When playing house, dressing baby dolls, and generally
dreaming of the day I was to be a mommy, giving birth wasn’t ever part of that
child-like vision; though understandably, a five year-old playing labor and
delivery would likely border on disturbing for the average passer-by. And it’s no
wonder, until you experience it for yourself; the beauty of those moments may
or may not be lost in the retelling of it for all the gore that generally
garners much of the attention. Though it is true that birth stories usually
focus on, well, the birth, for me much of it was the journey preceding and what
it took for me to grow not up, but deeper in the knowledge of what an answered
prayer looks like.
Having moved to Utah when I was approximately four months
pregnant, initially I wasn’t too concerned about finding someone to deliver our
baby. I had a friend recommend a midwife located nearby, but when I had an
at-home interview with her and discovered she didn’t deliver in hospitals I put
her out of my mind almost instantly. I just wasn’t ready to commit to all the
uncertainties that come with home birth, because hello? Who does that…we have
hospitals for a reason! My last delivery
was with a midwife, no pain meds, in a hospital and at the end of it all was
pretty much the perfect birth in my eyes, so the bar was set pretty high. After
then deciding on another midwife/hospital birth I was surprised when I felt
more unsettled, completely wrong even, with each new day and just couldn’t
bring myself to schedule an appointment. I considered my other two options: A
birth center or a home birth…birth center it was…a home setting with more
choices/fewer interventions, but more medical equipment than my own bedroom. I
went to two birth centers to check them out. A) Had the quaint house look I
liked, a kind midwife, but absolutely no budge in the price arena (insurance
doesn’t cover any of a birth center). B) Nice inside, but really just a
crumbling old office building made to look like a home, with no guarantee you’d
have the midwife you liked for the actual birth; however, they had a discount
if you chose to have students help out. My tentative choice was B and I went so
far as to schedule and find out that our baby BOY was healthy and strong in
every way that can be seen in an ultrasound. However, the midwife who gave me
the tour was so disconnected and aloof I just wasn’t quite ready to commit my
soon-to-be-5th born to her care.
Right about that time husband Tony lost the job we moved
cross-country for. For the first time in our marriage we faced unemployment,
which then halted every aspect of our life, including the search for a place to
birth our baby. I was six months pregnant by this time, having only had one
prenatal appointment and the gender reveal ultrasound at 26 weeks, but having
had four children previously, that didn’t really bother me. I wanted to be sure
with my choice of provider, and at the moment, nothing in our lives was
sure—including how the heck we were going to now be able to pay for this baby
to enter the world. I put off making any decision as week after week went by.
Birth center B called me back and was incredibly patient and kind as I told
them my situation and asked for more time to decide. They even offered a
hardship discount (that about summed up our current day-to-day), but still,
peace did not come. Even with the discount, it seemed we had no real way to pay
for baby (barring credit cards—which was just not an option in our minds). So,
I waited some more, answering the ‘so, where are you having your baby?’
question with a [fake] nonchalant shrug and a[n even faker] laugh. It was
during one such conversation across the street on a sunny afternoon that
someone mentioned the very same midwife I had interviewed earlier and raved about
how wonderful she was. Ironically, the thought had strongly come into my mind
the day before that perhaps I should reconsider home birth. I vacillated
between hyperventilation at the thought and a calm that seemed to creep in a
little more with each careful consideration. I had a picture flash into my
minds’ eye one morning, seeing Sherri (the midwife) bustle around in my
bedroom. All was peaceful and joyful as she prepared for our little one to
enter this world. I believe it was this mini vision that gave me to courage
(and faith) to call her, as it was the most peace I had experienced in months.
Tony now had a job of sorts that paid [most of] the bills, but besides what
little was left in our savings by that point; we had no extra to pay the full
midwife fee. However, with faith now propelling me, I called and made my first
appointment at nearly 31 weeks pregnant. She was truly an angel of mercy in
terms of finances. She listened to what must have been a prompting from the
Spirit and agreed to lower her normal price by $1000 if we would agree to pay
for a private “Hypnobabies” course that she promised would help everyone
involved have a much more peaceful and joyful birth (she was right, thank you
Miranda!). All-in we paid $2,600--$400
less than the very cheapest hospital birth we could possibly get! In addition,
she let us pay as Tony sold his musical gear, piece by piece, which was a
miracle manifested weekly. Each time I needed to have an appointment, something
would sell, resulting in the next installment. We gave her the last miraculous
$100 on the day of the birth—paid in full at last, baby born debt free!
