In the dark

Eight hundred and nineteen days ago, I attended my first birth. I read all the books, I knew all the comfort measures. Anatomically and physiologically, I knew labor from the textbooks. I was still working out. I was walking each day. I was doing yoga. I was ready. I was ready until Jude wasn’t ready. Jude had different plans and looking back, I’m so glad because it has led me here.

Our little baby had an estimated due date of 6/11/2020. I heard time and time again that I would probably not make it full term because of my stature. I’m 4’10. I’m overweight. You know… all the things you like to hear, especially when you are hormonal. Each week, I would walk into the doctor’s office and surprise them by still being pregnant. “We do not let our patients go to 41 weeks”. Key word: let. At an estimated 39 weeks, they urged me to schedule an induction. I simply said I would wait and see what happens.

I was ready. I still had control.

40 weeks came and went. I scheduled my induction for the last possible day. I was ready.

June 17, 2020- I woke up and I was not ready. We were late getting to the hospital. I was already pissed at Zach because we were late. We never toured the hospital because of COVID restrictions. We never took birthing classes because of COVID restrictions. We were walking in blindfolded. All pregnancy I knew I wanted to labor in my own clothes. I wanted to wear a sports bra that zipped and a pair of pajama shorts. I didn’t want to be restricted. I didn’t want a gown, I hate freaking gowns. When we got into the labor and delivery room, I was told to put a gown on. I replied that I would prefer to wear my own clothes. I was told I was not allowed. —Intervention #1

Insert IVs, start pitocin, put on monitors. —Intervention #2,3,4 I was not given the option to start induction any other way and honestly, I had no idea there were different ways because nothing was explained to me. Here comes the doctor to do my first cervical check… oh wait, not just a cervical check, she is rupturing my membranes in hopes it will speed up my labor. —Intervention 5 At first, labor wasn’t terrible. I could feel the contractions, but I played sudoku to stay distracted. Zach and I talked and laughed. I knew to mix activity with rest, so I switched between the birth ball, bed, and rocking chair. I took extra long bathroom breaks to stay unattached to the monitors as long as possible. I learned how to reset the monitors instead of waiting for the nurses to come fix the beeping. That damn beeping… I do not miss that. The pitocin was increased every half hour to one hour. The contractions started to get stronger and more painful. I felt the most relief in the rocking chair, so I spent a good bit of time there trying to breathe and relax through the contractions. Zach held my hand and reassured me that I could get through it. At that moment, I believed him.

Time for another check. It was 1pm. 4 & 1/2 hours since the start of my induction. I dilated from 3cm to 4cm. My doctor sat down and told me that I should start to consider a cesarean. It took me a long time to just dilate 1cm, so this could take awhile. I kindly declined the consideration and she walked out with visible annoyance. I got back up from the bed and went to the bathroom. Anything to be disconnected from the monitors. When I returned from the bathroom I was told that I must get back in bed. My numbers weren’t good, so I had to stay in bed now. Don’t ask me what numbers because no one could tell me. —Intervention 7 My care providers knew that I did not want an epidural. They knew that sticking me in a bed would not help me achieve this wish.

From 1pm to 5pm, I experienced back to back 1-2 minute long contractions while stuck in bed. There weren’t any breaks. I tried to relax. I tried to breathe. I failed. One of my nurses came in and helped me switch positions in the bed to hands and knees. She helped me breathe. She was able to help me relax and she said “screw the doctor, you don’t deserve this” and turned the pitocin down. I am forever grateful for her. Around 5pm, the doctor returned to do another check. I made it to 6cm, but in her eyes this was still too slow. She reminded me that we should talk about a cesarean and again I declined. She then told me I should get an epidural instead of being in pain. “You won’t receive a gold star for pain.” “You don’t need to be a hero.” I’m not sure why she decided to go into birth work. I’m not sure if maybe her ideology changed throughout her years in the field, but I will never understand how someone can work in that field and find it acceptable to belittle a mother’s beliefs/wishes. I sat stunned. Mouth most likely wide open like “did you really just say that????”. So, I suffered stuck in bed without a break between the devil’s drug, pitocin. I cried. I just wanted to meet my baby. I wanted a break.

