The Birth Story of Simone! My wonderful home birth!

On January 18th of this year, just after midnight I started feeling my first rushes. Initially, I didn't think much of them. Even though I was "overdue" I really thought I feel a few rushes, go to sleep and wake up the next day still pregnant, ready to go about my day. Part of that was true.

After about 35 minutes I started to feel like something was happening. I wanted to get really excited, but I also wanted to rest too. It's a strange feeling, being up that late with those surge of emotions running through you. It's a surreal feeling. After an hour I decided that I would tell my boyfriend and mother (she was in town, waiting on the baby to arrive) that I may actually be going into labor soon. The birthing tub was in my 2½yr old's room and I needed that placed in the front room, as well as few other arrangements. Once those things were done, I told myself I would tell the midwives what was up, let them know I might be calling them back and then catch some shut eye!

Three hours later my rushes were still coming, but not progressing and I finally began to feel sleepy again. By 4:30am I started to drift off to sleep, being awaken every 20minutes by rushes. By 6am, after six hours, they'd stopped altogether. That morning I made some breakfast, saw my 5yr old off to school, watched television with my mother and felt a mix of emotions. I was slightly disappointed that I wasn't in labor yet, but still amazingly calm and patient. For the last part of my pregnancy I was blessed with a calm knowing that things will unfold as they were meant too. My baby would come when it was time and the fact that I wasn't in labor yet just meant it wasn't time. I wasn't going to rush anything!

By 11:30am I started feeling some twinges. Nothing big, just what I like to call a hint of labor. I had things to do so I decided if labor was coming, it would make itself known soon enough. I went on with my to-do list. By 1 pm my rushes got my attention. I called my midwife again and let her know what I was feeling. No big deal, just letting you know, yada, yada, yada. She told me to keep updating her and enjoy my day. My son got out of school at 3:35pm and by the time it was getting close to get him, my rushes were getting stronger and closer together. It felt, quite frankly, wonderful! I was excited and filled with adrenalin. My mother was with me. My boyfriend had been getting things ready. I was at home and we didn't know what sex our baby was. It was like Christmas. Everyone who was anyone was hoping for a girl, just because I already had 3 boys and so was I. Either way, I was having my beautiful baby...be it a Miles Christopher or Simone Renee!

I called my midwife and said I think maybe you should come over. She was already on her way to another birth and told me I had great timing considering where she was on the road! So she arranged for the other head midwife and student midwife to be at that birth and she would bring the other student midwife to mine. I decided to really test my labor by going to pick up my son. I thought with all the walking, if my rushes still felt strong, I would know for sure if this was it. Needless to say, it was :-). I called my doula and told her to come over and a dear friend who would update a cheering squad online as well.

By the time I got back home my rushes were strong and steady, maybe about 6-7minutes apart. I didn't bother with timing them too much after a while. I got out the birthing ball, stripped down to a tank top and underwear and rotated from straddling the ball to kneeling with chest across the ball. Both positions felt wonderful. My mother spent most of this time siting close by and we chatted. I can not classify what I was feeling as pain, just intense feelings in my abdomen. My boys played in the room together and from time to time got loud enough to where my mom would go in a remind them that I was working to get the baby out. They were fine though. They weren't a distraction at all. I thrive on the normalcy of it all. Chatting with my mom, Rick (my boyfriend) working on his computer in the office, poking his head in from time to time, the kids playing in the room, fussing, laughing, being silly. It all felt so right, so perfect. And me, straddling the birthing ball or kneeling, feeling these wonderful sensations! It made me feel so powerful and so alive. I kept thinking about how my mother once birthed me, and I birthed the two little boys playing in the other room and life goes on. It's surreal and humbling and wonderful.

Around 5:00pm or so, I started feeling pressure in my bottom with the rushes. I started to get a warm sensation as well and for a minute or two thought this might be an unassisted birth if my midwives didn't show up soon. However, at just a little after 5:30pm there was a knock at the door and it was them. They weren't even completely inside yet before I had another rush came and pressure, then pop! My water broke. I heard myself saying: My water just broke! And then they were quickly there, helping me get something under me to save my carpet and getting my underwear off. Good thing I had them on, because very little fluid got on my carpet :-).

