Graham's Birth Story

When you experience birth trauma, it is difficult to find it within you to do it again. Norah’s birth left me with so much fear and self doubt. I knew I desired to have more children, but I didn’t believe that my body could do it. I felt afraid of a Cesarean. Afraid of an epidural. Afraid of any intervention because of how things had spiraled so quickly before. So this left me with unmedicated childbirth once again seeming like the least frightening option. Since I had a previous Cesarean, I was met with quite a bit of resistance when discussing my desire for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) with care providers. I had one dr. shrug at me and say “sure you can try…” There was a lack of confidence in my idea. I understood that there was a 1% risk of uterine rupture because I now had scar tissue from my Cesarean incision. But I kept hearing the phrase “high risk” in reference to my pregnancy. I was completely healthy and so was baby.

I worried that my body would “fail” me again. I wrote a letter to the midwife that had helped me so much in my birth with Norah. It was her words that finally gave me the confidence that I could succeed in the birth I so badly wanted. She believed I deserved a trial of labor, and she believed I could do it. At her recommendation, I finally landed on a practice that had the statistics and reputation I was looking for in seeking a VBAC. My pregnancy with Graham was fairly easy, but my heart and spirit needed a lot of work. I took on preparing for my son’s birth like I was training for battle. Everything that I could find to help me prepare, I sign up. I went to a counselor that did EMDR with me to help process the trauma of Norah’s birth. I went to VBAC classes. I hired a doula. My husband and I made lists of fears and expectations to talk through. I exercised and ate healthy, gaining half the weight this time as I had with my daughter. I did accunpuncture. Accupressure. I went to a chiropractor. I listened to hyponobirthing tracks every night before bed time. I bought birth affirmation card and would meditate on them. I read dozens of books and hundreds of positive birth stories. I did positioning techniques and stretches every day. I knew that it was up to me to prepare mentally and physically for what my body was going to do.

My biggest fear was that I was going to go past 40 weeks again. I knew the hospital’s policy and if I went to 42 weeks again, it meant induction. Every morning that I woke up past 40 weeks, I would cry. It felt like my chances were slipping away, because even after all my hard work, I still had little control over the outcome of my birth. I tried all the natural induction methods I knew about. My neighbors thought I was crazy walking up and down the street off and on the curbside. Nine days after my due date I pulled my breast pump out at my doula’s recommendation. After an hour of using it contractions began. I was hopeful this might be it, but I knew I needed sleep so I went to bed.

I contracted through the night but was able to get a good amount of sleep as they were about 30 minutes apart. The next morning I had my next prenatal appointment with my midwife to talk about options. Baby still looked great, but it was time to schedule my induction. In one last act of desperation I asked my midwife to sweep my membranes. It was an uncomfortable experience, but I believe this is what put everything into motion. I left the dr. feeling encouraged and stopped to get a coffee from my favorite spot. It just so happened to be the day they were giving away free coffee- all the stars had aligned.

My in-laws were watching my daughter at my house while my husband and I had gone to the appointment. When we got home they suggested we go for a walk. At this point my contractions had gotten closer together and I was no longer able to talk during them. As our walk went on I became much grumpier. I remember being angry that someone had even suggested I walk at all because it was July and I was a miserable swamp monster. I turned around to go home because things had intensified. It was around lunchtime that I decided to get into the bath tub to see if labor would stick around or keep moving forward. I was so agitated that I told my husband I thought he needed to call our doula. She said she would be there in the next hour, but I was worried I was calling her for nothing as I knew this could possibly go on for a long while.

By the time she arrived, I was no longer questioning whether or not I was in true labor. My husband, doula, and I became a fine tuned machine. She would do a double hip squeeze on me while my Jonathan held up birth cards for me to meditate on. They had essential oils being diffused and my birth playlist was playing. They offered me water every few contractions, and food every hour. They reminded me to empty my bladder every hour and keep changing positions. I found that I liked being on my hands and knees on my bed with my head resting on a pillow. I refused to move from this position for quite awhile. I threw up several times and I remember thinking that was a good sign- things were moving forward.

I became more vocal and started feeling panicked about the next contraction. It became harder to stay present, and I wanted to be done. My moaning had convinced my in-laws to go outside and take Norah for a walk. They were concerned that she might be scared about what was happening with me, so they took her to go play at IKEA. Before they left, she came in to say goodbye. She crawled up on the bed with me and handed me a feather that she had found on her walk. It was from a mourning dove. I had recently complained about these birds as they are extremely loud in the morning and had woken me up the past several days. But today I was so thankful for them. My daughter gave me hugs and kisses and I held on to her token with a renewed strength. That little feather served as a reminder to me of what I was capable of doing for the people that I loved. For my daughter- and for this child I had yet to meet.

