THOUGHTS ON BIRTH…

You know, I’ve been thinking long and hard about birth, since my first pregnancy some eight years ago. I’m almost to the point where I’ve come full circle. I think.

In the beginning, some six weeks along into the gestation gig, I succinctly recall telling cousins at a family gathering that I was getting the drugs when it came time to give birth. “I’m getting the epidural. Numb my ass up. Numb it down.” I remember saying this!

Some months later, I gave birth to my first daughter in my lavender bedroom, with a certified professional midwife, her two-year old son, a close friend, a doula, and my dog. Who woulda thunk it (perhaps one of my cousins would have because I too succinctly recall him asking me if I would be birthing at home in my bathtub like his friend’s wife did. As if…).

Fast forward almost three years to pregnancy and birth number two and I birth my second child at home. He is an eleven pound six-ounce wonder, measuring in at 23 inches. He gestated until 42 weeks and came to the light on September 25. To say that I was elated at his birth is an understatement. I was over the novelty of it all by week 42. Add in that he waited until the bitter end of summer and you have a mama who would never ever hope for a September birth again. Ever.

Seven hours postpartum with the birth of my angel boy, I felt the first urge to urinate (Note: Not. Good.). When this happened and I finally did urinate, I hemorrhaged. My bladder was full like a balloon, prohibiting my uterus from fully compressing back down to its original size.  When my bladder emptied, this made room for the uterus to compress at warp speed, and I blacked out. I lost a lot of blood and transferred. The decision was easy.

Sixteen hours later, I returned home and recovered for the next several months. That second birth experience had me questioning much about birth, especially the hemorrhage.

 We all know the old adage: “You would have died if that would have happened 100 years ago.” But I take pause to that statement. Really? Died? As in, dead?

While I do believe women died in childbirth 100 years ago, I also know there were some reasons for this that don’t really exist much today. Such as, they began bearing children at a much, much younger age than by today’s standards. They often bore close to a dozen children by the time they were 30. They worked on farms doing hard physical labor, every day, all day. They lacked clean water and access to nutritious, readily available food. Healthcare did not exist in the same context as it does today. So would I have bled to death 100 years ago? Maybe.

But if we are comparing forbidden fruit to forbidden fruit, I don’t think so.

If I had been a privileged, college educated, white girl living in the aristocracy, bearing only her second (of three) child, then no, I don’t think I would have died 100 years ago. Nonetheless, the experience of it all was less than fun and one in which I never want to go through again.

So when I discovered nearly four years later that I was carrying child number three, I had some tough questions and terms to come to grips with. Would I birth at home again? Maybe I would find a certified nurse midwife and birth in the hospital. Would I use the same midwife or go for someone new? How could I make that change without feeling the weight of the world and senseless guilt on my shoulders? And which was more important? My feeling of safety or of potentially hurting someone’s feelings? Would my family support me in my desire to have another home birth? Despite doing it my way, doing my own thing, and being outspoken about all of it, deep down I wanted their support. But most pressing I felt was, could I trust birth again?

It was hard. Thank the stars that Mother Nature gives us nine long months to process all of this. Imagine if we were only pregnant for five months? Or twelve weeks? Gads. My head would still be swimming.

So in my quest to answer my own questions, I thought. I read. I wrote. I internalized. I meditated some. I attended childbirth classes. I talked to other women. I went to some meetings. And I thought some more.

In the end, I enlisted the guidance of a different and wonderful midwife, I gained unwavering support from my partner and family, and I was meticulous with my nutrition, especially anything that helped strengthen and tone my uterus.

When my third child, a daughter, arrived in the calm after a spring thunderstorm, fast and furiously in the middle of the night, I found a renewed faith in life. This led me to a renewed faith in my self, my child, and in birth. This faith has carried me through many of life’s challenges and circumstances and continues to mold me into more of who I already am: Myself.

When I think about pregnancy and birth today, having had these experiences, among others, I cannot help but feel that birth is safe. Pregnancy is safe. We complicate it.

Safety and normalcy are the starting place for pregnancy and birth. To be a female of childbearing age and to thus get pregnant and so bear offspring, that’s normal. It’s a normal thing to do. To do so in an environment of support, simplicity and love is also normal. To bear one’s child alone, unassisted is normal. Humans do it daily, around the planet. Why are we making this so complicated?

Why are we arguing over who legally can and cannot attend a birth and which letters they do or do not have after their names? Why are we bantering over the safety of pregnancy and birth? The location of the safety of birth? Birth is safe. We complicate it. Let’s stop complicating it.

Let women birth where they want, with whomever they want.  Why do we need laws in place dictating how we can bring forth our children? Think about it. And I implore you to really think about it.

Why must a law or a study or a doctrine dictate how our children emerge from our being? Are we not humans roaming this planet, procreating at will? What kind of law can decide which part of our earth we can bear our child from?

When I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I thought I had to go to the hospital, had to have the drugs, had to wear the gown, had to be wheeled up to L & D, had to send the baby to the nursery, had to use a pacifier, had to get it vaccinated, had to have its hearing checked, and had to do a 100 other things. I thought wrong. We are free to do what we want, if only we want to do it.

