In honour of my birth month, I thought it was time to share my own birth stories, three in fact. Waaait! You’re wondering if good birth stories actually exist because you typically only hear the horrible ones or what went wrong, right? Well, what actually makes a “good birth” story? I acknowledge there are stories that are not only not good, and even tragic, but I feel like women need to stop feeling guilty about their “good” births! Sometimes they are good even when things don’t go as planned. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one out there hesitant to tell their “natural”, “non-medicated”, “easy”, “ non-traumatizing”, “fast”, or otherwise “good” birth story. But, to encourage others, here are my stories.
My husband and I had decided about a year into our marriage to try to start the family we knew we wanted. It actually took us a little longer than expected, but for Christmas 1996 we were able to share the news with our families that we would be growing by one. My pregnancy was pretty unremarkable except for the normal “firsts” of heartbeat, movement, hiccups, craving jalapenos, and the early arrival. I stayed active by walking our two large dogs and helping with renovations on our little house, including mixing and hauling wheelbarrows of cement to pour footings on a small addition.
I had chosen to stay with my family physician for care, as he did maternal care and had privileges at the Lethbridge hospital. Well, that was only after I suggested to my husband that I was interested in a home birth. To which he promptly said, “No.” In hindsight, one of the only regrets I had was to not push that discussion farther! You see, I view pregnancy and birth as completely normal physiological processes, not medical events, so I wasn’t sold on a hospital birth. But for his peace of mind and marriage harmony I dropped the idea. We enrolled in the six week childbirth education class offered at the hospital, with what we thought was lots of time before baby arrived.
A few weeks into our childbirth class and about five weeks before my due date, I went in for a normal appointment before my GP went on holidays. We discussed the little dribble I had been experiencing for a couple days. It was concluded that it was probably a slight rupture in the amniotic sac, but without a fever, thus far. My doctor told me to take it easy (aka no more cement mixing and hauling), that he was transferring my care to an OB while he was away, I’d need to check multiple times a day for any fever, and go for a non-stress test (NST) every couple days. No problem! The week passed with great NST results, more minor leakage, and no fever! I was looking forward to Saturday as that was the day of our baby shower. Spoiler…it got postponed.
Friday, July 25, 1997 started out perfectly normal. Dave got up and did his shift at work while I stayed at home and got some baby clothes washed and ready. At about 3pm, I was talking on the phone with a friend when I had to start asking her to “just keep talking” a few times. She finally asked if I was ok and I said, “I think I might be starting labour. I’m pretty sure I passed my mucous plug before you called.” We finished our conversation, and I just kind of waited a little longer to see if the contractions got any stronger or more regular. They did get stronger, but never did get any more regular. Dave quickly showered when he got home about 5pm and we went to the hospital to get assessed. (I have no recollection whether we ate first.) They confirmed that yes, I was in early labour and the OB that I had been under the care of was now off for holidays. A completely new doctor would be attending my birth! I mean, I’d never set eyes on this man, nor heard his name before! We made a few phone calls to let parents know the scoop and we were moved into a labour and delivery room. It was a really slow night – we were the only ones on the unit.
I spent the evening walking halls. I don’t even recall having any regular monitoring done to check baby’s heart rate or cervical exams. My Dad showed up later in the evening with a large yogurt container of freshly picked Saskatoon berries. I was in heaven! And admittedly, did not share. I do not remember any staff member telling me I couldn’t eat them. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had! I was hungry and no one was stopping the ingestion of my favourite berries freshly picked! Anyway, my mom showed up (not exactly invited) and my friend, whom we had previously discussed witnessing this birth. I spent the next couple hours pretty much in our room, moving about, just getting as comfortable in whatever position I could through the contractions.
Our older, calm OB doctor had pretty much been around most of the evening– for a period of time just sitting quietly on a stool next to the bed, suggested around 11pm the option of rupturing the amniotic sac. He said labour was progressing nicely, but it was an option to speed up the labour so I wouldn’t have to (likely) go all night. Considering it was Friday night, Dave had worked his 40-60hr week, we decided to go ahead. That fancy looking crochet hook came out, a disappointing little splash happened, and things got intense real quick. Although we hadn’t completed our childbirth classes, we HAD covered the breathing lessons and some comfort measures. I spent the next hour in the shower – AMAZING! It was at this point I remember not caring that I was naked.