After that, I sat rocking on the ball as they filled up my tub and we all chatted. The rushes were stronger, but still not painful. I briefly considered being checked (up until now I'd not been, not during my prenatals or anything), but realized that was remnants of the medical procedures creeping in my mind. There was really no need and I certainly didn't want to ever be put in the supine position. As soon as that tub was filled I got in and didn't get out again until after the baby was born.

The water felt so calming. It was where I belonged. Shortly after getting in my doula arrived and from that point I felt completely taken care of. I felt like the birthing part was my job and the job of everyone else was making sure I didn't want for anything during the birth. My mother made sure the boys didn't get too loud. My doula got me whatever I needed, my midwives were really just there. They rubbed my back a few times, listened in on the baby a few times, but mostly we all chatted when I wanted to chat and everyone was extremely quiet when they sensed I needed it and they had great senses. As it got darker, candles were light to keep the lighting dim and my rushes got stronger and closer together still, but again, I can never say it was painful. I did feel like my whole body was electrified. My senses were heightened. Everything felt hyper-real!

As my rushes got stronger, so did my focus. I let my body float in the water at times, other times getting into the hands and knees positions. Again, both positions felt right and I loved having the freedom of movement to decide which was most comfortable and efficient at the time!

With each rush I would let the tension go, again using water, but also allowing my mind and heart to embrace what I perceive as the true nature of the sensations. I was opening up, letting go, and allowing my body to do what it needed to do. In one very crystallized moment I realized that if I stay out of my bodies way, opening up my heart and mind to the process, it would be okay. I did just that and each time I let go, the sensations became at times almost pleasurable. Intense, always, but I never felt the need cry out in pain. I oohed, I aahed, at one point I even cooed and the sensations of that vocalization coupled with my rushes further electrified my body.

I could feel pressure building in me and eventually I knew the time to push was coming soon. This in between moment was to me the most unpleasant part of my birth only because I began to get nauseous. As soon as that passed and my doula got me something to drink and gum to chew, I felt fine again. Then the strong undeniable urge to push came. I didn't fight the urge at all, but instead relaxed my bottom to give into it. In my mind, I told myself I would lie back, let my body take over and gently allow my baby to be born. My body had other ideas. A strong wave came over me, all but forcing me to grunt and go primal, I think I called out it was time to push, and with that I quickly got back to the hands/knees positions.

I grunted loudly and it felt divine. It was fast and furious, but I had time to hear in the distance my 2½year son slightly freaking out and saying, "tell mom to stop making that noise". Even in the middle of that, hearing that grown-up tone in his voice made me crack up on the inside. I know I cracked a smile, but it didn't last long as the baby quickly crowned, then out popped the head. I didn't feel that burning sensation, but I did feel the stretching. She was completely out shortly there after and Rick was handing her to me, under water, through my legs.

The initial feeling of relief took over me, and then almost immediately I felt like I was drugged. I felt so high. The world melted away and it was only me and Simone. Oxytocin is a wonderful and powerful thing! It felt like forever before I got out of the tub. I just held my little girl, thinking of how maybe one day I will be able to share in her moment of birth like this. It made my heart swell up. Thoughts of her and her three brothers ran through my head as well. I could not have imagined a more perfect birth. It was 8:03pm.

My boys came in to meet their sister at that time, but this part is a blur because like I said, the world had melted away. Afterwards, Simone and I hung out on the couch, waiting for her cord to stop pulsating and the placenta to be born. I breastfed her for the first time and felt even higher. I love breastfeeding and had been secretly missing it as my 2yr old self weaned very shortly after his 2nd birthday! My mother and midwife surprised me with cake, fruit, and cheese. A wonderful after birth snack and I ate while Simone breastfed and we chatted a bit. No one touched my baby but me for what seemed like hours and hours, but in reality was probably 40-45minutes. I'm not sure. I just know it was shortly after the placenta was born.

We marveled at her true knot in the cord, took pictures, her weight, 8lbs 5oz, and the midwives gave her a thorough, yet quick evaluation and then she was back in my arms. I don't even think my mother held her for hours and hours after her birth. It was perfection, even the postpartum.

After the midwives left and the boys were put to bed, I spent time just staring at my baby. I hung out with her, just two of us. Eventually mom came in and hung out with us too and for the first time I felt a strong female connection to my mother I'd not experienced before, not even with the birth of my sons. It was three generations of women laying in my bed and I'd just birthed one of them. It was a very powerful and defining moment for me. I felt overwhelmed and calmed by that moment at the same time. I was so incredibly happy to be sharing it in my own home, surrounded by the people I love. Sleeping in my bed that night was a cherry on the top of a wonderful cake!

