Birth Matters: So Does Motherhood

 I believe in birth.  I believe that women's bodies were made to birth naturally and that most women, if left alone medically and supported emotionally, will birth and that experience will be both powerful and transforming.  I believe that birth matters for not just the mother and the baby, but also for the family unit as a whole.  I can attest that had I not been successful in my VBAC last march, I would have had a different kind of recovery and our bonding as a family would have been very different and might well have been more difficult, but difficult is not impossible.

You see, I've been reading a lot of different blogs and articles lately about the importance of your birth on the bonding process and the impact your birth can have on your child for life.  Whether its the physical trauma of a csection on the body of the mother and the baby or the stress put on the spine of an infant when misaligned for long periods before a vaginal birth or the emotional trauma of a long separation after surgery for a mother and child or the emotional impact of the use of pitocin during labor, there is no doubt that birth has the power to profoundly affect the developing relationship between a mother and child.  However, I don't think birth defines that relationship.  It is the start of the relationship and for a time it might set a tone for the relationship, but it is not the final word on your relationship.

I don't care how rocky the start might have been between you and your child, how many "mistakes" you think happened in your birth, how many interventions happened in your birth, or how traumatic your birth was for you and/or your baby, as long as you are both alive at the end of it, there is still hope.  After a birth, comes motherhood and the choices you make as a mother matter even more than the choices you made in birth.  Not just the choices you make with your newborn, but the choices you make with your toddler, preschooler, and even your teen.  What is dynamic and awe inspiring and humbling about motherhood is that it is completely based on the unique, idiosyncratic relationship you have with your child.  Just as your relationship keeps evolving, so, too does your mothering skills and what is even more inspiring beyond that is that it is never too late to change.  Even if your children are adults, your relationship with them is still important and although it gets tougher as they get older, your role as their parent is never not important and is still impactful.  If you doubt me, think about how strong your emotions are about your own parents whether you have good, strong relationships with them or not.  Ambiguity and ambivalence are not descriptors that are often used for the relationships between parents and children at any age for good reason; the depth of our emotions (positive or negative) prove how important and primary the relationship is to us all.

So, if you feel distant, take steps to get closer.  If you feel like you are not bonded, do some bonding activities.  If you made choices you now regret in your birth, in your newborn parenting, in your young child years parenting, or even last week, let your child know about your regrets.  Let them know that you want to make a new choice now and then make it.  Every beginning is just that, a beginning.  It isn't the whole story.  It's never too late to make a new start.  Birth matters the way every introduction matters, but it's not the end.  If it was adoption would never work and we all know that adoption does.  Beautifully.  Take heart, mama.  Make a new story for you and your child with the choice you make today.

Thanks for reading,
Shawna

The Difference

I had my third child in April and had the best birth experience yet. I'm so excited to share the story, but the journey wouldn't be complete without first sharing the experience I had with my second child. So here it is, and I look forward to posting my latest experience next time.

What a difference three years make.

The first time I got pregnant, I had no clue whatsoever how carrying a child and birthing it would change me in the most profound, extraordinary way. I had no clue whatsoever how I really felt about pregnancy and birth.

I had no clue whatsoever that pregnancy is and should be treated as a natural condition and not a medical one, and that birth, in a normal and typical pregnancy, is and should be a physiological process, not a medical one, to be managed and ruined by malpractice fearing obstetricians and hospital staff.

My first birth was a traumatic one—save for the fact that I had my son healthy, the process left me raw and vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Induced for what proved to be no more than the overly cautious doctors’ fears at a teaching hospital, I was treated like a birthing pod, without any consideration for my wishes, comfort, or privacy. I had a heavily medicalized pregnancy in general, and then a very high-intervention birth. I don’t even remember holding my son for the first time, and I don’t remember what he looked like, or if he cried.

Initially, I was happy with my experience, and after I gave birth I told my husband I wanted to send a gift basket to the hospital and my doctor practice. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Why? They were awful!” I was so shell-shocked from the whole thing that it didn't occur to me that maybe this wasn't the way it was supposed to be--I thought all births were that gruesome. It took me weeks to recover; a month later, I was still in pain.

