Birthing Experience

To begin, I think it’s worth saying that everyone’s birthing experience is as uniquely beautiful as the soul that you are bringing into this world. I am not young, nor am I old. I have had life changing experiences that questioned my integrity, soul, morals, values, and abilities to its fullest, however nothing compared to the experience of giving birth to my first child, Isabella Xochitl Perez. As a person with experience, I’ve learned preparing for life changing events requires a mental, physical and emotional preparation. Some of these preparations meant going outside of my realm of experience and of course my realm of comfort.

I am the youngest of my mother’s 4 children, and there is a significant age difference between myself and my other siblings. The youngest of my siblings is 7 years older than me. At the time my daughter was born my mother and father were grandparents to 10 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. Not one of those births I watched first hand.

During the nine months that I carried my daughter I learned about the importance of nutrition, health, stress, exercise, and most important support systems. I had never heard of doulas before, so I engaged in conversations with the Open Arms staff about what having a doula meant. This was not a quick decision that my husband and I made. We talked and thought a great deal about having someone other than family in the room with me. It was a big deal for me, I had grown up with my mother as the only person in the room with my sisters, no one else but doctors and nurses. My body would be exposed, I would be vulnerable and doing something that I had never done before. Questions kept re-occurring about failure, comfort, privacy, strength, courage and intimacy.

Something happened to me along the way that some women don’t talk about, that is depression. I was battling so many obstacles throughout the pregnancy that I was so used to pushing back to get through the situation, I never realized that being pregnant meant you couldn’t push those things to the back anymore. Life was magnified for me, both in the bad and the good. One particular day I felt so low, I couldn’t push back the tears, I couldn’t hold them in. I couldn’t talk without the tears running down my cheeks. I walked into the Open Arms office and cried my heart out. I talked through the emotion with them, I allowed them into my pain, and for me it was the first time I realized I didn’t have to do this alone.

Later we began our meetings with our doula, Jennifer MacArthur. She came into our home and we talked about what was important to me, what I was scared about and how I wanted my birthing experience to go. We talked about my cultural values and how it relates to the birthing experience. We talked about what I saw my husband’s role as, what I saw her role as and what I saw my family’s role as. There were so many hard decisions that needed to be made, so many unknowns to how I’d react. Jennifer shared her experience, her knowledge and expertise. The conversations that took place in my home leading to Isabella’s birth were intimate and inclusive of my values and wishes. The guidance she gave up spoke to my fears, her reassurance talked to my courage and her openness to what I wanted affirmed my self-confidence to make this experience my own.

Sunday Morning, at about a quarter to 7 I rolled over and watched my husband sleep next to me. I was debating getting up, I knew my little one probably wouldn’t let me sleep in much, as she usually didn’t at that point (both inside the womb and out she’s proven to be the master of her space). I closed my eyes and felt a little water exiting from between my legs. I shook my husband and told him I think my water is breaking. Within seconds the thought became an elevated declaration that my water was breaking. I immediately wobbled to the shower with my husband’s support, as I undressed the first contraction blossomed in my body like a habanero chile. The warm shower wrapped my body like a blanket, calming the new sensational pain as I breathed through it. It also helped me to forget the insecure feeling of not being able to stop the water flow. For some reason I felt the need to find something to plug me back up, and had to remind myself that it was normal and part of the process. We called our dolua first, told her about the contractions, how far apart they were, my water breaking and then I asked her if we should go to the hospital. We knew when it was a good time to go, we had been through the classes, we knew how to count the length and space between contractions, we did the homework on what to expect. However she did something that I think was essential to empowering me at a moment that I felt so frail, she repeated what we had been told, to make sure I call the nurse right away and then told me that all that aside I had the right to make that decision on my own, the contractions weren’t so close that I needed to go in right, and that ultimately I needed to talk to the nurse but to remember if I felt that I needed to go in then I should listen to that voice telling me what I should do.  Empowering my instinct. We decided to go.

If I remember right it was one of those gloomy, I don’t want to wake up mornings. We put some towels down on the seat, got in the car and braced for impact with every contraction on the way to the hospital, pot holes were not my friends. I remember looking at the grey clouds in the sky, they were so calm for rain clouds and the streets were for the most part empty. I felt my mind using the backdrop of the clouds to calm and prepare. I kept telling myself to not get too excited, they might send me home.

