Guest Post: Baby S's Birth from His Father's Point of View

My husband was kind enough to share his thoughts about our oldest son N's birth here. He issued a challenge for us to reach 200 likes on the Facebook page before he'd write about his impressions of S's birth. So, here is the long-awaited second chapter, S's birth from his dad's point of view.

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I know I promised I’d write this when the Facebook page got 200 likes. It passed 200 likes a while ago, but better later than never!

So, birth number two, our son S. I will come right out and say, this one was the hardest for me. For starters, it happened much earlier than we expected. In the afternoon Jessica went for her regular doctor’s appointment, and a few hours later she called me to come to the hospital because they were going to induce her due to high blood pressure.

We were pretty new to the area and did not know many people. We had no one to leave N with, so I brought him with me to the hospital. This was fun for a while. We hung out with Mommy, and he was on his best behavior and really sweet and cute. 

Later on, as my wife’s labor got more intense, we played “Let’s scream with Mommy!” By then it became obvious that we needed to find a solution for him. He couldn't stay there anymore. We eventually found a friend who could pick him up and bring food for me, but it would take him some time to get there. I was hoping he would make it before the birth!

Let’s back up a little. By the time I got to the hospital, Jessica was already in her Labor and Delivery room, and ready in the hospital gown and hooked up to an IV, and assigned a nurse. This already felt weird for me. I got there later; I did not take her there. I felt like I was just a spectator. The nurse was flaky, weird, and, well, I did not like her very much. In return, she seemed to not care for me much either. She pretty much ignored me most of the time. I was there with my wife, but detached from the process. Of course, having N there with me, distracting me from the labor, did not help that much either.

Finally, our friend arrived and I took N out to meet him. N was screaming and unhappy; he thought he was going home with me. I felt terrible about that. By the time I got back up to Jessica’s room, she was already pretty advanced. I do not remember much from the whole birth. I only remember feeling like I was not wanted there by the medical staff, by the nurse. I resented that for quite a while. I kept reminding myself that it is not about me, I am just there to support my wife, and will do what she needs me to do.

S finally arrived, vaginally. I was happy for her, as this is what she wanted. They placed him on her, as she wanted him skin-to-skin right away. He was just with her, he was her baby. I think I did not get to hold him until much later, maybe it was next day when brought N to see him, maybe it was when we brought him home. I just recall feeling like I had very little to do with anything at that point, and fighting the feeling that I did not think this was right, insisting to myself that this moment was about her. I was there to support her. I became edgy waiting for the nurse to come back, to move to another room, settle down, so I could go back home and pick up N from our friends’.

Finally the flaky, cheery nurse who ignored me (bear in mind, I might have imagined that she was ignoring me – that’s just how it felt to me) came back and took us to the postpartum room, but not before triggering a bunch of alarms because she went through the wrong door with the baby. After that, I was free to go and pick up N. I had great time with him for a few days, just him and me. But, I was bitter about the birth. I had wanted to be part of it, like last time. I did not want to feel like a guest at my own kid’s birth!

Today when I think of it, I realize what I did wrong. It was my mistake. I was trying to be there for her only. I did not factor myself into it at all. Partly because of what I felt, part because this is what society tells us, or was telling me at the time, men are only guest at the birth, they shouldn't interfere. But in the end that’s what caused me to feel so alienated, to be so frustrated. The fact that I ignored my own wishes, never spoke up to her or the medical staff about how I wanted to be involved. I just accepted it as it was. I made myself not important. I made myself just being there. Sure, it might have been done with good intentions, but unhappiness in any relationship is not good. It left me distant from S for a very long time after his birth.

My only advice for men would be, take a stance, but accept hers as well and be ready to be wrong. Because speaking up for what you want and letting her know what you think is support, too. It is what opens up a dialog and shows her that you are interested in the process and want to be a part of it. Just accepting her wishes creates a distance and disinterest for yourself in the birth and in your baby.

That, and bring food. Always remember food.

Guest Post: Baby N's Birth from His Father's Point of View

Today's special guest post is from my husband! He wants to tell our kids' birth stories from his point of view. Often the man's role in and feelings about birth are underplayed or downplayed, and in a series of articles, my husband will explore his own impressions and experiences during the births of our sons. So, to celebrate 100 likes on the Facebook page, here is his perspective on N's birth! 

(Notice his challenge at the end. To continue the series and hear about S's birth, let's keep pushing forward to 200 likes! Share the blog with your friends, and if you haven't done so, please like the Facebook page!)

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I've been wanting to tell the birth stories of our 4 kids from my perspective, the husband’s. I've had this idea for a while, but it’s hard to find the time to write it. You read many stories from women about their birth experience, but I can’t say I read many from the father’s point of view. So, I’m not expecting many men to read mine. But who knows? Maybe I am the strange one.

Each one of my kids' births was very different, an amazing experience by itself. Some were more exciting for me, others not as much. This is simply meant to put down in writing what I experienced and how I felt during those times. Take it as you will.

Baby N

First child! I was an exemplary husband, or so I thought. I went to all the birthing classes, went to the tour of the hospital. I don’t think I missed a single OB/GYN appointment. I knew a lot about what was going to happen; well, I thought I knew. I mean, reality… well, I think most of us know how that is.

When the day came and we went to the hospital, we figured we would take along my wife’s mother. It would be a great experience and be helpful. I am very thankful for my mother-in-law for all her help, but this made for some awkward moments and made it difficult to talk to my wife in private. I was very nervous, but I thought I knew it all. We were joking about not taking an epidural, about why you would suffer pain when you do not have to. I was very casual about it; hell, at some point we ordered pizza to the delivery room. She pushed for a long time. It was nice for me at that time, I got really involved. The nurse had me help. I felt it was great. I got to hold a leg up, and look at the entrance to see if someone is coming out. I don’t think I thought too much about her pain and how she was feeling in all of this. At the time I thought I was great; today, I realize I was rather inconsiderate.

When the doctors “finally” offered a c-section, I was happy. Great, they will take him out, he won’t have a squishy head, and my wife parts will remain intact. Yes, men think about that. Well, some of them. Got all scrubbed up, the nurse asked me if I had a camera. I thought that was funny. I went in to the OR to find my wife lying in a crucified position (thankfully, my mother-in-law was not invited to this occasion). It was still all cool. I sat by her head, trying to make my usual silly jokes. I was in a huge adrenaline rush. Everything was happening pretty quickly. Pretty soon I got to hold the baby. I got to hold him first. Well, she couldn’t, being that she was crucified to an operating table and half numb. Looking at him, hearing his cry… the newborn cry is great. It hits me in a soft place every time. But the first one, it was amazing.

Then they took him away to the nursery and took us to another room to recover. Apparently she lost a lot of blood. I did not realize it then, not even when they sent a specialized trauma nurse to see her. I think it is a good thing I was high on adrenaline, or I would have freaked out. That one took a long time to settle.

