by Ingrid Soderberg
In preparing for what I hoped to be an un-medicated, non-augmented hospital birth for our son in March of 2004, I thought I had covered all my bases. I attended prenatal yoga classes and hired a doula. I read Misconceptions, Spiritual Midwifery, and Birthing From Within. My husband and I also attended a series of Birthing From Within classes where we explored and worked through our fears and anxiety surrounding the birth of our first child. For a variety of reasons we had decided against a home birth, but I was more than confident we could navigate the hospital system and still maintain the integrity of our desired natural birth. At the hospital tour, I asked (almost) all the right questions and got all the right answers.
My biggest mistakes were in underestimating the importance of the people “in charge” of me during my labor and birth and in my choice of hospital. I thought since I had my husband and doula by my side, it wouldn’t really matter that the OB I had chosen, simply because she practiced within the clinic where I received annual checkups, had started to send up red flags that she was not supportive of the kind of birth I was after. In hindsight, I also would have immediately requested a change of nurse to replace the one whose shift started just as I was reaching eight centimeters. Between the two of them, I can’t think of a time in my life where I felt more violated, disrespected, and disregarded. As for the hospital, I thought the most important thing was to be able to get there fast, so I picked the one closest to my house without checking into reputation and statistics.
The surgical birth of my son came at the end of nineteen hours of un-medicated labor. After going to the hospital too soon (4 cm) and getting stuck at 5 cm for hours, a bit of pitocin got me to complete, save for a rim, in another few hours. When every bit of my being and my baby was telling me to push, I was told to do everything I could not to push or else I’d swell up and need a cesarean. This is the point I’ve always held onto as being my chance to have my son vaginally, but I was not allowed to listen to my body. When it was time to push, and my OB had finally arrived, there was nothing left in me and my baby was stuck. I asked to push in different positions and was told no, I needed to lie on my back. After an hour or so of unproductive pushing, my OB announced confidently that my hips were not big enough to get this baby out and I would need to have him surgically. Defeated and exhausted, I relented and was sent on an endless, embarrassing gurney ride to the operating room. I don’t remember my OB saying one word to me from the other side of the curtain. My son was presented to me for less than a minute before he was taken away for more than an hour while we got cleaned up and transferred back upstairs.
I was shocked by how useless and toxic I felt in the days that followed, bloated and drugged and needing to be physically lifted and propped up to nurse our son. Hooked up to IVs and a catheter, I was so disappointed and sad that my attempt to keep drugs and interventions away from my baby had ended like this, with me pushing a button to administer intravenous pain killers as needed, which was often. My husband and visitors reminded me all that mattered was my beautiful, healthy baby boy, but I felt like a failure as a woman and I felt like I’d been cheated out of an experience I so wanted to have.
In the years that followed, discussing Hayden’s birth always brought me to tears. Our decision to not have another child was in part based on my knowing how long it took me to recover from my surgical birth. Having been through years of physical therapy for back issues, I was not sure I was willing to start from square one again if I needed to have another one. As much as I wanted to believe my OB was wrong about my having a body incapable of birthing, I had nothing but my gut (and eventually a slew of supportive birth professionals) to tell me so.
In the fall of 2010, my husband and I decided we would like to have another child. We conceived easily and I instantly knew this birth, no matter how it happened, would be a much different and better experience than the last. I took prenatal yoga and attended a fabulous VBAC workshop at Blooma. I journaled and processed and talked out my fears and anxieties to anyone who would listen. I sought out our doula from Hayden’s birth and was thrilled she agreed to accompany us again. I read Orgasmic Birth and Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth and sought council and advice wherever I could find it. Some amazing women crossed my path and fed me bits of wisdom and encouragement along the way.
I quickly found that having a previous surgical birth can shut a lot of doors for future births. I was heartbroken to find I could not have my potential VBAC at the Morningstar Birth Center (they now are able to have them, but still aren’t covered by most insurance companies) but was referred by them to Dr. Dennis Hartung of Hudson Physicians. Not only was he willing to commit to being at my birth, he would do so at Woodwinds Health Campus, a place which allowed VBACs and was covered by my insurance. I was disappointed to find not one hospital in town allows VBACs to have water births, but miraculously Woodwinds has large tubs in every room and was the only hospital I could find that would allow me to labor in water, as their monitors (most providers require VBACs have to have a fetal monitor on constantly) are portable and can go in the water. After each fantastic appointment with Dr. Hartung, where he had all the right answers to my questions (and an Ina May quote up on his wall), I would cry with joy and relief on the long drive home, so grateful all the pieces had come together so well.
My second labor began five days early, on July 27, at midnight as a thunderstorm rolled in. A manageable night of intermittent sleep, contractions, and bathroom trips was followed by an intense morning of somewhat frantic packing mixed with increasingly frequent contractions on my exercise ball. We were relieved to make it past rush hour (the worst case scenario going from Minneapolis to Woodbury) and left when things were moving at such a clip I thought it almost impossible that I’d get there too soon again. The half hour ride on the back seat was crazy but went faster than I imagined, and by the time we got to Woodwinds it was hard to resist the urge to push. The valet (complimentary) waited patiently as I finished my last vehicular contraction and we were escorted to the elevator to a lovely piano serenade from the lobby. Since I hadn’t managed to call ahead until we were almost there, I sent the nursing staff into a bit of a scuttle (the storm had sent in a record number of women in labor that morning).
When my body left an opportunity to be checked, the nurse announced that I was at a nine and could gently follow my body’s urge to push. I remember laughing and high-fiving my husband. Within ten minutes I was complete, and my awesome doctor arrived. I experienced that same feeling I’d had seven years before and wasn’t allowed to follow, led me through an hour and a half of pushing. With my consciously compiled team by my side, accompanied by a fantastic nurse, in a calm and serene environment, I pushed my beautiful 7 lb. 12 oz baby girl (and her arm, which was up by her face), from my un-medicated, non-augmented body!
Left alone to hold and nurse Tuula for more than an hour after her arrival, I laughed and cried for both my babies’ births. It was such a relief to finally know the truth of my body and to have a new, more uplifting story to tell. I am so proud and thankful to finally have the birth experience I always wanted, though hindsight and perspective have made clear the many gifts that came from that first difficult birth. If nothing else I’ve always hoped sharing my story could help other women avoid unnecessary major surgery and the long recovery that comes with it. My vaginal birth has not been without its pain and recuperation, but taking care of my newborn, drug-free with intact abdominal muscles and a recharged spirit, has been amazing.
*My doula, Jen Thaney, was a fantastic, stable part of our first birth. The hospital’s attitude toward doulas at that time was, at best, hostile. It was made very clear that she was not to step on anyone’s toes or she would not be welcome to stay.