Peace. I got my answer. Smooth sailing from there, right? If
only…was it my natural worrywart nature or something deeper? I’ll probably
never know for sure, but I wrestled daily with my decision in a very real way
for those last 9+weeks. One day I’d love the fact that I was doing something so
empowering and real world wonderful for my baby. The next I’d call myself
senseless and want to abandon the whole plan, again, for my baby. More than once
I was glad I couldn’t hear someone’s thoughts as I was now able to answer with,
‘I’m having a home birth,’ but some faces belied true opinions. In those
moments (and many others) I held on for dear life to what I knew:
-I knew a hospital birth, for whatever reason, was not right
for this baby
-I had peace when I made the initial decision to birth at
home (even if it was a fickle companion, deserting me more than I wanted)
-I wanted a relationship with my health care provider longer
than the traditional five-minute monthly visits allow for, and I wanted the
provider who saw me regularly to be the one to deliver our baby
- I didn’t want little man to have the Strep B antibiotics
if at all feasible, in order for him to have the strongest immunity possible
- I wanted to be left alone to birth however felt right in
the moment…to walk around, not be strapped to a bed, IV’s, or constantly
attached to a heart monitor. I didn’t want people insisting on breaking my
water, wanting to give me Pitocin, an episiotomy, or just generally trying to
help in frustratingly unhelpful ways—I did NOT want to be arguing whilst in
labor!
-I knew I wanted a water birth to reap all the many benefits
that can come with it
-I wanted delayed cord clamping for up to an hour after he
was born
-I wanted to be trusted that I had done my research to know
why I didn’t want eye ointment & the Hep B vaccination
-I knew all of these desires would make me a radical (so be
it!), and I didn’t want to feel like I was apologizing or looked at as the hippie
lady in the room down the hall.
-Most of all, I wanted to experience more of my baby—I
didn’t want him to be whisked away after five minutes of skin-to-skin, just so
everything could be done according to policies, procedures and the nurse’s next
shift change.
-HOWEVER, I played the what-if game constantly. I know more babies
stay alive now thanks to doctors, technology and hospitals—thanks be to them!
But I also know the C-section rate is one in three…many of them necessary only
due to so many other interventions being done previously (one common, though
perhaps slightly over-simplified scenario: Pitocin=tired mother=epidural=mother
who can’t feel=slows down labor =baby in distress=C-section!). That would
likely not be me since I wasn’t planning on an epidural, but I was mentally
tired of birth being treated as something UNnatural. Something that needs an
intervention nearly every step of the way, 95% of the time, regardless of whether
it’s a high/low risk pregnancy, the mother’s wishes, or previous pregnancy
history. But…what if I was that
exception—that birth that wasn’t meant to happen naturally? What if minutes
mattered & I was at home? Could I ever forgive myself if the worst were to
happen? Was I crazy-selfish for even contemplating this? Gradually the scales
leveled and eventually hung in favor of home birth as I learned more, met
midwives, and interrogated mothers who birthed at home and patiently answered
my questions. I read a lot and prayed hard; because ultimately, it came down to
faith and getting my own personal answer. Though fear was still a frequent
presence, I felt strength from knowing home birth was the best option for us.
Heavenly Father led me to that place. He was in charge. It was now “Thy Will Be
Done,” and I knew it, I just had to figure out how to let go of the rest.
When I was 38.5 weeks Sherri noticed I was not growing.
