I spent time planning for Norah’s
birth. I used to read books on natural birth for fun. Then came my lactation
educator-counselor training through UCSD; it only solidified my desire for a
natural childbirth. After learning I was pregnant, I did more research. Luke
and I hired a wonderful doula and began to discuss our perspectives on birth. I
enjoyed an entirely uneventful pregnancy until the last couple of weeks. We
then experienced an emotional roller coaster which prompted Luke to remind me of
something I used to say. I used to say that I strongly disliked the war created
by the opposing camps of natural/home/minimal intervention birth vs. hospital/medicated/doctor-attended
births. Luke reminded me that I used to say the polarization and ascribing to
either extreme was harmful. I felt it was harmful for everyone involved in
birth and especially women. I even said I felt it negatively impacted the
mental health of women. After experiencing the unexpected as Norah’s birth
approached, I realized how I had joined a side and placed myself in the “natural”
camp. As a result, I felt hurt by the very extreme I said was harmful to
ascribe to.
It was a Thursday morning and I was heading to see
the midwives. On the way to the office, I prayed that God’s will would be done
throughout the remainder of my pregnancy and Norah’s birth. I told Him that His
glory above all was most important—and I wanted to remember that.
I was almost 38 weeks pregnant and getting excited
about meeting Norah. Our birth plan was finished and Luke and I were finishing
our last preparations. I felt great. As I met with the midwife, we chatted and
she palpated my abdominal area, feeling Norah’s body with her hands. She mentioned
she was going to grab the ultrasound machine. I didn’t think much of it,
although we only had a few ultrasounds throughout the entire pregnancy. “I
didn’t want to speak too soon, but she’s breech,” the midwife said. I was
baffled. I knew some babies were breech, but I had no idea what that meant for
me. She told me that we should schedule an external cephalic version (ECV) right
away. An ECV is where the doctor tries to turn the baby with his hands on the
outside of the woman’s body. The midwife said that if the baby didn’t turn with
the procedure—I would have a cesarean. She asked me if I was alright, because most
moms did not handle this type of news calmly. I assured her I was okay as she
gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. I knew Luke was teaching, so I sent him a
text about the news. I called my mom to have someone to talk to; I was so
thankful to not have to process it alone. After holding it together for a
while, I drove past the waves on the coast. I started to cry—and I cried the rest
of the way home.
There are many ways to try to turn a baby. I never
knew about them until I tried to turn our baby. With the ECV scheduled for the
next morning, I placed my body in various positions around our house: crying
and praying for our baby to turn head down. The ECV appointment came quickly. I
was riddled with anxiety as we headed into French Hospital and told the front
desk we were there for a procedure. This was not what I thought I would be
doing at 38 weeks pregnant. As we waited for the doctor, I was given an IV and
a drug to cause my uterus to relax. (Ironically enough, the use of the IV was
something I dreaded and set out to avoid during childbirth.) Our doctor came in
and explained the procedure. He told us the ECV could be very painful and most
likely would not be successful. (Not seamless and performed to “You Spin Me
Round” like the ones on YouTube?) I prayed and held Luke’s hand, trying to be
strong. The doctor pressed his hands around the baby’s body and tried to turn
her. Our midwife was there, trying to coach me to breathe and relax through the
pain. My whole body shook and it was a unique, intense pain that I had never
before experienced. The ultrasound showed that she was hardly moving with the
force of his hands. The doctor asked me if I wanted him to try again. At this
point, I began to cry. I didn’t want him to do that again—but I felt like I was
giving up.
They encouraged us to try other methods to get Norah
to turn. We tried multiple methods. (If anyone is curious, I will happily
entertain you with the variety of methods we explored.) From the time we
discovered she was breech to the days leading up to her birth, we researched
like mad and experienced a variety of emotions. I swayed from attempting to
accept the cesarean to discussing switching providers with our doula (to
attempt a vaginal birth). Our doula asked if we were interested in a homebirth.
Although we thought about it for a moment, we couldn’t feel peaceful about the
switch at 39 weeks and the potential risks for our little girl. Besides, if I
was headed for a cesarean, wouldn’t I want to secure the best possible doctor?
Our doctor had outlined the risks and benefits of our options. Although 50% of
breech births are vaginal in the United States, the largest risks are posed to
the baby—not the mother. We decided that moving forward with the cesarean was
safest for Norah. We tried to find peace and take comfort in our choice,
knowing that God had a plan for our daughter and our family. Our remaining days
as a family of two were spent on the beach, eating cinnamon rolls (and other
delightful food), and anticipating the arrival of our daughter.
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| Moxibustion, a technique involving heat, mugwort, and pressure points |
When I say that I felt hurt by my dreams of a
natural childbirth, I mean that I had to grieve the loss of an experience in
which I placed value. I felt scared that the surgery would potentially put me
in danger, which would compromise the well-being of my daughter. Additionally,
I didn’t know how I would manage the emotional and physical results of
the surgery. As a person who doesn’t medicate a headache, I was terrified of
the medications. Additionally, I knew that medication impacts breastfeeding; I
was terrified of struggling to feed my daughter. I was scared of being
disoriented and missing the first, precious moments of our daughter’s life. There
were many scary stories about cesareans. There were a few glimpses of
positivity, but they were buried in the rubble of tearful stories. I looked towards
my birth full of fear. I felt that I wasn’t going to give “birth.” I felt like
my daughter was missing coming into the world in the “best” way. Little did I
know that the day of my daughter’s birth would be filled with great joy—and the
relief that came when I realized my fears were far from the reality I would
experience.
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| One of our last, lovely dates as a family of two (my first time eating cinnamon rolls at Old West) |