At the stay at the hospital, for the next five days, I was also being great. I came by, fed the baby, and changed him. I was rather happy she did not breast feed. I got to play with my new baby a lot. This continued after she got home. They sent us home with a bili light machine, to treat his jaundice. Still, I was being cool, letting her sleep and rest while I took care of him. Every day I would change him, feed him, and wash him. All she needed to do was rest. I was supportive of her attempt to breast feed, but when she couldn’t, I was not upset. I get to keep playing with him, feeding, feeling so helpful. What a great husband I was being. This continued for about 3 months, until we moved to California, where I suddenly had to work more, and leave her alone with him.

Only much later, as she was getting ready to have Baby S, did I realize how bad I was at the time. I distanced her from her baby. I felt I was being helpful. She felt I was being helpful. But, that was not the right way to do things. I pushed what I wanted, and at the same time thought to myself, “Why is so distant from him?” There are ways to be helpful, but I do not think this was the right one. Now, I know I was being selfish. I did not see how she was unhappy, how this had made her feel.

It took me a while to change my way of thinking, and see how important it is to her. I can’t say I quite understand it yet. But, with Baby S, things were different.

That’s the first story. I think this post has gone long enough, so I challenge you to help the Facebook page get 200 likes to hear so I can tell you what comes next! 

I will say this to any men out there who are about to have a baby: It is indeed a lot about her, and not because she carries all the burden of the pain, pregnancy, delivery, etc. It is because, in the end, I do think the outcome will affect her a lot more. So, get involved, but also remember that the best help you can give is to push her to achieve what she wants. To quote Coupling, “Ask her three times” if she’s sure. But when you do ask her, make sure you mean it.

Baby Y's Birth: Photos

I've told you Baby Y's birth story, but I wanted to share some of the photos my husband took of the labor and immediate post-delivery.

Arrival at the hospital, smiling during a (short) break in contractions. So happy this pregnancy is almost over!

Checking in on Facebook! Gotta keep my people informed!

Contraction face.

Oof, that hurts!

Breathe and blow!

At this point, labor had picked up, I had turned around to face the wall, and my husband was busy at my head helping me through the contractions and pushing phase. And then...

It's a baby!

Being warmed and stimulated. His color wasn't pink enough for the nurses.

Crying!

While we're here, let's weigh him! Look at that big boy!

Whew, I did it!

Okay, time to breastfeed.

Come on, nurse!

Okay, some relaxing skin-to-skin.

More skin-to-skin.

Stick out your tongue!

Yay, latched on!

My awesome doctor and nurse.

Yay, he's nursing!

First breastfeeding.

Checking my notifications.

Updating Facebook again.

Aw, everybody's happy.

Switching sides.

Nursing.

Nursing.

My Fourth Birth!

I started out my fourth pregnancy confident. I knew my body could grow and birth healthy babies in a healthy way. I knew the "rules" of pregnancy and childbirth, breastfeeding and infant care. I found myself quite laid back about the whole process.

Until I neared the end. I was due October 22 (also my oldest son's birthday!), and we had moved to a town that is usually very quiet and relaxed, except one weekend a year, the Pumpkin Festival, when something on the order of 200,000 people flock over the hill on the one-lane, one road to the coast to...look at big pumpkins and explore the street fair (at least, that was my impression of it). The traffic makes it nearly impossible to take the most direct route to the other side of the hills, where the hospital is. We could still get out if we needed to, but it could take a while (possibly over an hour). This year, the Pumpkin Festival was October 19 and 20, and there was a very good chance, based on my history, that I could go into labor that weekend and that my labor would be short enough to be a nail-biter on that long way around.

We had also arranged for my mother-in-law to fly in from Israel a few days before my due date, hoping she would arrive before the baby so she could stay with the other kids when we went to the hospital and then to help out after the birth.

At my 38-week visit with my OB, we both felt it was reasonably likely that I would have the baby quite soon. I was 3cm dilated already (not terribly unusual in someone who's been pregnant before) and experiencing strong (but not painful) contractions. Panicked, I spent the evening arranging with the neighbors to help with backup childcare in case baby decided to make his appearance.

But labor did not start. We got through another week, Pumpkin Festival weekend loomed, but at least it looked like my mother-in-law would be there in time after all. At my 39-week appointment that Wednesday, October 16, my OB and I decided to play it safe and try not to stir anything up. Thursday, my mother-in-law indeed arrived, and still I remained pregnant. Saturday, Pumkpin Festival day one, came, bright and sunny, and we went for a walk down to the main road to see the traffic, which was about as spectacular as promised. The walk turned into a leisurely day near the harbor, where we went to a pumpkin patch, had a panini, and enjoyed a sunny day without labor.

We found a pumpkin to match my belly.

Sunday was gray and cold, and still labor-less. If we could just make it through the day, it would be "safe," travel-wise, to have the baby. And boy was I ready. I'd been uncomfortable for weeks, with pain in my pelvis from the pressure of his head every time I stood up. I was big and ponderous. I was ready for this baby.

But I had a nagging fear that the baby was not positioned well. He was head down, but I worried that he was posterior (OP), meaning the back of his head (occiput) was toward my back, rather than the more ideal anterior position (OA), in which the back of the head is toward the mother's front. It is easier for the baby's head to make it under the pubic bone in the OA position, because the occiput is the smallest point on the head and helps to make way for the rest of the skull. As well, this position allows him to flex his neck and point his chin down to his chest to better fit under the pubic bone, rather than having to tilt his head awkwardly backward. OP babies are more likely to get "stuck," cause more damage as they come out, or even be unable to drop completely into the pelvis and require a c-section. Also, a baby in a less-than-ideal position can cause labor to stall or be slow to start. I was afraid the reason I was having so many contractions that weren't building into labor was because he was malpositioned.

So, naturally, I worried. I had worried for weeks about his position, and consulted the Spinning Babies website for ideas on getting him to turn. I half-heartedly tried one of the exercises (getting into an inclined, upside-down position for 30 seconds a day), and I spent time trying to open my pelvis by getting on my hands and knees and into a modified Child's Pose, hoping to give him the space he needed to turn.

Traffic wasn't bad Sunday morning, and we decided to see what all the fuss was about at this Festival, so we drove down to the town. We walked around for several hours, exploring. I was in a fair amount of pain by the time we started back to our car, underwhelmed and kind of cold.

N carves a pumpkin with S's supervision

Within a few hours of returning home from the Festival, my contractions, which had for weeks been strong but not painful, picked up in intensity, if not frequency. Every 10 to 20 minutes, sometimes with as long as 30 minutes in between, I would have a contraction I would label as painful, if not stop-me-in-my-tracks agony. Also, contractions that infrequent that did not build into more couldn't be called labor. We ate dinner. We put the kids to bed. I thought maybe, just maybe, this was the night. He had kindly waited until Sunday night, as requested. But would these contractions build into something more or fade away?

I discussed with my husband what we should do. I didn't feel an urgency to get to the hospital, but I wasn't sure whether we wanted to try to encourage labor along or get some sleep. Around 10:00, I said I'd like to take a walk and see whether that made a difference. If not, I would try to go to bed. If so, we could hop in the car.