I held onto that feather for most of the rest of my labor. I began begging my husband and doula to let me go to the hospital for medication. I couldn’t do this anymore. However- it was now 5:00 in Round Rock, and we needed to drive to Austin. Their argument was that if we left for the hospital then, I would be stuck in rush hour traffic laboring in the car. This somehow reached a logical part of my brain because I believed them and agreed to keep going for another hour. My doula served as an amazing gauge on the progress of my labor, and I am so glad we did not leave earlier. By 6:00 my amazing birth team had loaded the car with everything we needed and finally agreed that we should go to the hospital. I was so thankful just at the idea that my baby might be in my arms soon.

It hurt too badly to sit on the drive to the hospital so I hugged the back of my seat in the car as we drove down Mopac. I would later see selfies that my husband and doula took of themselves posing with me incapacitated in the front. I was started to feel my body bearing down and it felt like I had to push. I knew I didn’t want to resist this urge, but I also knew I didn’t want to have my baby in the car. As we stopped at the front door of the hospital a strong contraction came that caused my whole body to push down. I heard a loud pop and felt my water break all of the front seat of my car. My husband had already opened my door to get me out and just barely missed getting amniotic fluid all over him. (My doula would later come back and clean this ALL up for us while we were in the hospital- she set the standard high with how well she loved us)

As we entered the women’s center I was only halfway aware of my surroundings. Every time a contraction would come I would grab my husband’s hands and fall to a squatting position. This helped me with the bearing down, but I had also gotten extremely loud at this point. I am confident that I traumatized several small children and families on the long elevator ride up to the L&D floor. When we arrived to L&D my poor husband and doula realized that I had forgotten to tell them that when I went into labor we were supposed to call my OB and let her know that labor had begun. So when we arrived at the front desk they had no idea who I was and were not expecting me. It seemed that they did not believe I was really in labor until I had a contraction, and then nurses and doctors seemed to be running around everywhere frantically to get me a room and the things I needed.

When they finally got me a room the doctor that was on call came in to check me. I was disappointed because she was the only one that I had not met during my prenatal visits. When she checked me she discovered that I was dilated to a full 10 centimeters but still had a small lip of my cervix that needed to be thinned out. She told me she was going to try to move it so it wasn’t dangerous for me to push and baby could make his way out. I recall that this was the moment that I accused my doctor of trying to kill me because when she did this, it felt like more than I could handle. I would later find out from my doula that my son was slightly OP (Occiput Posterior), so my doctor was also trying to get him to turn a bit to be born safely. We then entered the second stage of labor which took around 40 minutes. I was really tired of being in labor so I was not wasting any time or energy on pushing- I was all in. I wish now I could go back and tell myself to be more gentle with my body and to take my time. But logic wasn’t really finding it’s way to my brain during those 4o minutes.

I remember my doctor bringing a mirror to show me what my progress but it was too much of a distraction for me. I also remember there being a ton of people in the room as I gave birth to Graham. One of them later told me that she had actually gotten off her shift but had chosen to stay and watch because moms like me were rare and she wanted to see natural childbirth happen. Another one told me that it was moms like me that made being an L&D nurse interesting and exciting. I wish now that I had known how invasive it was to have tons of strangers in the room just watching my most vulnerable moments. That I could have requested they leave so I could have some privacy.

Graham came into the world at 7:35 that evening screaming louder than I could have ever expected. He was so mad to be out of his warm comfortable home- my first clue at this sweet boys temper. My husband got to catch him and cut the cord, which was absolutely incredible that the hospital let him do that. I got to bring him to my chest right away and stare at his sweet face and shockingly red hair. I delivered my placenta and got to see the amazing organ my body had grown to sustain my baby boy. I had a second degree tear and a hematoma from pushing so hard. This made my recovery much harder than I had originally hoped it would be, but I was so thankful that I was able to get up several hours later and shower.

I had done it. I could not believe that I had actually succeeded in the moment I had been training for so long. My husband and I both felt so empowered by what we had just done. My proudest moment was when I signed the mandatory consent form in case of an emergency cesarean while holding Graham in my arms. We found so much redemption in being able to educate ourselves and then fight for the birth that we desired. I truly believe we had such an amazing experience because we eliminated fear’s role in the whole thing. It had no part. We knew my body was doing what it was supposed to and that we were part of something bigger than all of us. And while my son was the one who made the grand entrance, we were all reborn that day. Changed forever by the beauty of new life.