Once I started feeling that “pushy” sensation, the nurse got me back to bed in “the” (not-so) traditional birthing position with the stirrups and everything. They told me it was time to push and so I followed their direction with a big, held breath and pushing until I almost blacked out, while the nurses held my legs. After an hour of this, one nurse gently leaned over and said, “Push like you’re having a good poop.” Well, I looked at her like ‘it took you that long to tell me this?!?’ Our son was born twenty minutes later at 1:21am, weighing 7lbs 1oz with a second degree tear. Knowing how much weight a baby normally gains in the last month, I was happy he was four weeks early!
When my husband and I took our son home, we laid him on the couch, looked at him and then each other, and kind of giggled. We said, “Now what?” A first time parent’s rite of passage.
About a week later, I woke from a good sleep in the middle of the night with a stabbing pain in my abdomen. I didn’t think it was normal and it hurt, bad. We got dressed, got Jefferson tucked into the car seat, and walked the half block to the ER. My GP, now back from holidays, met me in one of the ER hallways to ask about the pain level. I simply told him, “I’d rather give birth again!” His eyes got bigger, quickly ordered some Demerol for me, and admitted me into the hospital with a uterine infection. My boy and I spent several days in hospital with me on IV antibiotics trying to learn to breastfeed a preterm babe, with the added factors of an IV in the wrist and a large bust. Challenging to say the least! But we made it. I breastfed until he was about 9 months when he was no longer interested. At that time I didn’t realize breastmilk changed flavour when you got pregnant again…
Yes, I remember distinctly the night I realized that I could well be pregnant again, which explained the tiredness I had been feeling. I looked at my 9 month old son sitting in his bath ring in the tub wondering what I was going to do with 2 babies!!?? You know that panic thing? Well, yes, we wanted more than one child, but not quite this close together. And at that moment, not comprehending the advanced development stage he would be at when baby two was born, there was some panic! In the months following though, I enjoyed the extra rest and napped with him frequently. Again, I had an uneventful pregnancy, but could NOT eat enough watermelon. The funniest part was Dave’s announcement to our friends one night we were out for dinner together. Looking at the menus, she asked, “What are you guys having?” Dave calmly replied, “Another baby.”
My due date was early December 1998. I was in the care of the same GP as with my first pregnancy, just hoping that he’d be around for this birth. Dave and I had investigated donating cord blood for research. We had done everything necessary and had our kit ready with the hospital bag. I’d gone in for assessment a couple times already because it felt like I was starting early labour. Obviously not. On the morning of Wednesday, December 9, I did my normal volunteer time making braille books with a group of ladies. Dave was on afternoon shift so he was hanging out with Jefferson for the morning. When I got home, I suggested we go to the local greenhouse and pick a Christmas tree because we had no idea when this baby was going to make “her” appearance. (I was the only one who knew she was a girl from the ultrasound.) We wandered the greenhouse, picked a tree, and a new Christmas decoration for each of the kids. After we got home, I’m sure there was lunch and probably a nap in there somewhere, but Dave left at about 2:45 for his 3pm shift. My mom was the on-call person to take Jefferson when I was ready to head to the hospital for this baby. Everything was fine.
Shortly after 3pm I tried to call my mom to see if she could come over. She wasn’t home!! (Cell phones were not common at this time.) I called my in-laws. They were able to come right away and she insisted that she drive me to the hospital – half a block away. I told her that I really was ok to walk. I called Dave at work and said he should probably come home. He asked me, “Why?” In all fairness, he HAD just started his shift. It wasn’t 3:30pm yet. I told him I was going to walk to the hospital and go get assessed, but contractions were picking up intensity pretty quickly.
