Elizabeth's Birth of Rosser

 Elizabeth's Birth of Rosser

This birth story was used by permission from Elizabeth's website: 

http://creatingyourcalm.com/

• The Birth Story of Rosser: Our little Hero 

• Your birth story, my little hero, begins before you were born.

  It was a normal weeknight, mid September 2007. Your daddy and I were both working on schoolwork (mommy was going back to school to get a nursing degree and daddy was working on his bachelors degree).

  Uncle Blake came by to visit. We sat and talked about things. We talked about football, we talked about our futures, we talked about how crazy Lacie is, we talked about what we each wanted to “become”.

  A bit into Uncle Blake’s visit, I started to feel sick. I went up to mommy and daddy’s room to lay down. Uncle Blake yelled up to tell me he was leaving and that he loved me. Uncle Blake left;

  I kept feeling worse…
  and worse…
  and worse.

  Your daddy came up to check on me. He helped me slither down the stairs and got me comfortable on the couch. I started to feel better and I was crazy hungry. Daddy went to the restaurant down the street and brought home some food for me to nibble on. I thought it made me feel better to eat. Soon after the pain came back. It had now been eight hours of this intense pain and I was feeling very faint and clammy. I was beginning to become very scared.

  Your daddy, my big hero, put me in the truck and drove me to the hospital. I remember begging him to drive slow because I couldn’t sit up straight enough to put my seat belt on.

  I believe I said exactly:

  “Please hurry, but don’t speed. I will fly out of the window if you hit something, but we have to get there now”.

  Leave it to me to give your daddy such mixed signals.

  When we arrived to the emergency room, we waited for what seemed like hours. The pain was getting worse and I thought I was going to vomit, I had never felt this bad. They had to take me back… they just had to.

  I finally was taken back to be seen by a doctor and immediately put on a morphine drip and some IV fluids. Blood was taken and so many questions were asked. I was whisked back to have an ultrasound of my belly, I was whisked into another room to have an internal ultrasound to get a closer look. I was taken back to the room where the doctor was waiting for us.

  I will never forget the doctor.

  Big. Burly. Smart. Intimidating.

  I will never forget the gentle, fatherly, empathetic way he looked at me and the way he spoke to me.

  I will never, ever forget what he told us:

  “You are pregnant, but the baby will not survive. You have an ectopic pregnancy and we have to do surgery immediately to save you”

  We were left alone for about 30 seconds until the nurses and surgical team came in to prep me for the surgery. During those 30 seconds I don’t think your daddy and I said very much. I asked daddy to call Grammy and Pop and Nanna and PaPa. I asked daddy to tell them how much I loved them because I would not see them before surgery. I reminded your daddy how much I loved him.

  I was taken back to surgery.

  I remember talking to the OBGYN that did the surgery (who happens to now be Uncle Perry and Aunt Sindy’s friend). She told me she would try very hard to protect everything so that I could have another child. They would do a laparoscopic incision. It should be a quick recover. Everything would be ok.

  I remember talking to the anesthesiologist. He was the son-in-law of my second grade teacher. It was comforting for some reason.

  strangely, I wasn’t scared.

  I woke up in the recovery room as the nurses were around me cleaning me and checking my vitals.

  I wanted to see your daddy.

  They took me to the hospital room where I could rest and get better. The doctor came in and told us that there were some complications with the surgery. There was too much internal bleeding from something that had ruptured. They had to pull the laparoscopic equipment and perform a full belly incision to try to stop the bleeding.

  They had performed a D & C (dilation and curettage) of my cervix and uterus to prevent hemorrhaging and/or infection.

  When the surgery was done I had lost a total of 2 liters of blood. I should have no complications becoming pregnant again, because both of my fallopian tubes were surprisingly not damaged (often they are with this kind of pregnancy).

  I remember as the doctor walked out of the room thinking to myself… “you have to process this, hold on to pieces of it and keep moving forward”.

  I was hurt both mentally and physically.

  I was sad, but thankful.

  I don’t remember much for the first few days of recovery. I remember Meme, Uncle Perry, Aunt Sindy, Peypey, Luke, Kyle, Pop, Nana, Papa and so many others that came to visit and show their love for me and daddy.

  Grammy and your daddy never left my side. I was protected and so safe with them.

  As I started to feel better and needing to move around, Grammy and I walked to the nursery to look at the newborn babies. Some would think this might be painful, but it actually gave me hope. I remember feeling a sense of comfort seeing these tiny, healthy little babies. I wanted one more than ever.

  On the day that I was getting discharged I became violently ill. I could not stop vomiting bile. A team rushed into the room and administered an NG tube to give me some relief. X-rays and test later, I was diagnosed with a paralytic ileus. I was ordered no food or water by mouth and was given more morphine. This carried on for about 3 days. I was in the hospital a total of 8 days.

  On day 8 we went home.

  Daddy and I were determined to pick ourselves up and continue on our path. I did school work at home trying to catch up. Grammy came over and stayed with me while daddy was at work. Ms. Marie came and spent time with me too.

  I went back to school… having to be driven back and forth because of my incision.

  I was healing, but not fast enough. I was tired and still sick to my stomach. Dizzy and weak. I called the doctor and she scheduled me an immediate appointment for blood work.

  I went in, they took blood, I went home.

  The phone rang.

  I was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by school books.

  Ring. Ring.

  I answered.

  She wanted me to come in for an ultrasound to see if there was any tissue left from the surgery.

  I remember her saying “Be sure to bring Ross”.

  That scared me. Was something wrong? Was I sick? Did they find something on the x-rays they did in the hospital?

  October 11th 2007, less than a month since the surgery and the loss of our first baby…

  They took us immediately to the ultrasound room. The ultrasound technician greased up my belly and dimmed the lights. I watched the screen for any clue as to what they were looking for.

  The technician asked us to wait. She left the room.

