The Birth of My Daughter Part Two

Part One

My daughter's birth was certainly not as horrible as it could have been, nor as traumatic as other women's experiences, but was still far from what it should have been.  I knew deep down that I was not happy with her birth, but for a long time I claimed everything went great.  I mean, after all, a healthy baby is the only thing that determines whether a birth went well or not, right?  It wasn't until I started learning more about natural living, breastfeeding, pregnancy, and birth that I finally acknowledged why I tried to never think about her birth.  Hopefully after writing all of this down, I can think about our first face to face meeting with a little less guilt and anger.  This won't be stellar writing (not that I ever write well) as the memories are very choppy.

So we left off with us going to check into the hospital the morning after my water broke.  We got there, checked in, and were put in a room.  I was told to change into a gown and they started making the calls necessary to get my records from my doctor.  I was terrified.  I had not given much thought to birthing our daughter.  I figured we would just take it one step at a time and never researched into anything.  ANYTHING.  So when they handed me a pill and told me they needed to induce me, even though I was having contractions and labor was clearly beginning (though slowly), I did what they told me.  It wasn't until over a year later that I learned that what they gave me, Cytotec, is not only not approved by the FDA for inducing labor, but has been linked to uterine rupture and the deaths of the mother and/or child.  There is no standard dosage which means doctors are just guessing.  It says in my chart that they went over the risks and the fact that this was an off-label use of the drug, but my husband and I have no memory of this.  Even if they had, I don't personally believe that informed consent of this kind can take place while in labor when the one offering the drug is in a position of authority. It infuriates me that they experimented on both me and my child and risked both our lives simply because they were too impatient to wait for my body to do what it needed to do. 

About a half hour after taking the Cytotec, the contractions started hard.  Really hard.  I panicked.  I called the nurse and told her how much pain I was in.  She just shrugged and said that's how it starts.  I felt stupid.  I felt ashamed that I could not even handle the BEGINNING of labor.  And I agreed to the epidural.  I didn't see any other option.  I was clearly a wimp. I was already confined to the bed with all the monitors, so having zero use of my legs didn't seem to matter much.  When the anesthesiologist came in to give me the epidural, I was beyond pain and I became convinced he was going to paralyze me.  My husband tried to calm me down and keep me still, but I was freaking out and crying.  I sometimes wonder if the Cytotec made me a bit paranoid as well.  And then the pain was gone.  And I started getting loopy.  Cracking jokes, feeling funny. I had become completely disconnected from my daughter's birth. 

My husband went to get something to eat where the poor man cried as he tried to deal with the stress of having lost his grandfather and his wife having his first child.  That's a lot to handle.  A lot.  While he was gone, I started feeling pain again.  Lots of pain.  I had to start breathing through contractions again, but I didn't want to up the epidural level.  My husband returned, the nurse checked me, informed us I was complete, and they wheeled all the equipment in.  I had gone from 4/5 cm to complete in about 15-20 minutes.  The epidural dosage was low enough that I could still feel and push (which I am so grateful for!).  They, of course, had me do forced pushing: pushing for 10 seconds/3 times every contraction.  My husband counted to 10 probably a thousand times in those three hours.  It didn't feel like 3 hours to either of us though.  In fact, up until my current doctor informed me a few months ago that I had pushed that long, we were both convinced I only pushed for an hour and a half at the most.

It turned out Little Miss was face up and pushing on my back, which hurt like crazy, especially when I was confined to a bed ON MY BACK!!  I had a bruised tailbone for months.  She rotated on her own though in the birth canal and was born face down.  Unfortunately she dragged her little arm up by her face and did a little more tearing that I would've liked.

I remember the doctor asking me if I wanted to touch her head with all its hair as she was crowning and I promptly refused.  I think I was only thinking of the current pushing and forgot completely what it was I was striving for.  Little Miss did not seem to be my goal, if that makes sense.  And I was disgusted with the whole birthing process.  I felt so exposed and ashamed, I just wanted it over with.

