Charles Egon Zap Dugas
A [Difficult] Homebirth
It was June 22 and I was almost 42 weeks pregnant. I was oscillating between patience and that sense of urgency so often associated with extreme pregnancy; I trusted nature, my body, yet I had some insecurity rooted in my mother's experience birthing me(specifically, she was 43 1/2 weeks along, though sure of her dates, and allegedly utterly uneffaced and not the slightest bit dilated when they finally decided to induce with pitocin). I had been due June 11th but had"planned" to go longer because of family history, a tendency to"plan for the worst" in order to be pleasantly surprised with second worst (so to speak), and because my best friend Tara, who I hoped would be able to attend the birth, would not be back from Central America until the 21st.
Everything had gone according to plan, Tara was here, we were ready. I had been experiencing prodromal labor; contractions were often frequent but not unpleasant. I'd been walking a lot, even had some sex, I think, hoping to jump start things in a very natural way. For various scheduling reasons, because I was beginning to feel anxious, and because my midwife, Sandra, felt very confident in the technique, we decided to try drinking fresh parsley tea as a method of gentle induction. (Warning: I later learned that parsley inhibits milk production, as I believe it did in my postpartum of this birth) I drank a cup an hour for about twelve hours, continuing to experience painless contractions and though they seemed to be becoming mildly crampy, I was sure I was not yet in labor. My mother and Tara were there. Mom was telling people on the phone and through email that I was in early labor. I believe she and Tara were impressed with my calmness and trust in birth. No, I just wasn't experiencing labor yet!
It was a slumber party and, *stupidly*, we stayed up late even though I was already very tired having not slept enough the night before. We went for a walk in the middle of the night and visited the huge artificial dinosaur skeleton excavation in the playground at the elementary school in my neighborhood where I sat on the triceratops skull feeling full of womanly power. I was certainly exhausted, and also definitely feeling crampy. As we finally all put ourselves to bed around 3 am, I lay there happily anticipating the pain of labor. Before I was able to nod off, I realized the contractions were hurting. I tried to nap before things got into full swing but, alas, the pains kept me awake. I went to the toilet to sit up and try to deal with things as long as I could before waking up my poor husband, Andrew. And when I wiped I found my mucous plug! I dragged Andrew out of sleep 3:30ish.
We timed the contractions and they were coming every 5-7 minutes. It was very intense from the beginning, but here we had time to chat excitedly between the swells. We called Sandra to let her know things were starting. I have no recollection of this portion of my labor. Andrew remembers that he worked on rearranging the living room, filling the pool and heating the water for it. Everyone was very tired. Tara and my mother woke up pretty much as soon as they realized we were awake and napped off and on for the next couple of hours. My mother kept urging me to call the midwife and "Get her over here! You're in labor!". I let it wash over me for the most part because I knew enough to know that I was not to that point yet. Still, we called Sandra more frequently than we would have if Mom hadn't been there. I remember feeling embarrassed each time we called.
Andrew and I went for a walk around 8:00 in the morning. I was wearing a short stretchy cotton
dress and I needed Andrew supporting me. He held me under my arms while I relaxed during each contraction and my dress came up to show my booty to any passers by. During this process there were a few churchgoers who saw much more out of their car window than they had bargained for that morning; at the end of each contraction my dress fell back over my underwear. Modesty is so ridiculous from the perspective of a laboring woman! The contractions were very very strong and it was hard to make myself walk between them. We only walked one city block but it was *so much* labor. Around 10am my mother was able to convince me to ask Sandra to come over. It probably took her about an hour to arrive, though I have no recollection of waiting for her. I really remember next to nothing of the entire labor. I was extremely tired. Sandra came, we listened to the baby's heartbeat and she checked me finding that I was between 4-5 centimeters dilated. This was a little disappointing but I was not surprised or discouraged. I labored a while longer and then after some polite begging on my part, Sandra agreed that it was probably not too soon for me to get in the pool. I was so grateful for the water; it really did make a big difference. I labored here for some time and suddenly I needed to puke. I gave a little warning and they were able to get the trashcan over just in time! Yea! I was in transition! I was ready for the hardest part and then I would finally meet my baby! I continued to labor in the pool. It was as bad as I could have anticipated, but I was able to keep perspective, for the most part. I remember my irrational side being frustrated by the sight of the midwives reading their books as if nothing exciting was about to happen. Sandra had me experiment with pushing in the tub. No go. It didn't feel like it was doing anything. I went to the toilet and Andrew checked me and said "It seems like there's a lip". When I was back in the tub, Sandra also checked and found that, indeed, a lip had developed on my cervix and was making it impossible for me to push. She tried to hold it back while I pushed through a couple contractions but not only did it feel wrong and hurt like hell but there was no progress of the babies head. This was the only point in my labor when I was afraid I might kick my midwife in the face. We abandoned the technique for a relatively long while. This period of waiting through hour after hour through the intensity of transition was torturous. I want to note though that Tara and Mom were most affected by these 5 hours in the long term and remembering it makes them shudder like they watched me die. I labored in the pool for a while longer but I mostly just lay on the futon suffering through the contractions without any ability to push. I was now a labor machine (below E on fuel) with practically no consciousness; I was falling asleep between each contraction. Everyone was exhausted and certain people were getting very anxious (Mom, especially). Fortunately I wasn't very aware of anyone else's experience other than my own at the time. The only thought process I remember having at all, and I was going over and over it in my head, was "I just want a C-Section. What's so bad about them, again?? Really. I don't remember at all. It sounds perfectly ideal. Well there's no way I'm getting in any f*ing car. I have to do it here. I can do it. But I want a C-Section. What's so bad about them again??..."