  The doctor came in. She looked at the screen and said,

  “Wow, you are pregnant!”

  You, my little hero, had survived it all. You held on strong for mommy and daddy. You were with me the entire time, we did it together.

  My hero.

  You are statistically 1 in 44,000. Those are the odds of having an ectopic and an intrauterine pregnancy at the same time.

  You are amazing.

  Daddy and I left for the beach the day after we found out you were tucked away safe and sound in my belly. We thought about you a lot. We talked about you a lot. We were so thankful. We were ready.

  Fast forward a few months…

  My belly grew, I loved every minute of you being in my belly. You were safe. We were always together. I was never alone. I even loved the sickness the hormones gave me. I felt comforted that my body was doing what it was supposed to do. The energy and excitement happening in my very own body was making you. Your little hiccups were the most precious thing I have ever felt.

  We talked to you, sang to you, played with you.

  We loved you.

  One of my favorite memories of you being in my belly was January 12th 2008, I was about 5 months pregnant with you.
  As mommy and daddy committed to one another for life you were with us. Kicking, squirming, swirling… you were right there with us. I wouldn’t change it for anything. We loved you so much.

  On May 9th 2008 at 11:30 pm (37 weeks) as I was getting in bed with daddy for the night I felt something different than your normal kick and squirm. I knew that I was going to have you soon. I lay down with daddy and tried to sleep. I called Grammy.

  I slept off and on until 7:00 the next morning.

  Peypey had spent the night with us so I walked into the guest bedroom and told her you were coming today. She was so excited and happy she was there with us.

  The surges started getting stronger and feeling more intense. I cleaned and straightened. Aunt Sindy came and got Peypey.

  Grammy came over. We watched The Business of Being Born. Daddy napped.

  I leaned over the couch and walked the stairs. We stayed at home. I was not scared of you coming in to this beautiful world. I was excited that I would see you soon.

  I wanted so badly to have you at home, my little hero. I felt safe and comfortable there. I knew you would too. But, because of mommy’s recent surgery (and unknown complications) we were considered “at risk” and we planned a natural hospital birth.

  At 7:00 pm May 10th 2008, we drove the five minutes to the hospital. I wore shorts and my maternity shirt with MC Hammer dancing across it. It had “Can’t Touch This” written on it. I love that shirt. It was a gift from Aunt April.

  Daddy and I walked around a bit. I leaned on him. We was my big hero. We talked about you. We couldn’t wait to see you.

  Nana and Papa came. Grammy and Pop were there. Everyone was so excited.

  Surges getting stronger now.

  At 9:30 pm I got into the bath tub. Daddy helped me stay cool with wash clothes. I stayed here for a while. surges getting stronger.

  At 11:00 pm Aunt April walks in. She drove all the way from Moorehead City to see your beautiful birth.

  At 1:00 am I am exhausted. I got out of the tub and continued walking a bit and resting on your daddy for relief during the surges. I took some medicine to help me relax and get some sleep.

  I slept, daddy slept, you slept.

  We started stirring around 4:30. I was starting to feel the surges with much more pressure. I was excited and energized. I knew it wouldn’t be long. The medicine was wearing off and I was so ready for you!!

  I am so proud of you, my little hero, for knowing that directed pushing was not good for you and me. You arrived into this marvelous world on our 4th “practice” push (whatever that is) and before the midwife could be there to catch you. I love you for this.

  I reached down for you and pulled you close to my chest. Me and you, skin to skin. I held you, I squeezed you, I kissed you; I loved you. You were beautifully perfect.

  You immediatly wanted to nurse. My hungry little baby. You showed mommy that I didn’t have to teach you how to eat… you already knew.

  We asked for only our immediate family come and see you during the first couple of days. We needed and wanted that time to ourselves, and I am so proud that we made that decision. We had time to hold you and nap with you. We wanted to look back on those moments and remember you… everything about you.

  We soaked you up, every inch of you. Every minute was spent looking at how beautiful and perfect you were. You will never know how happy we were that you were healthy and safe.

  Thank you my sweet boy for teaching me that I can trust my body to birth and nourish another person. Your birth will forever be in my memory as the day everything changed. Not only because we had a baby, but because I knew birth should be different. Me and you and daddy were a team that day. You, my little hero, paved a road.

  We are so lucky to have you Rosser. You came into our lives when we needed you the most. You are our little hero.

  We love you so much,

  Mommy and Daddy

 tags: ectopic pregnancy, birth, birth story, d&c, d and c, dilation and curettage, surgery, amazing pregnancy stories, positive birth stories, birth stories on deamand, miracle birth stories, birth stories with pictures

• The Birth Story of Rosser: Our little Hero
• Your birth story, my little hero, begins before you were born.

• It was a normal weeknight, mid September 2007. Your daddy and I were both working on schoolwork (mommy was going back to school to get a nursing degree and daddy was working on his bachelors degree).

  Uncle Blake came by to visit. We sat and talked about things. We talked about football, we talked about our futures, we talked about how crazy Lacie is, we talked about what we each wanted to “become”.

  A bit into Uncle Blake’s visit, I started to feel sick. I went up to mommy and daddy’s room to lay down. Uncle Blake yelled up to tell me he was leaving and that he loved me. Uncle Blake left;

  I kept feeling worse…
  and worse…
  and worse.

  Your daddy came up to check on me. He helped me slither down the stairs and got me comfortable on the couch. I started to feel better and I was crazy hungry. Daddy went to the restaurant down the street and brought home some food for me to nibble on. I thought it made me feel better to eat. Soon after the pain came back. It had now been eight hours of this intense pain and I was feeling very faint and clammy. I was beginning to become very scared.

  Your daddy, my big hero, put me in the truck and drove me to the hospital. I remember begging him to drive slow because I couldn’t sit up straight enough to put my seat belt on.