I got to the L&D suite about 3:45pm where they took me into the assessment room to put me on the external fetal monitor. They called my GP with details and I was being admitted. Dave showed up after 4pm sometime, all nicely showered, just before the nurses were ready to move me into a delivery room. Again, it was quiet on the unit with maybe only one other family. I got up from the bed and it felt like I had peed myself. I told the nurse and she quickly put a pH strip in the puddle. Nope, it wasn’t pee. My water had broken. I only had to walk about 30 meters to the delivery room, but it was the longest walk of my life! By the time I got into the room I was so out of control with contractions and breathing I asked if I could have something for the pain. The nurse just giggled and said there was no time. I was going through transition already! She told me to just get up on the bed. It was almost time to start pushing. I was very surprised, but up on the bed I got. Somewhere in those last few minutes a nurse had called my doctor back to update him on the situation and I was told me he was on his way.
Within minutes he was standing in the doorway asking if he had time to gown up. The nurse told him, “Not if you keep standing there.” He was there to catch our oldest daughter at 4:56pm. But only because he had blown a few red lights and the speed limit driving from his west side clinic to the hospital. Johanna was only a couple days early of her due date and weighed 7lb 8oz.
As wonderful as life was with two littles, there were some struggles for me in the first couple months. Breastfeeding was going better than the first time around –a different baby generally makes for a different breastfeeding experience. But I really felt like I was not ready to have another one so dependent on me again. The oldest had only been walking for a few months, was not really talking yet, and I was finally able to have a little more freedom. Now I had another newborn and I just wasn’t mentally prepared for that fourth trimester transition. I wouldn’t say I had postpartum depression, but I would say that I wasn’t as emotionally/mentally available to my baby girl as I had been to our oldest.
As we got past those first three months, things evened out, both kids napped and I felt like I had a little more time to myself. Sometimes that just meant laundry, cooking, and cleaning, but it was MY time. The two of them became great friends. She started walking at 9 months and gave up breastfeeding about the same time. Then she started to climb! Then she started talking. She started talking for her older brother. A couple years into this stage we decided to add to the family.
My due date for baby #3 was end of November 2001. Oops, hunting season. About three months into this pregnancy, I ended up with a bulging disk in my lower back. I was visiting a new family to the community, bent to pick up their youngest and then couldn’t stand up. It took me 20 minutes to get from their backyard with my two kids, to our car. Then I needed to get them in their car seats, me buckled into mine, all the while trying not to literally cry tears of pain. I’m not sure I was successful with the tears. I stopped by my chiropractor’s office on the way home. He looked at me and said to go home, lie down, ice it for a few days, and then come back. Well, that was the beginning of an extremely long, pain filled pregnancy. And just to make things a little more challenging, we put our house up for sale and moved! Hmm, packing and cleaning with a bulging disc while pregnant with two preschoolers. Oy.
After we got settled in our new home in a town an hour away, the pain was a day to day reality. Generally, I was able to keep it under control – until bedtime. The third trimester was the worst. There were days when after supper Dave cleaned up and I would crawl onto our bed with my feet up the wall to relieve the weight and pain in my lower back. Then to try to sleep for the last 3-4 weeks, I had to stack pillows under me to support myself on my hands and knees. I was lucky to get a couple of hours of sleep at a time. Sleep deprivation has never been something I’ve handled well. And then…she waited until after her due date to arrive!!
My brother and his family had moved to the same town shortly after us, with a due date of baby #5 within days of our due date. It was kind of a race to see which one of us would give birth first. It wasn’t me. On Sunday, December 2, we went over to visit the newest cousin. While visiting, my brother said to go have lunch, just the two of us. We took them up on that offer, as I wasn’t feeling quite right. I had grown quite anxious and nervous about this birth. It had been almost three years since Johanna was born and the whole experience with my back was awful that I just couldn’t fathom how I would manage this time. I had cried more than once over having to labour with this bulging disc and the whole birth idea.
