Cognosco

I’ve been musing over my birth story, and have realized that there are some things that I left out that should be part of the story. They are the kinds of things that aren’t just about the birth story, but are about the home birth story. Like how M asked me the next day if I had any questions about anything that had happened during the birth. I was actually debriefed about my birth experience.

 Like how the midwives gave me a Wonder Woman mug the day after the birth with tea inside that was for boosting my milk supply. And how receiving that mug helped to eliminate any residual feelings I had that I had done something to cause my labor to be long and hard.

 Like how when M came by on the third day, she noticed Albert doing something with his tongue that I didn’t realize was a problem that could have really fucked up the breastfeeding. She said, “babies are smart”. This was not the first time I’d heard her say that. She said, “if he starts that, it’ll be a hard habit to break.” He was sucking his tongue and I had to actually reach in and pull his tongue out when he did it. He didn’t do it any more after two days of that. Despite the many, many people I would have been forced to contend with in a hospital, I have a feeling none of them would have bothered to notice this problem. Furthermore, if I’d been allowed a vaginal birth in the hospital (not likely), then I would have already been home with no one to notice even if they were observant.

 Any time I had any tests done the midwives explained to me exactly what was being tested as well as the risks and benefits of the testing itself and the risks and benefits of doing nothing regardless of test results. I knew what my urinalysis results were because I was holding the pee stick and reading it myself. This was an improvement over watching blood and urine disappear from my sight with no idea where it was going, and facing tones of annoyance if I dared to ask.

 When I switched to midwifery care at 34 weeks, my doctor had not palpated my stomach at all yet. It was one of the first things the midwife did. It was as if she was getting to know the baby.

 I was asked permission to do vaginal exams. Rather than being told it was time for one. Not just exams during actual labor, but even exams to check my status prior to going into labor. It was my decision whether or not I wanted someone’s hands inside of me. I don’t have a problem with vaginal exams, but it was nice to know that it was always my decision and there was no pressure to do otherwise.

 Even though I took several hours to push Dude out, no one ever mentioned I had failed in any way. As in “failure to progress”. You know, that phrase that is justification for a whole cascade of interventions. No one said anything had stalled, like a temperamental car. No one mentioned anything about intervening in any way. They just suggested different positions. And M did do some things with her hands—but for the most part they were gentle, and she had my permission to do them.

 I have a friend who said the other day that she wondered “what her water would do” during her next birth. Apparently, she’s had her water broken in both previous births. The first time by a midwife (shall I say medwife) because labor had stalled (damn car!) at 9 cm. I am curious what definition of stalled they were using. Because really, it seems to me that 9cm is far enough along that maybe the body is like, “ok, everything is good, let’s take a teensy break before we push on to phase two”. My labor slowed down right after transition. The total break wasn’t that long. But then I had quite a period of time when I was pushy, but not intensely pushy. If I was in the hospital, the more I think about it, they would have totally said I had “stalled”. I didn’t feel like I had stalled. I was working hard. I worked much harder after that little slowing period, but it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t an active working participant in the period where little “progress” was made.

 Furthermore, during her last birth, when the doctor came in with his glove with a needle at the end of it to break her water, her guy had just left to get some soup. Nothing had been happening except, you know, contractions, and so she said sure, go ahead, go get some soup. I find it appalling that the doctor was not willing to wait 15 or 20 minutes for her guy to get back to break her water, knowing that breaking the water will cause contractions to intensify. Because, I’m sure that waiting 15 minutes would have made all the difference to the baby’s health, right?

 She came away from both experiences feeling like something was wrong with the way she labored because her water didn’t break at the very beginning. Rather than realizing her body was working just fine, great even, because it was retaining a cushion for the baby’s head and for her as well.

 The women that attended my birth didn’t treat me as an inferior—they treated me as an equal. They helped me, comforted me, supported me, nourished me, and cheered me on. The did not “manage” me. They were kind, gentle, and respectful at all times. I do not hear those words used for hospital births. Ever. It is a feat if the doctor even shows his or her face for more than 5 minutes prior to the baby crowning. These women held my hand, let me push against them, put cool cloths on my neck, and brushed the hair back from my face. They were with me in labor, not waiting for me to finish my labor.

 I know plenty of women who get weepy and sentimental about the birth of their baby. But they are referring to just the actual moment of birth. I am overcome with emotion about the entire experience, especially the difficult times.

 And there have been times since the day Albert was born that I felt insecure about something or needed a little courage. And it’s true that thinking of that day makes other challenges pale in comparison.

 And that, my friends, as Paul Harvey would say, is the rest of the story.