  I believe I said exactly:

  “Please hurry, but don’t speed. I will fly out of the window if you hit something, but we have to get there now”.

  Leave it to me to give your daddy such mixed signals.

  When we arrived to the emergency room, we waited for what seemed like hours. The pain was getting worse and I thought I was going to vomit, I had never felt this bad. They had to take me back… they just had to.

  I finally was taken back to be seen by a doctor and immediately put on a morphine drip and some IV fluids. Blood was taken and so many questions were asked. I was whisked back to have an ultrasound of my belly, I was whisked into another room to have an internal ultrasound to get a closer look. I was taken back to the room where the doctor was waiting for us.

  I will never forget the doctor.

  Big. Burly. Smart. Intimidating.

  I will never forget the gentle, fatherly, empathetic way he looked at me and the way he spoke to me.

  I will never, ever forget what he told us:

  “You are pregnant, but the baby will not survive. You have an ectopic pregnancy and we have to do surgery immediately to save you”

  We were left alone for about 30 seconds until the nurses and surgical team came in to prep me for the surgery. During those 30 seconds I don’t think your daddy and I said very much. I asked daddy to call Grammy and Pop and Nanna and PaPa. I asked daddy to tell them how much I loved them because I would not see them before surgery. I reminded your daddy how much I loved him.

  I was taken back to surgery.

  I remember talking to the OBGYN that did the surgery (who happens to now be Uncle Perry and Aunt Sindy’s friend). She told me she would try very hard to protect everything so that I could have another child. They would do a laparoscopic incision. It should be a quick recover. Everything would be ok.

  I remember talking to the anesthesiologist. He was the son-in-law of my second grade teacher. It was comforting for some reason.

  strangely, I wasn’t scared.

  I woke up in the recovery room as the nurses were around me cleaning me and checking my vitals.

  I wanted to see your daddy.

  They took me to the hospital room where I could rest and get better. The doctor came in and told us that there were some complications with the surgery. There was too much internal bleeding from something that had ruptured. They had to pull the laparoscopic equipment and perform a full belly incision to try to stop the bleeding.

  They had performed a D & C (dilation and curettage) of my cervix and uterus to prevent hemorrhaging and/or infection.

  When the surgery was done I had lost a total of 2 liters of blood. I should have no complications becoming pregnant again, because both of my fallopian tubes were surprisingly not damaged (often they are with this kind of pregnancy).

  I remember as the doctor walked out of the room thinking to myself… “you have to process this, hold on to pieces of it and keep moving forward”.

  I was hurt both mentally and physically.

  I was sad, but thankful.

  I don’t remember much for the first few days of recovery. I remember Meme, Uncle Perry, Aunt Sindy, Peypey, Luke, Kyle, Pop, Nana, Papa and so many others that came to visit and show their love for me and daddy.

  Grammy and your daddy never left my side. I was protected and so safe with them.

  As I started to feel better and needing to move around, Grammy and I walked to the nursery to look at the newborn babies. Some would think this might be painful, but it actually gave me hope. I remember feeling a sense of comfort seeing these tiny, healthy little babies. I wanted one more than ever.

  On the day that I was getting discharged I became violently ill. I could not stop vomiting bile. A team rushed into the room and administered an NG tube to give me some relief. X-rays and test later, I was diagnosed with a paralytic ileus. I was ordered no food or water by mouth and was given more morphine. This carried on for about 3 days. I was in the hospital a total of 8 days.

  On day 8 we went home.

  Daddy and I were determined to pick ourselves up and continue on our path. I did school work at home trying to catch up. Grammy came over and stayed with me while daddy was at work. Ms. Marie came and spent time with me too.

  I went back to school… having to be driven back and forth because of my incision.

  I was healing, but not fast enough. I was tired and still sick to my stomach. Dizzy and weak. I called the doctor and she scheduled me an immediate appointment for blood work.

  I went in, they took blood, I went home.

  The phone rang.

  I was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by school books.

  Ring. Ring.

  I answered.

  She wanted me to come in for an ultrasound to see if there was any tissue left from the surgery.

  I remember her saying “Be sure to bring Ross”.

  That scared me. Was something wrong? Was I sick? Did they find something on the x-rays they did in the hospital?

  October 11th 2007, less than a month since the surgery and the loss of our first baby…

  They took us immediately to the ultrasound room. The ultrasound technician greased up my belly and dimmed the lights. I watched the screen for any clue as to what they were looking for.

  The technician asked us to wait. She left the room.

  The doctor came in. She looked at the screen and said,

  “Wow, you are pregnant!”

  You, my little hero, had survived it all. You held on strong for mommy and daddy. You were with me the entire time, we did it together.

  My hero.

  You are statistically 1 in 44,000. Those are the odds of having an ectopic and an intrauterine pregnancy at the same time.

  You are amazing.

  Daddy and I left for the beach the day after we found out you were tucked away safe and sound in my belly. We thought about you a lot. We talked about you a lot. We were so thankful. We were ready.

  Fast forward a few months…

  My belly grew, I loved every minute of you being in my belly. You were safe. We were always together. I was never alone. I even loved the sickness the hormones gave me. I felt comforted that my body was doing what it was supposed to do. The energy and excitement happening in my very own body was making you. Your little hiccups were the most precious thing I have ever felt.

  We talked to you, sang to you, played with you.

  We loved you.

  One of my favorite memories of you being in my belly was January 12th 2008, I was about 5 months pregnant with you.
  As mommy and daddy committed to one another for life you were with us. Kicking, squirming, swirling… you were right there with us. I wouldn’t change it for anything. We loved you so much.

  On May 9th 2008 at 11:30 pm (37 weeks) as I was getting in bed with daddy for the night I felt something different than your normal kick and squirm. I knew that I was going to have you soon. I lay down with daddy and tried to sleep. I called Grammy.

  I slept off and on until 7:00 the next morning.

