A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
A few months ago my sister and I had a conversation about having babies and Van’s (pseudo) home birth story came up. It’s come up before, but as time has passed, I’ve been more open to seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I still have my own opinions on the day, but I do think that should a third be in our future it would not be born at home. That’s partly because Willy has already downright insisted that it cannot be born at home; but it’s also because I partly agree. Been there, tried that. Twice.
Anyway, here’s Van’s big day, as told from the perspective of my sister, who was there to witness it.
My beef with home birth
Before my sister (the writer of this lovely blog, the stork herself) got pregnant with her first, Hooper, I didn’t really think much about home birth. I kind of associated it with yesteryear—women in log cabins on prairies and shit. I mean, why would sane people have babies at home when they can take a car ride to a hospital?
But, my sister explained it to me and, with her nurse background, she was rather convincing. I get it. Women want to be in the comfort of their own home. They want it to be peaceful. They don’t want machines and drugs and interventions pushed on them by a medical team that is concerned only with not getting sued, insurance coverage, and turning beds as fast as possible. Home birth sounds very romantic. That’s all fine and dandy, but keep in mind that I once thought it was romantic to be 23, eating beans out of a can for dinner with my broke-ass boyfriend.
With Hooper, my sister ended up in the hospital, against her wishes. She was overdue and they had to induce her. Then she couldn’t get the baby out, so they wheeled her to the OR. Using every stubborn ounce of strength in her body, she had the baby naturally in the OR room. The whole thing was rather touch-and-go, as they say. Willy couldn’t talk about it for weeks.
The second time, I was there. I didn’t think I would be. Her due date passed and my husband and I left on a 7-day backpacking trip in the Sierras, planned months in advance. We didn’t have cell coverage. I thought for sure we’d come back to hear she’d had the baby, but no. She was overdue again. The morning after we got back—I like to think Van was waiting for us—we got a very calm call saying she was in labor. They were deploying the big tub at home, the midwife was on her way. I was in tears driving up through Los Angeles traffic. I was convinced I’d miss the delivery because of all those a-holes on their way to work. Little did I know that births aren’t as fast and simple as they look on TV.
When I got there, she was just starting to push. She was in and out of the tub. She was on the floor. She was moaning, screaming.
My dad and I tried our best to distract Hooper, who was obviously worried. He insisted on wearing his toy stethoscope.
After what seemed like hours, the midwife started whispering to her assistant and we all started to wonder what was happening. Once again, my sister was having trouble getting the baby out. In hindsight, the difficulty probably had something to do with the crazy curve in her spine, which shifted all of her insides. She’d mentioned the scoliosis to her midwife, but didn’t really stress the severity of it (after all, she’d lived with it for years—was it that big of a deal? Um, yes, probably). I was terrified that she would get the head out and the body would be stuck. I’d heard horror stories. Willy was terrified that his wife was going to die. Sure, he thinks in extremes, but I understood his fear.
The midwife made the decision to call the ambulance. A couple guys showed up, put her on a stretcher, and she was gone. We followed behind in a car—my mom, Willy, and me (my dad stayed back at the house with Hooper). The three of us were shaking, terrified.
When we got to the hospital, we rushed to her room. The screaming was intense. I had a moment of feeling bad for any other moms delivering. It sounded like a horror movie in there. Willy was by her side, my mom and I in the hallway. We were crying at that point—scared for my sister and scared for the baby. I told my mom to try to smile, for Ashley. It was my job to document the day.
We heard a big POP—the doctor pushing on my sister’s belly—and then the baby wailing. We started crying more tears, of the relieved variety. We rushed in and saw the baby—he was a big 9-pounder—and quickly understood that things were okay. Willy asked the nurse how scary it was, on a scale from 1 to 10. She looked at us, with almost as much shock in her face as was in ours, and said, “That was a 9.”
My sister hates when people pose for the camera. She likes real emotion. But I think we were all afraid to show the real emotion in our faces that day. We wanted to be strong for her. So we smiled. After all, things turned out okay (even though I thought Van looked like Golem from Lord of the Rings).
My sister wants a third. I’ve told her that if they decide to have that baby, it better be in a hospital. I don’t care if her spine is fixed now. I don’t care that she would love to have the home birth she always wanted. She can go drug-free in a hospital, around professionals who can help her if anything goes awry. My good friend is married to an OBGYN and he says, “Look, most births go totally great. But when something goes wrong, it goes really wrong.” I’m sure lots of mothers have beautiful stories of their births, but for me, as a loved one, my sister’s births were scary. When I got home the day Van was born, I climbed in bed with my husband and I sobbed. I didn’t feel back to normal for days.
I wouldn’t say I’d discourage anyone from doing a home birth. I think it depends on your medical history and all that. I would say to know the risks, and consider the emotional impact on the people around you on that special day. And, make sure to educate those people about what to expect. My sister didn’t seem disturbed by what was going on and that was probably because she had watched lots of gory videos and had talks with her midwife and knew what the hell was happening. I wasn’t prepared, period. I was very fooled by the easy births you see in movies. Even in real life, most women have epidurals and drugs so there is no screaming (seriously, the screaming was the worst part). I watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians occasionally (#sorrynotsorry) and there was an episode when Kourtney Kardashian gives birth. The room was, like, silent. Her family was in there chatting with her. Chatting. She may as well have been getting a pedicure. So, yeah, maybe don’t go into a birth scenario with the Kardashians as your reference point. And if you have romantic notions about home birth, just think it through. Consider all the things you previously thought were romantic that really aren’t—like eating beans out of cans with your broke-ass boyfriend.