Don’t misunderstand, I weighed plenty and felt all of it, but my fundus measured
exactly the same for nearly three weeks, meaning the baby didn’t seem to be
getting bigger. I panicked and decided to get an ultrasound rather than worry
myself into frenzy. It was a long, drawn-out, 30-minute drive there, ruminating
more what-if scenarios than was healthy, but ultimately it became a big piece
to my ‘peace’ puzzle. The tech showed me little man one shot at a time and I
drunk it in at a slow-motion rate. The cord wasn’t around his neck (and had
very little likelihood of it happening that late in the game). I saw the ample
amounts of lovely fluid surrounding him like a cushion, keeping him safe. My
placenta looked healthy and in the right position (away from my cervix!), and
lastly, I saw he was currently measuring approx. 7lbs, 1oz. Give or take, that
was already a strong birth weight, and I had 1.5 weeks to fatten up his already
chubbed cheeks! I felt a wave of release, calm replacing a large portion of my
anxiety.
My midwife, I learned, was also connected to my internal
conflict with one of her own. The kiddos loved going to her house each week,
playing with her many toy options during the actual exam, visiting with her
chickens, plucking sun-warmed tomatoes from her garden, throwing the ball for
her impish dog Scooter and creating flower necklaces with a needle and thread.
However, though kind and energetic, she often seemed distant on an emotional
level. I positively know not all people connect the same way, but there seemed
to be something deeper going on. The last of my time progressed and my due date
came and went by first one day, and then two…I pressed Sherri to have another
needed prenatal visit, eager to see if baby had grown at all and frankly,
because I was worn out and prayed she could give me some hope for his arrival.
After listening to his solid heartbeat and then some of my latent concerns, she
offered her story in response. With watery eyes she shared how her mother had
passed away at the start of summer. It rocked her world. She was still raw with
pain and hadn’t fully mended. On her way home from a recent birth she
questioned whether or not she should even continue with midwifery. In that
moment she felt Heavenly Father ask her what she wanted…she looked deep within and found her answer—she wanted
to continue with this sacred calling. I mentioned that I could feel something
amiss. Though from different sources, in our mutual pain I felt truly connected
to her for those few moments. It was enough. A tender mercy from a Father in
Heaven who knew it was vital for my journey. Perhaps this last fragment needed
to fall into place emotionally in order for my body to allow the birthing
process to begin. Within a couple hours of that appointment, steady birthing
waves (aka contractions) marked the beginning of my birthing time.
Different from my other births, I had some bloody show. Long
moments followed, spent in nervous anticipation, wondering if this, indeed, was
‘it’ before steady waves answered the question undoubtedly. When to call the husband home is a dilemma I
face each time, knowing as soon as I do, he’ll want to leave instantly. Alone
with my thoughts for a time, I called him at last about 2:30pm instructing him
to wait one more hour and then come home to assist in birthing his son. Not
sure that hour was very productive for him, but hey, someone had to pay that
baby off! He was grudgingly obedient, and I was grateful. Next, I called my
mom, knowing her four-hour drive could cut it close based on my previous
births. Oh, the multitude of thoughts circulating as I wondered, am I truly
ready? However, upon later reflection, I realize that not once did I wonder if
we made the right decision to birth at home in those moments. I was anxious,
yes, but prepared and determined.
I still had a bit of life to take care of at this point. My
children don’t pick themselves up from school just yet and figuring I was still
an able-bodied parent, off I went. Breathing through a contraction as they
climbed into the car, my boys responded with thick silence, shushing our other
littles and not quite sure how to respond to a laboring mother as friends walked
by outside, oblivious to the unfolding life event in the vehicle beside them.
With Nana on her way and the recent breathing demonstration, there was no
longer any doubt in their minds that this was the real deal. Stopping at the
bank to get Sherri’s last payment (wouldn’t want her to refuse service after
all :), I was breathing through yet another contraction while the teller
retrieved the money and I amused myself by wondering how she
would react if I explained through gritted teeth that she’d better hurry or
baby boy might be born in the car while she was dispensing the greens to pay for him… Jaydon wondered aloud if
driving maybe wasn’t the best thing to be doing at the time. Point taken, but a
little late.