  Peypey had spent the night with us so I walked into the guest bedroom and told her you were coming today. She was so excited and happy she was there with us.

  The surges started getting stronger and feeling more intense. I cleaned and straightened. Aunt Sindy came and got Peypey.

  Grammy came over. We watched The Business of Being Born. Daddy napped.

  I leaned over the couch and walked the stairs. We stayed at home. I was not scared of you coming in to this beautiful world. I was excited that I would see you soon.

  I wanted so badly to have you at home, my little hero. I felt safe and comfortable there. I knew you would too. But, because of mommy’s recent surgery (and unknown complications) we were considered “at risk” and we planned a natural hospital birth.

  At 7:00 pm May 10th 2008, we drove the five minutes to the hospital. I wore shorts and my maternity shirt with MC Hammer dancing across it. It had “Can’t Touch This” written on it. I love that shirt. It was a gift from Aunt April.

  Daddy and I walked around a bit. I leaned on him. We was my big hero. We talked about you. We couldn’t wait to see you.

  Nana and Papa came. Grammy and Pop were there. Everyone was so excited.

  Surges getting stronger now.

  At 9:30 pm I got into the bath tub. Daddy helped me stay cool with wash clothes. I stayed here for a while. surges getting stronger.

  At 11:00 pm Aunt April walks in. She drove all the way from Moorehead City to see your beautiful birth.

  At 1:00 am I am exhausted. I got out of the tub and continued walking a bit and resting on your daddy for relief during the surges. I took some medicine to help me relax and get some sleep.

  I slept, daddy slept, you slept.

  We started stirring around 4:30. I was starting to feel the surges with much more pressure. I was excited and energized. I knew it wouldn’t be long. The medicine was wearing off and I was so ready for you!!

  I am so proud of you, my little hero, for knowing that directed pushing was not good for you and me. You arrived into this marvelous world on our 4th “practice” push (whatever that is) and before the midwife could be there to catch you. I love you for this.

  I reached down for you and pulled you close to my chest. Me and you, skin to skin. I held you, I squeezed you, I kissed you; I loved you. You were beautifully perfect.

  You immediatly wanted to nurse. My hungry little baby. You showed mommy that I didn’t have to teach you how to eat… you already knew.

  We asked for only our immediate family come and see you during the first couple of days. We needed and wanted that time to ourselves, and I am so proud that we made that decision. We had time to hold you and nap with you. We wanted to look back on those moments and remember you… everything about you.

  We soaked you up, every inch of you. Every minute was spent looking at how beautiful and perfect you were. You will never know how happy we were that you were healthy and safe.

  Thank you my sweet boy for teaching me that I can trust my body to birth and nourish another person. Your birth will forever be in my memory as the day everything changed. Not only because we had a baby, but because I knew birth should be different. Me and you and daddy were a team that day. You, my little hero, paved a road.

  We are so lucky to have you Rosser. You came into our lives when we needed you the most. You are our little hero.

  We love you so much,

  Mommy and Daddy

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12 Responses so far.

1. Laura Grace Dean says:

   May 17, 2012 at 3:41 pm

   Oh Liz,
   Such a beautiful story… I cannot tell you how happy I am that I clicked on this link. After all of your struggles, you stayed calm and confident, things that I struggle with constantly with my own pregnancy.
   Thank you for sharing… I am truly touched.

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 17, 2012 at 4:20 pm

     <3 Laura, thank you for reading and commenting. You are doing a fabulous job creating your little man. It is normal to be apprehensive about things you have never done before, but I promise you, your mind, body and baby know what to do.

     Reply
2. Brooke Moxley says:

   May 17, 2012 at 4:05 pm

   I love this Elizabeth! I even teared up through most of it! Such a strong little baby and amazing story.

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 17, 2012 at 4:18 pm

     Thank you, Brooke for taking the time to read and for commenting. He is a strong little guy <3

     Reply
3. Marie says:

   May 17, 2012 at 5:04 pm

   Aww Liz! You wrote this so beautifully. I love you and I love Ross and I love Rosser… I love every character in this amazing story. Thank you for sharing this powerfully intimate time with us. I am deeply touched by it.

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 17, 2012 at 7:01 pm

     I remember so much how your presence through all of this comforted me,thank you! We love you so much Marie <3

     Reply
4. Jena Sanders says:

   May 17, 2012 at 7:31 pm

   Beautiful story! God’s gracious love is so wonderfully expressed through the miracle of birth. What a wonderful vocation of helping other women through their deliveries. Blessings!

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 18, 2012 at 1:49 am

     Thank you, yes I agree… God performed some miracles with Rosser and we are so thankful!

     Reply
5. Melissa says:

   May 17, 2012 at 11:36 pm

   Liz, this was just beautiful. As a mother who never got to experience normal birth, I feel I got to live vicariously through you in this story. You are such a wonderful mother, and a true guide to how to do it(motherhood) right. I know Rosser is going to love reading this when he gets older. Thanks for sharing.

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 18, 2012 at 1:48 am

     Thank you for taking the time to read and comment and thank you for the very very kind words. I don’t know if I do it right, but I do it my way; with no apologies Thank you again!

     Reply
6. Morgan says:

   May 22, 2012 at 8:46 am

   I loved this story!! Absolutely Precious…I only hope to be as strong during birth. Im still a ways away and already thinking about it every moment. Your such a wonderful mother, i hear that from you sweet mother n law all the time. Love you lil family <3
   Morgan

   Reply
   • Elizabeth says:

     May 22, 2012 at 11:23 am

     Thank you so much Morgan. We are truly blessed!

