Thanks to Design Mom for posting a link to Lucien Henry's birth story this week. And welcome to readers who found their way to my blog through her link. Lucien is sixteen months old now and his birth story is one of my sweetest memories. I still love reading birth stories and think I have read every one on Gabrielle's birth stories series.
(Birthstories are long! So I broke it up for your sake. You can read Parts I and II here and here.)
Part Three : Frontierland (or Get Him Out of Me!)
I am at the place I most dreaded. The part I am sure I will not be able to do. The part when Helene tells me to stop pushing. Stop pushing while my baby’s head is halfway out? I listen. I stop pushing. I feel wild. Danielle helps ease the baby’s head out. Gently. I feel like bucking. “He’s almost here! Reach down and touch his head!” they encourage me. But I can’t. And don’t. The idea suddenly freaks me out. I just want him out.
With the next contraction he is born. Sort of. Like his brothers before him, his umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck. He is stuck. Within seconds Danielle assesses the situation. It’s too tight to pull over his head. The baby is pissed. He’s crying and squirming to get out. It causes an uncomfortable sensation “down there”. I look at our baby. He sticks his hands in his mouth and starts sucking. Thierry and I are calm. We know this could happen and know Danielle is prepared to handle it. She clamps and cuts the cord.
Eleven oh five. Lucien Henry is born. I look up and see tears rolling down Thierry’s face. I love you, and you, and you. Joy sweeps across the room.
After giving us time to be together, Danielle comes back to help deliver the placenta. I try to get up, but am too weak. I’m tired and don’t want to push. She tries to touch my abdomen but I push her away. She threatens to go in and get my placenta herself if I can’t push it out. Fine.
She pushes gently on my stomach and out it goes. Helene inspects to see that it is all there. She asks if I want to see it. Gross, no! But I look anyway. It looks like a steak. I tell her to throw it away. (If I had to do it again, I would have kept a piece of it to make a homeopathic solution for Lucien.) Thierry says he wants to feed it to lions at the zoo. We laugh.
Yvy serves me dinner. The midwives get us settled, and leave. Thierry takes a shower and goes to bed. Mari, Yvy and I tell each other our versions of the events. It’s almost four in the morning when we go to bed. And so our new life has begun.
(Thank you Yvy and Mari for photographing our special day. Music Tell Him by Lauryn Hill.)
(Birthstories are long! So I broke it up for your sake. You can read Parts I and III here and here.)
Part Two : Hello My Very Good Friends (or Endorphins!)
Although I can still manage on my own, Beatriz decides to come and have a look. Thierry makes it home at the same time. It is five o’clock and I am 6cm dilated. My water has not broken but Beatriz decides to stay and calls Danielle, our second midwife.
The entire day contractions are irregular and they remain this way until Lucien’s birth. I feel it’s a blessing in disguise that allows me time to rest. I feel happy though a little disappointed with my uterus who is acting like birth is a stroll through the park when in reality the show must go on. Nevertheless, I continue to dilate. Slowly.
Six o’clock. Danielle makes it over. She and Beatriz hang out in the garden while I continue to pace around inside. We iChat with Juancho, my little brother, who is in Chicago. I can still manage on my own, but need to go into the bathroom, where I’m alone, and require total silence during each contraction. Even the slightest noise annoys and distracts me. The darkness in the bathroom feels like a cave and somehow that reassures me.
I feel happy and smiley after each contraction though they start mounting in intensity. After a strong one, I mention, "whoa, that was a little scary."
Seven o’clock. The intensity of the contractions mount and Thierry becomes a necessity in order for me to make it through each one. It takes two or three times for him to realize he is indispensible and if he doesn’t put the iPhone down I’m going to get pissed. Each time I feel one coming we step into the dark bathroom. Quickly the intensity of each contraction rises and I need to vocalize to work through the pain.
