Virginia's Birth Story: Part Two

Click here to read "part one" of Mary's story

by Mary Kury

Two weeks later my entire family, sisters included, were in town. It was the night before Father's Day and everyone was eating hamburgers and hot dogs and talking about the trip to North Carolina planned for the next morning after church. I could only eat about half my hamburger, and was too tired to join in on the festivities, so Todd and I went home. I felt different. I was only 38 weeks a few days, but I knew something was happening. We went to bed.

At 2am I was awoken by a tentative contraction. I had to wait another few minutes to figure out what had just happened and then experienced another one. I got up and went to the bathroom and then returned to bed, not waking Todd, and trying not to get excited. I had learned in my class that too much adrenaline would stall or stop labor completely. I had also learned to sleep when I could. So, I lied back down and fell back asleep. At 4am, another stronger contraction disturbed my slumber. I woke up, again went to the bathroom, and a tree in the backyard caught my attention from the bathroom window. It was brilliantly lit like a Christmas tree, twinkling in the barely perceptible morning dawn... full of fireflies. I had to wake Todd to show him such a beautiful sight. He stirred, looked out the window, said it was nice and fell back asleep. I shook him again, and said, “And Honey? I think I'm in labor. I just wanted to let you know.” He shot straight up out of bed and started sweating. “Really? I mean, really in labor?!?” I told him that I thought so, but that we should conserve our energy and go back to sleep. We did until a little after 8am. I woke up frantically trying to find my camera and after a few moments realized that it was at our old house, which we had not finished packing up, all the way on the opposite side of town. It was a good 25 minute drive there and back, plus the time needed to find it. I asked Todd to go ahead and go, and I would hang out here and deal with the contractions. With a little bit of an argument, he agreed, got in his truck and left. I was alone to absorb the realization that I would most likely have a baby by the day's end.

Todd returned home around 10am, and by then my contractions were following a regular pattern. They were approximately 45 seconds long and about 8 minutes apart. Over the hour, they got longer and stronger, but no closer together. We decided to call Linda and let her know that this was it. We would need her soon. She arrived a little after noon, and her co-midwife, Amy, got there with lunch a little after 1pm. My contractions were much closer together and I was really working with them, concentrating on my breathing and relaxing, and experiencing one of the active labor emotional signs- seriousness. I could no longer speak in complete sentences between contractions, only one word grunts here and there, letting them all know what I needed. I switched into a nightgown and underwear. I walked in between contractions and got into an overstuffed chair on my knees with my head resting on the back of it during the contractions. And finally I decided that I needed to lie down. As soon as I was on my side, the intensity of the discomfort was overwhelming and I was having trouble dealing with it. Linda suggested that I go and sit on the toilet and see if the upright position would help. I did, and it helped tremendously. Over the next three hours, I labored quietly there... sometimes moaning softly with the contraction, sometimes visualizing through it, sometimes fading softly away into a dream-like trance. I leaned into Todd's lap- he had pulled a stool in front of the toilet and he tenderly rubbed my back and shoulders, head and hands. Linda and Amy stayed in the main room of the house and left us to labor on our own, proclaiming that we were “laboring beautifully together.” It gave us confidence to know that we were doing well together, working hard and smoothly toward this new goal.

A new phase of the labor hit as waves upon waves of nausea forced me to lose the entirety of my stomach's contents. I remember Amy taking away the trash can, and then bringing it back. I thought, “Ugh, the smell is going to make me vomit again.” So I prepared myself and went ahead and took a nice, deep breath with my face in the can. I was overwhelmed with the soothing scent of peppermint. Amy has thoughtfully and lovingly put some peppermint oil in it to help with the nausea and it worked. I didn't get sick again. Linda suggested that we move to the shower and I just couldn't bring myself to move. It was too hard and I was so uncomfortable that I couldn't imagine trying to stand up. I wanted to give up. I remember saying, “I can't do this anymore. I just can't!” And Linda kneeled down in front of me and said, “But you are doing it. You're doing wonderfully!” I closed my eyes and was reminded of a story from the Bible. God told Sarah and Abraham that they would have a child- and Sarah laughed because she was 90 years old. Nine months later, Isaac was born. What is nonchalantly skipped over was that Sarah had to give birth to this baby. I told myself, “If Sarah, at 90, could give birth to her baby, I can too. I'm only 28.”