     Reply

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Carol's Birth of Milan

This story is used by permission from author Carol Leonard's blog:

http://badbeaverfarm.com/blog/

So, it begins. I lie awake in the dark; the first firm squeezing of my uterus has wakened me. I lie in bed with my heart pounding. Labor has taken me by surprise; it is a full week early. I am astounded. Another one comes. I look at the clock. Twenty minutes apart. I get up quietly and walk around to see if the contractions stop. I pace around our bedroom loft. I look out the window to the trees shadowy in the soft moonlight. I am tingling with anticipation. Today I will meet my child.

I lie back down and try to sleep. I try to ignore my excitement and the strong squeezing. John is curled up on his side facing away from me. I feel my belly mound in rhythmic waves. I lay my hands over the stretched paper-thin skin of my abdomen. My child within stretches his foot out to deliberately push my hand aside. This is his game. I manage to grab his foot through my skin; he immediately jerks his foot away and rolls to the other side. He tentatively sticks his foot out in the new spot, teasing me. I pinch it again. He retreats quickly. This makes me smile. I am so in love with this child. I haven’t even seen him yet.

In mid-afternoon, I drive through a late spring snow into town to my OB/Gyn’s office to be checked. I know the prenatal nurses whisper about my appearance. Sanctimonious wenches. It has been a long harsh winter in the back woods of New Hampshire and we heat our home with a wood stove. I am wearing my heavy winter boots and smell like gasoline from the chainsaw.  I notice I have wood chips in my hair. I see they have written a sarcastic “MOUNTAIN WOMAN” on the front of my chart. This makes me grin.

            I squirm down into the cold metal stirrups and I lie with my legs splayed. One of the bitchy nurses snaps on a pair of latex gloves, squirts on some KY Jelly and prepares to examine my cervix. She doesn’t speak and does not bother to warm her hands. She plunges her fingers into me and her eyes widen in surprise. She says I am already five centimeters dilated and wants me to go straight to the hospital because of the bad weather. I decline. I opt to go back home.

            I go back home because I don’t really want to hang around in a sterile antiseptic institutional environment waiting for labor to kick in. I also go home because tonight we are having a fabulous dinner party for the men who helped us build our new house. I love these guys. They are all committed bachelors and very baby-phobic. But they are incredibly hard working and funny, intelligent friends. Together we have all built a beautiful handmade home in the NH woods.

            The dinner party is frankly ridiculous. The contractions shift gears and are now coming every five minutes. I try to be nonchalant and charming. Every five minutes I tense, catch my breath and try to fake a sickly smile. I begin squirming uncomfortably in my chair as I feel my bottom could very possibly—at any minute–turn shockingly inside out. I try to breathe unobtrusively, but my nostrils are flaring. I grit my teeth and my eyes start to water.

            Every five minutes, the guys stop eating and hold their breath. They stare at me in horror. Robert looks like he may retch.

            Michael says, “Shouldn’t we boil water or something?”

            I go upstairs and call my neighbor, Talie. Talie has had three babies…all born at home with a local doctor. I don’t know about the home birth part, that seems kind of sketchy to me, but she’s a pro at childbirth. The story about Talie that I love the most is that when she was shopping in the IGA grocery store in Bradford, her water broke in the condiment aisle. Talie was so embarrassed; she grabbed a huge jar of pickles and smashed it down on the floor right in the middle of her puddle. “Clean up in Aisle Three” boomed over the loudspeaker.

Now I need her seasoned wisdom. Talie tells me to lie down, concentrate on the intensity and that I will intuitively know when it is time to go. I lie down. I throw up green beans and roast chicken. Now I know. Definitely time to go.

            John and I fairly fly out of the house, leaving the guys standing there helplessly. Their eyes are wide and shocked mouths drop open.

            “Good luck!” they mutter.

            “Do the dishes!” I shout victoriously as our car careens down the driveway.

            Thirty minutes later, when we can see the lights of Merrimack Valley Hospital in the distance from the highway, I get my first real wave of serious labor. That sucker hurt. Without warning, the contractions begin coming every minute. This is no longer fun, nor funny. I am gripping the dashboard of the Peugeot. I find I am panting like a dog. Yup, this is serious pain. Not pain like if you broke your leg or something without a pattern to it, but real genuine pain, none the less. The insides of my nostrils are getting hot from panting. Beads of sweat are dripping from my forehead. I am seriously wondering how I am going to get out of the car once we get there.

            The two of us manage to make it to the receptionist in the lobby of the hospital. John has to drag me the last half of the way. The receptionist informs us that since it is still a half-hour until midnight, we will have to pay for a full day. John and I look at each other. We don’t have medical coverage. I decide I’ll be damned if I’m going up to the maternity ward before midnight and get billed for it. I stay in the lobby. I huff and puff and pace, waiting for the clock to tick away. I begin to get tremendous pressure in my butt. I groan and squat down, pretty unconscious of my actions at this point. The other lobbyists peer over their magazines in abject fear. At 12:01 AM, I accept the offered wheelchair and am escorted up to Merrimack Valley Hospital’s Maternity Ward.

            I am wheeled by a night nurse down a long beige tiled hall into a large beige tiled room with several curtained-off, high railed hospital beds. I catch a glimpse through a crack in the curtain of the woman in labor next to me.

            “Jesus, Joseph and Mary, this is all your fault!” the woman keeps yelling, over and over like a litany.

            I am about to make a snide comment on the woman’s Catholic choice of labor coping mantras, when I am engulfed in the worst pain known to womankind.

            “Holy Crap!” I yell.

            When I can breathe again, I find myself repeating my own, personalized mantra during contractions.

            “Oh shit! Oh dear! Oh shit! Oh dear!” I wail.

            “Jesus! Joseph and Mary!” is screamed in unison from the other side of the curtain.

            This proves to have a strange comforting effect, a technique not commonly taught in Lamaze class.