I squeezed Andrew's hand while he slept as he could. Andrew notes that "the last six hours, I was confronted with four other adults in the house that just looked like they were looking at death with no hope, positivity, or enthusiasm. I had to believe and express the belief convincingly that everything was perfect, that "You can do it" "Everything is going to be fine" "You're strong enough" "It's happening". And I realized that I needed to be a buffer between her mother's craziness, her midwive's stress and her experience. So every word that I spoke was a leap of faith hoping to manifest what we both wanted".
And finally the midwives declared that the lip was pretty much gone. For an hour I lay on the futon on my back, holding my legs back, pushing in vain. To be certain, the midwives knew even better than I did that this was not a great position to be pushing in, but I think that they suggested that I do it this way because they didn't think I had any energy left to exert in supporting myself in any other position. They got a few spoonfuls of yogurt into me and some orange juice, I think. I felt like nothing would happen unless I squatted, but I held back without telling anyone because I couldn't bear the thought of moving. And finally I spoke without remembering deciding to do so. They said go for it. I'd had in mind a supported squat like we'd done on our walk and I threw myself backwards onto Andrew as my next contraction hit. And my body took over! It was finally happening. I rode the wave, relieved that there was actually an end in sight. I moved to using the arm of the futon to hold my body for full-on birth squatting and his head was born.
Everyone was so surprised because one minute before things had been the same as they'd been for 6 hours, no progress, baby still completely in the uterus. And here was a purple baby head! His body
wasn't coming, though. "Hands and knees!" the midwives agreed. I complied and felt the same uselessness of my contractions as I'd been feeling before.
"On your back!" And there I was again, this time Andrew held back my legs, Margaret pumped on my tummy (like a downward heimlich), and Sandra was reaching inside me, trying to hook a little armpit. "PUSH, DANA! PUSH!" I was screaming "like I was being ripped in half" not from pain, because I
don't remember experiencing pain after crowning, but from terror. "I CAN'T DO IT!" I tried to scream it but could only croak now. I couldn't breathe; my pushes weren't going to make it happen. I was hyperventilating. I prepared to have lost this baby. I distanced myself from him in my attempt to attain an objective perspective. "Nature is cruel" "I can move on because I have too". I tried to imagine everything that would happen. What would be done with the baby's body? How would I handle this experience?
Then Sandra did pull him out, though there was no celebration because his first Apgar was 1. He had a heartbeat and that was it. The midwives were moving at top speed and saying "Come on baby! Talk to your baby, mama!". "Come on baby! It's going to be ok! Wake up!", I tried and tried. My mom and I made eye contact and she mouthed the words "Its a boy". Sandra was administering CPR from the moment of his birth, rubbing him, tickling feet and who knows what else. I was still lying on my back, barely able to hold up my head (like the day after the whiplash of a terrible car accident) to see the gist of what was happening.
Andrew notes that "When Egon was coming out, I had to stop pushing on Dana's legs because I saw his head and then I was crying too hard. I'm looking at my baby's solid dark-purple face, still not knowing whether it is a boy or a girl, and confronting the stark reality of the possibility of his not being alive. I cried unconsolably until he'd been taken away, Dana'd been gotten up, and Egon was doing his little squeak cries".
And then he slowly started coming around. His second Apgar was 5. They instructed me to hold the oxygen mask over his little face as they laid him on my chest and I held him for the first time. When they could spare some of their attention it was agreed between them that I was bleeding too much,
for too long and I received a shot of pitocin and things improved, I guess. My lungs hurt from the panting, screaming, pleading, and lack of breath. I was feeling sincere gratitude that the baby was still with us, but it was very surreal, particularly because of the emotional distancing I'd experienced just before his birth. I was content for them to take him and do the measuring and weighing (9lbs 4 oz, 22inches) and such. I was proud of him for breathing.
I caught Sandra pulling on the umbilical cord to get the final stage of labor, placenta expulsion, going. "Are we in a rush?" I asked her and what I was really asking was "Is that necessary for some reason?" She shook herself, said "Oh, no", and I think she apologized. That was strange. It was like she got carried away with doing stuff. Sandra's father was dying at that time and for other reasons as well, it was a very hard time for her. I loved her very much and forgave her mistake immediately.
They got me off the floor and into the bathroom where the midwives wiped all of the blood off of my body. I had a contraction, my body pushed, and the placenta dove into the toilet spraying bloody water all over the bathroom and midwives. They pulled the placenta out and I expressed that I'd like a placenta tour when things were more settled.
Then it was time to sit down with my baby and nurse! But it wasn't working. Baby + nipple was not equaling nursing baby. He rooted and rooted but didn't even try to nurse. I tried everything the books I'd read explained to get a baby to nurse on a flat nipple (as mine were, one flatter than the other) but we couldn't come close. By the fourth day someone mentioned that someone had mentioned that it might be that the baby had a short frenulum.
Eureka! That was it! We had it clipped by a nurse midwife in town but he still needed to learn how to use his tongue.