After I had my son, I cried in the car leaving the hospital, when I got home, when I got in the shower. My baby wouldn’t nurse; drowsy from all the unnecessary medication he and I both received, he would fall asleep within seconds of latching on, and would wake up screaming from hunger mere moments later. Beat up, dejected, and depressed, I gave up. I thought it was my fault. I thought, my body is just not made for this. I can’t handle it.

Only upon further research, talking to women who had natural births, real natural births, and a lot of soul searching, did I realize that my birth experience was not the ideal--and it contributed both to my post-partum depression and to a negative view of pregnancy and birth in general. Once motherhood sunk in, I learned a lot about myself I didn't know before. While watching the hospital scenes in “The Business of Being Born,” my husband told me that he had flashbacks of our birth experience, and told me how negatively he felt about the whole thing. I realized then how traumatizing it had been for him as well.

Three years later, for my second pregnancy, I had a midwife and a chiropractor, which made all the difference. No longer forced into hour-long wait times for five minutes of actual doctor time, I was able to tell my midwife exactly what I hoped for, and she listened. My chiropractor was also an integral part of helping me achieve my goals. Having had two natural births herself, she not only helped my body, she helped my mind, by being positive, upbeat, and never wavering in her support of me.

Circumstances being what they are for us right now, a homebirth was not an option, but a low-intervention, natural hospital birth was. I did an incredible amount of research to arm myself with everything I could to be able to achieve what I wanted in a hospital setting. It was going to be tough, but through some fantastic websites, a blog written by a homebirth midwife from across the country, and my chiropractor and midwife’s guidance, I felt ready.

My second pregnancy was worlds away from the first. Though nothing compares to that first time, the second time was, in some ways, even more amazing. I ate extremely healthily and I felt great. I read nothing on pregnancy aches and pains, and stayed away from pregnancy and birth websites unless they were positive and re-affirming of my body’s design to do this.

I took every pregnancy body change in stride—no longer symptoms, I welcomed the changes and knew that they were facilitating the growth of my baby. Not forced to take tests to make sure my baby was “normal,” I was able to focus instead on the joy and miracle that being a mother can be. My pregnancy was like a float in the clouds, dreamlike, almost. I look back and can hardly believe that I was pregnant.

My daughter’s birth was unexpectedly fast and furious. I labored mostly in the car, with my husband swearing at the stoplights, scaling sidewalks, and calling my midwife with updates every five minutes. My water broke on the way, and I felt the baby descending as we arrived at the hospital. I was wheeled into a room, crawled on the bed, and gave birth. Just like that. My midwife arrived just in time, my husband just made it back from parking the car. My daughter was placed on my chest as soon as she was born, beautifully slimy and gooey, and I sobbed in joy and relief—she was here, I had done it.

Though I didn’t plan it this way, I don’t know what would have happened if I had been in the hospital longer. I don’t want to speculate. This was a gift. My daughter’s birth was the single most extraordinary and life-altering experience I have ever had, in completely different ways than my son’s. We had done it, her and I.

Afterwards, I felt like Superwoman, like I could do anything and everything. I felt giddy and elated. Calm and alert, my newborn girl nursed like a champ. I signed all the hospital forms while in recovery. I had blood drawn once, and that was it—no more needles. Since we were all in good health, we were released the next day—26 hours after the whole thing, I was home, on Christmas Eve, with the most precious present I could have asked for. My recovery was easy and quick.

I’m not sure what to say to people who feel that it doesn’t matter how the baby gets here, so long as the baby gets here safely, except that they should perhaps expand their definition of “safely.” Though medical conditions certainly arise in pregnancy and birth, making it necessary for medical (and often lifesaving) interventions, in a low-risk, normal pregnancy and birth scenario, the experience makes a huge difference. It did for me. Maybe I am more sensitive than others; maybe I have a heightened capacity for feeling negative and positive emotions. I know I’m not the only one.

During my research, I was bolstered by similar accounts from other women who had traumatic birth experiences, and then went on to something better. I was also frightened by accounts from women who went into the hospital hoping to birth naturally, and had interventions forced on them. Waking up the morning my daughter was born, feeling those first waves, I feared that I would go to the hospital too soon, get stuck in a bed with belts and needles, and end up on the operating table. Gratefully, blissfully, it was quite the opposite.

