I knew you would be born this day, November 7th 2012.  It was a Wednesday, exactly one week before your due date.  I don’t think you were ready to come into this world yet, but we did what we had to do to ensure your safe arrival.  You were a breech baby, stubborn, with your own plans.  How could I expect anything but?!  You are a human being, we all have our own ideas, our own plans, our own comfort zones.. Yours was “breech”. Period.  The doctor tried to externally turn you.  You weren’t having it.  I knew you would not simply “turn” for anyone.  I knew you would protest.  But I had to know we tried everything.

I don’t regret going the route of a cesarean, I don’t regret opting out of the “trial” vaginal delivery that the doctors offered us.  But I do grieve for what I missed, that rite of passage into womanhood, the delivery of my baby into this world.

I grieve over the fact that I never experienced contractions or pushing, I never endured the pain that I had spent months mentally and emotionally preparing myself for.

But, I went with my gut.  Something I think every mother knows she must listen to.  Something many of us feel…  gut instinct.  And when we trust it and listen to it, things usually turn out.

It was the second most terrifying experience of my life.  I can’t lie.  I have to face it. I remember going into that operating room and instantly crying.  For some reason, the doctor asked my why I was crying.  I was appalled at the fact he didn’t know.  How could he not know that I was devastated?  Afraid.  Defeated.  Alone in a room full of masked people, all dressed the same, none of whom I knew.  Who were all these people?!

The OBGYN came in.  My midwife came in.  They proceeded to attempt the ECV (turning you).  Within a minute, the screen went over my face, Daddy came in, and they started the cesarean.

I was still so scared.  Daddy kept telling me to breathe.  I remember our midwives kind eyes, full of sympathy and hope.  Then suddenly I heard something.  I didn’t even know I was open, that you were pulled out of me.  It was 2:06 p.m., November 7, when you were born.

They whisked you away to the corner, surrounded by doctors and Daddy.  What was going on?  Why was this person sitting beside me, asking me if I had had any testing or amniocentesis??  Down syndrome?  What were they talking about?  I stared blankly at the ceiling.  I met you briefly.  Once again you were gone.

I am alone in the recovery room.  Feeling is coming back to my legs, I’m trying so hard to move my feet.  Why is this so difficult?  Why am I alone?  Where is my Baby?  And what is going on?

Your birth was nothing like I had imagined or hoped for.  It was nothing like what we planned on.  It was everything I feared.  It was everything I knew nothing about.  I felt alone, blank, confused, sad.

When I finally got a room and got to hold you, it was 5 hours later.  You were tiny and sleeping.  It’s hard looking back.  Because I don’t recall being in all the pictures I see.  How did I get in these scenes?  When did they happen?  I do remember the doctors and nurses coming in to check your oxygen levels.  Putting you in some giant, foreign bed, and once again taking you away.  This time you would not be coming back.

You were taken to the NICU.   They would be hooking you up to monitors.  Taking blood from your tiny heels.  Tube-feeding you.  Supplementing you.  I felt so powerless and out of control.  I hadn’t felt so terrible in many years.  It was a dark place to visit and I never want to go there again.

I remember touching you, looking at your precious face.  Does she look like she has Down syndrome?  Is it my fault?  What does this mean for our future?  Is Daddy going to hate me?  Is he going to love us?

I now know that all my fears were unnecessary.  Your Daddy is amazing.  Our future is bright.  And although I still have many fears and tears, I love you.  Down syndrome and all.

Life has been preparing me for you.

All the work with special needs children.  The still birth of my son (your brother in heaven).  The love of your father.  It has all been the universe readying me for your arrival.  Fate, well, this is fate.

You would stay in the NICU for 2.5 weeks.  Two-and-a-half scary, exhausting weeks.  But we made it.  You came home November 25th, 2012.

***

Written and shared by Brandy Kowal, Ontario, Canada; originally published at autumnthroughtheseasons, where you can read more about baby Autumn and her family’s journey.

“You will never have a child naturally.”

“There is a 99.99999% chance that you will never conceive a child on your own.”

Happy anniversary! Needless to say, the celebratory dinner later that night was less than enthusiastic.

