Megan Stark

Submitted by: Anne Dew

Here is the story of our daughter Elsa’s birth – the first girl on my husband’s side of the family in 150 years!

Elsa Joy–a bit of a piece of work from the start! She couldn’t quite make up her mind and was not interested in being rushed.

On a Friday about a week before her birth, Elsa began to stir. I woke up at 1:30 am with contractions that lasted throughout the day and then settled down at sunset. Grandma (on my husband, Don’s mom) was not to arrive until Tuesday, so we were all a bit frantic when these stirrings began three days before our extra pair of hands was due to arrive! To make matters worse, both our back-up people who were going to watch our son, Aidric, weren’t available that weekend. Being the sweet Grandma she is, she changed her flight and arrived the very next day with plans to stay for 2 weeks. Phew….. And what happened next? Absolutely nothing for the whole week! Grandma’s reassuring presence ensured that this girl would come when she was good and ready! With our time with Grandma ticking by, we began Operation Encourage Birth.

Sunday my girlfriends planned a trip to a salon for mani/pedis to celebrate the coming of Miss Dew. I brought Grandma along too. People had mentioned that reflexology during a pedicure is a good way to get labor going. I told the gal to go for it–hit those pressure points! Didn’t do a thing to start labor, but I loved having time with friends and picking out fun nail polish so that I had pretty toes to look at during labor. Tuesday I went in for my 38-week appointment and they did a cervical swipe, which sometimes helps things along. Fingers-crossed! Alas, nothing happened. The next day, Don and I went out for spicy food at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I even ate a whole roasted jalapeno! All the spice didn’t do a darn thing either. Then I went swimming at the Rec center. Twice. Friday evening, after the second swimming outing, I lost the mucus plug. Hurray! But then I read that that didn t actually mean that labor would start anytime soon. Oh well. Then Friday night came and the full moon appeared, so we were curious if that would help get labor started. No such luck. I was tired of speculating when the baby might come. And even though everyone was really sweet and encouraging, I still felt like they were all waiting for something to happen with my body.

Feeling under pressure, I decided to get some alone time. Grandma had taken Aidric up to their second home in Winter Park on Thursday for the weekend, so it was just Don and I sitting around and waiting. Saturday morning came and it was sunny and warm. After working from home the whole week, Don was itching to go for a mountain bike ride but nervous about leaving me alone. I told him to go anyway, and he was out the door. Wouldn t you know, while he was gone, I stood up to use the computer at 11:50 am and my water broke! My first thoughts were, yippee this baby will probably be here within the next 24 hours, I’ll finally get to meet my daughter and I ll no longer be pregnant! I was absolutely giddy! I rang Don on his cell phone, but he must have been in a poor reception area because it took 3 calls to reach him. Once I got the message through, he zipped home and even caught a ride from a guy in a pickup truck for part of the ride home. He got home at 12:30 pm and jumped into the shower and we scurried about the house making sure everything was in order.

What happened next? Absolutely nothing! Hours later, still not a single contraction. We were getting very good at sitting around and looking at each other. Uhhhg! The birthcenter wanted to see me in active labor by the 12 hour mark (midnight) otherwise we’d be pushing our luck with having our baby at the birthcenter. The rule is that you need to be in active labor within 24 hours of the water breaking otherwise a trip to the hospital for medical intervention is needed. At 6 pm, Sarah, the midwife on call, suggested I take a dose of castor oil to get things moving. It is a stimulant laxative that helps induce contractions. Two hours ticked by, and still nothing happened. Sarah explained that sometimes it takes two doses, so I took the second shot at 8 pm and lay down to try and get some sleep. I was disappointed. The whole day I had been so excited thinking that I d get to have a daytime labor/delivery and how wonderful it would be to not have to pull an all-nighter like we did with our son. But it was not to be. Sleeping didn’t happen and at 9:30 I became violently ill from the castor oil. I threw up several times and was on all fours in our bedroom unable to move. The castor oil gave me severe abdominal cramps and then I was getting starter contractions at the same time, so it was all one big cramp with NO break in between. Panic, fear, pain…at this point all I wanted was an ambulance ride to the ER! After 30 minutes of this, Sarah said to go ahead and come down to the birthcenter. You didn t have to tell ME twice! Meanwhile, Mother Nature decided that since it hadn’t rained in Evergreen since October that this would be a good night to shower the road with some nice freezing rain. So with rain coming down and temperatures falling below freezing, Don nervously drove us the 26 miles to the birthcenter, which took about 45 minutes that night. We tried not to notice the pile of cars and emergency vehicles as we pulled onto the interstate.