Weeks and weeks of pump pump pumping and trying to get him to take a bottle and then a nipple shield and then my nipple were very draining. He nursed "from the tap" for the first time at 9 weeks old. He got only mama milk for for the first 7 months of his life (and had almost no interest in "food" until beyond his first birthday, but he nonetheless weighed in at *29* pounds at his *six month* doctor visit! He was the fattest baby anyone had ever seen! We had a supportive doctor who assured us that "there's no bad calories in breastmilk".
And, for what it's worth, his weight normalized.in fact he almost didn't gain any weight at all from
age 6 months to age 2 years! He's just average now. Well. That was obviously a tangent, but may be relevant to somebody, so there it is.
We were very proud parents. We put a lot of care into his naming and we agreed completely on our final decision. He is named Charles Egon Zap Dugas. "Charles" after Andrew's father (an exemplary father), "Egon" after the artist Egon Schiele (we were also honoring the nerdy ghostbuster, Egon Spangler), and "Zap" for Frank Zappa. "Dugas" is the surname of Egon's paternal line. We call him Egon.
It took me a while to get used to the fact that he had actually survived his birth. Our bond formed in a very gradual way. Being able to nurse him, finally, did wonders in this regard. As I look back, it is strange to remember a time when he wasn't an entirely integral part of who I am. He is my first born. He is the light of my life.
To all women who seek to experience the richest and most fulfilling existence in this life, I recommend motherhood.
Poppy Vespertine McGuire
An [Awesome and Empowering] "Unassisted" Homebirth
It was Tuesday, July 26 and I had just gotten to week 39 of my second
pregnancy. I had gone to work that day while my husband (We were in
the process of divorcing during the time of the birth and we still
are, though we love each other very much.), Andrew, watched our 3 year
old son, Egon. Andrew brought Egon up to my work around the time I was
getting off and then Egon and I went to go see some friends. We were
going for a play date and to talk with them about making a plan for me
to nest and birth in their home and, potentially, for me and Egon to
move in with them for an indefinite longer period. We had fun, Egon
played with their girls, the mama, Courtney, made us some decadent
tacos featuring mushrooms, guacamole, olives. I stayed there late,
waiting for the papa, Matthew, to come home from night school. I'd
been having contractions, braxton hicks, for the greater half of my
pregnancy and expected these to increase and develop a crampy aspect
to them as I gradually approached the birth (which I anticipated would
occur in two or three more weeks around 41-42 weeks (Egon had been
born at 41 weeks, 6 days). On this night, while I was waiting for
Matthew to get home, I realized that the contractions had a hint of
"pain" in them. A relatively intense feeling other than mild
crampiness that I'd only felt during labor in my first pregnancy. I
think they were coming every 10-7 minutes apart, but this was a pretty
normal frequency for my braxton hicks so I didn't give it much
consideration other than to acknowledge that I needed to rest and
drink some more water. We had a good talk where we all agreed that I
would, indeed, move into their spare bedroom and nest to my hearts
content, and then birth and then stay put for a minimum of 2-3 days
postpartum. We agreed that by the end of that time we'd have a better
idea of how well our lifestyles and personalities meshed and we'd be
better able to commit to establishing a more long-term
co-housing/communal agreement. I was very pleased with this plan. I
finally had a nest to birth in!
As we discussed this plan, I mentioned the new sensation I was feeling
with my contractions and explained that I didn't think it was going to
be the real thing. Matthew and Courtney politely agreed.
The day before, Egon and I had read a book that showed a baby being
born and Egon had since been chattering away about how we were going
to cut the cord when our baby was born. I told him he might be able to
help. He was psyched.
As we were packing up to leave for "home" (where Egon and I lived
part-time with my husband and housemates) Egon declared "We're going
to have our baby tonight! We're going to have our baby tonight!" We
all laughed, me a little nervously.
Courtney and Matthew assured me that I was welcome to return to their
house at any hour were my labor to come that night or any other.
I got home around 11:00pm and called my husband. He was on his way to
a friend's house and I expressed to him that I was having labor-esque
contractions, though I didn't really think this was it. I said I'd
feel more comfortable if he came home and so he did.
Egon fell asleep.
When Andrew arrived we laid together and examined my contractions. I
was having to moan through them. Some were more intense than others.
And I guess I was almost in denial that they seemed to be generally
gathering intensity and increasing in frequency. I think I casually
timed them at 5 minutes apart around this time.
I then decided that I wasn't going to be able to sleep through this,
so I should get up. I felt like I needed to clear out my poops and
kept visiting the toilet. The contractions kept coming, so I lit some
candles I'd received during my blessingway, just in case this was
actual labor.
I'd set Andrew to cleaning the house and he was working hard, which
soothed me. He was playing my favorite Bjork album, Vespertine, and I
found the strong rhythms very grounding. It was the most pleasant way
I found to cope with the contractions which were still building
strength. Around 1:10 am I sent an email to my group of mama friends
which I titled "maybe laboring".
"If I were past my due date (August 2nd), then I'd be sure I was. But
the contractions are intense, 3 minutes apart. Lost some of my plug.
Sure damn feels like labor! Trying to calm the chatter that says "Its
too early!" and to let what's supposed to happen happen.
I'm at Andrew's and he's being helpful, cleaning the house, per my
request. whew.
Wish I'd gotten more rest today. But I can do it.
Light a candle for me.