I adore both my son and daughter. Each of them have given me gifts beyond what I imagined, gifts I could never thank them for. Through the difficult experience I had with my son, I was able to clearly see myself for who I am. I was able to learn, I was able to change, I was able to move beyond the mainstream. Through my daughter, I was able to realize my strength, to challenge myself in every way possible, to achieve the peace and wisdom that can only come from being a mother. I hold her in my arms and I am so grateful.

I’m expecting my third child in April, and this time I hope that I can move even beyond what I have realized so far. And I hope that someday, I can repay my children for all they have done for me.

Life, Love and the Importance of Lactation Consultants

On the heels of the Whoopi Goldberg comments regarding the breastfeeding initiative, I felt compelled to share my birth story.  I’m sure there were plenty of other problems that could’ve occurred, but to us at the time, it felt like just about everything that could’ve gone wrong did, indeed, go wrong.  I was quite resolved to nurse my daughter from the start, but those days in the hospital were far more trying than I anticipated.  Were it not for the support of the amazing lactation consultants at our hospital, I’m not sure we would’ve succeeded.

After 6 hours of contractions 2-3 minutes apart (from midnight to 6am) we went in to the hospital with our awesome doula.  I was completely heartbroken to find that I was only one centimeter!  They quickly determined that my uterus was in spasm, which meant that between the highs of the contractions, it was never fully relaxing. So every time I moved the slightest bit I'd have a mini or full contraction. I couldn't even get to and from the bathroom without 2 extra contractions. So nobody could massage me, I couldn't move and I stayed frozen and tense for the majority of my labor because of it. I remember yelling at my husband in a panic when he caressed my arm because I thought it was going to bring on a contraction. Because I was so tense they gave me a sedative at about 7am. It knocked me out but not for the contractions. So I'd be completely passed out, and every 1-2 minutes wake up screaming and clutching the bed rails, and promptly pass back out. It was the weirdest, almost nightmare dreamlike state ever. By noon I was maybe 2 cm, and I pretty much threw in the towel on my natural labor. I think I may have hung in there if I had been progressing and knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel becoming even remotely visible, but 12 hours of contractions 1-3 minutes apart (and more hours prior) was wearing me out with no progression, so I caved. Not to mention the fact that my spasming uterus was basically keeping me locked up like a popsicle and threw that entire labor I’d envisioned of using the hospital birthing tub, walking around, etc...out the window.  I’m sure plenty of you 30 and 40+ hour labor moms would probably laugh at that, but in the moment that’s where I was at – I needed some actual down time where I wasn’t tensed up thinking I couldn’t move for fear of the impending contraction that movement would cause.

From the moment our doula called the doctor, he was unfriendly to her and refused to speak to her even though I was in the middle of a contraction when she called.  This behavior continued once we arrived, but he was gone by 7am and replaced by a much more considerate doctor.  The nurse, however, had an equally frigid attitude towards our doula. Fortunately, at 11am she left her shift early and we were switched to the most wonderful nurse who was there for me until 11pm. But the first nurse would practically roll her eyes when I asked to turn over, because it meant she had to reposition the heart monitor. Amidst my weird sedated state, I would only ask about once every hour and a half if I could roll over to the other side because she made me feel bad about it.

So we arrived at 6am, epidural and pitocin started at noon, and by 4pm the downward spiral began. I got a fever, and my daughter’s heart rate was elevated. I had also passed meconium earlier and was Group B Strep positive, so the clock was ticking. They tried to give me something to bring my fever down, and said they'd give the baby some time to get her heart rate down. Nothing was working. The other main thing was we went in engaged at -1 with her in the perfect position, and then my daughter actually started to move BACKWARDS throughout labor. Before they cut me open you could see her curled up in a ball just beneath my rib cage. I didn't even know this was possible!

By the time the doctors switched at 7pm the new doc came in and was unbelievably pissed that nobody had called it and cut me open yet. At that point he insisted to do so, and when I told him I needed to talk it over with my doula and my husband, he stormed out in a fury. The nurse came back and said that he said if I didn't agree he was calling his lawyer. It was all very upsetting but we could kind of see it coming. My doula was getting uneasy about the snowballing problems, and ultimately, the main deciding factor was that my daughter was simply not coming out but actually moving backwards, and I was not progressing. But I wasn't progressing even before I got the epidural so I don't necessarily think that was it. Even my doula insisted that there was no other option.