We arrived at our birth center, Mountain Midwifery Center at about 11:30 p.m. and I made a beeline for the bathroom. I spent a good hour getting sick and then lay down to rest on the birthcenter’s big log bed with Don. Sarah explained that after the castor oil effects had worn off, my contractions would regulate and active labor would be underway. Sure enough, about 12:30 am I started breathing through contractions and Don was there to time them. About 1:30 am, I was too uncomfortable to lay in the bed anymore so I stood up and used the hammock sling thingie suspended from the ceiling. It took a lot of the weight off and I was able to sway and breathe in rhythm during the contractions. Sweat poured out and began to roll off my face like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Things were getting intense, so Sarah checked me. I was only 6 cm dilated. I was so disappointed! I thought for sure we were farther along than that. She suggested I get into the birth pool at that point. The warm water felt good and I tried my hardest to relax during contractions. I wondered if I would be in for another marathon 18 hour birth that I had had with our son. But much to my surprise, I watched as Sarah started laying out chux pads (absorbant sheets) on the bed and a towel on the floor. This is for when baby is here, which will be very soon, she exclaimed. I was in disbelief! I then felt some pressure below, as if baby was at the gate. Was it time to push? Sarah checked with her flashlight underwater and said, go ahead and push, you are fully dilated at 10 cm and I can see her head! This was all happening so fast, how could it be? The huge holy-hell why-am-I-doing-this contractions had arrived. I pushed a couple times and Sarah excitedly announced that her head was out. Again I was in disbelief! Sarah explained that once baby was out, she would pass her through my legs and I could pick her up out of the water. With that I got a nice burst of motivation–I was almost to the finish line, I could DO this! A couple more rrrrahhhhrrrrr pushes/contractions and Elsa came out.

Sarah passed Elsa through my legs like a little football, and into my arms she landed. Pure joy, relif, happiness, disbelief, amazement and love! Don bowed his head, completely overwhelmed with emotion. We did it. Kate, our nurse, wrapped Elsa in a blanket and hat while we were still in the pool. Then we stood up and shuffled our way over to the bed with umbilical cord still attached. Don was at my side on the bed and held Elsa in his arms as I delivered the placenta and dealt with after-birth pains (just like contractions) and uncontrollable body shakes. That was a bit of a raw deal–to have contractions even after delivery. It was wonderful for the three of us to lay in bed and snuggle. Don and I marveled at how tiny her hands and feet were, how beautiful her little face was and how long her fingernails were. Our precious daughter was finally here, wow!

Elsa latched on without a problem, that was nice. Don ceremoniously cut the umbilical cord and also went with Elsa to see her get weighed: a healthy 7 pounds 5 ounces. I took an herbal concoction to help with the pains and later took an herbal bath that also helps with that. Afterwards, I changed into a nightgown and got to cuddle with Elsa and Don and EAT! Sarah said that I had only pushed for 10 minutes. The labor was 5 hours if you count from the time the castor oil kicked in, or 2 hours if you count from when the castor oil effects subsided and real contractions began. The only people that were there for the birth were myself, Don, Sarah, and Amy, the photographer. Kate, the nurse, arrived moments after birth. I felt completely safe and supported the whole time.

Looking into my husband’s eyes and hearing his comforting and encouraging words really helped get me through. Sarah was awesome. She chose her words well, always kept me informed as to what was happening, and was just an excellent coach. It was a small group, but it was all I needed. Even Amy helped out and held my hand while the placenta came out and offered reassurance when I got Elsa latched on for the first time.

I feel so fortunate, blessed and proud to have had a beautiful, natural birth. It is truly a miraculous event that I will remember always.

Submitted by: By Lisa Conway

I was relieved that my transition to the hospital, however chaotic and probably embarrassing, was over. I answered the nurse’s questions in between contractions. Her name was Annie, and she helped me to feel more comfortable than anyone else had since we’d entered the hospital. Before long I was allowed to focus solely on my labor process. My midwife, Peggy, arrived at the hospital in her usual glow and bright smile. She set me up in the shower to help labor progress. I remember that those contractions were some of the toughest. I felt enormous pressure and a stretching of my hips I never before fathomed I could endure. It felt like metal rods were driving my hips away from each other. I hugged Joe, who patiently stood outside the narrow shower stall, during every single contraction.