Love,
Dana"
Then things kicked up even more and the contractions became almost
unbearable. That is to say, I had some thoughts like "what have I
gotten myself into??" "how will I be able to handle 10 more hours of
this?". I told Andrew that this seemed like labor to me.
And I kept running back to the toilet, trying to poop.
I rocked and bounced with the pulse of the music. Andrew was setting
up a birthing space for me in the living room and I danced through a
couple more contractions there. Then I had to hobble-dash back to the
toilet through a big contraction. I decided that it wasn't too early
to get in the bathtub and so I started the tub filling with warm
water. A contraction came and then my moan changed to a "Hnnnn!" Woah,
that seemed like bearing down! I thought. Maybe I'm going to have this
baby soon!. I checked and found that about an inch or two inside my
vagina was a hardness… a baby head!!" The next contraction brought
more "Hnnn!" and then turned to pure pushing. I tried to shout "I'm
pushing!". The music turned off and Andrew appeared in the doorway
(he'd heard my call but not what I'd said). I nodded and said "she's
coming!". I rose off of the toilet as she crowned. Andrew looked down
and saw the head and suddenly realized what was happening. I stood up
so that she didn't fall into the toilet and I faced the tub and sorta
bent my legs attempting to birth her body which was not sliding out
with ease. I felt her head. "I feel a little ear!" I exclaimed
emotionally. I tried again to push her out with the next contraction.
I told Andrew, who I sensed was a little anxious at this point "Don't
pull!" I could feel he was doing something down there but I couldn't
tell what. Later he explained that he'd been looking for a nucal cord.
He wasn't pulling on the baby, but I'm especially grateful that he
didn't snap back at me that he *wasn't* pulling. The baby finally
slipped into Andrews hands. We did it! I did it! It was approximately
1:40am (30 minutes after I'd emailed the group).
Andrew was gently sobbing. I was shaking and pleased. The bathtub had
filled up 3 inches or so when I turned off the water. We didn't know
exactly where to go to wait for the placenta to come. I waddled into
the living room with Andrew holding baby girl on her short umbilical
leash in a towel. He threw a towel on a kitchen chair he'd been using
to hang sheets for a privacy curtain. Then he fetched a large bowl for
the placenta. The baby had made a few small noises, and was looking
around, but her head was still a deep purple and it was difficult for
us to tell whether she was breathing or not. The cord was still
pulsing, so I was not stressing out yet, but we wanted to be assured
she was breathing so we rocked and rubbed her and asked her to give us
a good cry. We decided to call Jackie, our midwife, to ask her for
advice at this point. She was surprised that we'd done it already but
was very supportive. She explained that it was normal for the head to
stay purplish for a day or so if the body had stayed in for one or two
contractions after the head was born. Baby made some more noises and
we relaxed completely about her breathing.
I squatted over the bowl in anticipation of a contraction that would
birth the placenta. It took maybe 15 minutes after her birth for this
to occur. Meanwhile, Andrew sat beside me keeping her warm in the
towel and we marveled at her beauty.
When we were ready to cut the cord, we roused Egon. He was excited to
meet his sister and was very loving with her from the start. He'd
never used scissors before, so he wasn't ready to actually cut the
cord, but he helped Daddy figure out where to tie the dental floss and
where to make the cut using my fabric shears, which Andrew had boiled!
The midwife came the next morning, Eightish hours after the birth and
weighed and measured the baby and examined the placenta. 8lbs12oz and
21 inches.
Some specific things to note:
*I didn't admit that I was in labor until, like, 20 minutes before
baby was born. I just told myself it was "false" labor and I was just
riding it out like practice for the real thing. This was extremely
helpful in so many ways and it is the chief reason that I just didn't
end up calling a midwife to the birth.
*I labored in private almost the entire time, passing Andrew in the
hallway as I basically ran around the house.
*Because I was listening to my body and because I wasn't inhibited by
the presence of others, I kept moving. I just didn't settle down in
any one place. This was not a conscious technique, it is what my body
was telling me to do. I wasn't comfortable sitting so I'd squat, not
comfortable so I'll stand with my legs bent, not comfortable so I bend
over, not comfortable so I go to another room, not comfortable so I
dance…have to poop, here comes the baby! I give this factor much
credit for the speed of this labor (which was, by my most liberal
calculation, three hours long)
*I moaned with each contraction, conscious of keeping the pitches low.
*I wasn't afraid. Other than a few stray doubts(which I immediately
mentally "poo-pooed") during what must have been transition, I was
confidently riding a bucking bronco.
*Labor became very intense but without the presence of fear (in all
its varieties) I can say in retrospect that it was "painless".
*FWIW I tried to experiment with masturbating during labor but I think
I may have tried it too late because the contractions were too intense
for me to focus on any such task.
*I don't listen to music often, but dancing (rocking and bopping) to
strongly rhythmical music was surprisingly my most effective "coping"
technique.
*I vividly remember her rapid descent through the birth canal and
crowning and whenever I think about it I get a great rush. I did it!
*writing this story, I've realized that if Andrew had not been
present, I would have birthed her squatting so that I could catch her
myself. The way that I stood for him to catch her was awkward and not
the best kind of position for getting those shoulders out, so she was
kinda stuck in there longer than would have been ideal. If there is a
next time, I'll be more conscious of this issue and I'll look forward
to doing the catching myself. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy
sharing the actual birthing with him. It was an amazing experience
for both of us, and I have an alibi who can say "It's true! That's
what really happened!"