During our brunch, I felt a couple contractions. They weren’t intense, nor were they regular. We just chilled out and enjoyed some quiet time together. We picked up the kids and went home for a while. We ended up calling a relative of Dave’s to come sit with the kids; we thought it was time to as least get assessed at the hospital. They admitted me into the hospital, and again, it was a quiet unit. The on-call physician was not the doctor I had been seeing for maternity care, but a lovely, petite, South Afrikaner woman who ended up staying through the labour and birth, instead of calling the next shift doctor. This was something I was extremely thankful for in the end.
My labour progressed fairly well considering I got myself comfortable in literally one position – sitting cross-legged on the bed for the duration of the labour - and employed the physical relaxation and yoga breathing I had recently learned in an introductory yoga class. The problems came when I needed to go to the washroom to empty my bladder. Ouch! Movement. But shortly after dinner time, contractions progressed into active labour and my doctor noticed my inward focus and breathing. She made a point of quieting the rest of the staff during my contractions! Once I got through transition and it was time to push (I have no memory of any cervical exams), the doctor instructed the nurses to drop the end of the bed in preparation for the birth. Well, the movement just about made me flip a lid. I said, “Stop moving!”, and she stopped that process. I birthed our second daughter on a flat bed in a semi-sitting position at 7:57pm. Because of the position I was in, the doctor could not remove the cord from around her neck until she was completely birthed. She was a blue baby.
Being in a small town hospital, our baby girl stayed in the room with us with an oxygen hose clasped in her fist, right under her nose. Dave was holding her and I remember his worried look. I told him that she’d be fine. “And look at that red hair! Even her eyebrows are red. She doesn’t look like a Naomi. She’s a Danae.” Thus she was named before I had birthed the placenta.
Then I looked to see what the doctor was doing. Amazingly, I realized that I felt no back pain anymore! But I was starting to feel kind of weird. I told the doctor. She started assessing me and asking questions. I don’t know for a fact what happened, but I suspect I started to hemorrhage. I do know the staff made comments about her hand size versus the actual on-call doctor and I was awfully thankful at the time for her petite hands and the job she had to do with them! She must have done what needed to be done, because there was no further issue that day or in the following days and weeks of recovery.
Then we were a family of five. Phew! That’s my story of three pregnancies and births in four and a half years. Each one was different but not without their struggles. And I would still consider them good births! Why? It’s not because they were all un-medicated vaginal births.
A birth that is perceived to be “good” has several factors, and my stories have a mix of them which is why I call them good. First, I wasn’t fearful of the birth process. I had confidence in my body to do what it was made to do: grow, labour, birth, and feed a baby. I wasn’t opposed to using pain medication if needed, but it wasn’t something I had predetermined to use out of fear of the labour process. My husband and I also took the time and opportunity to learn what to expect and be better prepared for the experience with a childbirth education class. I’m pretty sure most labour and delivery nurses would mandate those classes if they could, and I would agree. They are the best spent six hours of your time preparing for such a life-changing event. Another factor was that I had caring, respectful medical care during each of my births. The L&D units were all slow and quiet, so the staff had time to just go through the flow with me; there was also a patience and respect for the labour process that I felt from the two doctors with my first and third babies. Their experience and perspective on birth can make a big difference when they attend your birth. And last, but not least, I had the confidence to use my voice. (I know. You’re surprised by that.) This was MY birth, MY baby, MY family, MY body. I was prepared to ask questions and advocate for myself when needed. And I had to a couple of times. The best part of that though was the fact that the doctors listened, they observed, they respected my voice. That’s so affirming! Yes, staffing can be the luck of the draw as can the circumstances on the unit. But the knowledge, mindset, and confidence with which I went into those experiences also contributed to the outcomes. In the end, they are our experiences and life-time memories.
If you’ve had a “good” birth, why do you perceive it that way? If you’re approaching a birth, I hope my stories have encouraged you to own your experience. Take a childbirth prep class, make sure you have the support you need, and be confident in communicating with the staff. Have a good birth!
*Shameless plug: check out my webpage for information on my private Childbirth Prep and Prenatal Breastfeeding classes, and of course birth doula support. Stack the odds of a “good” birth in your favour!