She was born at 3:05pm on Monday, June 1st, 2009 and my first thought when they put her on my chest was "Eww, couldn't they have cleaned her off first?" That makes me sad.  I didn't feel that excited.  I didn't really care.  They took her again, poked, prodded, and nearly got decked by my husband.  He went instantly into protect mode and still struggles with not stopping how rough they were with her.  One happy memory I have is of my husband saying something and Little Miss lifting her head to look at him.  She must have recognized that voice!  They took her away after the poking and prodding to give her a bath and such and my husband went with.  All I could think was that I barely got to see her.  They could bring me back a completely different baby and I would never know!  I had nightmares for a long time that I couldn't recognize my own child.  I'm not sure how long they were gone and I have no memory of her being brought back or even of nursing her, though I know I did right when she returned.  I know mentally that she latched on strong and well, but I can't picture the moment.  And I have no emotion attached with seeing her again.

I think that's what bothers me most about her birth: the sterility of it all.  The drugs, the matter of factness, the lack of emotions from those attending as well as myself and the fact that I just flat out can't remember so many things that should be etched in my mind as life altering.  I feel like I had those memories stolen from me and I will never get them back.

The next few days in the hospital were rough.  My back hurt from both the back labor and the epidural placement and I struggled to even walk.  One of my legs continued to feel tingly for at least a month which freaked me out to no end.  And I still struggled with being apathetic to the fact that I now had a beautiful, wonderful baby girl.  I was now a mother, but I just didn't seem to care.  I still felt very ashamed of the birth and the lack of dignity I was allowed.  I remember a nurse walking in on me while I was going to the bathroom and asking me questions.  I was so embarrassed and it only added to my sense of shame and lack of personhood within the hospital walls.

And then there was breastfeeding.  Even though they said I was doing great, Little Miss had a good latch, and my milk seemed to have come in, they said my daughter was starving and needed formula.  I refused the first time or so, but when a nurse kept telling me my baby was "so hungry" I eventually gave my permission.  They forced more than 4 oz into her tiny stomach (barely the size of a walnut) which she promptly threw up everywhere.  And they continued to do that repeatedly during my stay.  I'm crying now just thinking that I allowed that to happen.  They kept saying she wasn't getting enough, never enough.  I would nurse her for 45 minutes or so and then they insisted she get a bottle on top of that.  We did that until she was 10 days old when I finally put my foot down and said NO MORE.  I knew that's not what I wanted and I was determined to make breastfeeding work.  I still think the formula played a role in why she was so colicky.  I had allowed her gut flora to be sabotaged and her digestion wasn't working the way it was supposed to.  She spit up a lot during those months.  And it just breaks my heart that she suffered so much in her first few days, weeks, and months. 

We recovered physically.  We bonded.  We exclusively breastfed from Day 10 to 7 months.  And we're still breastfeeding at 23 months.  And she is amazing.  And I can barely stand to be away from her for more than a few hours because I just miss that cutie pie!  I've done the best I can to make up for those first few days and weeks, but I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling guilty for what I allowed to happen.  I could say I just didn't know any better, but that's the point.  We, who have access to information more than any other generation in the world, should know better.  I plan everything.  I'm a list maker.  I research things to no end.  But I didn't research with pregnancy or birth.  At all.  I picked the wrong people to trust and I deserved what happened to me.  But my daughter did not.  She should have been brought into the world better than the way I gave her.  She should have been protected better than I protected.  And she should have been loved better than I loved.

The only way I've been able to console myself in this is knowing our God is sovereign.  Because of how her birth went, we made changes in our lives.  Our lifestyles have changed drastically and we've done the research for this next child's birth.  God is good.  If her birth had been natural and perfect, I can pretty much guarantee we would not have made many of the changes we've made.  I can also guarantee that there would be a lot more arrogance in my attitudes towards those struggling with their birth or breastfeeding experiences.  I still will grieve over her birth, but can at least move forward knowing that God is in control, even when it feels like everything else is so out of control.

The Birth of My Daughter Part One

I've never written down the birth of my daughter.  I've always tried to steer my thoughts away from those days in the hospital, but I think I need to deal with the anger and guilt I feel over that experience so that I can be fully present in the birth of my next child.


My pregnancy with my daughter was rough from the start.  We had lost our first child in a miscarriage and looking back, I think that stripped me of any confidence I had in my body.  I was terrified that I couldn't even carry a baby to term, let alone birth said baby.  I had already failed as a mother in my mind, unable to protect that little life, so how could I possibly trust my body throughout another pregnancy and then a birth?  I was incredibly insecure during the pregnancy, from the doubts of my abilities to the drastic changes in my body.

