Hey Hey Babes,
I hope this finds everyone WELL, WOKE and SAFE in these crazy/important times. I'm writing to you in between nursing Ramona and playing dinosaurs with Diego to share little Ramona's birth story for those who dig that sort of thing. (Warning: it's long and honest).
You knew this already, but a recent study showed that people who stayed active during the early phase of lockdown experienced less mental health issues than those who didn't. So KEEP PULSING!
Ramona Victoria’s Birth Story
Everyone says you forget the pain of labor because immediately afterward, you fall so deeply in love. And I know many women who feel powerful from the massive accomplishment of bringing a new person into the world, and I celebrate them for that. For me though, powerful just isn’t the word I would use. It feels more like a waterfall of immense gratitude + intense relief.
While I’m all for taking control of our bodies and pregnancies, for each woman to be completely in charge of what happens to her body and baby, for education and empowerment in pregnancy and birth, for me the hardest but most rewarding thing has been to let go. To trust the professionals, to let others, even strangers, take care of me and to try to fully grasp what a gift that is. I am skilled in mindful movement that takes good care of pregnant bodies, and I believe each individual mama knows her body best, but that’s really the extent of what I know. In both of my births, I did need to advocate for myself and trust my gut, but my doctors & nurses were the really ones who knew what to do when things went awry and deliver my babies safely. For them, my mother, and my husband, I am eternally grateful, and constantly wondering how I would manage without them, as so many women must.
Anyway, back to Ramona’s big debut. My patience with pregnancy had run its course and I was focused and ready to get my daughter out, but I was nervous, too. In my experience, childbirth is traumatic, and traumatized was the first word that came to mind when we arrived at the hospital on a rainy South Carolina evening. I’d had so much fiery determined energy heading into Mt. Sinai West for Diego’s birth, ready to face the unknown challenges in front of me like a pregnant warrior princess, but with Ramona, I was already tired, resigned to but mildly dreading the trial ahead.
I have a genetic condition that predisposes my blood to clot during pregnancy and have to inject blood thinners into my belly every day, so I was to be induced, mostly so we could time my last shot appropriately to prevent too much bleeding during labor. Just as I had with Diego, we started with a cervical ripener (which, oddly enough, can either be dissolved under the tongue or be inserted in the cervix itself – so many connections between mouth and pelvic floor!) and was assured repeatedly that “probably nothing will happen overnight and we’ll start you on contraction medicine in the morning.” I had a hunch, though, that this second labor would be much like my first in which all it took for crazy intense contractions to start was one little dose and a few hours time. Nevertheless, Damian went home to put Diego to bed, the nurses dimmed the lights, and I settled in to chill out and watch TV and the trees swaying outside the window.
I was chatting with my cousin on the phone and sipping a Sprite as the lowest part of my belly start to heat with something between dull aches and super intense period cramps. Since I’d been having those fake-out contractions for a day or so already, I wasn’t too phased at first as they intensified and became more regular. I hung up the phone about 10:45, intending to close my eyes, but by about 11:05, the contractions began to leave me breathless. The nurse came to check my cervix (which is so not cool) and reported little progress. She seemed a little perplexed that I was reporting such intense pain, and I almost felt silly claiming it, but I remembered how I’d gone from 0-60 with Diego and shuddered.
“I’m telling you,” I said. “My contractions started super fast and intense with my first. This baby is coming tonight.”
At 11:45, I was fully gripping the bed rails, panting with eyes glued to the clock trying to time the contractions. By the stroke of midnight, I was doubled over and screaming. I could barely type a text to Damian that I needed him, and didn’t have time to check for a reply. The nurses came running, everyone remarking with wide eyes how I’d turned a corner so fast. The pain was low and brutal and I didn’t know where to be. The tiniest nurse kept telling me I was in control, which was a nice thought, if completely inaccurate.
More masked nurses and the anesthesiologist with his long needles arrived to administer my epidural, which is both scary and totally worth it. After the initial sting of strange in my spine, it felt like the heavens opened and the angels started to sing. I relaxed, caught y breath, thanked the goddess for modern medicine. A few minutes later, the tiny blond nurse returned to check my cervix. I was happy I couldn’t feel it.
“You’re complete,” the nurse said as she peeled off her blue gloves.
“What’s complete mean?”
“You’re 10 centimeters dilated. It’s time to get the doctor and get ready to push.”
Y’all. I’d gone from No to Go within the span of 30 minutes. I must’ve looked like the wide-eyed surprised emoji. Ramona was not messing around.
“When should I come to the hospital?” read Damian’s text.
“RIGHT NOW.”
20 minutes later he rushed in, barely making it in time to hold my hand and clearly caught off guard by the table of instruments already set for the big moment. He kissed my hair about 30 times before I told him he needed to chill.
The nurses lifted my legs into supports and the doctor came in. He was tall and handsome like a TV doctor (above the mask, at least) and was quiet, confident, and encouraging. When I was told I was contracting, I’d grab my numb thighs and curl up, holding my breath and hugging my center in and down as hard as I could, trying to help little Ramona find her way out. My water still hadn’t broken yet, and it pleased me to know that she had that amniotic cushion around her for comfort and safety.
After about 20 minutes of the rhythmic inhale/curl up/hold breath/push/relax/repeat, little Ramona escaped my body, hot pink in color with her cord wrapped twice around her neck. She didn’t say much but looked right in our eyes as she was placed on my chest and wiped clean. She somehow already had an air of sweetness and self-possession, regarding us with shining dark eyes that particular shade of newborn blue that never lasts. She’s a little fairy baby at 5 lbs. 13 oz, with a full head of wispy light hair, elegant long fingers and ears that point at the top like an elf. We’ve all been entranced with her ever since.
I know this isn’t the most popular opinion these days, but I just want to put out there that I LOVE epidurals. I love all the hospital stuff, really – the peace of mind that comes from listening to the constant heart rate monitor on the baby, the rhythmic massage of the leg squeezers placed on my still calves so my blood wouldn’t clot, the kind nurses doing everything for me from putting my hair up when I couldn’t bend my wrist from a painful IV, to holding me by the shoulders to help me stay still during contractions when they put in the epidural, to taking me to the bathroom for the first pee after birth (which is its own kind of terror), to changing diapers and swaddling the baby.
Homebirth was never a safe option for me because of the blood clot/blood thinner situation, and for that same reason I don’t know what it’s like to go into labor naturally. I do know that medically induced labor is incredibly over-the-top painful, so much so that in those moments I really felt the untold numbers of mothers and babies that have died in childbirth since the beginning of time. I realize this sounds dramatic, but so it felt. So whenever the question of hospital vs. homebirth, doctor vs. midwife, natural vs. medicated comes up in my Prenatal Movement classes, I always say to go with what will make you, personally, feel most comfortable, because it’s pretty much a proven fact that the cervix will not dilate if mama does not feel comfortable in her environment. And that’s different for everybody. For me, I feel incredibly lucky to have had two wonderful hospital births, to feel safe during the pandemic, and to be able to take the time to grow my babies up strong.
Anyway, we're grateful to be home and together now, and I'm thinking of everyone often. I hope you're safe and well, and I can't wait to see you all again.
Big milky hugs,
Annie