Shortly, the peaks of the contractions turned into little grunts. I hardly even noticed the change, but what I did notice was that all of the sudden Linda and Amy were moving light lightning around my bedroom. I was still on the toilet and looked questioningly at Todd. He just told me that I was doing great. And with the next contraction, I said, “I think I feel like I need to push.” Linda told me to listen to my body and do what it was telling me to do. I pushed a little, but then backed off because of an intense pain somewhere in the depths of my body. Linda checked me and explained that I had a cervical lip, a little bit of cervix had not dilated. We moved to the bed and she and Amy and Todd helped me to perform a “rotisserie”. I layed on my right side for two contractions, then got on all fours for two, then went to my left side for two, and finally on my back for two. It took about thirty minutes and each contraction was telling me to push, but instead I breathed through them. Those working together helped resolve the lip and I was cleared to push.

They brought out the birth stool and placed blue and white chux pads on it and underneath. I squatted down on the stool and was relieved to finally push confidently. Each contraction felt as if I needed to have a bowel movement, but I remembered from class that it was only the Ferguson Reflex, and I would probably not actually go to the bathroom then. I remember as Linda sat on the floor in front of me, and said, “Your bag of water is still intact and is bulging. Do you mind if I shield myself in the event that it breaks?” I told her that I didn't mind and she covered herself with a pad just in time to prevent herself from being soaked in amniotic fluid. With the next push the baby's head was visible. “Reach down at feel your baby's head.” Expecting to feel more, I was mildly disappointed to have to spread my labia in order to touch the baby's head. But it gave me a renewed drive. I was actually pushing out a baby!! Two more pushes resulted in the baby's head crowning. I was prepared for the burning and tingling sensation and took a few deep breaths to allow my perineum to stretch instead of tear. And then, remembering what my Bradley teacher had told me, I finally pushed through the pain, and birthed my daughter's head. With the next contraction, her body separated from mine and I was holding this new person that I had grown with vigilance inside me for nine months. I was overwhelmed with love for this tiny child whose name we had not decided upon. I just called her “Baby.” And for the next few hours I cooed to her as I nursed her, still not believing that she was mine... all mine. At the end of this experience I found that I had a new understanding of my relationship with my Heavenly Father. I knew how much I loved this baby- something that I had never experienced before, and I knew that He loved me more. Finally, an honest understanding of grace and mercy!! It was truly a magnificent day. And what a Happy Father's Day it was!

Molly's Note: That was worth waiting for, don't you think? If you haven't already, make sure you check out Mary's Website and Blog, Upstate Natural Birth. Thanks for sharing your story with us, Mary!

Virginia's Birth Story: Part One

by Mary Kury

When I was seven years old someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A surgeon,” was my response. Asked what a surgeon does I replied, “They surge on people.” Fast forward three years. “Mary, what do you want to be when you grow up?” And my now firm reply was, “I want to be a mommy,” though my resolve was shaken a little when my mother explained to me precisely how that baby would get into my belly. Too much information, Mom, too much information.

At the age of 27, I was married to the man of my dreams... and apparently of other women's dreams as well. Turns out a huge majority of women are attracted to hard working, blue collar workers- and my husband is definitely one of those. He's a tree surgeon, or arborist to be exact... and he spends his days outside working on maintaining and improving the urban forest. He's strong, and muscular, and rugged, and well... he's HOT. So, it was no surprise to anyone that after three months of marriage (and nine years of birth control) we were pregnant. I'm not so sure that any method of “birth control” works to harness that type of loving. ;)

Well, I was working full time and so was Todd. The position I had been hired for had been recently vacated due to a woman going on maternity leave and never coming back. I was gently instructed by my new boss (and old friend) “not to get pregnant, please” and I assured her that there was no way we were ready any time soon. In fact, we had discussed it before the wedding- we would wait for 3 years, until I turned 30, to try.

