birth story

When I became pregnant, I experienced extreme anxiety that I would become overdue, be induced, and end up having a c-section and a midwife could prevent the cycle of medicalization.  At five weeks pregnant I called around, even to midwives outside Calgary, but they were all booked. The advice was to tell them to write "desperate" on my file and to call every week. As weeks became months and I had a very poor GP to contend with, I finally decided to give up on the midwives idea. I was feeling as desperate as I told them I was, and the moment I chose to go with a group of female doctors at a group practise, I felt immediate relief and started to embrace my pregnancy.

In my third trimester my grandma died on the day we were to move out of our beloved, yet unheated, apartment into a condo. The stress got me ill and I spent 2 weeks with bronchitis. Then Christmas brought an excruciating dislocation of a rib. To make matters worse, I started fainting and overheating on my walks to work, so I would lie down under my desk on a daily basis to avoid fainting.

This was leading me down a road of pessimism. As I listened in my natural birthing classes to the problems with epidurals, hospital births and not holding the baby immediately after birth, I started to feel an impending sense of doom that I could not prevent a horrible birth.

At this point, an old gardener friend of mine came back into my life, sharing her nurturing and caring nature with me up to the birth. On a whim, I asked if she was interested in attending the birth, with no real intention of following through.

On the baby's due date, I very reluctantly allowed my GPs to rim my cervix. My fear of going overdue and fighting with them over inductions weakened my resolve into allowing this painful procedure. I lost the mucous plug and there was a bloody show, but nothing felt right.

Three days later I was enjoying a balmy day and I ate an uncharacteristically greasy lunch. I walked for hours around the downtown. That night, the meal caused a lot of intestinal upset, so I took a bath to help relax my body. While in the bath, unlike myself, I started to talk out loud to my baby, asking him to come soon to avoid being induced and potentially having the birth go wrong. I teared up as I asked him to come out so I could hold him and count each finger and toe. That moment I felt my water break.

In denial, I waited about a half hour before I felt it again before telling Justin. He sprang to action and against my feelings, urged us to go to the hospital because he was concerned from the bloody show arriving days before as well.

We got to the hospital around 9pm. The hospital was experiencing high volumes and immediately hooked me up to machines and cast us into a closet of a room. Meconium was in my waters, and the concerns that the baby was experiencing distress as a result was enough to warrant a planned induction as soon as possible. However, as minutes turned into hours I confronted nurses with questions and skepticism about the need for the monitors which were upsetting my stomach since it did not seem like the baby was in any distress at all. When I finally told the nurse I was leaving, and she said I couldn’t, I realized things were going to be rough. Out of desperation, the nurse paged a doctor who explained that I needed to stay to “basically avoid lawsuits” should anything happen, but she agreed it was better for me to rest at home since I was getting worked up and not resting. We packed up and left, getting home around 3am.

I checked the phone when we got home and saw that my mom had called very late at night from my dad’s cell phone. I knew that my dad’s mother was on her death bed, and I assumed the very worst.

At 6:30am a call from the hospital told us to be there in half an hour. I was so thankful for the few hours at home, but disappointed that my labour had not started on its own. The thought of a painful induction made me so nervous that adrenaline was giving me the jitters, and plenty of upset stomach issues. I was very dehydrated from diarrhea and wanted to just eat oranges.

We arrived and got a beautiful and calm room with a gorgeous view of the winter wonderland outside. I was so excited. I even got Justin to call my old friend to come to the birth, and I asked her to bring nothing but oranges. Strange enough, she had had a similar request from her friend the night before and had gone out in -40 weather to get a huge bag of organic oranges.

The induction was started and I was hooked up to IV and monitors. The baby’s heartrate was well above where it should have been. Most c-sections are done because the baby’s heartrate drops, especially during long labours and during the final stages, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. If anything, I figured the baby was distressed by all the intestinal woes I had suffered in the night.

The IV delivered the induction hormones to me, and I started having contractions. The sun came out, and I was ecstatic. I loved the rush of relief and endorphins after each contraction. I had to keep reminding Justin to help me since we were so casual and chatting with the nurse that he would forget to give me back pressure. I mainly laboured on a birthing ball with my elbows and head on the bed. We continued this way with about 3 minutes between contractions.  I then got a phone call to the room.