HOMEBIRTH…POSTPARTUM MUSINGS

I’m still here. And I’m still thinking about birth.

Especially homebirth.

I’m still listening to stories and reading accounts of birth gone good and birth gone not so good.

A recent incident with a friend of a friend of a friend has me thinking, yet some more.

Often times, when I bring up homebirth or the topic is being discussed, it’s automatically dismissed because of oh how extreme it is (insert snort).

Which, really, I get it. If  you’re unexposed to something, exposure to it may make the idea seem extreme.  (Add to it a culture of fear and hoards of bad reality TV shows, and the word extreme does come to mind. I get it.)

I mean, we could all still get to and fro with a horse-drawn carriage, but not many people do. We use cars,  plains, trains, subways, motorcycles, etcetera, etcetera (although I reaaaaallly want to go on a horse-drawn sleigh ride once in this lifetime) to get about. So the thought of hitching up the horse (is that vernacular correct?) to run up to the store and grab a box of wine seems extreme to most people.

But you can still do it.

Women can have homebirths, but with the vast majority of births in this country occurring in hospitals, women remain unexposed to the idea of bearing one’s offspring where they likely created it and the notion is seen as extreme.

But you can still do it.

Many times, when discussing homebirth, the number one topic is safety. And rightfully so (with ANY birth, regardless of location, right?). So let’s assume that we’re all on the same page (big assumption here) and that we all agree homebirth is safe for all involved.

One of the topics of conversation that rarely gets much airplay on why one would choose a homebirth is the postpartum period.

As in, you had your baby at home. Now what? You are home to recover and rest and bond. What’s the big deal? What’s there to muse about?

I think what happens immediately postpartum and in the next 48 hours postpartum are a huge deal in birth. Any birth. Many feel this is trite, but I do not. And often I say as much.

Again, being on the same wavelength here…all is well, life is good, we’re in agreement about the merits of homebirth.  That being said, I feel like the postpartum period is a huge reason to consider choosing homebirth, but it gets gipped (is that how you spell gipped? Huh.).

At home, after you have your baby, you crawl back into a piece of furniture of your choice in a room of your choice, with lighting of your choice and with people of your choice, wearing or not wearing clothing of your choice.

You decide when the umbilical cord is to be cut (or not) and by whom. You may shower in your own bathroom (or not), using your own soap, singing your own song. You bathe the baby (or not). You take the phone off of the hook or you do face time on your iPhone, Skype or one of the likes. You grab a dark lager (hey, they do it in Europe…I’m just sayin’) or sports drink or water or juice from your fridge (you can also grab a ham sandwich if you like, or better yet, have someone grab it for you).

You settle in to nurse your baby and figure it all out, without interruptions.

And your midwife is there to help you and guide you, as needed.

Your midwife is the woman you have invited, chosen, and hired to help you. She’s the care provider you trust. She’s the gem, the diamond in the rough, the one who, after it’s all said and done, you feel like you couldn’t have done it without her (but she knows you could have and she’ll tell you as much). She’s an honored guest at your birth. And she knows it (likely though, you don’t know this until much, much later when you’ve had time to process the entire experience).

After the birth, your midwife is one-on-one with you and your babe. She’s checking all the necessary items off of her midwifery lists. She’s making sure nothing is amiss, that all looks good and well, and that all is as it should be.

She’s tidying up any towels or messes or what have you. She’s got a kettle to boil and some herbs in the wait for your consumption (and strong meds in her bag, should anything catastrophic occur). She’s got a snack ready and is eager for you to eat, which you will do in a bit when your appetite comes screaming back at you. She’s got the scale out and is ready to weigh the baby, but you don’t notice because you aren’t paying all that much attention to her swift, quiet, purposeful maneuvers.

What you are doing is falling in love.

You are falling in love with your baby (more than you already thought you were!) and maybe even a bit more with your baby’s daddy. Perhaps your other children are gleefully there (or not…which may, too evoke glee). You are just staring in wonder at this new little, perfect being who was not here just a few minutes prior but all of a sudden is, and you can’t imagine life without them.

After some time, perhaps after you’ve had that bite to eat or the tea the midwife made, you realize you don’t know what time the baby was born or how much it weighs.

The midwife does.

After you ask, she tells you the precise moment your munchkin arrived into this Universe and she reaches for the scale. You realize the baby is nearly two hours old and you’re just now getting around to weighing it.

And you realize, you don’t care.

Your midwife keeps checking the necessary items on her midwifery list and after a few hours, maybe a handful or more, she quietly goes home (after checking on everyone and everything yet once again). She indicates what time she will return within the next 24 hours and under what circumstances to call her. She promises to be at your beck and call should you need anything.

And you believe her because you trust her and she’s not let you down. Ever.

So what do you do now?

You learn how to be a mother. You learn how to take care of your baby. You learn how to feed your baby, hold your baby, coo to your baby, attend to your baby, and be with your baby.

Your skills improve, your confidence grows, and your love swells.

All in the comfort and privacy of your own home.