Here is a link to all the wonderful pictures my doula took at the birth!

Why I've been afraid to share my home birth.

Before I write this post I want to make you all aware that I may ramble a bit. This is more reflection than anything, but I feel compelled to share it. If, and I am sure it does, it fails to follow the usually blog writing rules, so be it.

When I birthed my baby this past January I thought I'd be dying to write about the birth and share it with everyone I knew, but it's been five months and I've yet to really share it with anyone. Yes, I've given a few details here and there to a few choice people, but something has been holding me back from really putting the experience out there. I've been telling myself, it's being busy with my work, research, four kids but the truth is it's been fear. I've been fearful of sharing it for two reasons: I've been worried what affect my birth story might have on others and I've been concerned about negative feedback.

If you know me, those fears probably sound crazy to you. I am after all the woman very fond of using the quote: "Opinions are like assholes; every one has one and they are usually full of shit". Yet here I am, fearful of sharing my story. The really crazy thing is I am beyond proud of my birth. I am extremely happy with it, as it was the best birth I've had and I think that is the big problem. For you see, I am not afraid of scaring other women with a horror story of a birth, but instead somehow shaming them or worse, giving them false hope with a story of what was in my mind a perfect birth. I know, I know it's ridiculous. First off, nothing I can say or do regarding my birth experience can cause shame in anyone. If there is shame, it's already there, it comes from within. I strongly believe in this, but somehow that notion still had a hold of my heart. The idea that something other than good, positive feelings could come from sharing my birth just held me back.

So we come to the false hope part. When I stepped out of the fake illumination of denial and really allowed myself to address why I hadn't shared my story, the idea that I felt this way horrified me on many levels. If I really thought that sharing my wonderful story would be perceived as giving some women false hope, what did that mean? Could it be that deep down I didn't believe in home birth (or natural birth) as much as I thought? No, that wasn't it. It's a different issue. I believe that somewhere deep inside, I was worried that sharing my birth was wrong because I might be hurting the feelings of women who can not do what I did. Then I also wrestled with the idea that somehow I may even be bragging.

I've seen this fear when other women share their stories. It manifests in the "if's", "and" and "butts". How many times have you read a wonderfully inspiring story, but at the same time see it qualified by the author with the "I know not every woman can", or "natural birth isn't for everyone". Worst still is the comments that often follow the story of those women who want to defend their births that are different than the one they read about: "But if I'd birthed at home my baby would have died", "I had to have a c-section, epidural, pitocin, because...".

So where did these feelings come from? Is it a need to sugarcoat things? Be political correct? Or is it bigger. Is it a part of the fear indoctrination culturally ingrained that surrounds birth. Is there a part of me that feels lucky that I birthed my baby at home and everything was okay? I really feel deep inside that isn't case, but I can't deny that I've felt afraid to share. Maybe I am just being a control freak by wanting everyone to feel inspired by reading my story. I can live with that explanation. It's very silly of me, but what the hell, nobody is perfect. Whatever the case, I threw the shackles on myself, and so I can remove them. I am proud of my home birth. I will not qualify any of it with any kind of warning or disclosure. I will share it because I was inspired by others stories and I want to do the same. I will share it because I want to make my mark in the world of home birth advocacy. I will share it because I am proud. I will share in hopes that other ladies will also share their experiences as well. Good or bad. It's how we learn. It's how we grow!

My birth story can be viewed here.

The Standard of Care Conundrum

When you think of the Standard of care in obstetrics, what comes to mind? Obviously your views on pregnancy and birth will dictate what you think the standards of care in obstetrics should be. However if you were to look up what the standard of care means in obstetrics, you'd get wide variety of definitions. Most commonly there are two schools of thought. The first is the Legal definition. This applies to the various standards of practice that should be done in order to maintain a good legal standing. For example, continuous fetal monitoring is considered a good way to indicate to a court of law (if you are doctor who finds him/or herself on defense there) that you gave proper standard of care to a mother whose baby ended up stillborn. The other school of thought is defining the term as the means of care that would be rendered by the majority of well-trained individuals. The latter is a little more tricky because it begs the question; which well-trained individuals are we talking about? Furthermore, with this definition, who sets the standards? Certainly many would say ACOG, but we must remember there are guidelines ACOG encourages that even members of their own group refuse to practice. It's also worth noting that not all practitioners, namely skilled and trained midwives, agree with some if not most of the practice guidelines set forth by ACOG.