Two things surprise me. First, I am vocalizing (during the preparation I found it silly – but I practiced anyway!) And second, after each contraction we are back in the living room drinking, talking, laughing and listening to music. So different from birthing scenes you see in movies – there’s no screaming.
Eight o’clock. Now not only do I need Thierry to physically hold me through each contraction, I need him to hum along with me. The vibration soothes the pain in my hips and pelvis. By this time the endorphins are doing their part because after each contraction I can't help but comment that I feel like I'm high (don’t ask how I know the feeling.) Though the intensity of each new contraction frightens me once I come out of it I can't help but smile. I feel happy that things are moving along. This progress is all I’m living for.
Yvy prepares a delicious dinner for everyone. (But me.)
Nine o’clock. Shift change. We say good-bye to Beatriz and hello to our midwife and doula, Helene. She checks me – “getting checked” is the worst feeling ever! I'm 8cm. I start to use the two techniques I’ve been saving for the most painful moments - counter pressure and hanging my arms from Thierry’s neck. There is no way Thierry can leave my side. He is my safest place and I need him to be physically touching me through each contraction. I vomit. Helene says it's a good sign. (And I believe her – I was sick right before Maxi was born too.) She helps Thierry master the counter pressure, which can be tricky.
A contraction is about to begin and I ask Helene to "please help me." She whispers in my ear, "all the help you need is inside you. Trust your body. It knows what to do." She’s right. I talk through the contraction and say things like "yes" and "open" and visualize my body knowing what to do. (Again I’m surprised I’m doing hippie shit and keeping it together.)
At this point, I need to change positions after every contraction. Yvy and Mari prepare a bucket of ice-cold water and soak hand towels. Next contraction they place an ice-cold towel on my neck and forehead. THANK YOU. It feels so good.
Ten o’clock. Another contraction (we stopped timing them around five o’clock.) I think they are closer together. I now need both Thierry and Helene to help me through it. Everyone in the room hums through the next contraction. Usually I would find this ridiculous, but right now I’m thankful for the strength it gives me.
The first negative thought comes into my mind, "what are you doing, crazy? You could have had this baby at the hospital!" I see it and chase it out. Helene senses my fear. I’m amazed at how connected and attentive everyone in the room is to me. Helene looks at me and whispers, "Denise, you can do this." Another contraction. "Help me," I say. Helene whispers softly "stay connected to your baby, Denise." The sweetest words: my baby! He needs me to do this.
Danielle suggests I go in the bathroom – sitting on the toilet is a good position for dilating. I hang on Thierry while Helene applies counter pressure. During the next contraction my water breaks. It “pops” so loud it startles me. All over Thierry’s feet. Eeewww! This causes the baby’s head to move all the way down almost immediately. Once I realize what happened, I am excited and yell "my water broke!" Instinctively I know the time to push has arrived.
Ten thirty. In a matter of seconds, I stand up and find my position in the living room, ready to push. I’m excited, mostly because I’m done dilating and hadn’t expected it to be so painful. During preparation, pushing was the part I feared the most. Instead I have a new energy. The contractions aren’t as painful and my body is full of endorphins and adrenaline. I lay between Thierry’s legs. Each time I look up I see Technicolor elephants on parade Mari and Yvy smiling at me. And giving me thumbs up (which I find weird and funny). Everyone is very close to me but I am doing this all alone. Holding my legs and with each contraction I push.
(Go to Part III.)
(I read as many birth stories throughout my pregnancy as I could get my hands on. Not only did I draw strength and example from many of those stories, I felt an immediate connection to the women who told them. I share my story because there is something so momentous about giving birth - be it in a hospital or in a car or at home, by cesarean, with an epidural or in a tub - when it’s all said and done, it’s nothing short of miraculous. I want Lucien to know his arrival was a journey of love, filled with excitement and bonding. The day he came into the world we celebrated.)