(I need to rewrite this paragraph as we have switched to her alternate name--->) I named her Dagny Bloom and gave her my last name (a maternal
grandmothers name which I will pass to any other daughters I may
have). "Dagny" is a Scandinavian name; the literal meaning of it is
"new day" but the name books usually define it as "Joy of the Danes"
or some such. Well, my name is Dana and the meaning of my name is
"Danish" so, to me, her name means "mother's joy". Bloom is a name
that kept coming to me during my pregnancy and her father had wanted
to give her a flower name.
I'd been preparing for an "unassisted" birth but I could never have
imagined how empowering my birth would actually be. My experience
confirmed for me what my theories supposed: that this is how birth is
designed to work.
And she is such a peaceful baby. Oh! She is magic.
Simon Lavender Moss McGuire Besonen
An [Angsty] "Unassisted" Homebirth
In my first birth, I'd expected to go beyond my due date by at least two weeks, and I had. In my second birth, I expected to go two weeks beyond my due date, but instead, the baby was born one week *before* my due date. Leading up to my third birth, I had the idea on some level, that I had figured some things out about birth, or that my body had, and that I'd be able to let my body go into labor sooner this time around. That is silly, but people often do entertain delusions of grandeur and this was one of those episodes for me, ok? The silliest part about this idea was that I knew full well how the risk of disappointment and frustration becomes much higher when a woman is hoping to "go early" and each day passes like another swollen month of torturous waiting. If you've known even a small handful of pregnant women, you've observed this phenomenon. So, I rolled the dice with my psychology, and lost my chance at an ecstatic end-of-pregnancy. I scrutinized every of my many and luscious braxton hicks contractions, expecting them to swirl into labor. When labor neglected to commence, it seemed a personal failure. Poor Dana brain! I knew what I was doing, but my desperation had more sway with my disposition than did my rational understandings. At least, that is how I remember it now, three and a half years later! It has taken me this long to feel that I have a precise enough understanding of the dynamics involved in Simon's birth that I would be able to relay them in a way that made sense.Simon had been conceived in a rush of passion between my new lover and me. The clarity that Simon's spirit seemed to have about his desire to come into our evolving family and even his intention to be called Simon, had a kind of masculine direction that I was appreciative of and joyful to create with. The relationship that I had with Simon's father (he likes to be anonymous, let's call him "d") had become strained by the time of the birth. The passion and mutual appreciation was still thriving, but the pragmatics of cooperation in partnership had established themselves as dysfunctional, and this was an experience of pain and dismay for me at the time. I was still showing up as a mature, responsble, wife and lover...but a confused one, with a furrowed brow. The dynamics were obvious, but there were some corners in my reality that I hadn't been willing to look around. D was a beautiful and intelligent, passionate and spiritually-aware man, indeed. At the same time, he did not value or practice integrity; he was an illusionist disguised as a prophet. I would have to turn away from our entire shared life and support network, as I did two years later, in order to come to terms with the explainable, birds-eye perspective about what had happened.
Some more relevant context: Simon's joining us was a planned unassisted birth, with the "backup" support of a pair of local midwives, who understood that we were unlikely to request their services during labor. I anticipated that I would spend the labor largely alone, in a birthing-zone, and that this would be facilitated by my not having to be a mother to my other young children (aged almost-3, and just-turned-6) at the same time. It was the one part of my "birth plan" that was not-negotiable for me; I knew that I did not want the children present during labor. I had a phone-list of about eight people/families (some of who lived on our street) who'd committed to being available to the phone at all hours so that they could come and sweep away the children when we had the sense that labor was in-progress. I had learned from my prior births how important it is to the efficacy of the biochemical mechanics of natural birth that I not be distracted by other responsibility or perceived-responsibility. My personality is too extroverted to be able to expect myself to go into my own body when others are present, let alone involved, let alone wanting me to care for them! I have also seen many labors drag on and on for women who involve their other children in their labor. D wasn't on-board with my determination to have the kids elsewhere for the birth (How dare he not be!? Was this him laboring?)but he promised that he would call the folks on the list, per my request (Whew!).
Also, during week 37 of this pregnancy, I'd over extended running around a marginally functioning merry-go-round at the park. I tweaked my lowerback/hip in the process which established a debilitating experience of "Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction". This was the best information I was able to find online about this condition: http://www.plus-size-
I went to a chiropractor who said they specialized in prenatal chiropractic care and were familiar with "Webster's In-Utero Constraint Technique". They seemed to be afraid to do anything to my body because I was too pregnant (?)... maybe there was some legal liability they weren't wanting to undertake. If he did anything to my skeleton it wasn't apparent to me. Felt like a bit of massage and then I waddled back to my car, with less money.
As the pregnancy dragged on my SPD became less and somewhat-less-still, so that by the time the birth arrived, I was able to maneuver my body in ways which worked well enough for labor.
A week or three before the birth, a semi-impromptu blessingway occured which was quite lovely and nourishing for the tired and overwhelmed mama and partner that I was at that time. Many beautiful people wished for and blessed Simon with the best of life's experience. My primary ache that Simon be gifted with community was seen and co-created. The people at this blessingway would go on to be Simon's extended family, loving him as one of their own tribe.
