I’ve always felt more or less free to share my thoughts and opinions here on my blog and, for the most part, I still do. I think a blog lends itself to a slower pace, where more thought is welcomed and more consideration is given to the voice. The last time I wrote about my opinions in regards to medical care during pregnancy, I received a lot of great feedback here but a few people that felt offended by the snippet of the blog post I posted to instagram. Following that I kinda told myself I’d be keeping my shit to myself and moseying on my merry way. But alas, with a post entitled “Birthing Fears”, I realize I’m opening that door to criticism once again. I guess I’m just okay with that. I’m hardly trying to sell anyone on this blog as a place to go for advice or parenting guidelines; what I share here on my blog is truly a reflection of my own experiences and so much of the conclusions I draw, and we all draw, are drawn from hindsight. In other words, if my experiences were different, so would be my beliefs about them. Anyway, that’s the asterix attached to this post and any post of it’s kind, but especially the birth related posts because people seem to get really sensitive about this shit.
When I was pregnant with Hooper, I was a newly employed registered nurse, just coming out of nursing school where my obstetrics portion was taught by a very-well-educated and well-practiced midwife. Until that point, I had never really thought much about birth or envisioned the kind of birth I wanted, despite having dreamed of being a mother my whole childhood. I knew that when the time came, I’d opt for a home birth.
None of this is to say that there isn’t a place for hospital births. I’ve had two now, so clearly I’m grateful they exist and I understand their necessity more than I’d like to. All I’m saying is that when taking the classes in nursing school and then completing my own rounds and observations in the hospital setting, much of what I learned and observed had a profound impact on me.
This is probably more background info than is necessary to share. The simple point is that I knew for certain that when the time came, I’d want an unmedicated birth at home.
What I got instead was an induction with pitocin at the hospital. And that’s just the beginning of the story. What followed was an unmedicated birth involving horrible tetanic contractions (“Pitocin has the potential of causing tetanic contractions—contractions coming so frequently that they merge into one sustained contraction”) and being wheeled, on all fours, butt-booty naked, down the hall to the “c-section room” where I remember a lot of people talking about me but not to me. Hooper was vacuumed out, on the operating room table.
I think the whole experience solidified the idea of birth being a traumatic experience in Willy’s mind. So my pregnancy with Van was met with a lot of anxiety from the get-go and even more so when I insisted, once again, to try for a home birth.
The labor portion of Van’s birth was a dream. It was so nice to be at home and experiencing contractions in the absence of tetanic contractions made regular contractions feel, well, not like a walk in the park, per say, but definitely feasible. The tub of water also worked wonders and up until it was time to push, everything was gravy.
Three hours of pushing later and a look of defeat and worry on the face of my midwife eventually led to an ambulance transfer to the nearest hospital. There’s something to be said for being butt booty naked, once again, on a gurney, being wheeled out of your own home (they did put a blanket over me) and being asked not to push when you’re 10cm dilated and have been pushing with all the strength you could muster for the last three hours.
Van was born within the first 15 minutes of making it to the hospital, assisted not by a vacuum but instead by a large anesthesiologist who literally did CPR-like chest compressions on my abdomen. My mom was outside the door and could hear an audible “pop” when he was born.
These two stories combine to bring us to the present day and the exponential growth in anxiety surrounding the birthing process for both Willy and I.
Willy’s fears are a bit irrational, in my opinion, as his health anxiety leads him to worry about things that have not presented themselves as issues (thank goodness)… things like me and/or the baby dying.
My fear is associated more with how I’m going to get the baby out given my 0 for 2 track record of unassisted births. I fear not being able to trust that my OB will try less invasive strategies. I fear not having birthed with this OB before. I fear birthing with an OB. I fear a hospital birth. I fear that I have not prepared properly (gone are the days I had time to do prenatal yoga or childbirth classes that led you to believe some special way of breathing would ease the pain). I fear my fused spine may have a negative affect on my ability to bear down. I fear this baby will be bigger than both of my prior ones. I fear I’ll go past my due date, allowing even more time for this baby to grow even bigger. I fear another induction with pitocin should I go too far past my due date. I fear returning to the perinatologist who wants to see me again to “see how big the baby is getting”. I fear letting fear take over my natural inclination to trust my instinct and fight for what I know deep down is right for myself.
I’ve considered taking up smoking in hopes of potentially having a low(er) birth weight baby. I’m kidding, but the thought has crossed my mind enough times to turn it into a joke.
It’s crazy how much within the pregnancy and birthing experience is entirely out of our control. I’ve always thought of it as the first lesson in motherhood… the idea of things happening to you that you cannot predict or plan or alter; much like the children we bare. I don’t know what the answer is. I feel like the hippies would tell me to simply embrace this time… to talk to my baby and openly discuss my fears with loved ones that will listen. But when the fear is shared, it tends to compound so I’ve more or less kept my fears to myself. And I’m not hippy enough to talk to my baby and even if I were, asking it to diet and come out on time is not realistic.
What were/are your fears associated with pregnancy and birth and motherhood? Do you feel that they were generalized fears that could be applied to all or were they specific fears that applied to you based on your past experiences?
March is right around the corner and I’m finding it hard to find a grip. Right now I’m more or less riding the wave of if-I-don’t-pay-it-attention-it’s-not-there… but the fear most certainly is there and it’s coasting along and reminding me often that much of what I wish and hope for is entirely out of my hands.
I’m struggling to find peace with that.
*Image above by Tish Carlson