Florence Olivia - Birth story
Friday evening, October 21, 2016 -
There are mild, sweet contractions coming every five or six minutes now. I'm collecting myself in the bathroom, waiting to go to the hospital. I can hear my husband talking with our son, asking him if he knows why his grandma and grandpa are coming tonight. Why mommy and daddy are going to the hospital. When I come out my husband relays our son's whispered reply that I couldn't hear from the bathroom: "'cause baby sister is coming out at da hostapitol."
When I hugged my only son goodbye, he clung to me, saying "Don't go to the hostapitol! I neeeeed you!" and I had to stroke his cheek and say I need him too, and love him, and will see him soon, and then leave him with our trusted, loving friend Aubrey to await his grandparents.
We arrived at the hospital knowing we would have to do something to get labor going. My water had ruptured just slightly the night before, and mild early labor had begun, but was not consistent or strong. Although we weren't put on a clock per se, I knew my risks of needing interventions or getting an infection would rise with each internal exam and every hour spent in the hospital, and serious labor would be the best way to be sure that my body was doing as God intended.
When checked at 6:30pm, I was well-effaced and dilated to 2, with my daughter's head fully engaged. I asked the midwife to fully rupture the water sack and let that be our first attempt to get labor going--I really wanted to avoid pharmaceutical induction. The rest of the water sack was stripped and my midwife said I immediately went from a 2 to a 3. It worked well to start stronger contractions. With a few other natural induction tricks I had learned from reading all the Ina May Gaskin 🤓, we got labor going strong with my body's own oxytocin.
At 8pm I was entering true "active labor," requiring my full attention and cooperation. My doula Katie arrived to help me manage contractions and my husband David got to have a break from directly helping support me through each rush. He did amazing, and really surprised me with how well he was reading me and helping me relax and breathe. But I know he appreciated the pressure being off him when Katie arrived.
Shortly after she got there, my husband shared our daughter's name--Florence--with our support team, and also shared that today would have been great grandma Florence's 87th birthday if she were still living. We had the name picked out since our first future-baby-naming conversation from when we were engaged five years ago, but until this day, with just 4 hours or so left in October 21, I did not know it was the original Florence's birthday. Coincidence? I thought not! It gave me a sudden, fierce will to bring this little lady into the world before midnight. I didn't really believe it would go that fast, but it gave me a goal. And it made me all the more focused on working with my body through each contraction, visualizing the uterine walls squeezing and pressing my sweet baby down to open my cervix all the way.
Compared with the long, slow birth of my son, where I went without pain medication but was not really focused on maximizing contractions so much as enduring them, laboring Flory was intense and fast. I think it was entirely self-willed. I kept changing positions, resisting the temptation to lie in the tub and let the hot water lull me to a sleepy, less-productive labor. I concentrated hard on relaxing my entire body, especially my shoulders, face, and brow, keeping my mouth wide open, keeping gravity working for me, and slightly bearing down with contractions by moaning low like a cow as contractions would build, and then riding them down like a wave as they receded.
When I had been in "transition" for a while, the contractions lasting between 90 seconds and 2 minutes, coming every minute or so, I was dilated just to 8. I was getting discouraged, I let myself verbalize it, knowing that telling my support team how I felt would show them how to encourage me, and motivate me to get over that last leg of very productive, difficult contractions. I hated transition. I cannot say I experienced the painless labor I've heard of. It hurt like hell. It was bad. But somehow I was still able to force my body to relax and cooperate. My nurse kept saying "you have amazing control," which kept me believing it was true, and helped me master my desire to quit.
A few more trance-like, tsunami-level waves of work, and I could hear myself growling. Roaring. I was on my hands and knees. I was saying "I'm a wild beast" in my head as the roars poured out of me. It was just happening. I just let it happen. It was instinct.
Finally, in a break between hard rushes, my midwife checked me again and said just a tiny lip of my cervix was keeping me from full dilation and asked me if she could help stretch it over the baby's head with the next contraction so I could push. I agreed, and she worked her magic, and after just one more long, animal contraction where I was roaring and not caring and it was more intense than any other contraction before it, she said I was ready to push.
It was already past midnight. I had missed grandma Florence's birthday. But I had made it to pushing and I was tired and proud of myself and ready for the feeling of relief that would come with pushing. David came over to say he was going to go use the bathroom and we all told him to hurry because I was about to push. I don't think he really understood how fast this stage would go, since pushing took two hours with my firstborn.
I was still on my hands and knees when the first pushing contraction began. My midwife, nurse, and doula were all reading me beautifully, coaching me on posture, breathing, and pouring my energy into each push with my breath held so all my energy would be directed to moving her down. The first pushes felt so effective, it kind of shocked me. After two pushing contractions I realized exactly what I needed to do. I pushed. Hard. I felt her crowning and got a little nervous about tearing, but my midwife had me slow down and breathe through the end of the rush so her head could gently stretch me open. I prayed out loud before the next push, "Jesus, don't let me tear." On the next contraction I pushed her head out and I could hear my husband re-entering the room and saying something that sounded surprised. It was happening so. fast.
Her cord was around her neck, so they had me breathe and not push until they unwrapped it. The next push and she was out. Less than ten minutes after I started pushing, she was in my arms. A shock of black hair. Thick white vernix all over her warm, purple body. It was 12:36 am on October 22, exactly one week before her due date. She immediately nursed and was content to do so for over an hour while they helped me deliver the placenta and made sure I wasn't hemorrhaging. Then she was weighed and measured and I was in surreal disbelief. 7lbs 8oz, 20.5 inches long, and a 13inch head.
I had no tearing. Needed no drugs. It was momentous. Awful. The most powerful experience my body has ever participated in. I do not pretend unaided childbirth is easy or without incredible pain, but in my two childbirth experiences, with the gift of being extremely low-risk and healthy, I have learned that embracing it and joining in it for what it is, fully understanding that pain can be a major player and accepting that pain for its purpose, labor works. It works. I do not claim drug and intervention-free is always best, nor judge any mother for how she chooses to bring her children into the world (or whose choice is taken from her for any reason, including emergencies) but I am a firm believer in the beautiful design of labor. God didn't mess it up. It works. But it's hard. freaking. work. I hope my experience can encourage others who may be needlessly afraid of labor. I wish more mothers could bring their babies into the world with the feeling of empowerment and purpose and anointing that can be part of a well-supported natural birth.