I would have laughed at the suggestion six years ago, as I prepared for Andrea’s birth, my first, that one day I’d choose a home birth. As I've been heard to claim: I'm not into that hippie shit. But I arrived at the clinic for Maxi’s birth in 2006 only to find they had lost my paper work. And not only did they expect me to fill out new paperwork, they also expected coherent sentences from me. In French! A feat that proved impossible at 7cm dilated. The experience made me feel isolated and led to the realization that I was most comfortable at home. And so I found myself at the doorstep of my third pregnancy preparing to birth at home.
Getting Thierry on board was easy once he weighed the risks. And looked at the facts:
• I had already birthed twice without complications.
• We live less than ten minutes from the hospital, should we require a transfer.
• We’d have a midwife and a doula. Helping me manage pain would not fall entirely on his shoulders.
Planning of Lucien's birth is a source of excitement throughout my pregnancy. It is important to put into play the things I would miss from birthing at a clinic. In France, you have three to five days to simply bond with your baby and heal before heading home. Not having to worry about meals or laundry or any logistic whatsoever is something I appreciated about my previous birth experiences.
I want it to be a celebration. I want to share the experience with people who are important to us. Of the people invited to share the birth experience, my sister, Mariana, and our friend, Yvonne, are available. Thierry’s parents, Aïta and Ama, also lend us immeasurable support by caring for Andrea and Maxi in the days leading up to and the days following Lucien’s birth.
Part One : The First Contraction (or The Early Bird Gets the Metro)
Since this is my third pregnancy all signs (including my ripe cervix) point to a speedy labor and delivery. Our midwives warn us not to wait long before calling so they can arrive in time to set up. So when that three-in-the-morning contraction wakes me on July 13th, I sit up and text my sister:
Mariana arrives. After a while, we drink tea and I call, my best friend, Beba, in Portland (I won’t be waking her with the nine-hour time difference.) Thierry and I go for a walk. I am so motivated to get things moving. We stop and buy out-of-the-oven croissants. It’s exciting to see people in our neighborhood and tell them today is the day! I have a few contractions but can talk right through them. We get home, Thierry eats breakfast with the boys and gets them dressed. Ama comes by to take the boys to summer camp. She takes their overnight bag and will keep them with her for a few days following the birth.
Although I know it isn’t time, I call Beatriz, one of the midwives, to let her know that today is the day. She comes by to make sure everything is fine. She leaves and says to call when the contractions become regular or I feel I need her. I tell Thierry to go to work and I'll call him when things progress. I stay home with Mari and Yvonne. We play “Words with Friends” with each other. While drinking coffee which turns into beer as the day goes on.
Ten, eleven, noon…I do not notice the hours pass. Contractions are strong but so manageable and still not regular. I feel thrilled that I'm laboring at home, listening to music, telling stories and patiently allowing my body to do it's thing. Suddenly I realize I am hungry. Yvonne prepares lunch.
I pace around the dining room, stopping only during contractions. We laugh when I point out that I’ve created a den with the couch cushions. Me, who is obsessive about things being in their place, scattered pillows all over the floor! Me, known to few as Madame Oiseau or Birdie has made a little nest right in the middle of the living room. For now, the contractions are a part of the scenery.
Bathroom break. What’s that? My mucous plug! This is exciting since it means labor may pick up the pace.
Or not. Two, three, four o’clock. Still no regularity in contractions but they are more intense. I can't talk through them but can still manage on my own. I go to the bathroom and wonder if my water broke. It has never broken before transition in my other births so I have no idea what to expect. Mari comes in to have a look and determines it can't be pee - it's colorless! Should we Google it?
At 4:30pm I call Beatriz. Should she come, she asks? But I am not ready, I just want to tell her that I've lost my mucous plug and I think my water broke.
(Birthstories are long! So I broke it up for your sake. You can read Parts II and III here and here.)
In conclusion, here we are, Monday, Monday. The boys started summer camp and I'm at home not feeling nearly as tired as I thought I would at this stage of the game.
Thank you to all my online friends who responded to my Friday evening update with encouragement and excitement. I could feel the love. You are so sweet!