 My mom had assumed that I was in the hospital when I wasn’t home the night before. She found me somehow and through tears said that my other Grandma had passed away with family around her at 1:30am that day. I was so emotional, and wanted to be with my dad more than anything. I couldn’t help but keep apologizing to them that I wasn’t with them. This was the third passing during my pregnancy, the first being my Uncle Charlie, then both grandmas. Yet, this news also made me realize that my baby would be born on that day, that it would not be a long labour. I knew this more than anything else. From that moment on, my fears of a c-section absolved themselves and I was at peace.

Meanwhile, I kept eating oranges between each contraction as a sort of “reward” for myself. However, the doctors were worried about thebaby’s heightened heart rate, so they doubled the induction hormones. Almost immediately after the nurse said to stop eating oranges, I vomited them up. I apologized to my friend for wasting them. There was a lot of laughing and crying between contractions.

Then, almost suddenly, I began to have leg pains in between each contraction that I can only describe as contractions in my legs between each regular contraction. This pain was not unfamiliar to me, having had this type of pain my whole life during PMS but never to this degree. The nurse advised me in to many different positions, but I was very limited because of the IV and monitors. She gave me laughing gas, which I kept insisting wasn’t “on” because of the lack of relief. At this point I was screaming between each contraction as though someone was cutting my legs off. The nurse asked me what other pain relief I would like, but I was in too much pain to think and could only say, firmly “I am not familiar with those drugs.” Truly, I had not familiarized myself with any pain relief other than epidurals because I had honestly not intended on even considering them. So I asked for the epidural.

I still remember feeling so brave sitting through the epidural insertion. I cannot imagine any other pain greater than sitting completely still through the pain I was in so that the epidural could be inserted properly. It still makes me proud to think of getting through that.

Within 10 minutes, I experienced profound relief from the leg pain. A doctor came in who had examined me just before the epidural, and I could only laugh hysterically “meeting” her again, without screaming “my legs!!” I was only dilated 2-3 cms and had only been in labour for 4 hours.

The baby’s heartrate had been climbing the whole time, and at this point, a specialist was brought in to try and put a bolus back in that could help the baby. This specialist was very good, she, like all other female doctors I had seen, explained each step to me, and had both me and the baby’s intersts at heart. They told me this would be the only way to have a vaginal birth at that point. If the heartate didn’t come down, we would have no choice. I was so calm that I agreed to wathever they needed from me.

After 25 minutes, the specialist apologized and told me a c-section was needed immediately. She said they normally did everything possible to prevent a c-section, and I truly believe this.

I was taken into OR and Justin was told he would be able to watch from a window. When I was in the OR, I was put on a board and my arms were strapped out to my sides like the letter “T”. They then turned this board so it was on a 45 degree angle to the left. They said the baby was in extreme distress. I kept trying to explain that I was sure if I could actually be on my side rather than on my back, it would improve. They couldn’t do that. The anathesiologist came to make sure I was frozen from the earlier epidural, but I was not. In fact, they started to rub the liquid prep onto my belly, and I kept saying “I can feel that!” The doctor took one look at the baby’s heartrate and the last thing I heard her say was “tell the husband” before the nurse put one hand on my throat and the other one over my mouth holding a gas mask to it.

I came to in Recovery and opened my eyes wide. I didn’t hesitate before saying hello and asking where the baby was. My friend was there, and her eyes looked very worried. I asked where Justin was. She said he was with “Charlie”. I started to cry. The nurse came up and said what my pain was from 1 to 10. I said 8. She told me it needed to come down before I could see my baby. I cried some more. Maybe 5 minutes later she asked me again, and desperate, I said 4. She wheeled me into the NICU. Justin was there and I saw my baby. I tried to be calm, but it was the hardest moment, seeing my perfect baby alone in an incubator. Justin’s voice was trembling. I found out that they had shut the curtain so Justin couldn’t see anything, and when it was opened, they were calling Code Blue on the baby. With no one there, only my friend, she hugged him and told him it would be okay. It still hurts that I couldn’t be there for Justin, and yet I knew it hurt him to be away from me.