In October of 2006, I was on my way back from my new belly dancing class and it dawned on me that my period was 4 days late. Hmm. I called Todd and asked him to go and pick up a pregnancy test, not because I was concerned, but just for fun. In the recent months before the wedding, our company had encouraged everyone to switch from brand name to generic drugs to help save on our health care costs, and being one of the company's accountants, I was happily willing to cut costs wherever I could- and the only drug I was purchasing was my birth control. Turns out that generics can have a 15% margin of error from the brand names... When I got home, I grabbed the pack and saw that it was the grocery store brand. “Todd! It's a generic!! It won't be accurate! If I'm pregnant, it's because we used generic birth control. Why would you get a generic pregnancy test?!?!” He was a little confused and I went to the bathroom. I peed on the stick. And then, according to the directions I would wait for 2 minutes for a second line to appear. Within SECONDS the second line appeared. I stepped out of the bathroom and handed him the stick and said, “We're pregnant. Oh my gosh. We are pregnant. Oh well, there goes our trip to Italy.” He looked at the stick and then snatched the instructions away from me and said, “You didn't do it right.” I said, “You didn't get a brand name pregnancy test!” He took the next twenty minutes to read every single instruction, and then told me how to pee on the stick. I did it again. And it came back positive again. Then we called my best friend and asked her to bring me an EPT. She did... still pregnant. Wow.

I originally wanted to have a birth the “easy” way- elective c-section with a tummy tuck afterwards. But then I started doing research and found out that as flippantly as c-sections are seemingly done, they are in fact major abdominal surgery and women die each year due to complications of that surgery. I found that in the United States we have some of the highest maternal intervention rates in the world and also the highest mother and infant mortality rates of the industrialized nations. It didn't make sense to me. If our intervention rates were increasing, our mortality rates should be decreasing... but they weren't. And that scared me.

A few weeks into my pregnancy I was talking to a coworker who had twins. His wife actually carried both babies to term (past 40 weeks) and went into spontaneous labor (unheard of for twins these days) and had them both vaginally (I hadn't realized that was an option) with, get this, no medication. I asked how she performed such a feat and he said, “We took Bradley Method classes.” I immediately went to the computer and began searching for our nearest Bradley instructor and signed up for her next series of classes. My husband and I attended each class and took meticulous notes. We created a detailed birth plan and then began discussing when we would present it to our OB team.

I am an extremely non-confrontational person, so I was thrilled when I asked my primary OB what he thought about natural childbirth. He said, “I don't see the purpose, but if that's what you want, I'll do what I can.” I asked him how many natural births he had seen. He told me that he didn't know a specific number, but said that it was “less than 5 per cent of his deliveries.” Hmm. Interesting. I made another appointment with my primary for my 32 week check, and this time something was wrong. He wasn't there. Instead, the female OB with whom I had clashed earlier in my pregnancy at the mention of natural childbirth was there. I had my birth plan all drawn up and decided to show it to her. She looked it over and had a few generic “hmmms” and “hrrumps” and then she just stared at me. She looked back down at my plan and took her red pen and sent me straight back to elementary school- systematically marking off all of my goals and telling me that my decisions were against hospital policy and would kill either me or my baby anyway. For example, I had requested intermittent electronic fetal monitoring and the right to walk if I wanted to during labor. She told me that intermittent monitoring was against hospital policy (even though my primary had okayed it) and then said that if I wanted to walk, I could but I would be attached to the monitor which was attached to the wall, and would give me about a 3 foot radius to pace and was therefore pointless and I would just be better off staying in bed. She explained that the shot of pitocin after the baby was born was mandatory because I would either bleed to death or require a blood transfusion. And I HAD to have IV fluids because they wanted me to keep my strength up. I began shedding the first tears of my entire pregnancy and she told me that I looked like I was upset. I just stared at her as she handed me back my plan to sign approval on all the changes she had made. I refused and left, making an appointment to speak with my primary OB the following week.

In the meantime, I went to church and met a girl who had had a home birth. Let me tell you, this girl couldn't have been 120 pounds soaking wet and was over 5'8” with narrow hips and a tiny waist. I looked at her, and then confided to Todd, “If she can push a baby through those hips, I'm positive that these birthing hips will not have a problem at all!” Then I spent an hour asking her questions. I didn't want to have a home birth, but I was becoming more and more convinced that this was the route I would have to take if I wanted to have a normal birth. She sent me the information for her midwife and I made an appointment with Linda Weaver.