We took a half-hour walk around the neighborhood with no appreciable effect on the contractions. They were still no closer than 10 minutes apart, and some of them were hardly painful. I never had to stop walking or talking to breathe through one. At 11:00, I called L&D at the hospital to ask what they thought. She said she couldn't give me advice over the phone and that we could come in if we wanted, but at 10 minutes apart, we were likely to be sent home. I explained that we were about 35 minutes away and couldn't be going back and forth. She suggested I wait an hour and see if there was any change, then call back if we were planning to come in so they could prepare a room and get ready for our arrival. I thought that was reasonable and said we would do that.

After another half-hour or so, I thought I may as well try to get some sleep. If I was having the baby soon, it might be nice not to have been up all night. I laid down in bed, but with every contraction (still about 10 minutes apart), I found I needed to get up on my hands and knees until it passed. And I certainly couldn't sleep through them. When I finally had two in the space of six minutes around 12:40 a.m., we said let's do it. I called to let the hospital know we were on our way, gathered some stuff to take with us, let my mother-in-law know we were leaving, and hit the road.

There was no traffic, and my contractions kindly picked up as we drove, to the point that I was concerned my water would break in the car. I figured I still had a few hours until delivery, judging from the spacing of the contractions and comparing to my third birth. Having contractions in the car is so much worse, too, because I didn't have the option to move around to find the most comfortable pose for riding out the pain. At home, I had been going on hands and knees with each contraction, and reclining in the front seat of the car was about the least comfortable position I could think of during each painful minute.

We got to the hospital a little after 1:00 a.m. and dashed through the ER to wander the maze of hallways until we found the birth center. The nurses were ready for us and got us into the room as I continued to contract frequently. I changed into a hospital gown, went over my birth preferences with the nurse, and had my cervix checked. I was 5cm, and it was about 1:30 in the morning. She had them call my doctor and started taking my medical history, getting an IV started just in case I needed fluids, Pitocin, or other meds. She attempted to get my blood pressure, but the contractions came faster and stronger, and every time she tried to get a read, I was in the middle of another one! My blood pressure was measuring a little high (really?!), which concerned her.

Are we having fun yet?

She continued to attempt to get my medical history, while I continued to have contractions reasonably close together. I had a chance to catch my breath in between, but after about half an hour, I found I was shivering and shaking and felt nauseous, all hallmarks of transition for me, but I didn't make the connection. After all I was 5cm only half an hour before, and I hadn't even gotten up to walk around, hadn't used the shower, hadn't done any of the things I'd intended to during my labor to help it along.

My "contraction face."

We noticed the baby's heart rate dropped slightly with each contraction but recovered just as quickly, so no one seemed concerned. I joked that he didn't like the contractions any more than I did.

My doctor arrived, got the story, and said she'd be back in a few minutes. I'd finally had enough of reclining in the bed and decided to at least go back to the more comfortable hands-and-knees position. Once there, I just stayed that way, my hands at the very top of the bed, my knees resting flat. They offered to raise the head of the bed so it was practically vertical. I found this to be perfect, dug my hands into the top of the cushion, and rode out each wave. My water broke with a pop, and I realized that my feet were in the danger zone. Ew. But I was locked into this position. I couldn't imagine trying to move again, even to turn around and squat like I'd planned.

At 2:13 a.m., about 45 minutes after first having my cervix checked, my doctor wanted to check again. It seemed everyone around me realized I was ready to deliver, even though I was certain there should be a few hours left of this labor. She checked me as I knelt, and, sure enough, I was complete. What?! "You can push whenever you want to," she declared. 

Let's do this!

With the next contraction, I bore down for all I was worth. I yelled until I was hoarse. I felt like nothing happened. My muscles were jelly, my stomach was weak, and still I pushed. I screamed "GET OUT!" I could feel his head against the pubic bone. I was so scared he was stuck. I had to push harder. I had to get him out. "GET OUT! GET OUT!" I shouted at him (I still feel bad that the first thing my new baby heard was me yelling at him). I'll go ahead and admit it, here, that I pooped, too. Pushing is pushing. They asked if I wanted to get the squat bar and turn around, but I was certain I couldn't move. My arms and legs were locked in place. I was delivering in that awkward position whether that's what I'd intended or not. I said, "If it's okay with you, it's okay with me," when the doctor asked if I was happy where I was. She said it was fine with her. I had the fleeting disappointment that I wouldn't be able to see him born - that was something I'd wanted this time around - but I knew I couldn't move. We were doing this, and we were doing this here and now. "GET OUT!" I screamed again, and then felt like I was out of power. "I can't do it," I said. "I can't." Three nurses, a doctor, and my husband assured me I could, that he was almost out. Another push, and I could feel his head straining against my perineum. I could feel the burn, the pressure, the stretch. "Let him stretch you. He's almost here," the doctor said. Then, "I see a face!" Another push, and he was through! I collapsed forward onto my arms, exhausted, but I still couldn't move, locked on my knees as I was.

Time of birth: 2:31 a.m. We'd been at the hospital for just over an hour.

I had wanted immediate skin-to-skin and delayed cord cutting, which they had said was fine. But he didn't cry right away and apparently was more purple than they liked. His cord was around his neck loosely, which they were able to unwrap, but they needed to take him to the warmer for stimulation to get him breathing. By the time I was able to turn myself over and recline against the bed, they had whisked him away, and the doctor was pulling gently on the cut cord to encourage the placenta to deliver. That, I got to see. The baby, I couldn't. My husband stood guard over him as he let out a lovely wail and pinked up nicely. They weighed him and measured him, then, finally, they brought him to me. He wasn't rooting, but he had a good suck reflex, and after a couple of tries and a bit of coaxing, we got him latched and sucking nicely. His Apgars came in at 9 and 9. A perfect baby boy, with a head of thin but noticeable black hair. Black?! We're a family of gingers!

Okay, okay, I'm crying. Where's my mommy?!

Because of my history of hemorrhage, they gave me Pitocin to help my uterus clamp down. They also massaged my belly - hard - OW - to encourage it to contract and to make sure there were no large clots or excessive bleeding. Once the bleeding slowed, my doctor was able to assess the damage. Surprisingly, and thankfully, I had but two skidmarks and a 1st-degree tear that needed just one stitch! SO much better than an episiotomy, and much easier than I'd hoped.

I asked the doctor if he'd been OP or OA, and she had to do some mental gymnastics, since I'd been facing backward. Since his face had been toward her, that meant he was indeed OA. I don't know if my prenatal attempts had encouraged him to turn or if he'd turned during labor, but I'm certain that listening to my body and finding the most comfortable - if incredibly awkward - position for laboring made everything go so smoothly.

This hospital's birth center was nice, because we didn't have to move rooms after delivery. The nurse sent me to pee while they converted the bed and cleaned up the room. This room would also serve as my postpartum room for recovery and care. They brought in a bassinet for the baby and put a mattress pad on the bed, changed the linens, and, voila!