Start birth story:
I woke up after 4am with terrible gas pain. It was excruciating and I couldn't just lay around in bed about it. I hobbled to the bathroom and plopped onto the toilet, doubled over and moaning. Then off of the toilet, on all fours on the floor, dancing a bit, leaning here and there...then back to the toilet. It came in bursting waves that were not coordinated with my uterine contractions. I chose to feel gratitude that I was getting another opportunity to practice managing the intensity-of-sensation that gas pains offers as a rehearsal for managing the intensity of labor. I was able to move some gas through and maybe poop some, too. Then the gas pain dissipated and in its place: labor contractions.
I woke D because I was aware that the labor might progress very quickly. He set to busying about the house, setting up a video camera and fiddling a great deal with his technology-things, and presumably making some phone-calls (including a call or two to the midwives to let them know that labor was underway (D might have asked them some specific question about the labor/birth, but I don't recall)
I fetched the inflatable birthing pool from the back porch and set to adding enough air to the pool that the side would be firm enough to support a wild woman leaning on it. This was done without a pump..just me bent to the ground and my lungs.
I directed D through the process of setting up the hose and hardware connection to running water. He asks lots of questions when he is doing someone a favor; he wants to be micro-managed. We probably began to fill the tub. Music was also involved...I remember I'd put together some compilations I felt might be worth laboring to and I remember that music is playing in the video recording that D took (which is lost in his mountain of computer paraphernalia).
Meanwhile I had taken over the bathroom with my intensity-management process. The toilet was oft called upon as my labor-throne of queenly power; I was "clearing out my poops", a normal part of the labor process. D found the smell offensive and asked me to flush the toilet. This seemed a shockingly insensitive request. I chalked it up to his experiential ignorance about the labor process and didn't argue with him about it. I found vocalizations very helpful in moving the intensity through me, and so in just an hour or two after I'd woken up, I was already setting to moaning primally. I moved to the doorway of the bathroom and found the solidity of the doorframe and sink to be the grounded support I wanted to have for leaning against and hanging on.
Then the children appeared in their own door way, just right across the hallway. D stopped his other activities to get down on one knee and put an arm around each kid. He put a few words in their ears about how amazing it was that mama was in labor and that their sibling was going to be born soon. Then he was off again doing something or other. I pulled out of the zone to a degree which suddenly seemed necessary. Intense sensation shifted into discomfort. When I inquired, D reported that he hadn't been able to get a hold of anyone about watching the kids. I questioned him, "Really!? No one?" He responded that no one had answered their phone and he'd left a couple of messages; hopefully someone would return his call. And that was that. (Years later I have come to accept that D lied about having made these many phonecalls. He was passively acting for his own agenda, which was to expose the children to the raw beauty of the birth of their brother. In fact, he woke them up from their sleep in the early morning so that they wouldn't miss the event).
The children were scared, is pretty much what I noticed. I was mostly naked (and uncomfortable) moaning and trying to re-embody my natural power. I had to surrender as best as I could to the labor process during my contractions. Then, between, I was a mother (trying to recover from the last contraction on a secondary plane of consciousness) reassuring the young ones that this process is normal and I am powerful and these dragon-sounds were going to help bring us our baby. My stuttering, sensitive, two-year-old was crying from fear and then getting brave (being reassured by me and/or her just-turned 6 year old brother) and then wailing again. There wasn't much time between my contractions, anyway, and now that I had this young audience, it felt important for me to wrap it up as quickly as possible. I started bearing down subtly in conjunction with my contractions. If the baby wasn't quite ready to descend on its own, then I would do what I could to give it the idea to evacuate its quarters. I felt that it wasn't fair for my toddler to have to see this without my being able to be a support to her. It wasn't fair to my 6 year old to have to try to be or to fail to be, the support that she needed for her apparently traumatic experience. I had set the boulder on its downhill journey and my uterus began to push with me. I moved out of the doorway because a very small blob of BM had leaked out of my pushing body and onto the bathroom floor. When I pointed this out to D he went into overdrive tending to the clean-up emergency and muttering about "poo"! The children watched his apparently disgusting project; I don't remember if I was on the toilet or what during this...
Moments later, anyway, I was back laboring in the doorway...when the sensation was too much and also inescapable, I desperately waddled, very awkwardly into my bedroom... directly adjacent to the bathroom and children's room. I was ineffectively trying to escape the children and find a nook of privacy... and I'd set up chux pads there over the floor. The children moved a couple feet and watched me in my new location. Contraction hit and my body dropped into a squat, supported by surrounding furniture. I felt the flurry of the baby's decent and called "BABY'S COMING! BABY'S COMING!" A few moment's later David dashed through the kids in the doorway and came over to where the baby's head was crowning. The toddler was crying and babbling with curiosity and concern about mama making poop. I had to work very hard through this entire crowning and pushing-out-of-the body, and it seemed to me that this strife was my penance for trying to move things along quicker than the natural process had intended. When baby's body had been pushed all the way out, it was quite blue and entirely floppy. The umbilical cord was very short, I was paralyzed by SPD in an awkward half-squat/half-sit, holding myself partly up with the furniture. There wasn't enough umbilical cord to pass the baby off into anyone else's care for me to be able to move around and get up, so I held the floppy blue baby in my hands, face down, supporting his head, to encourage any drainage in his lungs/passages to gravity-feed out of him. Before I knew if he was a boy or girl, I saw his big hands..."Its a pianist!" I thought.