As I pulled up to her house, I expected to meet an old woman with long white frizzy hair, wearing enormous spectacles and a long skirt to cover her rotund body. Instead, I met a beautiful (and thin) young woman- somewhere in her late 30s or early 40s, with cute brown hair cut and stylish jeans. Hmmm. I was liking this midwifery idea more and more. She looked like I hoped to look in the next 10 years. I sat down with her and my husband and over the next two and a half hours we covered the 6 typed pages of questions I had written out (92 questions in all), and covered things like “had she ever lost a baby” (No.) and “how do you handle a shoulder dystocia?” (I didn't even know what a shoulder dystocia was...) I wrote down all of her answers and we left to discuss our next course of action.

Then next week or so was spent devouring as much information about the safety and efficacy of homebirth. We read Henci Goer's The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth and Marsden Wagner's Born in the USA- How a Broken Maternity System Must Be Fixed to Put Women and Children First. We read articles like Outcomes of Planned Home Births with Certified Professionals: A Large Prospective Study from 1992 and learned that women who have births in their homes with licensed midwives have the same or better birth outcomes that those who choose obstetric care and the hospital system. After much thought and prayerful consideration our decision was made.

My dad is a medical doctor- a specialist in internal medicine to be exact. And we grew up taking antibiotics every time we had a cough and never wasting time in a doctor's waiting room. We were spoiled by medical society and a little naïve of the risks associated with medication in general. Todd and I decided to go ahead and hire Linda as our primary care provider and with that decision we embraced the realization that I would have to somehow tell my father, the patriarch, about having a baby at home. I was utterly terrified. In fact, I waited until after I had spoken with my primary OB one last time. I made an appointment for my Group B Strep test (a fun one, indeed) and then asked him if he had a moment to talk to me. He obliged and I asked him if he could make a promise to me. He just looked at me with a perplexed look on his face, and I asked, “Can you promise that you will be the doctor that delivers my baby... even if you are not the doctor on call?” He shook his head no, and I said, “Okay, well, then I have to tell you something. I'm not going to have this baby at the hospital. I'm going to have her at home.” He asked me why I had made this decision and I told him, “Because Dr. X will bend over backwards to find a reason to induce a mom at 37 weeks, create a medical diagnosis for an elective cesearean, but refuses to leave me alone during my labor. And I'm not okay with the 80% chance that I will get her or one of the other doctors at my birth.” He looked at me in amazement and said, “We have a staff meeting at lunch today. I'll be sure to thank her for losing me a patient. In fact, if you want to be completely honest, this is a business and she just lost me thousands of dollars.” I appreciated his willingness to be honest and then said, “How do we change this system, Dr. P? When can I trust that you will make decisions based on what is best for me and my family instead of your fear of litigation?” He considered this and said that he could not stop being afraid of being sued as long as the statute of limitations for OBs was 18 years- effectively ensuring that he would be sued by a family whose child didn't get into the college of his choice due to the way that he was born. It is all very ludicrous. I left the practice feeling sad, but optimistic. I was 34 weeks... only 6-8 weeks to go!

At 36 weeks I finally found the courage to tell my father that we were anticipating a home birth with two midwives. After I set him up to believe that I had something awful to tell him (ie. We were going to give the baby up for adoption or something along those lines) I dropped the bombshell. “Todd and I have made the decision to have our baby with midwives. At home.” The fork he was holding fell from his fingers and clanked loudly on his plate. He pushed himself away from the table as my mother stared at us, raised himself out of his chair and said, “Just make sure she washes her hands” and left the room. I looked at Todd and then to my mom and said, “I think that went well!”.

...to be continued

Molly's Note: I know, I know! It's horrible that I'm going to make you wait another week for the rest of the story! In the meantime, go check out Mary's Website and Blog, Upstate Natural Birth. Mary is a childbirth educator and mother of two beautiful girls. I truly believe that birth is a journey and I think this is illustrated beautifully in Mary's story. The second half is just as good as the first. Promise.