The nurse said how she loved natural deliveries, because the babies were always so much more alert, and mom was ambulatory. I could barely walk with a midsection of jelly, but I also felt an incredible sense of accomplishment, and quite a bit of shock, at the speed and relative ease of the delivery.

My main wish for this birth had been that it would be drama-free. No side-of-the-road delivery, no unassisted bathtub birth, no complications or hemorrhaging or surgery or NICU admissions. Just get to the hospital and have the baby. Well, we took that one rather literally, didn't we?

Welcome, Baby Boy #4! 

Born 10/21/13 at 2:31 a.m.

8 lbs., 6oz.

20" long

14.5" head

I'll write about our hospital stay in another post. We had a bit of an interesting time after all, and I got to put my CLEC training to work...for myself!

Lynne's Birth Story - Jessica's Birth!

This is a very, very special blog post, written by my mom, about my birth and her breastfeeding experience with me. I'm struck both by how many similarities there are to giving birth 30+ years later, and also by what was different. Much of this should seem familiar to those of us who have had hospital births. There was far less breastfeeding support back then, but many of the challenges my mom faced are the same challenges faced by working women today. There wasn't much on the books at the time for breastfeeding mothers in the Navy, but my mother made her own rules! I hope you can see where I get some of my passion from in reading my mother's story.
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I really don’t remember why I decided that my baby would be born naturally and I would breastfeed. I’m the type of person who, when confronted with a new situation, will spend hours researching and reading, so it is possible that when I found out I was pregnant nearly thirty-two years ago, I rushed out and purchased as many books (no Internet) as I could find on childbirth and breastfeeding. I was greatly influenced by a book called The Immaculate Deception, by Suzanne Arms, published in 1975, which described the horrors of modern childbirth. I still have a copy of the book.  [Ed. note: This book is now out of print, but apparently the author wrote a second one: Immaculate Deception II: Myth, Magic and Birth, in 1994.]

Natural birth was becoming the “rage” in the early '80s, with hospitals opening up “Alternate Birth Centers” called “ABC rooms,” so I’m sure I was influenced by this trend, but there could have been other women in my life at the time who influenced me. As I said, I don’t remember. I do know that I wanted the very best for my baby, that she (I didn’t know it was a girl until she was born – no regularly-scheduled ultrasounds then) would have every benefit I could give her as she came into this mean, cruel world. I wanted her to be perfect.

I was (and I guess still am, but with less energy) a perfectionist and was not afraid of challenge or hardship, as I tended to push myself over the limit in everything I did. I was also extremely stubborn and tended to believe that if I wanted something, I would get it, so being an officer in the U.S. Navy at the time did not seem an obstacle to fulfilling my goals for my baby.

My pregnancy wasn’t anything interesting except for my high blood pressure, which the doctors passed off as nothing since it didn’t get any higher from my first prenatal visit. I gained more weight than I should have and I tended to eat a lot of chocolate but I exercised and did yoga. I expressed my desire for a natural birth and wrote up a “birth plan” to present to the attending doctor when the time came.

I worked passed my due date without a problem. That weekend, we went to a Triple A baseball game and fireworks at the stadium (the major leagues were on strike that summer). My water broke in the middle of the night and we called the hospital. They said to come right in. I knew that was a mistake; that I needed to stay home as long as I could and walk, walk, walk but I was also scared that something could happen with my water breaking so we trudged to the hospital in the middle of the night. I was only one centimeter dilated. They said that they preferred that I stay, because my blood pressure was high (no kidding), and I had signs of preeclampsia and a chance of infection, and we were too many miles away from home to turn around. I was admitted to a ward but I didn't want to just lie there, so my husband and I walked around the hospital campus for a while. I was hurting and scared and knew that I was starting out on the wrong foot, but I presented my birth plan to the resident. The poor guy; it was early in his rotation to OB, and he wanted to do well but was inexperienced, which is probably why he agreed to my birth plan. It included no drugs and no IVs or monitors so I could move around. I was hooked up to the monitors once an hour but was free to walk around the rest of the time. Ideally, when the contractions started and I was well on my way, I would gather my strength and all that I had learned from the myriads of reading materials and move around. Alas, I didn’t. I lay there for hours on my back, enduring the pain, which I could not believe was so bad, ignoring the breathing techniques we learned in our Bradley classes, but still determined to avoid drugs. I did not have an IV and did not drink anything, so I became dehydrated and the baby also. The doctor would come in periodically and check on me. He felt sorry for me and would induce a semi-trance to help me, which wasn’t helping since it reinforced me lying still for so long. My husband came and went, bored and scared.

The doctor did talk to me about a cesarean as my labor wasn’t progressing as quickly as it should have, but I declined. After twenty-six hours, on Monday morning, I was finally ready to push. I was transferred from the labor room to the delivery room. My husband was prepared with his camera but he had forgotten to put film in (no digitals then) so we don’t have a record of the birth. I pushed and pushed but the baby wasn’t coming out so the doctor took up his scissors (or whatever they were) and did the longest and deepest episiotomy on record (at least it seemed that way to my husband who nearly fainted, equating the sound to tearing a chicken wing in half) without asking. I had also been doing exercises to avoid an episiotomy but I guess they didn’t help. The baby slid right out amid a lot of blood and it was announced that it was a girl. I asked to have her on my chest and see if she would latch on but since her Apgar scores were too low, they let me have her for less than a minute and rushed her off to the neo-natal ICU. Not part of the plan but I was exhausted at that point.

I went to recovery and had to pee 1,000 cc’s before I could go to the ward. I requested that I be discharged as soon as possible, that I didn’t want to stay in the hospital. I had it in my mind to take the baby home right away, as I wasn’t sick and therefore did not need to be in the hospital. When the pediatricians visited, I told them I was going home and taking the baby with me. They said I could go home but the baby was in the NICU and wasn’t going anywhere. They had come to consult with me about her condition. She was extremely dehydrated and had “thick blood”. Her white cell count was elevated, suggesting an infection. They needed to take out half her blood and replace it with plasma because it was too thick to travel her veins and she was headed towards major brain damage if nothing was done, all because I wanted a natural birth, but I was stunned from the pain and the contractions into a trance and my doctor was too ignorant to compensate for the lack of modern intrusions like the IV for hydration.

I went home eleven hours after giving birth; the baby didn’t. I visited daily, tried to pump and tried to breastfeed her when they would let me, but they convinced me to start her on formula so she didn’t lose any weight so I agreed. She developed jaundice and spent five days in the NICU altogether before she was released. Luckily, she recovered completely.

I was still determined to breastfeed and started immediately. No one told me that babies can’t switch from formula to breast milk smoothly. She was up the entire night crying and pooping, crying and pooping. I knew nothing about the proper latch so every time she latched, I’d literally cry out for the pain. We finally settled into a routine and I tried to pump in between feedings (huh, she wanted to nurse all the time) in preparation for going back to work. I had six weeks off and decided to stay home full time for four of those weeks and return part time for four weeks, which was approved by my command.