In the video D took, you can hear D and me cooing maniacally to the baby, this new creature who had just appeared in our home. The sounds were partly a deliberate attempt by me to assure the children that everything was well and beautiful and that the scariness was over.
Baby started to come around to breathing with his lungs and pinking up.
Little Poppy continued to worry about poop, as there were birthing fluids, possibly including meconium or even mama-poo, on the chux pads under me.
After what felt like a long time...twenty minutes or so?...I asked D to assist me in getting up and hobbling back to the bathtub for a cleansing wash-up. We cut the cord as soon as it was almost-entirely done pulsing; a little bit sooner than we would have if it didn't feel necessary to get me some personal space in which to move around with my SPD disability.
Come morning, the midwives arrived to weigh and measure the baby, and to help with cleanup projects and to make a sitz bath tea, I think. According to their scale he was 10 lbs, 2 oz. That didn't seem possible; he felt smaller than that by a couple of pounds to me. I asked them to recalibrate their scale after which they amended his original birth weight to a flat 10lbs, which was still a big surprise to me. Perspectives bend, and I was just used to toddler-and-young-children-
As the midwives prepared to go, in came the wave of tribe. Friends arrived to hold and marvel at the baby. For days they cleaned, did laundry, brought food and flowers. I was SUPER WIPED OUT, and felt very grateful to be able to share the new baby with such an open-hearted, experienced, and wise community.
The process of naming Simon was another headache of dysfunctional collaboration with D. However, weeks after Simon's birth we struck a kind of compromise which incorporated the inspiration that I'd received through the pregnancy regarding Simon's name, as well as a few other names which sealed the deal for D. That is the shortest version of the story of Simon's name, perhaps someday I'll write out a more detailed explanation...
Tillwyn Calliope U'Prichard McGuire
An "Unassisted" Homebirth
Every new day seemed that it might be the day that baby would decide to arrive. Every day I thought to myself "maybe there's something else I could be doing to help my body feel ready to have this baby!" and we speculated all the time that maybe she was waiting for the solstice or the full moon or a good thunderstorm or fathers day or to share a birthday with so-and-so.
Gramma Terri was visiting and working very hard every day to support me and our family's needs, hanging laundry, taking the kids on adventures, and even hauling gravel and mowing the lawn! I felt great pressure internally to get the baby out before her two week visit was over so that she could *at least* hold her granddaughter before she would need to return home.
I'd visited a doctor a few times in the prior month or so and knew that I had been dilated to 4 centimeters as of 3 weeks prior to this day, June 29th. I'd actually lost my mucous plug at 38 weeks. I felt my body could hardly be any readier, and sometimes I almost worried that I might be going to birth the baby without going into labor at all--that she might just fall out when I was pooping one of these days; I figured maybe that is why some women accidentally birth in the aisle of the grocery store...
All the same, I was staying active, lifting heavy things, running to chase a toddler, mowing the grass and I even did some jumping jacks trying to inspire my body to eject the little one.
And, I kept up a conscious effort to maintain my patience. Two of my other three children had been approximately 42 weeks gestation at onset of labor and there was a good chance this one would join the club.
At 41 weeks and 5 days along, around 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I came to notice that my pre-birthy braxton hicks contractions seemed to be coming about every 5 minutes apart. I sat in a chair and timed them for a half hour until it was time to pick up the kids from the summer school bus stop. We'd waited a little too long and would be late walking so Gavain and I drove Terri's rental car there and as we stood waiting for the kids we talked (for the hundredth time) about how maybe today was the day. The contractions stayed regular until, when we got back to the house, they shifted into something more. I had a labor contraction, standing alone in the bathroom, staring at nothing, recognizing that the wait was over. Then I went pee and wiped, finding blood.
I walked into the bedroom where Gramma Terri was cooling off by the window AC and told her that it seemed that I was beginning labor. She gave me a very supportive and encouraging hug, apologizing profusely for her onion breath (which I couldn't smell!) and said she was ready... it was just for me to get the two youngest kids packed up, and she would sweep them away to the hotel. I then set to work slowly packing the kids up while my crampy contractions distracted me...I felt the fog of labor creeping in and it was difficult to remember what I'd packed and what I hadn't and where to find the things I wanted to pack. The house was abustle with children and conversations and who-knows-what-else. I felt a jumble of calm excitement, irritation (at the kids' clatter and chatter), and appreciation that I really wouldn't have to have little ones at this birth (as I did my last birthing). My brain was trying to plan what to do with the last of my time that would be, perhaps, quite short, before baby was with us.
Terri left with the kids, and the manly birth team was set: Gavain(my fiance(now husband) and father of this baby), David(father of my toddler), and Egon(my 9 yr old son).
I went down to the basement to sort recycling and Egon came down with me; I showed him how to do this himself, because I'd been meaning to do that for some time. We probably talked about that I was in early labor. Gavain came through the basement working on a project and asked for my help with it at one point. I don't even remember what the project was because of the labor-mental-fog, but
I told him that Terri had taken the kids and that I was thinking this was it. He smiled supportively and probably asked if there was something I wanted him to do for me. I think that's what happened but I might be making that up! (this was less than a week ago, mind you). Gavain knew that my birthplan was basically: get the little kids out of the space, labor on my own unless I ask for something, and let Gavain know when baby is coming.