Within 10 minutes of OK'ing the c-section I was being strapped to a table with my arms tied down like jesus on the cross. It was at this point they informed me (after telling me otherwise) that this same doctor wanted to cover his butt and because I had a fever they feared the baby might have an infection, so she'd be staying across the hospital in NICU for 2 days. Everything I'd hoped for went down the crapper in those 10 minutes. I tried to stop crying about it all and waited to see my daughter. I remember my husband having to wipe my running nose and tears because my arms were tied down.

They took her out and it was decided my husband would go with her. I am so thankful that our doula had sweet talked the nurses and docs into letting her come in when he left. She was able to stay with me for the majority of the surgery while they put me back together, and she also stayed with me in recovery. I don't know what I would've done if I was there alone because I was there for over 3 hours in a windowless room with no baby, no husband and just a nurse going in and out late at night after a LOOOOOONG day.

They also convinced our nurse to let me see my daughter that night (beyond the 60 seconds I got to see her after they took her out when they held her up to my face on the table). They told the nurse how long we tried to conceive and how many painful years I'd been waiting for this baby, and even though the doctors wanted us separated so I didn't infect her with my supposed infection (my temperature immediately returned to normal after the surgery!) she agreed. The nurse brought her down to me in recovery and I got to hold her for 10 minutes, but 10 minutes only.  She slept soundly the whole time.

The next morning I was on an epidural and couldn't leave my bed, and my daughter was across the hospital in NICU. I kept harassing the nurse to get me off the epidural so I could go see her. My husband was bringing video of her back to me in my bed, and it was difficult keeping grandparents away until I got to see my baby.

By noon I was finally able to get into a wheelchair to see her, after incessantly pestering the worst nurse ever. Later, this same nurse returned to tend to my beeping machine a few hours after taking me to the bathroom for the first time after the epidural.  I told her I was relieved because I needed to pee again.  She replied, “You don’t need to buzz me for help if you have to pee, that was just for the first time.” So at less than 18 hours post c-section, she told me this and stood there and watched as I struggled like a turtle on my back trying to get out of bed, and continued to watch me hobble over to the bathroom and go by myself. 

When this nurse finally got everything in place so I could be removed from my epidural and do all the things I needed to see my daughter, I got wheeled a long distance across the hospital.  Obviously they were giving her formula, but they were very supportive of my breastfeeding. I was so doped up on percocet I could barely keep my eyes open, and people had to practically help me hold her the first time I got to really meet her. I still cry when I look at how out of it I was in those pictures. The first time I nursed her was behind a screen in NICU, with the stiffest hospital pillow on my lap, and it was really difficult to position her and lean forward with the c-section.

When I went back to my room I kept trying to pump and was completely unsuccessful.  Not a single drop would come. They say you need a baby for the hormonal response, so in desperation I put on the newborn channel on the hospital TV in some pathetic attempt to get a response. My husband spent the majority of those first two days with our daughter, which was what we both wanted. I had seen several lactation consultants at this point who showed me how to use the pump and watched me nurse, but FINALLY one came in on the second day and got me bigger flanges for the pump so my nipple wasn't rubbing against the edges when it pulled in and out, and...SUCCESS! I remember shuffling out to the nurse’s station with my measly ounce of milk and being so proud!  If it weren’t for the help of that LC, I’m not sure if I had it in me to keep trying to pump without my baby there - especially when it was hurting so much because the flanges were too small. 

After the first meeting I would deliberately NOT take my pain pills when I knew I was going to see my daughter, but it made holding her and trying to nurse her excruciating. I had dreamt of this being such a beautiful experience for us, and there I was under fluorescent lights with a stranger’s family on the other side of the screen, grimacing while I tried to sit in an uncomfortable chair with that damn stiff, awkward pillow on my lap nursing her.  At least she had an excellent latch. The lactation consultants were phenomenal and checked on me often and came with me to the NICU multiple times to help.  They were so supportive, and I can remember one coming into my room first thing when she arrived for her shift, because she wanted to see how I was doing right away after meeting me the day before.  She said she’d thought of me often overnight and hoped we were doing well.  She encouraged my husband and I to do as much skin to skin contact as possible with our daughter, and she was so pleased to see that despite our rough start being across the hospital from one another, I was still trying.