I needed to pump and store the milk at work. I marched into my commander’s office and announced that I needed a private office so I could pump. It never occurred to me that he’d disagree; I was that sure of myself. He never said a word and I pumped until the baby was four months old and then had to start “supplementing” with formula as I couldn’t keep up with her demand. She nursed at night until nine and a half months and then stopped altogether, probably because I didn’t have enough milk.

In a way, that inexperienced doctor with a heart of gold did me a favor by not performing a cesarean, as there were no such things as VBACs then and I would have probably not breastfed (although I don’t really know), but there was also the real possibility of damage to my little girl because of my shock when labor actually came.

I learned a lot with her and knew a lot more when my son came along three years later. But, of course, my daughter is perfect!

Reader Birth Story: A Precipitous Birth

Good Monday to you all. Today we have a special guest post from Snehal Naik, a college classmate of mine. Snehal tells us about the rather unusual circumstances of her daughter's birth. 

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At my first childbirth education class the instructor went around the room asking all the women what they were most worried about. Her goal was to make sure she allayed each of our fears during the course. My answer was completely different from everyone else’s: I was afraid I would be in labour and not know it. She assured me that my fear was unfounded. At my 36-week checkup when I repeated the concern to the midwife, she too told me that it was very highly unlikely. Perhaps it was my particular situation that made this fear so acute for me- at the time my husband worked in another state and I would commute a 100 miles daily by car.  My head was full of ideas of having to deliver my baby by myself in my car on the highway or on the bathroom floor, even as my screams went unheard.  But every single person I expressed this concern to told me it was unfounded; since this was my first child, I would surely have plenty of time to get to the hospital and get my husband to rush back too.

On the last day of week 37, I woke up at 4 am to use the bathroom. The instant I climbed back into bed I felt a rush of something and, thinking my water had broken, rapidly waddled back into the bathroom. To my horror, it wasn’t amniotic fluid but blood. I yelled for my husband to call the doctor and get dressed- we were going to the hospital. We were there in 15 mins with nothing but the clothes on our backs, we left two days later with our daughter.  As soon as the midwife finished examining me she exclaimed, “You’re fully dilated, you’re ready to push!” I think my response was something along the lines of, “No, no my baby isn’t due for another 2 weeks, I’m just here to stop this bleeding and then I’m going home.”  They showed me the full-strength contractions on the monitor and kept asking me again and again if I felt anything? No! I had felt nothing at all- the hours of agonizing pain that I had braced for before I would be hearing those exact words the midwife had greeted me with- they never happened. A mere 12 hours before being wheeled into the OR (a precaution due to the bleeding) I was at my baby shower.  I had literally slept through 10 cms of dilation and to everyone’s utter surprise I was, in fact, in labour and did not know it! I watched the monitor with surreal interest as the nurse’s aide told me, “Look here comes another contraction!”  Without the monitor, I would have no idea. I can only imagine how absurd that sounds to anyone who has ever experienced a contraction, and that too one in active labour!

The medical term for what I experienced is precipitous birth- defined as labour lasting less than 3 hours. 5:12 AM I was wheeled into the OR, 7:12 AM I heard that first screeching wail. There was of course no time for medication but I was just glad that I was able to deliver non-surgically.  They had to break my water for me and once that happened I experienced pain that I have no words to describe. Perhaps because I didn’t have the time everyone else spends in labour to prepare my body and mind, perhaps because she turned while coming out and I experienced back labour which is more painful- whatever the reason, I think I delivered in a state of shock. I skipped labour- lucky, unusual, blessed, whatever you want to call it.  I certainly feel blessed that everything turned out fine- it was before office hours and a Sunday so I was not alone, my daughter was healthy despite the bleeding being from a placental infarct, and my doctor and midwife made sure I got every chance to deliver non-surgically even in that unusual circumstance.  I also feel amazed when I think back to my number one concern during the pregnancy- was it instinct or pure coincidence?  My husband wanted a refund on our childbirth education classes. I simply hope that anyone else out there who has an unusual concern about their pregnancy finds a way to prepare for that circumstance no matter how far-fetched it seems. Surely anything’s possible if you can be in labour and not know it!
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Snehal is the mother of a two-year old, a molecular geneticist by training, and a research scientist by profession. Thankfully she only commutes 15 miles now, but her husband continues to work in a different state. Discussions on part-time single parenting or the effects of a traveling parent on a growing toddler are always of interest to her.

My Third Son's Birth!

Hello out there. You may have gathered from my longer-than-average hiatus that I've been indisposed. You were right. I gave birth to my third son on September 5 (Labor Day!), and I've finally had an opportunity to sit down and write about the experience. I'm very excited to share with you my birth story!

For over two weeks, I had been having strong, recurrent bouts of contractions. They weren’t painful, but they were strong enough to make me stop and wonder, then look for other signs of labor. And then they’d stop. Starting at 36 weeks, at each appointment with my nurse-midwife, she’d check my cervix (per my request), and each week, I had opened another centimeter. Each week, we were both certain that I’d give birth before the next appointment. But I was there, still pregnant, at 37 weeks… 38 weeks… By my 39-week appointment, I was 3cm dilated and 80% effaced, and still no labor. I was getting antsy. Very antsy. But I knew baby would come when he was ready, and I sincerely wanted to let nature take its course. I was determined to have a spontaneous labor and successful second VBAC.

It was the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. I was due the following Wednesday. I had convinced myself that I couldn’t possibly have this baby before 40 weeks, because otherwise I was going to lose my mind. On that Sunday, we went to the park with the boys and had a picnic, then to a community barbecue. The whole afternoon, I’d have occasional strong contractions, much like before, but they didn’t come to an end. I started to toy with the idea that maybe, just maybe, they meant something this time. But, by that point, I’d had so many, “Maybe this is it!” moments that I was not ready to commit.

Around 10:30 that night, I decided the contractions were actually getting stronger, and I started timing. Five minutes apart. Well, that’s the tell-tale sign, right? But, they didn’t hurt as much as I thought they should, and I could walk and talk during each one, so I still wasn’t totally convinced. I decided to take a bath and see if I could relax them away, then try to get some sleep. If I was going into labor soon, I should try to get a few hours of sleep first.

I took a bath, and they didn’t stop. I got ready for bed, laid down, and WHAM, I had a really strong contraction. My thought was, "Well, I won't be able to sleep through these!" Five minutes later, another one. Okay, I said. This is it. I put clothes back on and told my husband I thought it was for real this time. We called someone to come stay with the kids and called the hospital to make sure it was okay to come in (it was). By the time everything was arranged, the hospital bag was double-checked, and we were ready to go, it was about 12:30am, Labor Day. We took off for the hospital. We didn’t want to wait at home too long, because the hospital was 40 miles away, and I didn’t want to take the chance that we would be “too late,” as it were. I also didn’t want to be too early and hang around in the hospital for more hours than necessary, or to get there and find out it was false labor again, but I was pretty certain. I was completely certain about halfway there when I realized I was no longer able to carry on a conversation during a contraction. Whew.