We got there and they had me in the interim room, they needed to assess whether or not to send me home since my contractions were not far enough along. They were checking particularly for meconium, since the water broke. Since they found traces in my urine they decided to keep me on-site to monitor any signs that the baby might be affected by the meconium exposure. My mother and dolua were the first ones on-site. We laughed and joked through the contractions, we talked and walked around the birthing unit. She had me doing what is sometimes referred to as the “Russian dance” it felt funny but made me feel useful. Shortly after doing a few dancing steps the contractions came on harder.

I bathed for a while and then just remained in my room, my sister arrived then, she was the last of those that I’d decided were going to be my support in the room. I remember one particular contraction I was sitting on the arm chair listening to some soft indigenous flute music. The contraction came on hard, it felt like a giant weight impressed itself onto my soul, I wasn’t in my body for that moment, I was on the side of an un-climbable mountain, fighting to see the top.  Every sensation of pain became one loud cry and my soul was pushing forward for me. All I could see is Jennifer, “Breathe, Breathe” she started a movement with her hands that was particularly ingenious at the moment. She laid out her hand in front of her and started pushing down as if she was pushing down the pain, as she did this she would remind me to let go of the pain, let it release out. Even now I couldn’t have told you where in my body the pain was coming from because it felt like one blurry voice, but her movement reminded me of my own strength. I could feel my soul empowered again and started uttering “I can do this, I can do this” she responded “yes you can, yes you can.”

Jennifer, my husband, mother and sister were there reminding me of my strength for the next 14 hours, I called them my four pillars of strength. Something key to me was having someone to help keep my sanity. Jennifer seemed to grab me with her eyes and pull me back every time I thought I couldn’t pull through, I felt a rhythmic flow, and she interfaced with nurses for me. I wanted to rip off the nurse’s head every time they asked me to describe where the pain was coming from or when the doctor asked me how I was doing, not that I didn’t appreciate it, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone unless I absolutely needed to.

My mind was focused, I had to stay calm, I had to relax my body, I had to encumber the pain and most importantly I had to make important decisions and recite as much information to the doctor as possible, the threat of too much exposure to the meconium and the lack of expansion of my uterus was becoming an ever looming threat.

Because I was not dilating like I was supposed to, the resident doctor recommended Pitocin. I did not receive the information well, I preferred not to take any labor inducer and was terrified of a c-section. I remember turning to Jennifer with a firm determination that we needed to stick to the plan of no epidural, this was important to me. Not because I wanted to be tough or prove something, but because the experience was important to me, it was an important moment that my daughter and I were sharing.

Things only escalated as the Pitocin had induced the pain very rapidly, 2 hours I stayed on the fence swaying back and forth about getting the epidural. My sister and mother wanted me to do what I thought best, but I could see it in their eyes that they were ready to cry with me. There were times that I felt myself tearing into pieces, and then hearing Jennifer’s kind but stern voice pulling me back. I went back and forth, and she reminded me that I had requested her help keep me in line with my goals if I was still on the fence about the epidural, and she did. When I finally made the decision about taking the epidural I felt the choice was my own, and not the pressure or the pain made that choice for me, it was me making a choice that I felt right about. 

Of course, I was on cloud nine for a long while after that and it felt good to rest. Then as the sun rose and morning fell on us I began to notice a change in the pain. I had dilated far enough and the doctor and nurse kept asking me if I was ready to push, I had no idea. Apparently, it’s just something you know, but for me that wasn’t the case. I couldn’t quite distinguish the pain, just that it felt different. Jennifer walked me through a breathing and pushing exercise and it clicked right there. The pushing seemed to be pushing out the pain too, at least that’s what it felt like in my head.

I watched through a mirror my daughter making her way out little by little, until she graced us finally at 10 am Monday morning. I could feel the wave of emotion hit me as took her first breathe and let out a cry. The moment she was placed in my arms I felt a rush of calm, her big beautiful open eyes looked up at me with such character and life I could not believe she had just come from me moments ago.