When I arrived home the older boys set to work doing tasks
at my request. Jaydon scrubbed down my bathroom (aka, the birthing suite),
Jyson scurried about collecting needed items & honestly, I’m not sure what
our little people were doing, but gratefully they were letting me be. I was taking care of the snack preparation
for the midwives that would be coming later when Tony walked in from work. I
was breathing and rocking full-time at this point and he snapped a picture of a
frizzy-haired, pained-looking birthing woman that looks as ‘real’ as it gets.
He took our youngest angels (such they were for me not to notice them all that
while) to the primary program practice at the church and shared that I was in
labor with some of the women and could someone please bring our kiddos home—no
worries on that account, they excitedly assured him. As soon as he walked in I
cracked the proverbial whip—baby coming soon, time to move! I assigned him to
connect my Hypnobabies track to the speakers, help prepare the bed with the
shower curtain/sheet combo, get the ice ready, mix up my post ACV/cayenne
pepper drink, sending him all over the house on errands while I tried at last
to get in my Hypnobabies zone. After changing clothes and plugging in, I rocked
and tried various positions trying to get ‘comfortable.’ Sherri previously
called and let me know she was going to be about 30 minutes away at a prenatal
visit while I continued to progress. When I got off the phone, sitting there on
my birthing ball, I felt so utterly alone. She wouldn’t be there for at least
another hour and a half and the uterus-contracting, cervix-dilating pain and I
were well acquainted. Dread and panic started to creep in. Little did I
realize, in the living of life, time was passing quickly. I so wish I could go
back and tell my ‘alone’ self just that. Gratefully, the Spirit coaxed some
needed reminders to the forefront: having already given birth naturally once
before, I could do it again. I prayed. I knew I wasn’t really alone. I believe
angels assist in these soul-rending birthing times, and I imagine my grandmas
on the other side of the veil were helping as much as they were allowed. The
birthing waves started intensifying and it was getting harder for me to pay
attention to my soundtrack’s guidance to let my hypnoanesthesia take over. I
did have a moment where I blissfully felt disconnected from the force of those
waves, almost like an outsider looking in, but unfortunately I couldn’t get it
to last. I had a hard time getting my brain to focus on just giving birth.
Instead I kept thinking…wondering if Eva would be the other midwife joining
Sherri, realizing the kids needed to be fed—was my mom there? I thought I heard
her come in, was the veggie tray out for the midwives or was it in the fridge?
And on…
Somewhere in the midst of this I spoke with our family’s
good friend, Kirsten. She gave suggestions from her midwife as to what
supplements to take during and after. In addition, she and my mother were able
to do some emotional energy work for both baby and me. Whenever it was that I
finally started focusing more on birthing and less on the material surrounding
was, I imagine, due to that work. Not all angels live in heaven, and those two
women are proof of that.
Sherri called after her prenatal visit with another patient,
asking Tony if she should come check my progression or should she go to her
house to get a few things. I was emotionally so ready to have her there, but at
the same time afraid she might come and find me only dilated to a three (or,
perish the thought—less!). Looking at the etched lines on my face, Tony responded
with, “yeeeahhh, you should come…” To my wild relief I was dilated close to a
seven! She encouraged me to get in the bathtub. Walking the 20 feet from my bed
to the bathroom I realized how hard my body had been working. It.hurt. I got in
and felt some reprieve. I faced the wall and during each contraction Tony
pushed on my back. We used the jets in that old tub and it provided a level of
distraction from the pain that took off the edge. In those moments I
concentrated on just one moment at a time, but looking back, the contractions
definitely shifted when I got into the bathtub. Each one began to increase in
profound intensity. I had to keep asking Tony to push harder, first with his
fists and then with his knees in order to get any relief at all. Nothing
compares with the transforming power of those last couple of centimeters,
dilating from a 7 to 10. That otherworldly force is all there is. I dug in as
deep as it gets, moaning the word “peace” nice and low, over and over and over
again, urging my body to relax and move my baby down, telling him it was safe
to come out—he could do it! We were part of this ethereal moment together, he
& I, our angels attending both of us in our deepest and most sacred moments
together. Ultimately, I felt loved and supported and safe. I remember the
blessed rest in between each contraction and yet so vividly remember the
immediate searing spike of one particular contraction…Tony was just far enough
away from my ‘push spot’ in that brief moment when I felt it coming, an instant
before it hit. Threatening to lose control I panicked, “It’s coming, push now,
harder Tony, harder!” I whimpered, wishing with all of my trembling body
that it was finished. I imagine that was Sherri’s sign and she encouraged me to
turn around so she could check me once more. She told me the bag of waters was
so far down; I was most likely a nine and could push whenever I wanted.