My husband drove… er… rather fast, and I think we got to the hospital in about half an hour, around 1:00 in the morning. To my delight, the nurse-midwife on call that evening was none other than the one I’d been seeing for my prenatal appointments. We were mutually excited, since that rarely happens at Kaiser. They triaged me and checked my dilation, and I had gained another centimeter and was having regular contractions. Time for baby!

My nurse-midwife told me I could have the epidural whenever I wanted. I wasn’t sure that I wanted one at all, and I said I knew I could have it, and that I’d ask for it if I wanted it. I definitely didn’t feel that I “needed” it yet. The contractions were definitely growing in intensity, but the five minute break in between was enough for me to catch my breath. My husband knew I was hesitant to have any medications during labor, and I’m really glad we talked about that beforehand, because the idea of the epidural becomes very, very tempting at 3:00 in the morning in active labor, let me tell you.

Sidebar: I wanted to avoid epidural and Pitocin during this labor, if possible, because I was intent on having another VBAC and because I knew that any interventions could lead to further interventions, which might eventually lead to c-section. Additionally, I had Pitocin with each of my previous deliveries, and in each of the previous deliveries, I had postpartum hemorrhage, and both boys had jaundice. Pitocin is a risk factor for both postpartum hemorrhage and jaundice in the baby. I did NOT want Pitocin, and, by extension, I did not want an epidural, in case it created a “need” for Pitocin.

They kept offering to break my water to move labor along, but I kept refusing. The amniotic sac protects the baby from the brunt of the contractions, and it also lessens the intensity of the pain. Once the water is broken, everything gets ramped up. I didn’t want that. I wanted my water to break naturally. I think they really wanted to do it, but I didn’t. I really really didn’t. So I kept refusing. Besides, labor seemed to be moving along quite quickly!

I had dilated to about 6cm when labor went crazy. I was managing the every-five-minutes contractions reasonably well, but all of a sudden they went from every five to every 1.5 to 3 minutes! There was no break in between to breathe or relax. One ended and the next began. The nurse, who was wonderfully attentive, strong, and worked with me very well, was coaching me to blow and breathe, which is NOT EASY. At the end of each breath, I desperately wanted to push, but I couldn’t, because it wasn’t time. I started to hyperventilate a bit, and they gave me oxygen. I’m not sure if it helped. I had to breathe so fast to stay ahead of that “push” feeling, I barely had time to exhale before I had to inhale again.

And that’s when I said, “I want the epidural!”

The nurse and my husband both knew that I wasn’t so sure about it. I knew I wasn’t so sure about it. They asked if I really wanted it, and all the fears about what might happen if I got one surfaced, and I backed down. And then said I wanted it. And then backed down. I just couldn't make a decision. Between them, my husband and my nurse were very good about putting me off without making it seem like they were. I did want it, in that moment, but then I didn’t. I was so tired. I think my feeling was that if I could just rest a little, I’d be okay to continue, and an epidural would let me rest.

The other nurse-midwife on call came in, because mine was taking a break until I was ready to deliver (she was staying around because she wanted to deliver me, but I think she was technically supposed to be off). She suggested that I try the shower. So I got in the shower for a bit, and the hot water felt really good, but the contractions were just coming and coming and coming, and I was so tired. I hadn’t expected it to hurt quite so much, and I hadn’t expected the contractions to be so close together or so intense. How much longer did I have to endure these? Hours? I couldn't do hours. I just couldn't. I got out of the shower and returned to the bed, somehow hoping that sitting or lying down would help. Maybe I was just tired of standing.

I think the nurse realized that I must be close, because she said to me, “Jessica, listen. I want to tell you something about the epidural. I’m happy to get you one if you want it. But by the time we get the anesthesiologist up here, and we sit you up and do it, it will still be 20 minutes before it kicks in. By then, you might be ready to push, and you won’t even get to enjoy the epidural.”

That convinced me to keep going, and, sure enough, I was almost fully dilated. At 4:40am, my water broke with a pop. The nurse checked and found that I had just a lip of cervix left. She said I was absolutely NOT to push until she got my nurse-midwife up there. I distinctly remember saying, “Tell her to RUN!” She got there quickly, checked me, and said the words I’d been longing to hear, “Go ahead and push!”

I pushed. Boy did I push. I wanted this labor OVER WITH. I wanted that baby OUT. Besides, it hurt a lot less when I was pushing then when I wasn’t. I heard the nurse-midwife call for a local. She said my perineum just wasn’t stretching quite enough. She made a little cut, I made another few pushes, and I felt that baby slide out. I had never felt that before. My previous VBAC had been with an epidural, and I’d had a c-section before that, so I had no idea that you could actually FEEL the baby slide out. Wow. He was born at 4:57am, just 17 minutes after my water broke!

They put him right on my stomach, whereupon my first words were, I believe, “I made a baby!”. They dried him off, but otherwise waited, per our request, for a couple minutes to cut the cord, and then we brought him right to my chest to nurse. At the same time, there was a flurry of activity around me, administering medications by injection in each leg, Pitocin to contract my uterus - I had actually YANKED my IV out of my hand while pushing, so first they were frantically trying to put a new one in while I was trying to hug my new baby - and stitching up the episiotomy. They were working furiously to prevent a hemorrhage, and, you know what? I had blood loss within normal limits! Spectacular!

They waited until I felt he was taking a break from nursing before weighing him. He came in at a healthy 8lbs., 3.5oz. Pink and strong. They gave him right back to me.

Just before we were ready to head up to the postpartum ward, they made me go pee. I had never been ambulatory right after giving birth before. This was all so new to me. I sat in a wheelchair (rather than lying on a bed) to go up to my room, and I got to hold the baby while we went up there. So cool.

My stay at the hospital was really good. The breastfeeding support was phenomenal. I was actually told that I should sleep with him skin-to-skin on my chest! I will be writing a separate blog post in more detail about the hospital, so I won't get into it too much here.

We went home the next day at noon. The baby did become jaundiced, but his numbers came down on their own, rather than his needing phototherapy like my first two had. I don’t know if the method of birth had anything to do with the jaundice or not.

The second day home was very hard. We were in the middle of a heatwave. It was 90 degrees, and I had no milk yet, just colostrum. The poor baby was so thirsty. I couldn’t unlatch him for two minutes without him screaming. My nipples were sore beyond belief. I was having horrible hot flashes, crying jags, the postpartum hormone surges. It was pretty awful. But I’m already feeling better. My milk came in Wednesday afternoon, and the change in the baby was incredible. He became so content!

Overall, I feel that the birth went just about as well as you could ask for. Only 4 hours of labor in the hospital? Wow!  Natural birth (even if it was kind of by accident), immediate and constant skin-to-skin. I got pretty much everything I wanted out of this birth. If we have another child in the future, G-d willing, another birth like this one would be just fine!