When I was pregnant with Hooper, my midwife palpated my belly. Her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise came over her face as she proclaimed, “he’s a long boy!”. Fast forward to his birth, where he measured 23 inches. She nailed it, he was a long boy. And that’s just one of many things I love about midwives; they use and trust their hands.
When I went to see my new backup OB, he confessed that he cannot tell the difference between a babies rump and head when he is palpating a woman’s pregnant belly. He also confessed that although he wears one of the most expensive stethoscopes around his neck, he hardly ever uses it and cannot tell the difference in various heart rhythms. Instead, he said, he relies on ultrasound for detecting the baby’s position and an EKG to determine heart rhythm. He’s young and he’s the product of modern day machinery, I mean medicine.
At any rate I recently read a fascinating article, “The Most Scientific Birth Is Often the Least Technological Birth”, written by Alice Dreger, a professor of clinical medical humanities and bioethics at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine. She starts the article by sharing the answer she received when asking her medical students what came to mind when they envisioned someone who chose a midwife over an obstetrician. The students described a granola girl. You know, they one’s that look almost Amish and frolic in fields of grass and mix herbs from their gardens in their spare time.
I don’t consider myself a granola girl at all, in fact, I’m slightly offended when someone refers to me as a “hippie” because I’m choosing a home birth. Instead, I consider myself very rational. I also find myself to be a hostage of my own principles. It’s nearly impossible for me to do something I don’t believe in. And I do believe in medicine, otherwise I would not work at a large hospital as a registered nurse. But I believe their is a time and place for medical intervention.
Dreger goes on to make a clear differentiation between science and technology, noting that the scientific literature shows that interventions used during birth actually increase the risk to mother and child instead of decreasing it. A bold statement made by someone both in the academic and medical worlds, no? She states the problem with her medical students is that they think that what it means to be a scientific doctor is to bring to bear the maximum amount of technology on any given patient. And this, she says, makes them dangerous.
It goes without saying that all woman want a healthy outcome when it comes to birthing their child. The problem today, she says, is that no one seems to tell them what the data indicates is the best way to get there.
Recounting her own pregnancy in 2000, she says:
“My mate and I consulted the scientific medical literature to find out how to maximize safety for me and our child, here’s what we learned from the studies available: I should walk a lot during my pregnancy, and also walk around during my labor; doing so would decrease labor time and pain. During pregnancy, I should get regular check-ups of my weight, urine, blood pressure, and belly growth, but should avoid vaginal exams. I should not bother with a prenatal sonogram if my pregnancy continued to be low-risk, because doing so would be extremely unlikely to improve my or my baby’s health, and could well result in further tests that increased risk to us without benefit.
According to the best studies available, when it came time to birth at the end of my low-risk pregnancy, I should not have induction, nor an episiotomy, nor continuous monitoring of the baby’s heartbeat during labor, nor pain medications, and definitely not a c-section. I should give birth in the squatting position, and I should have a doula — a professional labor support person to talk to me throughout the birth. (Studies show that doulas are astonishingly effective at lowering risk, so good that one obstetrician has quipped that if doulas were a drug, it would be illegal not to give one to every pregnant woman.)”
Drawing from several experts in the birth world, Dreger points to the problem in the way birth is conceived in America — as “dangerous, risky, and in need of control to ensure a good outcome.” She also touches on the lack of insurance coverage for births outside of the hospital setting, the misuse of science to support the new technologies of birth, the lack of information provided to woman regarding the dangers in interventions offered, and the limited options women in America have in regards to bringing their child into the world.
I had to fight hard for home birth coverage. I wasn’t even aware that coverage could have been obtained the first time around and thus had to pay out of pocket for something that in hindsight could have been covered had I had more knowledge or had someone presented my options to me. Instead, obtaining home birth coverage was something I did proactively. I made home birth an option for myself, no one presented it on a silver platter. It’s unfortunate because I know a lot of women don’t have the time or energy that I did to put toward it, even if our desires for the best birthing outcome are the same.
Dreger concludes by stating, “We’re all very interested in having healthy babies and it is pretty easy to make the kind of cognitive errors that people make, and attribute to technology benefits that don’t exist. At the same time, when there are problems in a pregnancy, that very same technology can be life-saving. It is easy to make the [problematic mental] leap that technology is always going to be necessary for a good outcome.”
I get that this is a touchy subject. You can check out the comments to her article if you really want to get fired up one way or the other. I get that a home birth is not for everyone. I get that a natural birth is not for everyone. I get that some women are more comfortable birthing in the hospital setting and I get that some prefer an Obstetrician to a Midwife. But my bottom line has never wavered: Women need to be educated. The consequences of many of the interventions throughout labor need to be discussed and options need to be more available.