The most compelling of the two main definitions is the implications for promoting the practice of defensive medicine. For those who are not familiar with the term, defensive medicine is basically medical practices designed or applied to avert the future possibility of malpractice suits. Let's take for instance the example I gave before of continuous fetal monitoring. Research and evidence shows that this practice is not only often times applied unnecessarily for every woman in labor, but in fact can cause more harm than good. Continuous fetal monitoring is connected with increased risk of false alarms, unnecessary interventions, increased need for pain medication, and even an increased risk of cesarean section. Yet with all the research that shows that intermittent monitoring with a doppler is just as effective and safe, doctors still apply continuous fetal monitoring with an EFM to many if not every woman, largely due to the fact that it protects them in case of a law suit.


One can now ask how policies such as continuous fetal monitoring be considered the Standard of Care if they can cause so many complications? Furthermore, how can true standards be set if there is not clear cut understanding of who has the authority to set them, or if they aren't guided by the best evidence? These questions expose what I like to call the Standard of Care Conundrum. It's the inherent flaw of our maternal health care system. Sure on the surface they all seem like gold standards, that is until you asked the dreaded three letter question: Why? Why exactly does a woman with a normal pregnancy have to be strapped to a bed throughout her labor? Why is it standard and widely accepted that a mother have a non-medically indicated induction at 39 weeks? Why is the cord clamped immediately after birth? Why, why, why? If any of the answers to these questions come from a place of legal protection to the physician this should be unacceptable! If any of the answers are skirted, ignored, or meet with an explanation from the stone ages of birth practices this should be unacceptable. Furthermore, if your questions breed contempt or agitation from your physician, not only should this be unacceptable, but you should run for yours and the life of unborn child!

Now we come to what the answer to all of this is? While many would say home birth is the answer, I strongly disagree with this. Home birth is the answer for some (I am having one this winter myself) and it's an option certainly every woman should be able to explore, but it's not the answer for all. Nor should it be. We have a system adopted long ago that was always broken. As much effort that is applied in making home birth a viable option for all women who can choose it, should be put into repairing that broken system. We need to fix it so that it becomes a viable option for women who want it, and an acceptable alternative for those who must choose it due to complication with their pregnancy. In short, as consumers we need to see to it that better standards are set and applied. These standards should not only put the safety of mother and baby first, but honor the mother's desire to birth in a way that she chooses. It's important for us not shy away from the fact that if we truly want better standards we are going to have to demand them. Change only going comes from the voices of dissent!

References:
- American Academy of Family Physicians, May 1, 1999
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14501630
http://www.suite101.com/content/reason-for-cesarean-rate-increase-a7407

My choices are better than yours!

A short while ago I was reading an article about the safety of home birth. The article was well written, concise, and to the point about how home birth can be a viable option to many women in the United States, however what really struck me was the overall theme of the comments section. Over and over I read comments that stated something that amounted to this: It's more important to birth your baby in a hospital where it is safe, than to have some spiritual, or hippie like experience. This sentiment is echoed by doctors and women alike. Even ACOG stated that "Choosing to deliver a baby at home, however, is to place the process of giving birth over the goal of having a healthy baby"

I find this line of thinking somewhat hypocritical and here is why: Many times the same women who make comments like the ones above, are the same that can be heard saying she wanted to enjoy the birth of her child and not be in pain. How many times have we heard of the nurse trying to convince a woman she isn't a martyr and that there are no rewards for women who endure the pain? Doctors are always selling the experience of easier, pain-free birth through epidural. Yet epidural does not come without risks, some of them very serious. By the previous rationale, aren't the women who choose epidural putting the experience of having a pain-free birth experience over the goal of having a healthy baby as well?

Now before anyone gets all riled up, I want it to be known, I believe epidurals have their place, but so does natural birth. It does come down to personal choice. So why as a whole, does our society value one personal choice over another? Some out there in pro-medication land may be quick to say that home birth holds more risk than a medicated birth and let me be the first to go on record and say you don't know what you are talking about. Yep, I said it and what's worst, I am NOT going to cite any references to back that statement up. I am not playing the statistics game today. I am blogging from a different place. Matter of fact it can be quite liberating stating my opinion as fact! Now I know why so many do it, but I digress. More or less risk is really irrelevant. The risks are there regardless and most times the risk of epidural is completely downplayed.