            I am ordered to hoist my rock hard belly up onto the rock hard bed and to spread my legs in order to be “prepped”. Prepping consists of shaving off all my pubic hair and giving me a “Triple H Enema” (High-Hot and a Hell-of-a-lot) so that “we” will be “clean” for the doctor, as the labor nurse so delicately puts it. The labor nurse is an older woman and she is chewing gum. The old nurse examines me and looks quite pleased. She announces that I am already eight centimeters dilated. “Only two more to go! Good work, deah!”

            She instructs me to use the adjoining bathroom if I need it. IF? With seven gallons of hot soapy water in my rectum? She’s kidding, right? She says to be careful not to soil the bed sheets and leaves the room and closes the door.

            Within minutes the enema is becoming unavoidably insistent. I try my best to make it to the loo without leakage, shuffling in between whopping contractions. I am semi-successful. Now, I am sitting on the throne, reassessing my predicament.

            Here I am panting on a rusty toilet in a harshly lit, drab concrete room, shitting my brains out.

            I am thirsty, very hot and sweaty, kind of dizzy, and I am all alone.

            There is a woman shouting desperately to the Holy Ghost in the next room.

            I am about to experience one of the most profound and meaningful acts possible in my entire lifetime.

            What the hell is wrong with this picture?

            And how come no one has even checked the baby? Maybe because it’s late at night and they are short staffed?  And what if my baby is born in this jailhouse toilet with nobody else in here? Then what?

            Labor certainly is an interesting process. I am in awe that my body knows exactly what to do; it is functioning like a finely tuned machine. I am feeling pretty proud of myself. However, with the next contraction, I do believe my bottom is history. My yoni is excruciating, on fire. This is impetus enough for me to drag myself out of there and back up onto the scaffolding of the bed. The Jesus woman has been taken away.

            Now the pain is overwhelming. I can’t move. I can’t even swear. Forget the breathing, jasus. I lie here as wave after wave of crushing spasms wash over me. I gape at the ceiling. Oh my god. I can’t handle this. This is truly unbearable. Then…a remarkable thing happens. I separate from myself. I realize that I can give my life to bring my child through, that I will willingly die to be his gateway to this world, my love for him is that strong. I stop struggling. I feel myself surrender and open up…I start to push. I push in big, involuntary moose-call pushes. The old nurse comes running back in. John is allowed in after filling out all the necessary payment forms.

            Pushing is unbelievably powerful and I am unbelievably vocal. I am not prepared for this. Either I am really being that loud or it just sounds that way inside my head. The old OB nurse is pleasantly perched between my legs, snapping her gum. She gives me a thumbs up and an ongoing progress report on the visibility of my child’s head.

            “I can see a dime. Yuh, now I can see a nickel”, she reports in her New Hampshire drawl. “Hell, I can see a quatah!”

            I like her. In between straining, I ask her if she can just deliver my baby right here in the bed. Maybe tell the doctor it was born too fast to make it to the delivery room. She smiles a huge smile but shakes her head, no. The doctor on-call would have all hell to pay if she failed to wake him up in time. Especially since it is Dr. Easey.

            Dr. Easey! Damn. I hadn’t thought about this. The OB practice I go to is a group of five men. They are secretly referred to as “Fifty Fingers” by their women patients. Easey is the doctor I like the least. I see him as a cold, steely man with mocking, ice blue eyes. Now he is the OB on-call. Shit, Murphy’s Law.

            John sees my momentary distress and attempts to comfort me by placing a cold washcloth on my forehead. Just at this moment the strongest bearing down urge hits my butt. I angrily wing the washcloth across the room. I tell him not to touch me, as a matter of fact, to never touch me again, ever. John retreats to the safety of a chair in the corner of the room to wait it out. He hides his face in his hands.

           An hour and a half later, a lot of Milan’s head is visible; it no longer retreats between pushes. I can see bald wrinkles. Then all hell breaks loose. The doctor makes his cameo appearance. He is grumpy and rumpled with sleep. He takes one look at my efforts and grunts something unintelligible and turns to the delivery room to scrub up. Some orderlies appear from nowhere. They slide my contorting and pushing body onto a high, narrow gurney and rush me down the hall at high speed to the delivery room.

Once there, I am moved again onto the even higher delivery table, all the while with a head between my legs. I am made to lie flat on my back with my legs up in the air in metal braces, like a June bug stuck helplessly on its back. The table is cracked in half with the lower part removed, so my butt is now suspended in midair. Because I have had no drugs, I am allowed to watch the proceedings in a standup mirror. I see myself being painted from navel to kneecaps with orangey brown Betadine.

            Now Milan’s head really starts to crown. The stretching is merciless. I feel as if my fragile labial tissues are splintering into a thousand shards of glass. Nobody is paying any attention; they are all getting ready to do their assigned jobs. My butt is still hanging in midair and my poor expanding yoni is BURNING. I do the natural thing. I reach down to soothe the fiery skin around my child’s emerging head.

            Dr. Easey sees me do this. He flips out. Totally and irrationally. He is irate that I have the audacity to touch myself in front of him. He slaps my hand away. He shouts that I have contaminated his sterile field! Goddamit! He gives orders for me to be restrained, for my hands to be strapped down. He continues ranting as though I am a disgusting, wild beast. The nurse ties my hands securely with leather handcuffs that are built into the table; they look like the wrist restraints found on electric chairs. I watch as Dr. Easey cuts a huge mid-line episiotomy in my vagina. Milan’s head is born.

            It IS a miracle! As Milan’s body slides out of me, he kicks me for one last time. The doctor puts him in a clear plastic warming cart across the room. I am straining to see what my son looks like. All I can see is one pudgy leg stretched up tentatively testing the air with his toes. How sweet! I want to hold and inspect that chubby thing.

            “Please give me my baby.” I say politely.

            Nobody pays any attention to me, so I say it louder.

            “Please give me my baby!”

            On the third try I actually shout for my child. “GIVE ME MY DAMN BABY!”