Me, The Doula?

A friend of mine, RM, gave birth back in March to a beautiful baby boy, her second. She asked me to attend the birth as her birth coach/doula, despite my rather significant lack of actual experience or training in such a role. I'm not sure having given birth twice really qualifies me as a "doula," per se. But I was honored and touched that she trusted me to be there and help her through it, and now, having done it, I am so glad I agreed!

I admit to having been quite hesitant at first. Would I know what to do? Would I be comfortable seeing, er, "those parts" of my friend? Would she be comfortable with me there? Would I be unfortunately affected by any blood or fluids? And, what was I supposed to do?

We had watched "The Business of Being Born" together, in addition to other reading we had done, and we were both very well aware of how easily the natural birth process can be derailed by accepting or being offered interventions at all, or too soon, or unnecessarily. We were both very conscious of what was called in the documentary "the cascade of interventions." This is the vicious cycle of intervention-leading-to-intervention that usually begins innocuously enough with, "Would you like pain relief?" or "Would you like the epidural now?" For many women, they get the epidural, they're happy, the baby comes out at some point later, and everything is fine. But for a significant percentage of women, it's not quite so smooth a road. For many, the epidural can cause a sharp drop in blood pressure in the mother, which can lead to fetal distress. Alternatively, the epidural can slow labor, which can cause the labor process to be labeled "failure to progress," which can prompt the doctor to order Pitocin to "move things along." I've discussed the dangers of Pitocin briefly before, but, as a reminder, the use of Pitocin can sometimes lead to otherwise unncessary c-sections due to fetal distress, usually signified by a sudden sharp drop in the fetal heart rate, not to mention other stress on the mother and baby because of the strong contractions produced by the Pitocin.

Back to the birth I was actually attending, though. Once there, over the next few hours, I relaxed and fell into my role. RM's husband and mother-in-law were there with her at first, and I felt like kind of a third wheel. Fourth? Anyway. The nurse came in to let RM know that she could have pain relief whenever she liked. She was dilated somewhere between 3 and 4cm. She wasn't sure it was quite time for the epidural yet, and she also wasn't sure about other pain relief options, such as Stadol. She didn't want to risk slowing or stalling labor, and she also didn't want to risk a sleepy or lethargic baby if he came too soon after administration of drugs. She also wasn't convinced that the narcotics would help her at all. She was definitely uncomfortable, though.

The nurse mentioned that the anesthesiologist was about to go attend a c-section, and he wouldn't be available for about an hour if she declined the epidural just then. She finally decided, after some discussion with me and her mother-in-law (who is a nurse), to accept a dose of Stadol, which should make her more comfortable for the hour during which the anesthesiologist would be unavailable, after which time she could think about the epidural again.

The Stadol worked perfectly, and she was quite content (and a little high) for about an hour. Her contractions continued at a steady pace, and her mother-in-law and I chatted while her husband dozed. Finally, my friend started to come out of the drug-haze, and the nurse came back to check on her. She had been comfortable, and the contractions were manageable, so she decided to continue to hold off on the epidural, but she also declined another dose of narcotics.

Over the next several hours, labor seemed to come almost to a halt. The contractions weren't getting stronger or closer together. She wasn't really dilating at all. It was somewhere around 11:00 P.M. Her husband was sleeping. Her mother-in-law had gone back to RM's house to be with her older son (and relieve the nanny), and it was just the two of us to talk over her decisions. I'm pretty sure that's how she wanted it.

The nurse came in to offer to remove the fetal monitors for a while so that we could take a walk to help move things along. She said she could keep the monitors off for 40 minutes, then have them on for 20, then off again, if she wanted. This is called "intermittent monitoring," and in my research and reading, I had learned that typically you have to demand intermittent monitoring, since they prefer to keep you on the monitors at all times so they can keep an "eye" on the baby. I was very impressed that the nurse actually offered intermittent monitoring! I strongly felt RM should get up and walk around, for her own sake as well as for the sake of helping labor along. We walked the halls and talked, mostly about birth and breastfeeding, for about 40 minutes. During that time, she had to stop several times for contractions, but when we got back to her room, she said she felt really good. She was put back on the monitors, where we saw that her contractions were still fairly far apart and not very powerful. This was unsettling. After almost four hours of labor, it seemed like something should be happening, especially since this wasn't her first baby.

She rested for a bit, then decided to try walking again. This time, she didn't experience a strong contraction for the entire 40 minutes, and when we returned to her room, she was tired and worried. So was I. I guess I can selfishly mention about here that I was already noticeably pregnant, and it was late, and I was also quite tired, although I can't say I was as tired as she, since I, thankfully, was not in labor!

The nurse came in to check on her and said that the doctor planned to come in around 6:00 in the morning to break her water if that hadn't happened by that time. It sounded far off, 6:00 did, and it seemed like surely she should already have had the baby by then, if things continued as expected. Except. Except labor wasn't...labor. In fact, she was barely feeling anything, except tired.

The nurse at some point said that RM did have options. She could just go home if she wanted, and wait, and see if labor eventually picked up on its own. She wasn't obligated to stay there. She didn't have to accept any interventions. I was actually kind of amazed by this, too, since most hospitals just want you in and out, baby in arms, within a reasonable amount of time. And it wasn't like she wouldn't eventually have this baby! RM felt very strongly, however, that she couldn't go home still pregnant, and that she couldn't be pregnant another day. She was already past her due date, and she was very uncomfortable, and she intended to have this baby that day. I completely understood!

I went to lie down for a few minutes while she rested, then wandered back over because I was bored and couldn't sleep. We talked and watched the discouraging monitors. She didn't feel like walking anymore. Suddenly, I noticed that the baby's heart rate, which had been between the 120s and 140s, suddenly dipped into the 60s. At first, I thought it just meant the monitor had shifted and lost the heartbeat, but then three nurses charged in, and I realized it was a real emergency. It appeared the baby was putting pressure on his umbilical cord and causing himself distress. I got out of the way while they gave RM oxygen through a mask and had her shift positions, finally ending up on her hands and knees on the bed, to try to take the pressure off the cord. His heart rate stabilized pretty quickly, the crisis was averted, and they helped her back into a more comfortable position. They asked her to keep the oxygen going for a while to make sure the baby was getting enough.

The nurse went to report to the doctor, then came back to say that the doctor was aware of the "spontaneous deceleration." She said that if it happened again and they couldn't get him stabilized, it might mean she would need an emergency c-section. The nurse suggested that it might be a good idea to have the epidural, just in case, because that way they wouldn't have to knock her out completely if a c-section became necessary. The anesthesiologist was just outside, not busy with anyone else, and he could come in right away. It would also give RM the opportunity to sleep, or at least rest, more comfortably.