The RE recommended IVF with ICSI as the only option. Typical IVF, when they put the egg and the sperm in the dish together and leave it up to chance, wouldn’t work. Instead, they would take the egg from me, actually insert J’s sperm into it, and then put everything back in me and hope for the best. All this cost enough to pay for the doctor to buy a new car. Insurance was covering squat. But they would cover my depression medication.

J waffled on whether or not he wanted to do it. He wanted children; he just didn’t want a litter of children.

Then there was the problem of affording the IVF. Of course they had financing programs, but was that the way we wanted to bring in another life? Under a pile of bills? It was a mess. So when we started undergoing all the testing, we knew we had to tell our families. His parents were supportive; my mother sucked (typical) and my dad was MIA (also, typical at the time but now, thankfully, things are very much different).

At 23, I was basically told I had three choices: spend a load of money, adopt, or live child-free.

J, after an unsuccessful surgery on his part, wanted to choose child-free. I wanted nothing more than to be a mommy to a child – any child. But I couldn’t force him to give me his sperm and $20,000.

For four years, I watched painfully as the people around me got pregnant and had babies. I avoided family functions at times because it was just too, too painful. I wanted a baby.

I tried to convince myself that I didn’t want one. It didn’t work.

In November 2007, I had surgery for endometriosis, a horrible, painful, bullshit disease that makes your uterine lining grow outside your uterus. Fun stuff.

In January 2008, we moved to Knoxville, Tennessee to spread our wings. My job had a need for my special gifts: organization and a killer sense of humor. You couldn’t do my job without one.

In May, I found out I was pregnant. We didn’t tell anyone because we were terrified. A week later, we miscarried.

The good that came of it was that J decided he wanted a baby. So my new doctor recommended a new RE. She thought that maybe we could get pregnant with Intrauterine Insemination (IUI), which was a fraction of the cost of the IVF with ICSI. Incredibly, we had enough money in savings to do it the next cycle.

The first month, even on Clomid, my ovaries did not produce enough viable eggs to do the insemination. She recommended that we wait until the following month to try when I had enough eggs to really give it a go. “But have sex,” she said.

The next month was November 2008. We did the cycle, the shots in December, and the insemination in a very cold room two weeks before Christmas. Three days before Christmas, we found out the cycle failed.

I couldn’t do anything but cry.

The doctor recommended having surgery to clear the endometriosis again. I’d only been at the Knoxville location for a year and didn’t want to take the time off. So we put it on the back burner: I started working out, teaching belly dancing. J started running.

In late March, I had the worst stomach flu ever. It was awful. I puked all the time – I couldn’t even brush my teeth.

A friend asked if I was pregnant. I scoffed at her: “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?” On April 4, 2009, I took the first of twenty pregnancy tests. All of them were positive. I cried. And cried. And cried.

I called my doctor and demanded progesterone supplements and an immediate ultrasound – both of which I got. My Monster was in a perfect position in her little sack in my womb. I just needed to keep her there. My husband immediately put the kibosh on the belly dancing for fear I would shake the little pea loose. Sex was put on hold for the same reason.

I was S.I.C.K. The whole freakin’ nine months. But I was carrying a baby.

The first time I felt the baby move, I cried. It was like a fluttering across my whole stomach. And then it got stronger and stronger.

I had two baby showers – one in Alabama and one in Knoxville. I had great family and friends. I bought the stroller/car seat and the crib. Most everything else was bought for us.

I was expecting a whopper of a baby girl.

October came and J’s grandfather died. I couldn’t travel to the funeral for a man who had been like a interim father to me, which hurt. I tried to talk my doctor into it but since I was swelling and having contractions, she said no. I still miss Grandpa every day. I wish so badly that he could have met the Monster because he would have LOVED her.

In December, things got more and more intense. I went into labor December 7, around 11:30 PM, but contractions weren’t strong or close together – just enough to keep me up that night.

J drove me to the doctor’s office the next day because we were pretty sure they were going to keep me. Nope. They sent me to the hospital, where they promptly sent me home. I know I sounded like a crazy person when I called the doctor’s office in terrible pain. They scheduled me for an induction the next morning.