It turned out that because of the emergency gas, the baby would be very sluggish and that was the reason for the Code Blue.

This photo was taken by J, trying his best to take a photo for me, knowing I would want one. At the same time, no one was there telling him what was going on. After these few photos of the team "working" on brownbear, there were no more photos until we were all together. It's obvious J was distressed, and seeing him when I came to told me everything. He holds all his emotions in his big brown eyes, and what they told me made me sob.

High as a kite, both of us putting on a happy face, feigning that the end result was worth it. 

I was wheeled soon into PostPartum. However, I was alone, without the baby. I was very confused. Throughout the entire labour, I only asked that I would be able to hold the baby as soon as possible, but here I was, in a different room, still having not held him.

I was told to rest, Justin was sent home, and I waited, but I didn’t know what for. I started to call everyone to tell them the news, but the more I talked, the more hysterical I was becoming. I kept touching my belly then realizing that the baby wasn’t there. Eventually the nurse was worried enough that she wheeled me back to the NICU around midnight. I still didn’t know if I could hold him, so it became more painful to me watching someone else taking care of him. I didn’ tknow what was going on.

Justin returned in the morning and took me to the NICU. I finally held him, but I wanted to hold him against me, skin-to-skin. This was killing me. They then fed him for the first time when we left. They fed him formula. Then I broke out in cole sores and cancer sores from a reaction to the gas. By day Three I was having a nervous breakdown. I feel it must have been the same feeling when a mother loses her child. I was banned from the NICU because of my cole sores.

Gruesome, but reality. The gas and stress of separation from brownbear caused the worst outbreak of cancer and cole sores I've ever seen. If I hadn't accidentally ran into the GP who treated me through pregnancy in the middle of the night, I never would have got meds. The GP who saw me said to "get something from home" for them. And they were out of the normal antivirals for a case like this at the hospital. Then the nurse forgot to give me a dose at one point. 

Justin trying to give me moments, but I was too embarassed so I would hide. I was wearing a mask when I held Charlie to stop the spread off the sores. i felt like a monster, inside and out. Yet I tried everything to start breastfeeding. I saw 25 nurses and LC's who all tried to "help" me breastfeed. One was even a 20something male nurse wearing cologne and making us page him at 2 in the morning. Can anyone blame me for hating breastfeeding propaganda? Is it possible for anyone out there to actually consider that maybe, if I didn't have this pressure on my shoulders to keep breastfeeding, I may have actually recovered from the surgery, and maybe I would have remembered my baby and not dropped into the most miserable place I've ever been in my life for 2 solids weeks?? No? Didn't think so La Leche League. Breast is definitely best.

One week later, actually getting better (yes, this was an improvement!).

The "football" hold was recommended over and over to me to avoid putting the weight of brownbear right on the incision site. But I could never do this alone. J had to be there every time to help me. I felt so helpless at every turn. It's funny how every single thing I ate for 9 months was scrutinized and watched, but when I was taking narcotics and antibiotics and antivirals around the clock, no one mentioned that I should avoid breastfeeding. I stayed on the meds one entire week longer than is "normal" without a thought about the effects on brownbear. Apparently breastfeeding is more important than giving your child opiates. I'll never know the effects that had on him. Sniff. Nor the week of antibiotics regardless of every single test coming back negative. With the link between antibiotic use and autism growing stronger, I can't tell you the tears I have shed worrying about that week of questioning doctors yet feeling helpless to yank the IV out and run home with my baby.

Eventually we were reunited and I established breast-feeding with a lot of help. I then got thrush on my nipples and Charlie in his mouth. This stopped us from nursing but I continued pumping to feed him breastmilk. I feel a lot of failure from the birth, as though something was robbed from me, that I missed meeting my newborn baby, and he was a different baby by the time I truly got to hold him. For that, I will always greive. However, I had a big, healthy baby who adjusted great to all the needles and monitors. He is so independent and easy-going, I know he would want me to “just relax, mom”. It was an incredibly hard journey that I cannot present in a positive light. I know so few women go through a story like mine, which makes me feel so happy when a woman has a great birth story. Writing this wasn’t meant to scare others, but to share and show that we got through this, eventually.