            They all stop bustling around and stare at me as though I have postpartum psychosis already. Dr. Easey looks irritated. He picks up Milan and unceremoniously plops him on my chest. My hands are still strapped to the table. I struggle to look in my newborn’s eyes, not being able to move my arms. I feel someone tugging angrily at the straps, untying my wrists. I look up into John’s brown eyes over his surgical mask that is streaked with tears. So much emotion in those eyes! With my hands finally free, I begin touching my baby all over his sweet, fat little body. I start rubbing the white creamy vernix into his skin, massaging him. I smell him; sniff his neck, behind his ears. I want to lick him, but I already have the sense that Dr. Easey thinks I am a borderline fruitcake.

           My bald baby is so beautiful, so perfect, even if he does look a little like Gerald Ford. Milan looks at me and frowns. Then his eyes focus and he squares me with the most intense, penetrating gaze, “Who are you?”

            This important meeting is cut short by a very rough and painful delivery of the placenta. I look up in time to see Dr. Easey yank the placenta into a bucket waiting on the floor by his feet. When I look in the mirror, I can’t believe my eyes. My poor yoni has been transformed into something unrecognizable. It is draped, shaved, stained dark brown, cut, bleeding and gaping open. It looks like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be stuffed and trussed. This is when the conflicting emotions begin. I am incredibly high from giving birth, proud that my body is so strong and wise. I am speechlessly in awe of the process. I have just done the most powerful thing I will ever experience in my life, and yet…I am completely pissed.

            A growing feeling of anger is starting to cloud my euphoria. I feel thwarted that my accomplishment has somehow been belittled, that I have been strapped down like a lunatic, degraded and humiliated in this most sacred of times. It is an increasing uneasiness; it is at first hard to grasp what is wrong.

            Milan weighs in at a whopping nine pounds. Ouch. Must have been all those nauseating Adelle Davis Brewer’s Yeast and Wheat Germ shakes. My little Budgie is taken from my arms to go to the nursery for the high-test newborn exam. Supposedly he has to wait there until the morning shift when the pediatrician comes to do his rounds. Milan will be thoroughly checked out during normal business hours. John goes with his son.

            Dr. Easey repairs the episiotomy in silence. It seems to me that he is taking an inordinately long time down there. I wonder if he’s embroidering his initials. I ask how bad is the damage and how many stitches are needed. I am trying to make inane conversation at 3:00 in the morning with someone who has just cut my vagina to shreds. Surprisingly, Dr. Easey says his first full sentence of the entire night. He proudly states that he is doing his trademark “Husband’s Stitch”, which is putting in a few extra stitches at the top of the perineum and pulling it tight so I won’t be floppy and stretched out from having a baby. How thoughtful. He’ll make sure I am good and tight so there will always be enough friction for my husband. I am going to be even better than before! Is this guy serious? I picture my yoni pursed and puckered together with all the flexibility of a vise-grip. For the rest of my life I will have a numb spot there.

            Dr. Easey finishes up his needlework and comes up to my head. I think, now he’s going to congratulate me for doing an outstanding job.

            Instead, what he says is, “Some women are meant to be workers and some women are meant to be breeders. You are definitely a breeder.”

            That does it. The man is a sexist sadist. I need to get out of here. Fast.

            I say to him, “I want to go home.”

            Dr. Easey looks stunned for a moment, then gets an imperious look.

            “You are aware that hospital policy is that you must stay for at least five days postpartum for observation? You do understand this? Comprehend?” he growls. “You absolutely may NOT leave against my orders.”

            He turns abruptly and heads out the door.

            “I am outta here!” I yell after him as he disappears down the hall.

            The OB night nurse comes back with the orderlies and they wheel me down some more beige halls to the beige postpartum ward. This is a big open room with about a dozen beds arranged dormitory style, for those patients without insurance who are unable to afford a private room. They get me settled in for the night; the nurse squeezes my flaccid belly with a vengeance. She puts a veritable mattress of a sanitary pad on me.

            After they leave, I slide out of bed and tentatively try walking. I feel like I have a bowling ball in my butt. I’m sure I am popping stitches with every step, but I am famished and I want my baby. I shuffle with baby-steps down the hall, cringing with each movement. I am following the sound of my baby crying to the nursery.

            John looks surprised to see me. He is holding Milan.

            I say, “Let’s go.”

            I bundle up my baby and the three of us sneak out of the hospital in the early morning hours of April 9, 1975. It is written in my medical chart that I left “AMA”–against medical advice.

This is the beginning of my life’s work.

~ Excerpted from LADY’S HANDS, LION’S HEART, A MIDWIFE’S SAGA by Carol Leonard, Bad Beaver Publishing, 2008.

Carole Leonard is the author of: 

Lady's Hands, Lion's Heart

A Midwife's Saga

Follow Carol's blog here: 

http://badbeaverfarm.com/blog/

Tags: Carol Leonard, 1970, 1970 birth story, birth stories, hospital abuse birth stories, restrained, mother restrained during birth, abuse birth stories, abuse, 

Paula’s Birth Story

Paula’s  Birth Story

Hello, my name is Paula, and twenty two years ago, I became pregnant with my first baby.
During pregnancy I did not felt very good, and as a result, the intimacy with my husband was very little. With the passing time, the distance between us grew, and I learned he started seeing a teenage girl who lived near to our house. She was about 16 years old, and eager to indulge all his wishes... I became very sad, but thought that when the baby was born he would come to his senses...

When I got in labour, he wasn't home. A friend drove me to the hospital and then tried to get in touch with him, so he would join me. He told her he wouldn't. He told her to tell me it was over and that he was leaving our house, to live in another city with the teenage girl.

I had the baby, all the nurses knew what had happened and were very nice... time passed and two years later I met my husband. We have another daughter, and the father of my son married the 16 year old, and also had two daughters.