RM was rightly worried about the use of an epidural when labor was already moving so slowly, but she was impressed with the nurse's making a strong suggestion, when before she had only said what was available. This time, RM decided to take the epidural, just in case. It was also only a few hours until 6:00, and she felt that if the doctor were going to have to break her water and possibly administer Pitocin to get the contractions moving again, she may as well already have the epidural. I was leery, mostly because I was concerned that if there was another emergency, she wouldn't be as mobile, so how could she get up on her hands and knees or whatever if that became necessary? But she opted for it, and I didn't think it was really a terrible idea, and I had a pretty good sense of how much I didn't know by this point, so I got out of the way while the anesthesiologist did his excellent work, and RM was able to relax.

As the nurse had feared, there was a second spontaneous deceleration, but the epidural wasn't so strong that she couldn't feel her legs, and they were again able to get RM up on her hands and knees, the baby recovered, and no further interventions were necessary.

6:00 came and went, and the nurse came back to say that the doctor was on the L&D floor, but another of his patients was ready to deliver, so he was going to attend that birth first, then come back to break RM's water and see if anything else was needed. He came back a little after 7:00. Her water broke, and the fluid was clear (i.e., no meconium, meaning the baby had not had a bowel movement in utero, which can be dangerous), but contractions did not pick up. He strongly suggested that she have a small dose of Pitocin. His words were, "I'm trying to save you a cesarean here." Now, with most doctors, that would not have impressed me. Indeed, it would have almost seemed counterintuitive to me. However, RM had researched this doctor, and he had been in practice for 40 years and had the lowest c-section rate in the county. In other words, he knows what he's doing. I felt strongly she should do it. Because she had given birth vaginally before, her body was prepared for a second vaginal delivery. Plus, labor was not moving along really, and once her water was broken, it was important that the baby be delivered relatively soon. It was worth trying the Pitocin, because if it worked, she'd have her baby soon, and she would avoid the c-section, which is the one thing she knew she absolutely did not want. She finally agreed to a small dose of Pitocin, just to help the contractions along.

Help them along it did! Just 10 minutes or so after the Pitocin was administered, she had dilated another centimeter, after hours and hours at 4cm. Not long after that, she started yelling, which she hadn't done before. She said the epidural wasn't strong enough, and OH MY GOD she wanted to push, and she was going to poop that baby out now! I realized she was in transition already, and it was a very different experience to be on the receiving end of that yelling, instead of the one doing the yelling! It's an amazing change to watch, from "whoa, contraction," to "HOLY CRAP!!!" I called the nurse in to give her a bolus of the epidural anesthetic, to try to help with the pain, at which point the nurse realized as well that RM was in transition. She begged her to wait until the doctor arrived before she started pushing. He was delivering another baby just then and would be there any time.

This is when everything got very exciting. The doctor arrived, RM's husband got into the mix, and I got to just step back and watch and offer an encouraging word when one came to mind. I also brought a damp paper towel for her husband to put on her forehead. Although I've forgotten a lot of the details of those last few hours of my first labor, I specifically remember my mom bringing me a cool towel for my forehead, and how good that felt. They broke down the bed to become a delivery table, and the doctor took up his post. He felt for the baby and said he was still pretty far up there, and it still might be a while, and he seemed to be a larger baby. In other words, she might be pushing for a while.

I could see RM's response on her face. "Oh no it won't be a while!" she thought, very emphatically, and when she was told to go ahead and push when she wanted to, she pushed. She PUSHED. She PUSHED. And, I'm not exaggerating at all, 10 minutes later, there was a head! TEN MINUTES. Now that's what I call pushing. A perfect body followed the head, and I couldn't believe how exciting it was to witness that. Everyone calls it a miracle, and there is absolutely no better word for it. You go from screaming straining woman to squalling baby just like that. There's just suddenly a baby there. It's the most incredible and exciting thing I've witnessed. I can't even describe it. I had an oxytocin rush! I was bursting with adrenaline! And I wasn't even doing anything, just standing there!

The baby was 7lbs., 2oz., a little smaller than her first (and not at all a "bigger" baby!). He was perfect and came out raring to go. RM became fixated on two things: Deliver the placenta, and give me the hell my baby so I can nurse him. Once she successfully delivered the placenta and that was done with, she watched impatiently from the bed as they did all the initial measurements and such over on the warming table. I stood by watching. I felt like I was on guard, standing beside him in his mother's place, making sure he was safe. The nurse offered RM food, water, whatever she wanted. "I just want to hold him," was her only response. "I just want my baby. I want to hold him." I was antsy, too, ready for her to have him back so she could get in that oh-so-important initial breastfeeding. I had also been drafted as her unofficial and unlicenced "lactation consultant," although I can hardly claim that title. I have no training, except for lots of reading and having nursed one baby.

After about 20 minutes, he was brought to her, clean and swaddled. The labor nurse promptly unswaddled him and together we helped her place him against her chest, skin-to-skin, so she could nurse him. I had forgotten how hard it is to hold a newborn to your breast. You need three or four hands. But she got him there, and he went to town. It was so beautiful.

I left about an hour later, still totally high on adrenaline, oxytocin, and a sleepless night, after getting a chance to hold him and getting a sneak peak at his name (which wouldn't be used publicly until his bris (ritual circumcision) the following weekend).

It was really enlightening for me to be at a birth but not giving birth. I was able to see some of the goings-on and listen more carefully to the "hospital speak," and I had the time and wherewithal to really consider every decision. Though none of the decisions would have affected me directly, RM is a very good friend, and I wanted her to have that satisfying and fulfilling birth experience that she deserved, that every woman deserves. Her first birth, though accomplished vaginally, had been quite traumatic for her, and I know she was nervous about her second being just as bad. I was so happy to see her so content once she had her son to her breast, and I knew things had worked out much better for her this time.

I was full of emotion for weeks after the experience. Just thinking about it could make me cry. I wrote her a note to thank her for the privilege of witnessing something so special, and she wrote back a very lovely note thanking me for being there. I knew I had helped somehow, even just by being moral support, butI also had felt quite helpless at times, because there was so much I didn't know, and there are so many things I wouldn't have known to do. I still don't. That's why a "real" doula has training, and attends lots of births. Because there's a lot to know, even if you're not the one actually supervising or devliering or doing anything medical.

Still, it's an experience I would repeat in a heartbeat, assuming I was physically in a position to do so. Right now, I think my own delivery has to be next on my agenda, and then it would be difficult to attend a birth when I had a newborn of my own. But one day, if another friend is having a baby and wants some support as she labors, and I'm available, I would be thrilled to participate again.

There's a specific Psalm that it is traditional to have beside a laboring woman's bed, to recite during labor, and to place in the newborn's bed. I'd like to transcribe a translation here, sort of as a concluding thought.

Psalm 121:
I lift my eyes to the mountains -- from where will my help come?
My help will come from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot falter; your guardian does not slumber.
Indeed, the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.
The Lord is your guardian; the Lord is your protective shade at your right hand.
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will guard you from all evil; He will guard your soul.
The Lord will guard your going and your coming from now and for all time.


(From the translation at http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/732833/jewish/Psalm-121.htm)