And like most women, I trusted my doctor.  I trusted medicine.  And this is where I feel guilt.  I had already been burned horribly by the medical community and they had done nothing to regain my trust and yet I trusted.  They had told me I was a weak, attention-seeking complainer and even after I had proven that wasn't true, I still let them tell me I was weak and incapable of doing anything.  Why did I let that happen?  Why didn't I stand up for myself and my child?  I should have known better.  I failed yet again to protect my babies.  I followed all the medical advice.  I did everything I was supposed to do, but there I was, swollen, my blood pressure rising and desperately trying to convince the doctor to induce me.  For ignoring me on this point, I thank him.  I would have done almost anything to just not be pregnant anymore.

When I was about 34 weeks along, we learned that my husband's grandfather had cancer.  The really bad cancer that just comes in and destroys in a matter of months.  We went to visit him and prayed he would live to see his first grandchild, but God had other plans.  Thursday, May 28th, 2009, he went to be with the Lord.  I had woken up that day feeling absolutely amazing and energetic at 38 weeks.  I knew that baby was coming, but at 9 am, my husband came home crying to tell me Grandpa had died.  What could we do?  We only had a few options: not going to the funeral, my husband going without me, or both of us going and risking the baby coming.  Not going at all was quickly rejected as I knew my husband would always regret it.  I was terrified to have him go without me especially since I woke up feeling so incredibly amazing.  So we decided to go together.

Sunday we had church and then gathered as a family before the visitation.  My daughter was going crazy in the womb.  My husband's cousin looked on in horror as feet and hands could be seen pushing my belly out and bouncing everything around.  I was getting more and more uncomfortable and my mother-in-law told me later that watching me walk, it seemed like the baby's head was RIGHT there.  Visitation over and back to the house where we talked about Grandpa and laughed and laughed (he was a VERY good joke teller!). I think the laughing was what did me in.  I got up to the go to the bathroom (for about the 40th time) and halfway down the hallway I started peeing my pants.  Or so I thought at first.  It didn't stop though.  I went back to the room and firmly told Ty I thought we should go to bed.  I went downstairs where I found my MIL and asked her how I would know if my water broke.  I believe her exact response was "Really?????" spoken with just a hint of dread.  We decided to labor at the house for as long as possible, but labor never really started.  I maybe had 2 or 3 contractions the whole night, but was terrified enough that I didn't sleep a bit. 

In the morning we decided to go into the hospital which is where any remaining confidence was promptly stripped away and I became a patient, not a woman or mother.

Part Two

37, I mean 33 1/2 week Update

Saw the doctor this morning and I discovered why everyone is giving me those shocked looks when I share that I have over 2 months to go: it's because I'm measuring nearly a month big!!!

oh, the classic bathroom mirror shot.  I hate doing this, but I was too lazy to set up a tripod, etc.

I measured big with my daughter, too, but never a whole month.  The doctor felt around and it really is simply because of the baby's position: kinda halfway between transverse and head down. Plus I'm carrying super high. My husband keeps teasing me that I'm gonna get stopped leaving the store for stealing a basketball.  The doctor seems to be a little too concerned about me having a 10 lb baby though.  I was a 10 lb baby.  My friend that is half my size had a 9 lb baby.  I assured him that I'm really not concerned about it one bit.  I need to really be diligent about the Spinning Babies positions though to make sure this little one does in fact go into the head down position. 

I've also come to a rather comforting conclusion: I gain a lot of weight during pregnancy no matter what.  I ate horribly with my daughter and gained about 60 lbs.  I'm eating very healthy this time (although I do have some sweets, though usually they're homemade and still rather healthy) and I'm gaining about the same as last time, maybe even a little more.  My doctor is (fortunately) not concerned.  We've talked about my diet and he says this is just genetics then.  This is simply what my body needs to do to grow a healthy baby.  It actually is kinda liberating in a way to discover this.  I think I can let go of the guilt I felt about "letting myself go" during the last pregnancy.  The way I ate added other complications, but gaining weight really wasn't one of them.  And I feel confident that with nursing two little ones, the weight will drop off quicker than it did before.  And if it doesn't? Oh well, I'll survive.

An Update on Life

I know it's been quiet on here, but I'm afraid blogging has just not been a priority lately.  My big priority: hunting for GAPS friendly recipes.  My husband had been feeling kinda miserable since Christmas and finally just decided he needed to do something drastic.  He had gone on a diet similar to GAPS before we were married and it pretty much cured his acid reflux, but he was starting to feel like he was heading down that same path, so it was time for a change.  Even though we eat almost all traditional foods, it just wasn't enough to recover from Christmas junk.  It's been about 6 weeks or so now and it's gone pretty well.  It's just been ridiculously overwhelming to be 8 months pregnant and doing a complete diet change for our family.  I make sure all the meals are GAPS friendly, but I'm not super strict with myself about snacks.  I honestly just don't have the energy for it.  I have tried to keep my daughter grain free though, so any grain type snacks have to be eaten when she's not around...which is pretty much never.