I've been pondering this double standard for sometime and while I can speculate on many different reasons one thing that comes to mind is ignorance. This is going back to my previous statement about people not knowing what they are talking about. The bottom line, people are ignorant. They are ignorant about home birth. They are ignorant about the real risks of interventions. They are ignorant about the driving force of hospital policies and procedures. They are ignorant about midwives. They are ignorant about the reasons so many women truly choose home birth. They are ignorant about the kinds of women who choose home birth. They are ignorant about their rights. They are ignorant about their choices. Wow, that's a buttload of ignorance. Now, I'm well aware these aren't the only reasons this double standard exist. There is the Hospital, Insurance, Doctor factor. We all know that song and dance, so let's get back to the ignorance.

See, the underlying problem that keeps coming up in these article's comments section and in conversations I have with people, not only in person, but all over the internet is that this ignorance often morphs into something I like to call willful ignorance. You try to share statistics, research papers, medical articles, journal entries, books, and just plain common sense with people and it falls on deaf ears. They say the information is tainted, bias, unreliable, or the completely ignore the evidence and harp on one regurgitated statistic of their own. Yeah I am looking at you she-who-shall-not be named! This is why I am writing this totally opinionated blog post. I'll write another one chalked full of evidence later, but for now I just want to get this off my chest.

So what is the solution? How can we allow for value to be placed on both choices. I think first we have to teach everyone, women, men, doctors, nurses, insurance companies, hospitals, to value choice . Because let's face it, many do not. The system isn't set up for valuing choices or informed consent and decision making and that crap way of thinking just spreads in our society like a disease. We devalue the choices women make that do not mirror our own, and what's worst, we devalue our own right to have choices and this couldn't be more evident than in the birth practices. So I guess once again, my opinion is that everything begins with choice. Owning them, having them, respecting others, and understand what they are.

Naysayers, hijackers, and Angry B*tches...OH MY!

Warning - Strongly worded rant, read at your own risk!!

I've had the privilege of being in some pretty heated, balls out, inspiring, eye-opening discussions over the course of just three short days. Some of these took place in person others over the internet. Indulge me for a few while I talk about the debates of the latter.

If you haven't already seen the post Racism and Low Birth Weight 101, by The Unnecesarean, it might be hard to completely get where I am coming from, but then again I think my point is kinda basic: When it comes to racial injustices, you don't have to fucking buy it, because it aint up for sale!

In regards to some of the many comments about the aforementioned post on The Unnecesarean, let me be the first to say, I understand healthy skepticism. I understand exploring other causes of infant mortality in blacks. I understand just having a different point of view. What I don't understand is this incessant need to divert the discussion from what the post is originally about, without really opening yourself up to any real discussion. Examples of the diversion/hijacking:

*Not all white people are racists (I don't remember the studies drawing that conclusion but whatever)

*I don't even know any racist people where I live (my personal favorite because, what the fuck does that mean?)

*What about Native Americans or Hispanics? Why is just about African Americans?

I'd like to address that last one. Here is the answer: Quite simply, because it is ONE study about African American rates of Infant mortality and any possible links to systematic racism. What the hell is wrong with that? It could as easily been a study about the Native American Community or another minority, and still be worth our attention and important enough for us to have an open mind with meaningful dialogue about it. I would find any study about any culture and their infant mortality rate compelling and worth my interest. We could, of course, debate the merits of how that study came to be, but doesn't that in and of itself require an open mind, a level of respect and understanding. Would there be as much resistance if we were talking about a culture of women in some foreign land or would we all be shaking our heads and fists in disgust and anger, outraged at the mistreatment of these other women? Of course, I can't say for sure, but I'm curious.

Lastly, the thing that really grinds my gears (this is a rant remember) is the sentiment I've seen these few days about how linking racism in this way is not scientific. The underlying feelings and some outright comments have been that you can't prove racism because it's how a person feels, namely the victim of it. Therefore, it has no real place in the debates about birth and especially birth outcomes. It's so utterly amazing that some of the same people I've seen make this argument about racism, champion a woman's right to use the term "Birth Rape", citing how you can't deny what the woman felt as she was victimized and her right to categorize what happened to her in birth this way. I know there is a huge difference between racism and that of rape (of any kind), but why does a woman's feelings in this aspect deserve our attention and respect, but the other does not. Why is the outcomes of trauma in birth and say the link to postpartum depression, or even negative outcomes on the mental well-being of infants, more plausible and worth more time and attention, than that of any links to negative outcomes of birth in African American women who suffer systematic racism? Further more, how did that post fail to link racism and it's outcomes on birth in a scientific or at the very least plausible way?