We returned to the room. I did not know that hospital lighting could be as soft and incandescent as that pivotal space. I put on the soundtrack from the movie Garden State, and we listened to it over and over again – maybe six or seven times. At this point I remember I no longer wore any clothing. During contractions my hair would loosen from the headband and rubber band, holding it back and Joe kept trying to fix my hair and smooth it away from my face. I remember I finally grabbed the headband, soaked with sweat, and threw it on the floor, yelling, “Get this #$%@*& away from me!”

I was fierce and decisive. I was wild and free. I was a mama in labor. I was the tigress that I hoped I’d be.

My doula, Stephanie, wrapped a shawl over the bathroom door in the hospital room so I could pull on it during my contractions. I drank tons of water. Like a fish. Like the fish I’ve always been. We were a moving human sculpture – sliding like the great skirt of life on that flecked tile floor, my uterus our lead. I hummed and groaned and growled and whimpered. I walked and squatted and danced and drifted. I remember one contraction brought me to tears.

I found myself wondering how much longer I could go before… before what? I asked for drugs? I collapsed in defeat? I died? Or maybe, possibly, finally, gave birth?

I leaned into Peggy with all my strength and sputtered a half-hearted, “I want drugs!” I had wrapped my arms around her waist; I had buried my head in her belly. “Okay,” she said, looking at Annie. “That’s my cue to go.” Stephanie suggested we try another position. I climbed on the bed and tried to make my body obey – it laughed. And now. Now, Peggy returned, refreshed. It was ten o-clock. “We need to check you,” she said. I can still feel the haze of this moment, the blurred edges of this photograph. I remember lying on that hospital bed, feeling weightless. Was I even there? And I remember that triumphant moment: “She’s fully dilated.” Incredibly, though not for the first time in human history, I found myself in the glory of pushing. So much pain had suddenly subsided. At last I could do something! The Garden State soundtrack still carried us along.

Here I am.

I pushed for three and a half hours. I was grateful for Ina May Gaskin, and grateful for Pam England, and grateful for that spirit of sisterhood living somewhere in my body. I was grateful for my great-grandmother and grandmothers everywhere. I was grateful to the Venus of Willendorf. I was proud of my dated Japanese tattoo on my ass: it means “Woman.” Ah, capricious seventeen-year old me – I was grateful. I was me. And I loved myself more than I ever had before.

I was grateful for George Balanchine’s Nutcracker ballet. That I had been watching it over and over again, meditatively, with the highest hopes I could ever muster. That if I could channel those arabesques, plies, changements, fifth position, first position, battements, pas de bourres. If I could just be that open, that feathered, that free. And now, here I am. Pushing. Picturing that movie in my mind. Open, open.

Here I am.

Pushing was hard. Annie said, “You’re jumping into the pool and blowing out through your nose.” I pushed my chin into my sternum and blew. I pushed. Peggy counted. I could barely push for more than five counts. I didn’t much care for the counting. Stephanie said, “Remember your flower,” and that was probably about the time I started calling on Jesus big time. And I remembered my flower. For weeks I had been watching this one particular time-lapse video of a velvety red rose opening and opening and opening. I etched that video into my brain. I can still see it. I gazed past Stephanie’s incredible attention and past Joe’s incredible love and past Peggy’s incredible patience and I watched my flower opening. Open, open. I saw Natalie’s head. It was right there, so tauntingly near and far. So purgatorily stuck. So pure. So about to be. I felt it, I felt around it, I touched and loosened and let go. Let go.

Something in my body unstuck itself, unlocked itself. I will never know what that particular key was. I know that I jumped into that opening flower in the best Pas Asemble of my life, and when I landed, my daughter was born. I do not know what it is like to shoot heroin, I don’t know what skydiving feels like, or a runner’s high, or myriad other drugs’ effects, both concocted and natural. I do not know what it’s like to wake up with confidence every day, to be certain of things, to be comfortable in my own skin. I don’t know at least 6, 496 world languages or the effects of the speed of light on time travel, or the basic concepts of quantum physics or if I will live until I’m seventy-six like the Ouija board said when I was ten. I do know that nothing has topped that moment – those seconds that felt like we were suspended in time, in air, in love. I reached my arms down to lift Natalie onto my belly. She immediately let loose a batch of meconium. Peggy said, “Up! There’s some meconium!” And I trilled, “Meconium! My baby!” My eyes were swollen shut with tears and relief and labor and exhaustion and love. She wailed; I held her close. Peggy sewed my second-degree tear. I wished I hadn’t torn. Had I pushed too hard? My baby! This moment! Nothing mattered.