So after 6 weeks, I think it's been good for us.  I know I feel so much better and have more energy.  We had company over the weekend and went out to eat and cooked more normal food, and oh my, I felt awful!  I mean, my stomach was fine, but I don't think my body is used to running on carbs anymore.  I was just exhausted.  I'm still trying to recover! 

As for the pregnancy, it's going so incredibly well.  I feel so much healthier and energetic than I did with my pregnancy with Little Miss.  The only "scare" we've had was that I was measuring small at my appointments.  And not consistently small.  At 16 weeks I measured 1 week big.  At 22 weeks, I measured 1.5 weeks small.  And at 26 weeks, I measured 2.5 weeks small.  I was pretty sure it was just the way I'm carrying this one, but we finally agreed to an ultrasound to check everything out.  And yep, everything is fine.  The baby is measuring right on and all was well.  With Little Miss, I measured 2 weeks big the entire time, so it's been a little different being on the smaller side of things.  With that pregnancy, people started asking if I was due "any day now" from about 6 months on.  Yeah...that was super nice.

We didn't find out the sex during the ultrasound and I'm glad we didn't want to, as the tech said she wouldn't have even been able to figure it out because of the baby's position.  Glad we weren't set on it and then disappointed.

Little Miss is still nursing as well, but I'm finding myself saying no much more frequently.  I've just found it more uncomfortable and sometimes just gives me the heebie jeebies.  When I say no, I always try to have a condition though, like "after lunch" or "when Daddy gets home."  That seems to help and she NEVER forgets!  I'm really hoping that the feelings I have now go away once the new baby comes, but who knows?

So that's a little update on how things are going.  It's been pretty crazy, but good. 

Being Comfortable in My Pregnant Body

So here's a little secret:  I hated being pregnant with Little Miss.  Oh sure, there were things I liked.  I loved feeling her move around and...yeah, I think that was about it.  I was so incredibly uncomfortable with the changes in my body, that I simply could not enjoy pregnancy.  Even when I was feeling good in the second trimester, I still didn't like my body.  I felt fat.  I didn't feel like the cute pregnant woman I always dreamed I would be.  You know the ones.  The ones that hardly look pregnant except for that precious bump that screams "I'm growing a child and I'm going to wear my pre-pregnancy jeans home from the hospital."  Yeah...I felt bitter.  I just looked chubby for the longest time and then by the time I was clearly pregnant, I was also fat.  And I had stretch marks.   It was rough.

But take two and it's a completely different experience.  I was the exact same weight at the beginning of this pregnancy as I was before my first, but it feels so different.  I suppose some of it is that my body has done this before.  It's not as much of a shock.  And maybe it's because I figure most of the "damage" was done the first time around.  The stretch marks are already there.  They're not going away and chances are they're not going to get much worse.  The boobs were huge to start off with this time around because I'm still breastfeeding, so there's no getting used to that.  Overall it just seems more familiar and I'm more comfortable in my own skin again.

I also made a little New Year's resolution (although, it really had nothing to do with the new year, more with not feeling nauseous anymore) that's helping me love pregnancy.  I decided I wanted to be more fashionable this year.  I'd been feeling pretty frumpy and behind on the times and had decided to just give up until my kids were older, but then I ran across this article on Ain't No Mom Jeans. This line in particular really struck me:

"Ignoring trends year after year after year is exactly how you wake up one morning, 20 years later, with a permed mullet and legwarmers wondering why everyone else looks so different."

I just kept thinking, "I don't want to end up as the Mullet Mom!!!" 


So I'm putting more effort in.  I'm doing a bit of research and I'm taking a few risks.  There were quite a few trends that I just figured would never look good on my body type, but I've since been converted.  My favorite right now?  Belting the bump.  I love wearing a belt to accent the top of my baby bump.   It makes me feel like I definitely look pregnant, not fat.  I feel kinda sassy doing it, too.  I'm also trying more and more non-maternity clothes to pair with my small pregnancy wardrobe.  It's actually turned into a pretty fun process.

