterical, now, that I was in such a lather about it.  I was BARELY in labor, and it was my first baby.  I'm not sure how my mom kept herself from clubbing me over the head for being stupid.)  We finally got to the hospital around 10pm.

I'm not really sure how the L&D nurse kept a straight face.  I was barely 2cm dilated, and only about 70% effaced.  They called my OB, who instructed me to walk.  So I walked.

And walked.

And walked.

By 2am when they checked me again, I was exhausted, and still only 80% effaced and barely 3cm dilated.  They gave me a Seconol (this was in the days before Ambien), and told me to go home and get some sleep.  (It was the best night's sleep I have ever had in my life; I totally understand how people become addicted to sleeping pills.)

I woke up around 10 the next morning, showered, had a forbidden cinnamon roll, and was back at the hospital by 2pm.  They made me walk some more.  After an hour and a half of increasingly uncomfortable contractions, I refused to walk any longer.  (I think I was almost 4cm by that point, and completely effaced.)

I got comfortable (HA!) in my bed, and listened to the sound of the monitor.  I got more and more uncomfortable.  I tried laying on my left side.  My right side.  Flat on my back.  This was the point at which we realized that I was experiencing the misery of back labor.  It was horrid, and I wanted to die.  I asked for an epidural.  I threw up.  They gave me Phenergan to help with the nausea, which made me incredibly sleepy; I dozed between contractions, and felt dopey and stupid.

By the time my water was broken (artificially), and I'd received the required amount of internal fetal monitoring that my OB demanded I have before he'd okay an epidural, the only anesthesiologist was in an emergency c-section.  (How is it possible that a hospital the size of Ohio State University Medical Center only has ONE FREAKING ANESTHESIOLOGIST on call for Labor & Delivery?  On a weekday?  At 2 in the afternoon?)  By the time that anesthesiologist was free to administer my epidural, I was ready to push.

I have never in my life experienced such grotesque pain; I was pretty sure that I was going to die.  I will never forget my labor nurse, though I don't think I ever even knew her name; at one point, when I was ready to give up (hellooooo, transition!), I remember sobbing, "I can't do this, it's too hard!"  That nurse, in the sweetest, softest voice, told me, "Of course it's hard, sweetie.  If it were easy, men would do it."  How's that for words of inspiration?

After 8 horrendous hours of agonizing, unmedicated back labor (mostly flat on my back, I might add) and 20 minutes of pushing, I pushed an 8 lb. 10.5 oz. baby boy into the world.  He was perfect and beautiful, and had Apgars of 9 and 10.

I realize now that, back labor notwithstanding, I had a ridiculously easy labor and delivery for a first timer.  That first experience of birth taught me other lessons as well, though I didn't realize or appreciate them until much later in my life.

To Be Continued ....

And so it begins.

Over the last few weeks, I've done quite a bit of research about the various organizations that offer training and certification for doulas.  I finally found the one that, I think, best suits my own views, goals, and personal philosophies:  Birth Arts International.

What drew me to BAI over other organizations?  A lot of things.  From the doula education page on the BAI website:

Birth is a journey. On the road to birth the woman is taken from womanhood to motherhood. The woman is transformed through birth, her birth, her experience. Honoring and preserving the birth experience is the role of the doula. Birth Arts doula trainers are both trained in the Wise Woman tradition and herbalism, these are also brought into the the training program. 

Birth is a spiritual thing, no matter what your beliefs are.  I love that this view is reflected in the introduction to the course.  The director, Demetria Clark, is a Master Herbalist and Aromatherapist, as well as being a lay midwife.  It pleases me that those things are reflected in the curriculum; I have always had an interest (on an amateur level) in herbalism and aromatherapy, and I am excited to learn new things about both, as they relate to pregnancy and childbirth.

The course offerings that are available through BAI are extensive, from the labor & birth doula course that I am presently enrolled in, to the midwife's assistant course (which I hope to take, in time.)  Since I knew going in to this that I would, eventually, like to become trained as a childbirth and breastfeeding educator, it appealed to me that those options would also be available through BAI, as well as other, advanced training topics.  When all your training comes from the same place, you don't have to worry about conflicting views and practices.

The BAI doula program has a more extensive required reading list than some other doula certification courses, but I am totally fine with that; I love to read, and I retain information gathered through reading better than any other way.  The distance learning option works perfectly for me, since attending a workshop lasting several days might not be ideal with a nurseling in tow.  There is no specific time frame in which your coursework has to be completed (another plus for a mother with small children), and you are free to do the assignments in any order you choose.  There is an excellent education portal online, where all of your assignments are available (you submit them through the portal, as well), and a huge list of resources.

I haven't had the opportunity to go through the learning portal in great detail yet, but my initial impression is that this is a well-rounded course, with a great deal of valuable and useful information. I am very much looking forward to diving in.

If you are in need of financial aid, Birth Arts International offers partial scholarships to their programs.  I was the recipient of a scholarship myself, for which I am truly grateful; that scholarship is making it possible for me to pursue my dream.

This is a blog about life.

My life, to be specific.  I like to think that I have interesting things to say; I hope you'll think so, too.

This blog is about a beginning, of sorts.  Its genesis coincides with my decision to seek training as a childbirth doula.  It's an exciting time for me, because this is the first time in my adult life that I have felt that I know what I want to be when I grow up.  (Yes, I realize that, being 35, I should have already "grown up", but what can I say.  I'm a late-bloomer, maybe. *wink*)

It's funny how it all came about.  You know how people say, "I just woke up one day and knew?"  (Do you roll your eyes at that?  I know I always have.)  That's literally how it happened for me.  (Well, okay; not literally.  It actually happened while I was walking down the stairs, after putting my littlest boy down for a nap.  SHAZAAM!)  I've wanted to be a lot of things in my life: a princess, a professional horseback rider, a veterinarian, an author, a lawyer.  I have never felt about being ANY of those things, the conviction I feel about becoming a doula.

This blog is, primarily, about my adventures in becoming a trained birth doula.  That isn't all that you will find here, but it's the primary flavor.  I hope that you'll come back for seconds.