Battles of The Birth

I woke up on the morning of September 28, 1996 feeling as I had for the last several weeks, like I'd be pregnant forever and starving. Whenever I look back on that day a surreal and eerie feeling comes over me, knowing how oblivious I was to the events that were about to unfold. Not only was I going into labor that day, but I was going into a battle that had bittersweet consequences. A battle that I lost, but set me up to fight a war I intend on winning.

It all started because of my feet. I spent the later part of the morning and early afternoon at my mother in-law's house, taking walks and standing around talking and having fun. After one of her sons noticed how badly swollen my feet were, I was convinced to go have it check out, "just in case". My instincts told me it was no big deal, but I sold out my instincts to her experience (she was the mother of four after all) and felt insecure due to lack of my own.

At the hospital I saw a doctor who check my blood pressure, my urine, my swelling, and my weight, then deemed it, drum roll please, edema! After looking in my chart he ask would I like to have this baby today. I thought he was humoring me so I said that would be great! He said something like, "Let's check your progress" and so now I was laying flat on my back naked from the waist down because of swollen feet. I was 4cm (as I had been for a few weeks), 50% effaced, -2 station. I can't really tell you why I remember all of that, but I do. He asked if I wanted to be induced and because I'd just read in my trusty "What to Expect When Your Expecting" book that induction entailed drugs, I said no thanks. Then things got weird. For the first time in all my vaginal exams I felt pain. It wasn't super intense, just painful compared to all other vaginal exams and by far more uncomfortable. So just like that, my membranes were stripped. No informed consent, no permission to do so, he didn't even tell me what he'd done. I had to find that out later. Also, for the record, I wasn't "due" until October 5th.

My first contraction came very soon after that, in the parking lot actually. I remember dismissing it as a stronger Braxton Hicks, and pressed on in my quest to get my fifth meal of the day. It was about 6pm. As the early evening progressed, my contractions got stronger and closer, but I kept waiting for them to be unbearable. My naive mind kept telling me I have want to cry or scream before it's time to go to the hospital. Sadly, it wasn't until I actually got to the hospital that I felt that way, and not because of any physical pain.

I arrived at the hospital shortly after 11pm and was greeted by a nurse who I felt clearly did not like her job or women. She moved without a purpose, practically cleaning her nails while talking to me. Everything she said was either dripping with sarcasm, disdain, or both and I swear she was popping gum. After I checked in, got the gown on in the bathroom, she insisted the first thing I do before going to my labor room was pee in a cup. I actually took the cup in the bathroom and tried a few times but I simply had no pee. When I told her this she stared at me blankly and replied: "We can't really do anything until we check your urine". I looked her squarely in the eyes, grit my teeth through the contraction and asked her: "What the hell does that mean?" Her reply: "Ma'am, we need your urine." My contraction was stronger and longer than ever before so I closed my eyes and rode it out. When it was over, I didn't open my eyes right away. In my minds eye, I glimpsed what this must have looked like. Me standing in the bathroom, door half opened, in a stupid Kaiser hospital gown. Her standing arms folded with that indignant look in her eyes. It irritated me. I opened my eyes and said: "I have no pee, I peed earlier use that." Then I pushed my way passed her. Round one over.

I have to admit that short exchange between me and the nurse took a lot out of me. I was feeling anxious and intimidated that I pissed off one of the people who would be "delivering" my baby. I felt like I'd made an enemy. It wasn't until I got into the bed, and had my first cervical check that I felt some relief. I was 8cm dilated. Awesome news! Then the doctor told me he was breaking my water. I remember looking over at my ex-husband who quite frankly looked like a lost tourist in all of this, and asked the doctor if we had too. He looked at me with extreme annoyance and said: "Either I break your water or your going home". My jaw literally dropped and the harshness of his tone brought tears to my eyes. I looked at my ex-husband again for help and before I could reply he did it. He stuck that hook into my vagina, rather roughly I might add, and broke my water. Coming from a woman who grew up with domestic abuse in my family (my dad beating my mother), both parents on drugs, and surviving sexual abuse myself, I can safely say it was the single most humliating and terrifying thing I'd felt since my childhood. He didn't just break my water, he broke my spirit that day as well. Round two over.

Everything after that was blurry. I remember vomiting. I remember not wanting my ex-husband more than a foot, if that, away from me. I remember being asked if I wanted something for the pain, but I don't remember what I said. I know I didn't receive pain medication, but I just can't remember what I said. Then I remember being told it was time to push. I didn't believe them, because I'd read that women felt the urge to push when it was time. I had absolutely no urge to push, but I didn't want to argue. God knows what they would have done if I argued. An image of foreceps delivery came to mind. It scared the hell out of me. However, when the nurse said to push during the contraction, I got a bit of my spirit back. Surely she was joking, I thought. She wants me to push when it hurts the most. I stalled. One contraction went by, then another, and another. Still no urge to push. In all honesty I had no urge to birth anymore. I wanted to crawl into my own bed, pull the covers over my head and cry. I didn't do that though. I held my breath, chin to chest and pushed. Just like they told me to.

As I was pushing, I heard the doctor (A totally new doctor by the way. Somewhere during my haze I guess they must have changed shifts or some such thing!) say something about tearing. I don't know exactly what she said, but I blurted out: "I don't want to be cut". Very shortly after that, my friend who was present for the birth, said: "Do you know she is cutting you". I didn't know. All I knew is my bottom was on fire and I felt like not pushing but people were yelling at me to push. All my focus was on that. I heard what my friend said, and I wanted to scream, but I didn't. I pushed. Then at 2:14am, my baby was born. Less than four hours had passed but it felt like a lifetime. Round three over.

Josiah, my son, was loud and strong from the beginning, but at the time I didn't care. I had very little interest in him. I just wanted to go to sleep. I can remembered feeling exposed as she stitched me up. The tugging and pulling I felt as she did it made me sick to my stomach. I remember feeling like nothing but a piece of meat. When she was finished, I mumbled something like everyone has seem him, you can go home now. I am not even sure anyone heard me, but after that everything was a blur. I don't remember what my ex-husband said or when he left. Or his mother, who was there, or my friend. I don't remember transferring rooms. I don't remember how. I just remember being in the bed and having my my uterus pushed on and my pad checked. It hurt like hell and was again humiliating having someone pulling at your underwear to check your pad. I asked if I could do it, and the nurse said something like I heard you were trouble. I shut up and let her do it. She was so smug and her touch was rough. I felt scared and alone and wished they allowed husbands to stay overnight. Round four over.

I remember not wanting to nurse Josiah anymore like I'd planned too. I know that I loved him, but I just didn't have anything to give just right then. I laid there, with him beside me in that glass crib that they put babies in and at that moment I needed him near me. I picked him up and as stared at him. I didn't really know what to think, except that he looked like his father to me. The thought made me smile. The smile warmed my heart and then I cried. I didn't really know why I was crying. Was I happy or was I sad?

Later that evening, I made the mistake of allowing him to be circumcised. He wouldn't nurse after that. I thought, he knew I didn't want him earlier when I refused to nurse him and now I let them hurt him, so he no longer wants me. I cried again, but this time I knew why I was crying. After an hour of sheer heartbreak, I tried nursing him again, and after he got on with a very painful latch, I decided I wasn't going to be sad, because I didn't want people thinking I was weak and looking for pity. There are women in the world being beat by their husbands, raped, and I am not going to let myself be selfish enough to wallow in any grief over what happened to me.

Then, just like that, I had a hard time remembering what happened to me. Out loud I pondered: "What did happen?" I remember, deep inside, being afraid to ask why did it happen. That was the scary question. I buried it, let it go. Didn't think about it again. As time went on and I learned about other women and their birth trauma I vaguely remembered being unhappy with my birth. I thought, Boy was I being a brat. Women have had worst birth trauma's, unnecessary c-sections, terrible iatrogenic injuries and even death. I felt guilty for ever thinking I had a bad experience and so I buried it further. Not until sometime in September of 2004, about 5 hours after finding out I was pregnant again would I recall to memory what happened in the early morning of September 29th as if it was yesterday. It was as clear to me then, as it is to me now. I cried and cried alone in my bed and silently I vowed never again.

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