Absolute disbelief filled my mind. Push? Really?! The birthing waves had done
their job and now it was my turn. But first, she encouraged Tony and I both to
feel. Touching that squishy bag, I imagined the tiny head right behind it and I
was ready. Hypnobabies taught that when I started to hear me make a grunty,
pushy noise at the end of a contraction it was my body preparing to push. I
heard it and bore down…Sherri telling me ‘push push push, wait…push push push,
wait…’ I felt his head come down so far I thought for sure his head was hanging
there, half way out in the water. I knew, rip or not, on the next one he was
coming out—no more contractions for me, baby time! The surge of joy and relief
I felt, as the head quite literally burst out of me is entirely unexplainable.
Knowing that it is done. No more contractions. No more pushing. Instead, our
newest spirit from heaven is here, ready to be cuddled and loved. And I was so
ready to do just that! Sherri immediately gave him to me, but encouraged both
Tony and I to keep him neck deep in the water so his transition would be an
easier one. Our tiny baby seemed to be slightly surprised as he took his first
breath and made the briefest of squawks before settling back in to the warm
water, waving his arms in slow motion like he was still in utero. Sherri turned
him over a few times to rub his back to encourage him to get those deeper
breaths. Eventually she asked Eva to turn the light off and voila, we saw into
his little soul through those precious eyes as they opened for the first time.
He was so peaceful and calm, like he didn’t realize he’d been born, Sherri
observed. Tony and I were entirely and unequivocally present for each and every
second as he woke to the new world around him. No one made any move; it was
entirely up to us how long we stayed like that, drinking in those magical first
few moments of his life. My mom joined us and I thrilled, knowing she got to
see him sooner than she did any of my other children as well.
Eventually I could feel the placenta ready to leave my body
and as soon as it did I climbed out, eager to hold my baby again. We stayed
connected for nearly an hour, until all of my life-giving blood finished
pumping into his tiny body. Due to our home setting, I was able to ponder more
than usual. As Tony was cutting and clamping his cord, after 40.2 long weeks,
we would no longer be physically connected and the moment was bittersweet. He
was now entirely his own person. I wonder if Heavenly Father feels that way
when he lets each of us go. Birth is certainly a god-like moment.
Soon after, Jaydon & Jyson joined us, helping weigh him
(7lb, 3oz) and being part of the gentle joy that pervaded the room.
Handing the little guy over to Tony, it was soon time for me
to get sewed up. Despite having a water birth, I still tore some (possibly due to
my impatience to see him and be done with it! at the end). However, Sherri
assured me that because the bag of waters essentially broke as he was coming
out into the bathwater he was protected from the unfriendly bacteria and Strep
B was nearly a non-issue (mission accomplished). Still, just to be sure, we
misted him with Colloidal Silver. I drank my fiery ACV drink to help my body do
its job and clot properly. He nursed for the first time and proved to be as
much a champ at that as he was at being born.
Maeser Hyrum Dayton, born at 8:52pm, about 6 hours of
birthing in all. The midwives bustled around and when they left at
11:00pm(ish), it looked as if they hadn’t been there at all. We all slept well,
no nurses to disturb our slumber or filch our babe. And in the morning, we were
already home.
Sometimes answers to prayers come in an epiphany, all at
once. Other times you may not realize you’ve received an answer until you’ve
just had a baby in your bathtub and you’re peering into the eyes of your
newborn when rather suddenly—if you’re listening—you recognize the peace for
what it is, and a loving Heavenly Father saying, “Yes, I’ve been here all
along.”
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