Tags: husband leaves during labor, partner problems, laboring alone, childbirth alone, single mom birth story, birth, birth story, awful partner stories

Lindsay’s Birth of Grace

I guess I should start out at the beginning… I was going to school at the University of Iowa when I found out October 2008 I was pregnant! The first few months I was really sick which is really no fun at all, but my pregnancy was going really well overall except my placenta was in the front so that was kind of weird, but other than that it was good. I was going to move back to Illinois in May 2009 when I was 7 months pregnant so I found a wonderful ob-gyn who was amazing and decided to take over the final months of my pregnancy and delivery. The day I moved back home I had pain in my lower back I thought it was a kidney stone (I’ve had them before) so I ignored it. Two days later I was in so much pain so I went to my ob-gyn who sent me straight to the hospital; turns out I had a stone. But I was also having contractions (I had no idea)! I was given meds to stop the contractions and had a stint put in that would stay in for the rest of my pregnancy and a month later. So I went to every 2 weeks, and then weekly visits to my ob-gyn just to make sure everything was fine.

Everything was going really well, besides the fact that I was hot, miserable and swollen! :-) My visits in June showed that my blood pressure was elevated and I was swollen but I had no other symptoms of preeclampsia, but to be on the safe side my Dr. ordered a 24 hour urine protein test. Then it all happened…

July 8, 2009 my Dr. was on vacation so another Dr. who I had become close with called at 12:00pm and asked where I was, I told her I was taking a test for summer school but she wanted me resting, she asked my plans the rest of the day and I told her to go home and sleep. She said that this was not the case, I was being induced my protein was sky high and I had to be at the hospital at 3pm! The first thoughts that went through my head were: WHAT?! I’m having a baby, today?!  3 weeks early, I didn’t plan for this, I’m not ready!

I got to the hospital but my cervix wasn’t soft enough so they started cervidil and said they would start the pitocin around 5am the next day. The pitocin started and I was not feeling contractions, I was having them but had no pain so they kept upping it until I felt them. OUCH! I still wasn’t dilating enough so they broke my water (such a weird feeling!); from that point on I was constantly in the bathroom! After being on pitocin for 14 hours I hurt and was still only 4cm dilated! I wanted an epidural but not a strong one, so the anesthesiologist did a “walking epidural” I could still feel my legs but the edge of the pain was gone.

The nurses had me sitting up in bed to have gravity help the baby descend but no matter what they did I was not dilating. My Dr. was already at the hospital because she had a scheduled c-section with another patient later that night. At 10:30pm she came in and decided to do an internal monitor to better monitor the baby so she could again up the pitocin. The monitor was put in at 11:10pm, after it was inserted and they sat me back up the nurse looked at my monitor and the baby’s heartbeat was gone, she said it was common to lose the heartbeat for a second but then it comes right back. A few seconds later it went to 40bpm down to 20bpm she called in back up. My Dr. came rushing in and asked what happened, I really had no idea what was going on I had so many emotions running through me and I was so scared. She told me to relax and breathe; they laid my bed down and gave me an oxygen mask. Still no luck the heartbeat was still only 50bpm, my Dr. looked me in the face and said, “Don’t worry but we need to get this baby out of here you’re having a c-section.”

After that nurses were pulling cords out of the walls and trying to unhook everything as fast as they possibly could. My family could not come with because it was an emergency so we said our good-byes as they rushed me out of the hospital room; it was 11:18pm. As we were running down the hallway I kept asking is she (I knew it was a girl) was going to be ok. All my Dr. told me was that they were going to make sure that I made it through. When we hit the hallway to the OR the anesthesiologist was there to dose my epidural with pain meds, he said he needed 2 minutes, the Dr. said we didn’t have that.

When we got to the OR they told me to relax and let them know if it hurt. They had no time to scrub so they all put on gloves and started to prep me as the Dr. was already cutting. The meds weren’t working; I started screaming when my Dr. started the c-section because I felt everything. Because it was change of shift the room was double staffed, this helped because I had another anesthesiologist sitting next to me holding my hand. He told me to just squeeze it to help with the pain I said I wanted them to wait and they said just hang on. After feeling them cut through the first 3 layers and my stomach muscles I could not scream in pain anymore and I don’t remember anything.

They brought me to as my Dr. was stitching me up, they said they gave me sleeping meds after the baby was delivered and asked me how I was doing. They told me the baby was perfect and let me see her before they brought her into the nursery to clean up. She was perfect! She was born at 11:22pm, only 4 minutes after I was rushed out of my room, AMAZING! On top of that her APGAR score was 9 out 10 both times they took it! She was 7lbs 1oz and 19inches long. She’s as stubborn as her mommy and just wanted out!

After that everything was fine she was perfect, my hormones were going crazy but we were all perfect. A few days after my delivery one of the nurses who was in the delivery room came to talk to me. I wanted to know what all happened so she explained that the baby was stuck under the placenta so they took my entire uterus out in order to suction her out. She said everyone was quiet until the baby took her first breath and started crying.

Her name is Grace, after my Dr. that delivered her; it is because of her that Grace and I are ok and made it through. The staff was so calm and fast thinking which helped get Grace out and the two of us to make it through. She is one year old now and already stubborn and gets into everything! She is perfect and has an amazing story that goes with her name!

So… this was a long story but it goes to show not everything goes as planned but Dr’s and nurses are capable of the unthinkable. My delivery is rare but yet they knew just what to do and 4 minutes after the decision was made Grace was born. In the end I would not change my delivery at all, each birth is different but that is what makes all women unique. I have grown just from my delivery and I hope each of you that read this story are more at ease that Dr.’s truly know what they are doing and will help you every step of the way!

Tags: cervidil, pitocin, c-section, cesarean section, no anesthesia c-section, emergency c-section, emergency cesarean, 37 weeks, 37 weeks birth story,walking epidural, preeclampsia, birth radio