I'm finally figuring out what so many other women have experienced already:  that pregnancy can be fun!  You can feel comfortable with your body and enjoy the changes.  You can still feel fun and sassy and sexy.  I felt like I had lost that part of me with my first pregnancy and journey into motherhood, but this time around, I think I've recaptured it.  Now hopefully I can hold on to it.

They Didn't Know Me Then

I had a revelation a few weeks back that seems to have really changed the way I interact with people in regards to our natural living side.  I realized that the people I know now didn't know me four years ago.  They didn't know me when I could barely walk.  They didn't know me when I was in so much pain that even sitting or lying down was unbearable.  When I was spending thousands of dollars a year on massages to keep me functioning.  When I was having test after test done, only to be told time and time again that it was all in my head.  That I just was doing this for attention.  They didn't know me when I was horribly depressed and struggling to get anything done.  When I had constant suicidal thoughts.  When I cried every day.  When I hated my life.

They didn't know me through any of that.  They didn't know about the desperation of knowing something is wrong and not getting anyone to listen.  Or the fear of never being able to have a normal life.  Or the shock of being told you may end up on disability for the rest of your life.  Or the disgust of being diagnosed with fibromyalgia simply because the doctor wants you to shut up and leave him alone instead of doing his job.  Or the despair of every doctor trying to prescribe you yet another pain med, another antidepressant.

The people I know today only see who I am now: healthy, happy, and loving life again.  And so what do they think?  They think that my husband (who also had health issues in the past) and I are just a couple of nuts.  Just a pair of hippies who converted to this natural living stuff because it's cool or trendy or because we just love being different. 

They can't possibly know that we had no choice.

They don't know how we were abandoned by the medical community because we didn't want to simply cover up our symptoms.  We wanted to discover and solve the problem!  And so we were forced to go outside the mainstream.  And it worked. And we're healthy.  And we thank God for leading us to the solution.  And we especially thank Him for gently leading us there as He knocked down the walls and prejudices we had built up.

The people who just met us can't understand our skepticism toward the medical community.  They can't understand why I would do things the 'hard' way. Or why I research everything on my own instead of just doing what my doctor says is 'proven'.

But one thing they can and should know about us is that we aren't going to change. Not to fit in.  Not to be accepted.  Not to be normal.

Because none of those things will ever be worth my health.

Good Excuses

Okay, so it's been awhile.  I knew this blog thing would never be a major priority for me, but more of a chance to put my thoughts down when I needed to.  But I do have a very good reason for dropping off the face of the planet: morning sickness.  Yep. The wonderful joys of morning sickness for 8 long and brutal weeks.

But it has finally passed and now I can excitedly tell people that yes, we are expecting and I'm not just filling up on cookies during the Holidays.  I mean...I AM filling up on a cookies, but that's not why I suddenly have a huge gut.  This little one will be joining us at the end of May or the beginning of June.  Depends how big of a rush he/she is in.  So currently I'm about 17 weeks along and starting to enjoy the whole pregnant thing.  It really is fun once I'm not feeling nauseous 24/7.  And I'm just starting to feel movement too, which I absolutely love.  It gives me such a sense of security and joy. 

I do have to report that I have noticed a substantial decrease in bad pregnancy symptoms compared to my pregnancy with Little Miss.  My nausea was less and I threw up less.  I didn't get the breast tenderness or as much cramping.  The exhaustion was still there, but I have a good reason for that too:  I'm still breastfeeding Little Miss.  And it's going pretty well.  I thought once the morning sickness hit I would want to wean her, but it was the best thing ever!  1) I'm pretty sure the breastfeeding is what decreased my morning sickness and 2) when you have a toddler who never sits still EXCEPT for when she nurses, you certainly don't want to give up that time.  I would let her nurse as much as she wanted just so we could sit and snuggle when I felt my worst.  It also meant I didn't have to dig through the fridge as often for food for her.  She would tell me when she wanted food, but having breastmilk fill in the calorie gap really took a load off my shoulders.

I really have no idea what the next step is.  I don't have any desire to wean her (although we did wean at night and last week was rough and I DID have definite thoughts of weaning), but we'll just see.  She may wean herself as my milk changes and decreases.  I just don't know.  We are constantly in uncharted territories.

I suppose all parenting is uncharted territories though.  Even if you've done it with one kid, every child is different.  It'll be fun to see who this little one will turn out to be!