When I came back up into the house I asked David to help me time my contractions (hey, its something to do!)...I would call out "time!" and he would tell me how long it had been since the prior contraction. At around four minutes apart I got too involved in my own process to remember to call out to David. I gather that he continued to time then anyway, by listening to my vocalizations (I guess!).
Egon, my nine-year old was in and out of my space, which was mostly the bedroom (a sleeping-room currently shared by two adults and three children). He made me laugh a lot (he is *very* funny!) in between many contractions. He was helpful to me and others during the birth, running here and there on short errands. At some point, he (and David?) gathered flowers outside and placed them in vases around the house; it was a splendid contribution to my sense that I was being supported.
In another moment, I realized that I felt stinky and took a quick showerbath.
Things seemed to me to stay about the same for the first couple of hours (total guess on that time estimate). Then, I felt that I probably wasn't progressing as quickly as in my two prior births because I was hanging out with my charming but *pesky* kid! And! It was sunny outside! It was very strange to me to be laboring with broad daylight streaming in the windows. For that matter, I wanted to go outside and be with the birds (our ducks and geese) for a while, but didn't want to alarm any passers-by if I suddenly found myself in transition in the yard.
Well, and I was naked and having trouble deciding what to wear! It didn't make sense to my inner-creature to put on clothes, but I did end up throwing on a little shirt/dress for a quick dash into our front yard.
We had had a large bluejay nest on an altar-like surface in the living room. It was falling apart so I tossed it out and decided to replace it with the beautiful little abandoned robin's nest from the short tree in our front yard. Robins were a reoccurring theme in this pregnancy. And the nestbuilding and awaiting nest has been a theme in our anticipation of the birth as well as in my engagement with Gavain. I tossed into the nest a sprinkling of rounded blueish rocks that the children had collected down in the "crick" (I'd been cleaning and didn't have another place for them); they symbolized the members of our family to me and they looked perfectly graceful there. During the labor, Egon made a large gods-eye for the baby with green and ivory wool yarn and two sticks that he found in the yard and glued together in an x. This also joined the altar. And I remembered kaseja! We'd planned to burn a candle from kaseja, representing her being with us at the birth. Gavain jogged out to the bus to fetch it, brought it in, and got it lit up by the side of the bed I'd made up for the labor. Now then! We were ready for this!
I also posted online in a couple places an announcement that I was in labor.
I spent most of the rest of the labor that I remember in the bedroom folding laundry and filling up the new linen closet with more and more linens. Later I set to re-making the other two beds in the room. I visited the toilet now and then to finish clearing out my poops. There, I would stop doing and just be for a moment. The very act of sitting on the toilet is a very efficient way to help labor progress, I find.
Gavain passed through a few times asking how he could help and running off again for this or that. At one point he asked if I'd mind if he used a power tool to cut a hole in the wall for a cat door and I gave my approval. I greatly enjoy his enthusiasm for this type of project and it was pleasant to me to know that he was following his bliss. The sound did not bother me in the least because I was deeply in my own experience now.
The menfolk got together my birthing music (Bjork's album, "Vespertine")...it was something I requested well into labor; they somehow acquired the music online. (This album is awesome for birthing...nothing else that I've found stands up to it!)
I don't remember much from here. Gavain has compiled a video, from multiple clips taken by David, which does a better job of conveying the last 45 minutes of the labor than my memory does!
* * *
Gavain joined me in the final phase of my labor and we welcomed Tillwyn together. To those people who describe the pushing phase of labor being "easy" compared with transition: This is not always the case! I mean...I guess I mean that big babies really do feel more uncomfortable to birth than do average sized ones. That is the extent of my experiencial knowledge of the matter. At least, until her head was out, I was experiencing sensations that the wimpy parts of me would have had me run away from! She was somewhere at or above 10 lbs at birth, 21inches long. Born at 8:05 pm June 29th in Edina, Missouri!
Now, after she was born, you will see (if you view the video), I make a bunch of strange girlish sighing sounds. I am embarrassed about this, and the best thing that I can think of to say about it right now is that its much better than after Simon's birth!
She was so *mad* about being born. She cried so much and so loudly after her birth. I thought I was surely in for having a firecracker of a daughter! Her umbilical leash was so short that I was unable to hold her, let alone nurse her, after her birth. We were all somewhat paralyzed, unable to move or rearrange ourselves, until her cord stopped pulsing and could be cut.
Surprisingly, she has, since her birth, been the most sweet, cooperative, and quiet baby that anyone would ever hope to know! That's coming from a woman that has previously had 3 very "good" babies, I promise.
She is associated with daylight. She will not stay awake at nighttime; though she kind of wakes up approximately once at night to nurse (we co-sleep), she otherwise sleeps until the next day.
Her name is Tillwyn Calliope U'Prichard McGuire! Tillwyn means "Friend of the Tiller" or "Captain's Right Hand" or "First Mate"; It is a name that Gavain and I derived from the name "Matilda" (meaning powerful battler). Calliope is a rockin steam-powered organ-like instrument, but it is also the name of the greek goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, and it means "beautiful voice". U'Prichard is her paternal name (passed down the paternal line); McGuire is her maternal name (passed down the maternal line).
Hallelujah for life and for breath and for grace and for Tillwyn!