When they finally gave her to us in our room after those first 48 hours, they said she was getting jaundiced and we had to overfeed her. At this point, as first time parents hearing threats of taking her away to go under the lights, we were willing to do just about anything they said and didn’t give it a second thought. We had her pounding formula and nursing ‘round the clock. Less than 12 hours after she was in our room with us, they said she didn't look good and suspected that the results of the blood test they just took were going to be bad and she'd have to stay under the lights and not in our room.  They said they’d probably be back in a few minutes to take her away as soon as the test results came back, and that she probably wouldn't be going home with us if it was as they suspected. I instantaneously lost it and was in complete hysterics until 20 minutes later when they came back and said she just squeaked by on her blood test! They had just given her to me and they were going to take her away again? And factor in postpartum hormones? HOLY! Thankfully everything went OK from that point on until our release from the arctic hospital, into a 105 degree summer day.

I still can't really tell the story verbally to anyone without crying, and every time I see that triumphant moment in a movie where the baby is handed to the mom to nurse it I get choked up. To this day, I haven’t been able to get through reading “On the Day You Were Born” without sobbing. I think it would've been a lot easier to swallow if she had been in my room waiting for me after recovery and we could've gone from there.  In the months that followed people asked about my “giving birth,” and I never felt like I gave birth to her.  I felt like they took her from me, in more ways than one.  I guess I still feel that hesitation whenever “giving birth” to her comes up, because it feels misleading.

But despite it all, despite spending those first few weeks home lamenting about the bonding we missed that I had played out in my head over and over....a friend of mine who is an amazing midwife said it best – “Birth is about separation, not bonding. It is probably the most literal example of separation. You have a lifetime to bond, and you and your baby are already connected.”

She was right. Upon returning home, we nursed exclusively for the first 7 months, and continue to do so today. We have shared a bed every night, and at nearly two years old, I still wear her occasionally, despite her enormous size. Others may have their own means of bonding, but for me those things helped tremendously. I can proudly assert that everyone who meets her says she is the happiest baby/toddler they've ever seen, and not the traumatized little baby I anticipated because of our separation at birth. We are so, so close, and yet, she is independent as can be and often running away from me down the street! She is a social butterfly at parties and could care less if I’m around in those situations. Yes, that rocky start is painful to think about, but in the long run, it sounds crazy to say but it didn't really matter. What mattered was things like the  lasting relationship the LC's helped me establish, not the separation.  No matter what type of birth you have, that love and intimacy can still be cultivated, even if you are denied it immediately following the birth.  She’s happy as can be, and we have an undeniable bond…and we always will.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story!

Traumatic Birth - Call For Submissions From Solace For Mothers

I found Solace For Mothers only a few months ago.  Having had a traumatic birth, I couldn't believe it had been almost four years before I found this amazing resource.

Solace is a place for mothers to discuss their traumatic birth, and everything that comes with it in a safe environment.  For most women that have been through a traumatic birth, it is hard to talk about what happened for fear you will be told that you are making things up, or that you should just be happy your baby is healthy.  So instead, you keep it all in, and each day it eats at you a little bit more.

The trauma from birth can have more effects than just the physical.  There are emotional and psychological effects that are longer lasting than the physical and get pushed under the rug because they aren't on the surface for people to see.  My grandma once told me that she still has some issues from the birth of her fourth baby, and that was over 45 years ago.

The support from this community is invaluable, and speaking in a safe place can help you feel even a little bit in control.

Solace For Mothers is looking for mothers willing to share their stories to be published in book form.  One of the hardest parts about birth trauma is that most feel alone and don't think anyone else has ever been through this.  This book can be one of the ways to help women feel like others understand how they feel.

If you have been through a traumatic birth, please consider submitting your story.  The format for the story, and the phone number to talk to a counselor if you are having trouble writing your story, can be found HERE.

The awareness for traumatic birth needs to be raised, women need to realize they aren't alone.  If your story can help that, truly consider submitting.