At 6pm, I decided to get an epidural.-Intervention 8 Zach triple checked that I wanted to do it. He left the room for the procedure and it felt like the longest we have ever been apart. I wanted him with me. I didn’t want to hug the nurse. I wanted to hug him. I wanted him to reassure me that it was going to be okay. If you’ve never experienced receiving an epidural while having non-stop contractions let me just tell you it is not fun. I made it through the procedure and shortly found myself talking about WWI with the anesthesiologist. We talked about a book Zach was reading and jets. I barely realized that I had relief. Praise Jesus, I had relief. Zach walked in and instantly smiled when he saw me. He said I looked 100x better. We talked for awhile and then I asked for a peanut ball to place in between my legs and I took a nap.

I started to push at 8:30pm. I was not ready. I had no idea how to push. I had no idea how to breathe. Everything I ever read was gone. I asked if I could switch positions to push. I was told no. So, there I was on my back trying to push. This isn’t meant to be all negative or all in the dark. I had great nurses for delivery. They made me feel comfortable and they made us both laugh. After playing tug of war with the nurse, I finally figured out how to push and after two good pushes I was told to STOP. Our baby was about to make its grand entrance to the world, but the doctor wasn’t in the room. Chaos happened in the next few minutes as they prepared the room. Our baby was born at 9:23pm. Zach was in pure amazement that he forgot to tell me what we had. Luckily, I caught a glimpse of that perfect little baby boy as soon as the doctor caught him.

I held our sweet boy on my chest and just stared at him in awe. I have never seen a baby so alert and awestruck as him. He looked up at me like I was the greatest thing in this world and at the moment I felt that way. Zach named our little boy, Jude. The name fit perfectly and still does to this day. I’m not sure how long we shared that intimate first moment, but I was asked to give Jude to the nurse because it would look poorly on both myself and the doctor if I dropped the baby. I had no idea, but I was bleeding pretty heavily and they were having some trouble getting it to stop. Zach went with Jude. I was left by myself to mentally and emotionally handle my baby being separated from me, being stitched, and hearing the doctor say they couldn’t find where all of the blood was coming from. I told myself I was okay, but I wasn’t. I had no idea what to expect. Thankfully, Jude was brought back to me while they finished repairing my tears and I was able to soak in that golden hour. Our baby was here. I was not ready.

Okay… you’ve made it this far. Maybe you are wondering why I chose to start with my birth story, why start with one that has nothing to do with being a doula? You may not see it, but this story has everything to do with me becoming a doula. I could go on and on about the benefits of a doula and how they lower this and increase that. I could go on and on about how screwed up the medical system is in our country when it comes to birth. I don’t want to. I want to be real, I want to be transparent. As I typed my birth story, it brought up some ugly feelings. It made me emotional. It reminded me of how defeated I felt by the lack of advocacy on my part during what was supposed to be the best day of my life. All I had was Zach. I am not belittling his role in helping me through labor. He did wonderful. He did all that he knew to do for me. I’m grateful for him and I know during our next birth that he will be a rock for me.

But do you know what happens when you feel like you don’t matter or that you have no control? It is different for everybody. I found out in the moment that I don’t fight, I don’t fly, I don’t freeze, I fawn. I made excuses for their actions and their comments. I accepted it as fair treatment. I accepted it as how birth was supposed to be. It didn’t matter how much I read or studied or practiced. In the moment, it disappeared. In the moment, I needed a doula. I needed support. I know it doesn’t seem like a traumatic birth story and everyone that knows me can attest that I have been through far more traumatic experiences in my life, but when I look back at that day it makes me incredibly anxious and depressed (up until I receive my sweet boy in my arms and basically never let him go again for the night). These feelings inspired me to educate myself more and more in the area of female reproductive health and pregnancy. It led me to a place of emotional and physical healing (insert plug for Empowered Yoga) which in turn led me here.

Eight hundred and nineteen days ago, In the Light was born. It was born out of the sadness I felt when I thought or spoke about that day. It is the day that I felt called to help women experience the birth they envisioned and to change the way birth is viewed in our community. Women and families do not have to navigate through labor and birth without support. They do not have to be in the dark.

“Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

― J.K.Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban