The beginning of the strong one

It has taken me over three years to write this story.  I did write down bits and parts shortly after my daughter was born so that I would not forget certain details.  But for the most part, this has been something I have avoided doing.  Mainly because for a long time I blamed others for the outcome.  And  I recently came to a point where I realized that the outcome of Naomi's birth was really no one's fault.  It was what it was and it was uniquely her.

I loved being pregnant.  I still love to think about being pregnant.  Even though we'd had two miscarriages prior and I spotted quite frequently throughout my pregnancy (more threateningly so when I slowed down on the progesterone cream), pregnancy was very enjoyable to me up until the last month.  I gained weight perfectly and exactly as the charts said I would.  I did not do this intentionally, but it was just how it happened.  I also gained exactly 25 pounds. I was textbook pregnant.

In the eighth month, I started having prodromal labor.  At first I thought they were braxton hicks but my doula and midwife both explained the difference to me.  This was likely due to my daughter trying to get into a more ideal position.  I started chiropractor care right away which sometimes seemed to help but only for a limited time.  I remember after a treatment, my prodromal labor would stop.  But then as soon as I had been up walking around for a little while, I would feel my daughter's entire body shift back to one side and they would start up again.  Often if I was paying attention, I would see her entire body shift dramatically to the left and I would feel her head nestle back down into my right hip cavity. 

I didn't think much of it.  I simply believed my body knew what it was doing and that she would figure it out.  I dutifully did exercises at home, pelivic thrusts, walked stairs, upped my chiro visits to two times a week.  I probably lit candles and chanted to the moon and sun.  All I know, is I felt totally at peace during this time.  I had a completely positive outlook on how this birth would pan out.  I really had no reason to think otherwise.

Now, I must share the details of my prodromal labor a bit more.  I've since had people say, "pssh, those were just braxton hicks."  And often my response, is "nooooo, they were not."  I remember the first time I experienced them.  I was doing dishes at the sink and it was around 11 pm at night (from then on, they were always worse at night).  I was roughly 34 weeks pregnant and I remember this because I remember thinking, "No!  Not yet little one, you still have two to three more weeks!  At least."  I had already been going through Braxton Hicks since January (which would have put me at about in my second trimester) so I knew these were something different.  In fact, I really thought I was possibly in labor. 

Prodromal labor is very hard to tell apart from real labor at times thus the nickname, "false labor."  I woke my husband up the first time it happened.  My husband does not like being woken up for anything.  He's the kindest and sweetest man in the world, but he does not like being woken up and at the time he told me to go call the midwife because they were just BRAXTON HICKS and it was TOO EARLY.  In his mind, we had another month or so.  This wasn't part of the schedule he had already internally adopted.  So, he rolled back to sleep leaving me to my devices.  Now, I love my husband.  And even though I was on my hands and knees, clutching my belly and rubbing my back and feeling slightly crippled every five minutes, I would be lying if I said I didn't want to strangle him at that moment and I considered it while looking at his sleeping back except that I could feel my daughter wriggling around in my tummy reacting to the contractions and I decided she should get to meet her daddy after all.

So, I called the midwife on call.  Even though she was also sleepy - she was helpful  After talking for a bit, she asked me to take a bit of benedryl and see if that made a difference.  She said if they didn't calm down after that, then to call her again and come in since I was only 34 weeks.  She also suggested I relax and take a bath.  So I crawled my little pregnant body into our three feet long bath-tub (pre-remodel bathroom) and waited for the benedryl to take effect.  It was strange taking the benedryl while pregnant.  Up to this point, I had done everything natural with the exception of the progesterone cream.  I remember asking her to spell it out just to be sure she wasn't dreaming and she had taken the time to explain to me how it would work. 

Surprisingly, it worked.  I was still having the contractions, but they slowed down to about every 15 minutes and the intensity stopped.   I was able to go to bed.  I remember looking at the clock.  It was almost 2 A.M. and I was tired. 

From that moment on, the third trimester became all about my prodromal labor.  Every night, I would have to take a bath for an hour or so and try to calm them down.  Often, my daughter would become active during this time and I would feel her twisting, moving, pushing, and a few cart-wheels here and there.  Of course, this made the contractions worse.  Even her hiccups would set them off.  The chiro treatment would help.  I would go usually in the afternoon to the chiro and I would feel her shift out of that odd position she was in temporarily and then about 4 hours later, shift right back.  I remember the chiro being frustrated with my hip placement.  He called it "stubborn."  I finally explained to him why I had hip issues.  I had them all my life.  Ever since I had fallen from a rope swing that had broken in mid-air and landed on my hip.

So back to the prodromal labor.  It was quite the experience because from that moment on, everything became about keeping the baby within me calm and fixing my hip.  Every little thing set off the PLs.  Driving, eating, and even talking at times.  I would be on the phone with one of my friends and have to hang up just to attend to calming them down.  I remember one friend calling me back and announcing, "if you can't talk to me, it's time to go to the hospital!"  Thanks I said and hung back up.  You'd think all this uterus action and warm-up would yield a fast-born baby but noooo...  That girl ended up not being born for another nine weeks.  And even then, we had to pull her out with our hands.  That girl was determined to stay attached to my right hip for the rest of her life. 

I remember having to pull over in the car a few times.  For some reason, driving made the PLs really bad which surprised me because you would think with sitting and not moving - they'd stay calm.  I have pretty vivid memories of people slowing down to check on me while I laid my head on the roof of my car and swirled my hip back and forth doing my usual chanting.  I'd have to wave them by and reassure them I was okay.  My saving grace was that my belly was small so I always looked like I was still in my second trimester.  Even though I was puffing away, they likely reassured themselves into thinking I was having morning sickness and would drive slowly away, still hesitating.  Everyone wants to help a pregnant woman. 

Braxton hicks my ass.  I still get annoyed when people try to say, "Oh, I had those!  They are called braxton hicks you know?  Braxton hicks are normal, the body's way of preparing for labor, yada, yada and yada."  Shove it back down your mouth and tell me something I don't already know.  Now don't get me wrong, I didn't mind the PLs that much.  In fact, keep in mind I was still in my "oh, everything is going to turn out great" frame of mind.  So, at that time I was thinking that my body was warming up, that labor would be easier.  And the PLs were so intense and sometimes painful, I remember just feeling absolutely so tough that I could handle these that labor would clearly be so much easier.  Oh, how little did I ever know.

Another thing that occurred during the last few weeks is I spotted and bled a lot.  This was quite frightening to me but no one seemed concerned about it and no ultra sound was called to check it.  I remember one night, I awoke in the middle of the night to pee as most pregnant women do.  As my bladder relaxed, I remember feeling a searing shooting pain through my right hip and I shot off the toilet and onto the floor.  For a moment, the pain was so shocking, I opened my mouth to yell for help but nothing could come out.  My entire body broke out in a weak feverish sweat in reaction to the pain.  It went away just as quickly as it had come so I sat back on the toilet to finish.  This was the time when the chronic bleeding and spotting started.  I found out later that I possibly had a hidden placenta abruption that was causing this.  I thought at the time it might be my progesterone dipping again so I began to apply the cream and noticed this helped.  This searing pain occurred quite a few more times until my daughter was born but they were always quick and fleeting.  I had used the progesterone cream (against advice) during the first trimester.  I noticed now in the third trimester, it almost always made the bleeding stop.  Interestingly enough, low progesterone is a major cause of hidden abruptions.  I thank the angels that whispered in my ear continuously to continue the cream.  It was later confirmed after more miscarriages that I have chronic low progesterone.

Fast forward about nine weeks and I was a day away from being 42 weeks.  It was pretty evident to me by now that the chiro treatments was not working the way they should.  But I still didn't think anything of it, I still believed my body would work just fine and that my daughter would arm-wrestle her way out magically and perfectly.  At this point, my mid-wife and I were talking about my 42 week mark.  In the state of Washington, she could not help me past 42 weeks.  My saving grace really was that she had intentionally put me down a week later giving me an extra week.  For the fun of it, she had changed my due date from June 28th to July 4th.  A hopeful firecracker baby.  Today was July 9th and I was two days away from 42 weeks but on the charts, I was 41 weeks.  Up to this point, no one had been concerned about my PLs or my daughter's stubborn position.  I had absolutely no clue of course. I was probably more concerned than she was, as she just simply said, "she is going to be here any day, I am not worried about it.  That baby WILL be born with me."

Honestly, I had a hard time knowing when it was "time" to the go to the hospital.  I had labored at home for so long that I finally called my husband one day and just said, I don't know what to do anymore.....  My contractions were minutes apart and had been that way for weeks now, I was crawling around everywhere, I was crippled at every contraction.  I don't have a "start" place, I never really did.  He decided to leave work early, put me in the car and drove me to town for dinner.  For dinner?  You ask?  Dinner?!  Yes, dinner.  Keep in mind, I had been laboring for so long that the PLs had become just a normal way of life for us.  I'll never forget the waitress serving us and just being absolutely frantic and trying to remain calm.  I had to reassure her several times that I would not have a baby during her shift.  But her hands still trembled whenever she had to deliver or pick up something.  I am pretty sure she is out there telling this story to every new trainee she works with.  Because I wasn't just sitting there peacefully having a contraction.  No, every time a contraction would come on, I would lay down in the booth, my mouth muffled against the vinyl and breathe my best possible way through it.  My husband, my birthing partner was sitting on the other side looking out the window chomping on his double bacon burger and fries as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on.  No, he wasn't being insensitive, this had already been going on for so long.  So, I bet it was alarming to her to come back to the table each time expecting an infant at any possible moment and whenever I popped my head up, she would breathe a sigh of relief.

After, we ate dinner - my husband announced we were going to see the midwife.  I think he perceived a change in me even though I hadn't. As we walked to the midwife's office (which was adjacent to the hospital), I had to stop every couple of minutes and publicly endure a contraction through my teeth.  My husband was great.  I was able to lean on him and he held me up for each one and encouraged me.  Honestly, he was thrilled with the whole process and couldn't wait to meet his daughter.  Once in my midwife's office, she checked me and said, "I'm surprised this baby's not already here."  I wish I could remember how dilated and effaced I was, but I don't.  She immediately made plans to get me a room in the hospital.  I remember her chilling words she said to me when she came and saw me in the first room I checked into.  "I've had two moms so far tonight and I plan to beat my own record and have four babies in a 24 hour period.  I just finished two births and now I have two more mothers: YOU are neck to neck with this next one, let's see who has that baby first."

This really set the stage for a lot of things in my mind.  First it told me, my midwife was exhausted and hadn't slept for a while.  Second, she was competitive.  I am not in any way competitive so when she told me I was neck to neck and challenged me, internally that did NOT go over well.  I did not want to "beat" another mom.  I only wanted to focus on having my own baby.  Instead of feeling competitive, I instead worried about her and whenever my midwife was busy, I felt bad demanding for her back knowing there was another mother who needed her.  Especially as she also told me the mother didn't speak English at all which made me more concerned for her. Also, most importantly, this had been the first thing I had asked her about when I interviewed this midwifery clinic and they had reassured me that they always called in a back-up midwife when more than one birth was happening.  It was clear that she had no intention of doing this.

I had a doula in training.  I was her fourth birth. The in hospital nurse I had was a retired home birth mid-wife.  My midwife had picked her for me thinking that I would do just fine and likely birth my daughter very easily and she wanted someone with experience there to catch the baby in case she didn't make it in time.  The first few hours were fine.  I was still able to laugh and joke and move around.  Initially, I was in the bath-tub, not the birthing tub.  It wasn't until it hit around 10 pm that things became difficult for me.  I was also very tired but still optimistic.  Keep in mind, I had not had a good night's sleep for almost nine weeks now and I was already pretty fatigued. 

At 10 pm, I had began asking for the birthing tub because my discomfort had increased quite a bit.  For some reason, the midwife felt it was too soon to get in the tub and she delayed this as much as possible.  I have a feeling this was because they only had access to one tub in the hospital.  After about two hours of asking, I was finally given a birthing tub in a different room which we had to pack up all of our stuff and move down the hallway.  The contractions were becoming incredibly intense and they had suddenly changed.  Up to that point, I had been having contractions with breaks in between them.  Now, I was having super powerful contractions with no break in between them.  I would go from thrashing contractions where my entire body became engaged and angry to another type of contraction that was not as powerful but still painful and more centered in my right hip.  I went from being easy to talk to, to very difficult to handle.

I think at this point my nurse (the retired home midwife) knew something was up.  She had checked me herself a few times (my request) and seemed to have a better understanding of where the baby was positioned.  She started saying things to me like, "I can't really help you the way you need to be help, my hands are tied, I have limits as a nurse."  That should have been my clue but I just nodded politely at her each time.  And then after a while, she began saying things such as "you have a choice, you always have choices, there are many options here."  I mostly just tuned her out.  I had hoped I would feel instant relief in the birth tub but didn't.  And this was incredibly disappointing to me.

Where was the midwife?  That became the question of the century pretty fast.  As my contractions became more powerful and more painful, I began asking for her repeatedly.  Each time she visited, she reminded me yet again that we were "neck to neck."  Again, I am not in any way a competitive person so this statement really disturbed me.  Plus, once I had an image of a hispanic woman down the hall having a baby also and being afraid and needing the midwife, it became distracting.  On top of that, I now had someone else to be concerned about.  Not helpful to me at that time.   I started asking her to check my daughter's position and she would quickly feel and then move on out the door saying "you're doing great!"  I remember at 12 in the morning, I asked the nurse to cover up the clock.   It was incredibly distracting for me. to see the hands ticking by.  This was also about the point she checked my daughter's position and started her "you have choices" chant.  In hindsight, she knew exactly the position my daughter was in and her hands were tied.  She couldn't do anything about it. From here on forward, I became a different person.  This is really when my daughter tried to be born.  Honestly, it's very hard for me to describe.  I am actually chewing my nails and fidgeting as I write this. 

My daughter was lodged in a posterior asynclitic position with brow presentation.  The joke is that she tried to come out sideways like a crab.  Or as her father likes to say, she wanted to come out with one eye looking through the birth canal.  At this time, no one knew this though.  Here's what I have to say about the pain.

No, it was not like heavy cramps.  No, it was not normal.  No, it did not happen that way because I was in a hospital.  Yes, it was the worse pain I have ever experience in my life.  Yes, I actually passed out several times from it right into my husband's arms in the tub.  Yes, it made me the meanest sailor-swearing, screaming banshee laboring mother on the floor.  My contractions were the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.  And what made them worse, is that they never stopped.  I kept waiting for those "breaks" in between where I could re-focus, breathe with my husband, take naps, all those fun things I had seen in the birthing videos.  No had prepared me for this.  I was so loud - several times nurses came in trying to hush me up saying I was scaring the other moms and visiting family members.  That led me onto a tirade about the visiting family members and as the nurses ducked out the door I screamed loud enough so the visiting family would hear me before my door shut, "this gawd damn hospital floor should be gawd damn dedicated to me and my screaming and if any gawd damn visitors cannot take it, then they can just gawd damn go on HOME!" 

For about an hour, everyone scampered happily around congratulating my husband.  For now I was in transition.  The baby would be here anytime now.  This was shortly after the nurse covered the clock up at 12 A.M.  He was starting to get nervous and pushed through.  He had never seen his wife behave this way before.  The midwife came in at one point around 4 AM and said, "she had her baby, she beat you!  Okay, NOW you can have yours."  And then scampered out the door yet again.  For some reason, this statement absolutely crushed me.

I was every midwife's nightmare from that point forward.  My poor husband tried everything in his power to help me.  Nothing had prepared him for this moment.  His kind sweet wife was screaming and yelling and cursing until the angels themselves were covering their ears.  And then on top of it passing out weakly into his arms intermittently.  I found out later that when pain is TRUE 10 on the pain scale, you pass out.  It's your body's way of protecting you.  I was never mean to my husband.  In fact, I was only nice to him and became savage towards everyone else.  My doula was hiding in the dark shadows with tears in her eyes after I had pointed at her several times and said, "If you touch me one more time and call this baby a HIM..!"  I later apologized to her for this.  Keep in mind that we didn't know the gender of the baby yet and she innocently kept referring to the baby as a "him." 

I remember looking out the window at one point and seeing daylight.  What the hell?  I remember thinking.  I was in transition at 12 am and now here we are at 6 am in the morning.  What was happening and why hadn't my water broke yet?  In one of her fleeting visits into the room, we discussed (as one can best have a discussion with an angry laboring woman) breaking my water.  I told her to do it. I knew my daughter was trying to be born.  I could feel her furiously wriggling, turning and bouncing around in there.  What I didn't know was that she was a in a bad position and breaking my water would pretty much seal the deal.  So, she broke my water and then flitted back out the door.  I was starting to have abandonment issues by now. 

Normally, most people would say the pain worsens after having their water broken.  But that wasn't the case for me.  The pain had already been maxed out.  I had already had several pushing sessions in the last few hours that had been fruitless.  Mirrors had been brought to me to show me my baby's head.  I could see, we could all see.  She was right there.  I was fully dilated.  Why she wouldn't come out, was beyond all of us.  After the midwife broke my water, I started to tell my husband something wasn't right.  Any time someone, a nurse or the midwife came into the room, I would tell them this.  Everyone just flitted about patting me on the back saying, "just one more push and she will be here."

Another strange thing that occurred during my labor was I had the constant urge to pee.  I still don't know why.  But after a while, the tub was no longer appealing to me as I knew I had filled it with mostly pee or so I thought in my head.  Even though I was naked head to toe and didn't care who saw me in that state, I would make everyone turn around anytime I had to pee.  It became quite the funny ritual every ten minutes in the middle of all my drama, I would yell, "turn around!" and everyone in the room would turn while I peed.  I was just mortified at peeing in the tub in front of everyone and it was happening so often.  It also bothered me that whenever I peed, blood came gushing out and I could see it in the light of the tub.  At some point in the night, they finally turned the lights off for me as well as most of the lights in the room as every light, noise and disturbance would set off my angry tirade.  Keep in mind that the midwife was still absent and had not seen the blood.  She left a small team of people alone to make big decisions on her behalf.

At 6 am, the (retired midwife) nurse was now repeatedly looking for the hospital midwife for help so she would often leave me alone with a cowering doula and my helpless husband.  Often, another nurse would come in and stand in the corner for her.  At one point, when she left, I garnered up enough strength to get out of the tub.  Her leaving increased my abandonment feeling.  Pain is amazing that way.  You can be passing out from it but when your body gets the will to survive, it becomes strong.  By this time, I was angry that no one was really listening to me.  One of the things that angered me most was when they would try to get me to focus in between the contractions.  No one seemed to believe me that the contractions were not stopping.  I scrambled out of the tub, my husband and doula frantically trying to help me without getting possibly physically assaulted in the process (just for the record, I never hit anyone but I damn well made them all think I would).  My strength was so strong at that time, I remember thinking I could scale buildings if I tried.  I walked by the wall and was pretty sure I could punch hard enough and leave a hole. 

As I walked into the bathroom, the two of them on my heels, I did what any self-respecting laboring woman would do.  I slammed the door on their faces.  Oh my poor husband, I will never forget the look on his face when I did that.  I could hear him trying to talk to me through the door and I am fairly sure he was pressed against it with the doula comforting him.  In my rationale at that time, and I was clearly being very rational and civilized - I had decided if no one was going to help me have this baby, I would do it by myself. 

Even though everyone was frightened by this, this was just the moment I needed.  I sat on the toilet and decided to concentrate on the contractions the next time they happened.  In the birth tub, whenever they occurred, I would start to thrash from one end to the other as though I was being shaken by a great white shark.  Or I would simply pass out.  While I sat on the toilet, the door creaked open a few times with eyes peering in and this resulted in me spitting out poisonous venom of various degree.  "I am trying to gawd damn crap in private in here!" I remember shouting.  The door would quickly click shut.  Everyone was actually scared of me.  Even the experienced retired midwife nurse at this point was keeping her distance.  I remember hearing my doula say on the other side, "her needing to go to the bathroom is a good sign, now that baby should be born."  She was doing everything under the sun to keep my husband in good spirits even though she had miserably failed with me.  I was the least spirited person on the birthing team clearly and I mentally cursed her to go to hell for being able to withstand my abuse this long. 

The bathroom was a good moment for me.  I was finally able to focus.  I even stood in front of the mirror at one point and remember just seeing an animal in the reflection.  It wasn't even me, I didn't know who that creature was.  My hair of course was sticking straight up all around.  But more than that, I just remember how dark and deep and yet luminous my eyes had become.  And the muscles around my jaw were clenching so much, I had what can best be described as ape jaws.  Honestly, I had never seen a stronger or more wilder woman-creature ever in my life.  The first contraction I experienced by myself, I sat on the toilet.  As soon as I sat down, I felt what can best be described as a hot iron being seared into my right lower back.  I shot off that toilet so fast and landed on all fours on the floor.  A cold sweat engulfed my entire body and I momentarily felt feverish and faint at the same time.  It was a flashback to those nights at home when I would try to pee in the middle of the night and the same thing happened.  Only this time, the pain was 1000% worse.

A couple years later, I remember watching a historical movie showing a scene with a man being punished.  In the movie, the man was being tortured with hot irons to the back and I started crying and reaching out to him and just totally relating to him.  In that movie, he finally passed out from the pain and maybe even eventually died.  I don't remember.  But that was exactly how it felt at every contraction. 

The second time I had a contraction, I was determined to try again.  This time I squatted down on the floor.  I had not been able to squat this low in the tub.  I could still feel my daughter wriggling furiously in my belly.  I reached down and touched her head and could feel her twisting and pushing hard.  We were both mad.  I was determined to get this baby out. Again, as soon as I squatted down, that hot iron pain seared me right through the hip and I felt another passing out moment coming on as I fell to my knees and laid my head to the cool floor.  I saw the door creak open again (my sudden silence had likely alarmed everyone on the other side) and I looked up weakly at my husband and nodded.  At this go ahead, the bathroom flooded with my husband, the doula, and several nurses as they picked me up off the floor.  By now, other nurses were trying their best to help us as well.  My husband held me up and I attempted to push while standing up since the pain when I was squatted was too great.  And while it didn't hurt as bad, it still hurt me to the core and I remember the sound of my cry in the quiet of the bathroom, fractured and racking weakly like a wounded animal through my whole body as I gripped my husband's body.  I cried in pain but inside I was so angry that I had been reduced to this.

This was frustrating because I wanted more than anything to squat and push.  I didn't understand why this was becoming so difficult.  I could see her.  She was as the midwife put it, right there.  More than ready to come out.  But the bathroom moment was good.  Being alone for a few contractions had shown me what I couldn't see with all the distractions of the people around me.  Something was not right.  I was not laboring the way I should be.  The nurse and my husband helped me back into the birthing tub but by then I already knew how this was going to end.  I took one look at my husband and announced I was ready for the epidural.  My doula and husband were frantic, reminding me that it wasn't what I wanted but at the same time, they were in unchartered territory.  I looked at the nurse who had returned and she simply deadpanned what she had been saying all along, "you always have choices." 

Something happened when I had been alone in the bathroom.  Without the distraction of everyone around me, I had centered myself enough to know what needed to happen.  To take control of the situation.  It's one of the few things about my birth that I am most proud of.  I had removed everyone else's incessant chattering out of my head, touched base with my daughter and made a decision on my own.

I looked at the nurse and told her I wanted the epidural, she immediately sent one of the nurses to go get the midwife.  Because the midwife had been so absent during my labor, she was oblivious to the drama in the room and to the position my daughter was in.  When she got the message, I wanted an epidural, she came into the room immediately and tried to talk me out of it.  In fact, everyone but the nurse and my husband tried to talk me out of it.  The baby was right there.  All I had to do was push.  This had been the mantra for several hours now.  Since transition at 12 AM actually and here we were now at 8 am.  During this conversation, I went through several more contractions and my midwife coached me to squat down and push.  Again, the searing pain in my right hip jerked my legs straight and I stood up and pulled my belly up.  No!  No!  My midwife said, Push!

After she managed to stall me using every tactic in the book that ranged from praises to threats, I again begged for an epidural.  This was the most excruciating hour of my life and one I will never forget.  I already knew in my heart of hearts that this was leading to a c-section and I was ready to embrace that and be done with it.  She finally conceded and left the room to set everything up for the epidural.  During the time, she was gone I continued to thrash around the tub through a few more contractions and felt that she was taking too long.  I was starting to think she was delaying things as long as possible because she really did believe my daughter would be born at any moment.  I passed out at least one more time into my husband's arms.   I remember at one point, another nurse commented again that I was scaring all the mothers and visiting family members on the floor.  I thought to myself, or more likely screamed out loud, does everyone else labor quietly?  What is WRONG with people?  This prompted me to launch myself out of the birth tub in between a contraction and head straight for the door.  Everyone in the room scrambled.  My husband and doula grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around me.  I opened the door and stormed out into the hall of blaring lights expecting to see to these so called family members cowering in fear in the hall and began shouting again about how all the family members should just absolutely not be allowed on this floor where women are having babies.  Babies are being born, gawd damn it!  I was primed and ready to start a revolution for birthing mothers everywhere. 

I saw quite a few shocked faces in the hallway and I glared at them all, staring them right down into the floor.  I must have been quite site, dripping wet with with wild curly hair and just well, naked.  I don't know where I going honestly.  But in my mind, I was looking for the room with the epidural.  I was done with this nonsensical searing pain in my right hip.  A few more hospital staff joined the crazy entourage that was already stumbling after me, keeping me as covered with dignity as possible.  It was parade time in the hospital and I was the grand finale.  I, of course fought them all, ripping the sheets off my sweaty body at every possible moment.  I was going to make these visiting family members regret the day they came to visit a newborn baby and violate my privacy. Looking back now, I realize that during my labor, I ruled that hospital floor.  A nurse later commented to me that I broke the record for the most used rooms saying I managed to use up to six rooms on that floor during my labor and it had taken all the nurses combined to clean them up.  Ironically, she said it with a smile as though she admired me.

After everyone gathered their bearings, I was ushered sideways into a room and laid down on a bed to try to push some more.  A few moments later, I was ushered into room number four or five for the epidural (again an entourage following me while I fought off the sheets they tried to cover me with).  The anesthesiologist had been called out of his snack break (presumably) and rushed to my room before the midwife even had a chance to call him.  I don't remember much about the epidural except that I do remember while it dulled it, it didn't take away the searing pain in my right hip.  I also remember being very kind and cordial to the anesthesiologist as though we were talking about how nice the weather was.  Everyone around me looking haggard and abused and he seemed a bit surprised at my demeanor as I joked and smiled with him.  Clearly my behavior was not lining up with my now famous reputation and the hollering voice he had likely heard down the hall.  Hey, this guy was my new best friend and I would butter him up to the best of my ability.  The will survive makes you do crazy things. One thing I remember very clearly is he asked me if I wanted the epidural.  He made it clear that he wanted my permission and not my midwife's and it was the first time anyone had really asked me what I wanted and this cemented even more what I had been feeling:  I no longer wanted my midwife in the picture.

My midwife swooped in shortly after that and got me back on the task of pushing.  More mirrors were held up for me to see my daughter's beautiful black hair.  However, every time I pushed through a contraction, my right leg would kick out and it took three nurses to hold it in place at which point - I would instead push back so far on the table, someone had to keep me from sliding off the back-end.  My midwife had resorted to many tactics during this process, even going so far as to bully me, "what are you afraid of? Don't you want this baby here?  What happened in the past that is holding you back!?"   This last part was a references to my miscarriages and I painfully squeezed my eyes shut at this remark regretting I had ever shared this with her.  Especially since it was absolutely irrelevant in every way.  I could not, would not, could never, would never be able to do a gawd damn squat to push this baby out!  She briefly attempted to have me stand to see if I could push my daughter out with my legs straight.  It was not going to happen.  I was struggling with the constant urge to squat and the persistent pain each time I did.  And I still had to pee all the time.

Finally, my midwife declared we all needed a break and she gave me more of the epidural s so I could sleep if I wanted.  She also resorted to using pitocin although I scoffed as clearly I was contracting just fine.  From the moment I got the epidural to the moment my daughter was born, my midwife was pretty desperate.  The pitocin did nothing.  My midwife said she used the smallest amount possible and then after thinking twice about it, pulled the plug on it.  I was on the pitocin for less than 20 minutes.  I think something in her gut told her not to use it, and I am glad she listened. A few times during my "break," she came in and checked my daughter's position and showing me with the mirror yet again that she was practically crowned.  She reached in and felt and then left the room muttering, "she's right there!" I refused to follow her orders to sleep.

When I recently asked my husband his memory of his daughter's birth he said that he mostly remembers the midwife just being totally unplugged and absent.  The few times she would come into the room, she tried to continue the spirit of the competitiveness between the two laboring mothers rather than being in tune to me and what I needed.  His memory was that she put the other laboring woman first and made it clear she needed help more than us.  When in the last few hours, I took actions into my own hands, rather than helping me or again tuning into me, she became annoyed with us that we were not doing the things she predicted.  That is when she resorted to yelling, bullying, etc.  His overall memory about her is that our birth was part of a game for her.  Almost like a sport.  Her behavior was much like a coach yelling at a the smallest member of the team to buck up and take one for the team.  Not about birthing our daughter.  At one point when my midwife yelled at me, "why aren't you pushing harder?  Push HARDER!  You have to WANT this!"  I remember my husband who was holding my leg looked at her and held up one hand  in the stop motion across my belly and said, "Hey, she HAS been pushing hard, she is working REALLY hard.  And she does want this!"    She ignored him.

Shortly after my husband stood up for me around 10 am, my midwife threw her hands up and said the word c-section and I bolted up and asked "when?"  I don't think my mid-wife wanted the c-section but I think she had gathered her bearings enough to realize I wanted it and that no matter what she did, this baby wasn't coming out.  "Well," she said waving my birth plan in the air, "I think we can pretty much throw this birth plan out the window!"  At this remark, I looked at her evenly through slitted eyes.  I was so tired and exhausted, but I mustered up the strength to say in my small tired voice, "No....  there are still things in there I want carried out."  She looked at me for a moment as though determining if she should challenge me and instead handed the birth plan to a nurse standing in the room.  The nurse gave me a knowing smile and walked out the room with a new mission to fulfill.

The c-section was prepped pretty quickly in yet another room.  The ob-gyn came in.  A lovely put-together lady about only 5 feet tall and small thin frame and perfectly combed 1950's hairstyle in a long white coat.  She kept a distance from me and I appreciated her talking in softer tones rather than yelling at me.  She then did as the anesthesiologist had done earlier and asked me if I wanted a c-section.  This was the second person to ask what I wanted and there is something about this that made me feel respected.  Even though I never actually chose the c-section as my daughter chose it for me, I appreciated the time the OR staff took with me to be sure I wanted these things.  After having been abandoned, neglected, bullied, taunted and threatened for hours by my midwife, these were the people I wanted under my wings to carry me to the end.  I told her yes and that and there were still some things on my birth plan I wanted carried out when my daughter was born that were important to me.  I did not want her to get the hep shot, the cream in her eyes and I wanted skin to skin..  I was very stressed by my midwife's comment and the ob/gyn reassured me that they would follow it.

The anesthesiologist I had already used had gone home and a different one came in.  He had black bushy hair, black bushy eyebrows, thick glasses and a grin so big, he teeth popped out.  I absolutely loved him.  He and I chatted all the way into the surgery room, my husband already being prepped in another room into scrubs.  In fact, I was so happy to be in the room - everyone became my friend.  I had a strong sense of calm, peace and light that this was exactly where I was supposed to be.  I never felt afraid or guilty about this decision.  The ob/gyn who did the surgery introduced herself again and we bantered back and forth for a bit.  Everyone waited until the midwife, my husband and the anesthesiologist were in position, locked and ready. 

The c-section was uneventful.  In fact, it was very pleasant.  After hearing all the horror stories, I was surprised.  The nurse on a mission,  had brought in my birth plan and she supervised every bit to be sure we carried out the rest of it.  Each staff member in the room listened intently to her as she quietly let them know at each turn what my requests were.  No, she doesn't want the eye cream, yes, she wants skin to skin..... I remember the moment my daughter was born.  What I remember most is my midwife's incessant blabbing and talking.  Yet, when they opened me up, the ob/gyn said to her tersely, "look at this" to my midwife.  She began stuttering and bantering on how she could have never known and speaking in quiet defensive and humbled tones and eventually just... stopped talking at all.  I was a bit perplexed by this but not scared.   I knew my daughter was okay.  Through the entire experience, there was two things I never lost.  I never lost my husband's love and I never lost my connection with my daughter.  Her and I had fought tooth and nail through that labor.  The next thing I remember is my husband crying tears of joy as they placed her into his arms.  Even though it felt like she had been brought from another room (the disadvantage of a c-section), I still absolutely loved witnessing the moment my husband saw our daughter for the first time.

I remember being a bit shocked by her appearance.  She was so incredibly dainty and feminine.  Such a stark contrast to the baby that had caused so much mayem the last nine weeks.  Her face was small, her chin sweetly pointed and an incredible dimple starred brightly on her right cheek.  Everything about her screamed "girl."  Even my husband responded to her sweet appearance cradling her as a father would cradle a daughter.  There was no chub on her, she was bright and alert and her hair was a beautiful raven black against olive skin.  I immediately thought of my grandmother Rose who's coloring she resembled in that moment at that time.  My daughter is still this way.  Beautiful, sweet and feminine and yet tough as nails.  She was already turning her head around to look around her and take everything in.  Like she had been waiting for this moment all along. 

After she was pulled out, it took less than a few minutes before she was placed into my arms.  That was another surprise for me.  She was wrapped and thrust straight into my husband's arms and he held her while I was sewed up, they wheeled me into a room where a nurse unwrapped her, washed the blood off her, dried her up, opened my gown and placed her directly onto my breasts.  My arms were slightly numb and she dutifully held her in place for me as I tried to help.  My daughter did her best to nurse under the circumstance and she was surprisingly strong and I was taken back by her gazing straight at me.  The nurse (God bless her) laid her on my chest near my nipples and wrapped us both up skin to skin.  I will forever be grateful to that angel nurse.

The numbness wore off pretty quickly and I was up walking around within the hour.  In fact, three hours later, I was walking a circle around the hallway while my husband held our baby.  I took one pain pill and after that refused any more.  I did continue with ibuprofen and that was all I needed from then on.  Considering the trauma and pain I had just gone through, healing with a c-section cut was nothing.  Simple really.  We embraced the time with our daughter and both my husband and I did skin-to-skin, lots of nursing and we enjoyed every moment.  The attitude that I had before the labor and birth that everything was normal and would happen as it should came back to me. 

My daughter was healthy, vigorous and I was up and laughing and walking about.  I started asking when I could go home right away.  Each visitor that came was shocked when we told them we had a c-section.  Even our own bradley method teacher who came and saw us later that day, gasped and didn't believe us initially.  To this day, she still compliments me on how quickly I rebounded and how great I looked which always made feel proud of that.  She ended up helping us more later on when we had nursing issues.  Several blogs have already been written about it so no need to mention the details here. 

The nurse who had told me several times I had "choices" requested to be my post-op nurse even though that was not a position she usually held.  At first I was a bit worried to see anyone that I had clearly abused during my birth.  But she was thrilled to see me and hugged me and held Naomi as though she was the best baby in the world.  I asked her about Naomi's position and I remember she stiffened and wouldn't respond right away.  So I changed my question and asked her if she had seen that position before when she was a home midwife.  She relaxed and said not the exact same position but she had seen many different kinds of positions in her line of work as a midwife and stated, "not everything is predictable.  I came to work at a hospitable to help mothers like you."  Then she looked over at my daughter and said, "she is the first baby I have ever seen that can hold her head up like that to look straight at me from across the room.  Amazingly strong girl."  I responded it was all the neck exercises to she did while digging into my hip that made her so strong and we both chuckled weakly.  We were still exhausted.

The ob/gyn came in and visited me first for post-op.  She was pretty matter of fact about my daughter's position but careful not to have too many opinions about it.  She focused more on the surgery itself and my healing and how I felt.  She notified me that my placenta had started to tear away and there was a good amount of blood clots in the uterus when they opened me up.  "Hidden abruption," she called it.  There was so much she said that it had pushed my daughter's head to one side.  She apologized that my placenta had to be analyzed and they would get it back to me as I wanted to plant it under a baby tree.  I asked her if the pitocin or epidural could have caused the clotting and the placental abruption.  She simply answered that I had been on pitocin and the epidural for such a short time, it likely couldn't have occurred in that short of time but certainly did not help  She also said that often, abruptions of that nature caused a lot of discomfort and then she paused....  This was the first time someone recognized the pain I had been through.  She did a lot of guarded pauses during our conversation and finally said, "you did the right thing, the surgery was the best course of action in this case."  She looked me straight into the eye and her gaze was so sincere, that I knew she was telling me the truth.  After shaking my hand, she walked out the door.

My midwife who came in shortly after her was different and I wish she would have kept her mouth shut.  She effectively had more weight than the ob/gyn and managed to cancel out what I had just been told.  "I am so glad I called for a c-section!" she practically shouted effectively wiping away everything I had done to stand up for myself and taking credit for the outcome.  She was flushed in the face and immediately defensive about my daughter's position stating loudly that there was no way she could have known and that this was why she didn't do home births.  "100 years ago, you would have likely died.  And the baby would have died.  Again, so glad I called for a c-section!"  I remember feeling my husband's body starting at these words and the pain in his eyes.  I hated her from that moment on for hurting my husband like that.  Yes, these were her exact words and I was stunned for a long time by them.  But more than anything, this moment damaged my husband and tore him down as protector for his wife and new daughter.  His new feelings as a dad were so raw and powerful and to be told that she almost died had a lasting impression on him that I could never undo.  There are only two people in this world he loves and this shook him to core to hear that he could have lost us.  I realize now that she was tired and exhausted and exercising poor judgement.  There was a tone in her voice that was apologetic and almost sad, especially when she talked about the placenta and blood clots.  Yet for some reason, everything that came out of her mouth made me feel less empowered and more angry with her and she sealed this tone when she said as she walked out the door, "don't plan on getting the placenta back, by the time they dice it up - you won't want it anyway."  Whenever I think back to that moment, I always think of all the things I could have said or done in response had I not been so tired.  But nothing can ever undo the words she said that broke my husband's heart.  Nothing.

In the hospital, our chiropractor visited and when we told him about Naomi's position, he stated, "it was that stubborn hip.  I couldn't get it to move."  And he apologized to me.  He did what the midwife couldn't do and apologized as though he was 100% responsible.  He was the only person that reached out to me and said, "I am sorry.  So sorry...."  As though he genuinely was responsible for her birth outcome.  He even had tears in his eyes as he said it.  And to this day, I love him for that. The midwife came in and ushered him outside to tell him her side of the story.  That was a very distracting for me to have her do that to a guest that came and visited us in the hospital.

I was angry for a long time at my midwife.  I think that is why is took me so long to write this birth story because had I written it sooner, it would have been all about the things my midwife did wrong.  I didn't want that for my daughter's birth story.  But now, I realize that we are all infallible and we only have a limited number of experiences and knowledge for these kinds of things.  About a year later, I talked with another midwife I trusted about my daughter's birth and when I was finished, she simply stated, "I too, have made mistakes and I am not always able to predict the outcome of a birth."  I realized she was right and that started the healing process for me. 

I decided to research my daughter's position.  Especially since I was reminded almost daily with it as she saw a chiro almost weekly for a neck torticollis.  She now sees an occupational therapist for a jaw issue that is persistently lingering.  When I typed in posterior asynclitic with brow position, I began to learn that she was actually in three separate positions.  Backwards, head slightly sideways and forehead bent back.  Many women usually have one or two positions they are struggling with if any.

I knew from the day she was born that my daughter was exactly like her birth.  Alarmingly beautiful, feminine and peaceful on appearance.  But incredibly tough, strong-willed and passionate to the core.  A true fighter.  I remember her looking me into the eyes and observing me closely and that is something she still does with everyone she meets to this day.  And now... I love that about her so much. 

After my daughter was born, We went home on day three and I continued to do great.  I had no complication, I healed quickly and I was doing everything I had planned to do.  Nursing, babywearing, co-sleeping and enjoying a baby.  Aside from the nursing issues caused my by PCOs, there is nothing I would have changed.  We bonded quickly.  I never had post-partum depression.  I loved being a brand new mother.  The love and excitement I had while I was pregnant carried right over into the newborn stage.  The labor and birth simply became a blip in time as I soaked up the beautiful new mommy bliss immediately.  My husband and daughter bonded just as close and his love for her to this day is just amazing.

I think if there is only one thing I could choose to share with my daughter about her birth is this:  always have a voice.  And if no one hears that voice, take action.  I am to this day proud of myself that I followed my gut instinct that something was wrong, and that I voiced it out loud.  And when no one listened.  I took action.  No believed me, I took action.  Honestly, when the nurse came in and told me that I was the talk of the floor and known as the woman who had used up six rooms total, we both laughed and I was proud.  And she was clearly impressed in the tone she used.  In fact, each nurse came and visited my daughter and I after she was born,  Even staff, midwives and doctors who hadn't been there came to see us in person.  Some faking a reason for being there and other blatantly just saying, "I had to see this miracle baby."  My voice must have echoed through the halls like an elephant ready to charge into battle and everyone had heard me to kingdom come.  I hadn't just scared the other mothers and visiting family members, I had announced my daughter's presence to everyone.  We were the talk of the hospital that day and everyone wanted to meet the sweet baby who's birth had been announced by her strong mother. 

The thing I remember most about my daughter's birth is her.  I remember her moving, wriggling, bouncing and pushing in every direction.  She was telling me long before I found my voice that she was trying to get out and couldn't.  I remember when I would feel that shooting pain in my right hip and I would stand straight up and start screaming and swearing, I could feel her twisting and pushing and working so hard on her end.  The girl was so incredibly strong.  In fact, upon minutes of being born she was able to hold her head up and did so from then on.  She never had a floppy neck and I am often surprised when I hold a different newborn and their head flops over and needs support.  From the moment she was born, my daughter was able to hold her head up and look anyone straight into the eyes. 

The gift that my daughter has given me is a stronger voice than I already had.  Prior to her birth I didn't really speak out about things as loud.  Now, I am much more inclined to state things as I see them.  To not really be afraid of the consequences when I do. She also taught me to follow my instincts.  I saved her life by using the progesterone cream.  I listened to my gut in spite of being told not to use it.  I saved her life again launching myself out of the tub and into the hallway which led to the c-section.  But it wasn't just me.  She did it too.

I love you my sweet daughter....