That night, I went back to the hospital; they admitted me and gave me some blessed medication that allowed me to relax and sleep. I sent J home to sleep in the bed before all the action started. He would come back at 5:30 the next morning because they were starting the Pitocin (to induce stronger contractions) at 6AM.

At 2:30, I woke up and called the nurse. When she walked in I apologized because, in my sleep, I had peed all over the bed.

My water had broken. I was having back labor. It was BAD.

I didn’t get the epidural until 5AM. I think I proposed to that man. I know I paid a fortune for it, even with insurance. Worth every penny.

J showed up on time, I told him what had happened and his eyes got really big.

His family arrived from Alabama around 7.

At about 9, I remember telling J that I needed to push. He said, “You are not doing any of that until the doctor gets here and they say it is okay.” So I sent him to find the nurse.

She said it was, indeed, time to push.

I pushed for 45 minutes and heard the cry: she was out. My Monster was out. J grabbed my head, kissed me and yelled “You did it!”

That is one of my most favorite memories.

7 lbs, 9 oz., 19.5 inches long.

Perfect in every single way.

My baby was born. After all my struggles, all my sorrows, my baby was born. I have a baby girl.

She’s almost two now – so rotten that you can just smell her. She’s prissy and sassy and all the things that little girls should be.

She’s a Mommy’s girl. I love her – I am so thankful for her; so thankful that I am her Mommy, so thankful that I have my daughter and my J.

***

Shared by Jennifer Forsman, U.S.A. Originally published on Band Back Together (all links courtesy of BBT); used with permission.

I’ve been an over-achiever for as long as I can remember, and I approached pregnancy in the same vein. I did everything I could to ensure a smooth and healthy pregnancy, with the expectation that a smooth and healthy delivery would naturally follow. And it did – but not exactly the way I expected.

The Birth Plan

• Smooth and glowing pregnancy
• Home delivery with midwives
• Natural water birth – no drugs
• Healthy baby weighing no more than 8 pounds
• Latent labour (approx. 8 hours of which I could sleep through), active labour approx. 4 hours (where I would do my positions on the ball and breathing exercises), and transitional labour (where I would feel little pain because of the calm-inducing effects of the water, my visualizations, and my super pain tolerance)
• Delivery in water tub where the baby would slip out of me after a couple pushes and peacefully transition into the world – and I wouldn’t tear, as I’ve faithfully done my Kegels and because I was in the water
• After all was said and done, I would indulge in a super-carb-filled meal to replenish my energy (something like pasta or a roast)

The Birth Reality

• I did have a natural birth, but let me tell you that if my midwife had had drugs on her, I would have demanded she inject me NOW
• Latent labour – was that an urban myth?
• I used the tub to labour in, but ultimately delivered outside of the tub, on my back, with my legs in the air (a position I toted during my pregnancy as unnatural, and used more for medical convenience, not for the mother’s)
• I had to get 4 stitches because apparently I am an over-achieving pusher
• After I delivered, I ate a banana and half a container of yogurt because I HAD to, not because I wanted to

During the first week after my delivery, I think I actually suffered from some post-traumatic stress. I would think back to the labour and shudder at the memory of the pain. I think I had set up some pretty high expectations for a quick and easy labour and delivery due to the following premise:

A smooth pregnancy will lead to a smooth labour and delivery.

I had an extremely smooth pregnancy – in fact, I’ve had the smoothest pregnancy of any woman I’ve talked to. I had no morning sickness, no nausea, no cramps, no backaches, no weird food cravings or aversions, tons of energy, slept like a baby, only three crying episodes during the entire nine months (and they were caused by my beloved husband!) – I didn’t even get cankles (I wore high heels to work for 7 months)!

I danced and performed and did strength training for 8 months, and went for regular massages. I basked in the glow of people who said I looked amazing, was gracious towards my fellow pregnant friends who weren’t having hassle-free pregnancies, enjoyed having sex with my husband, and relished in the chivalry that emerges when you’re expecting.

I did tons of reading and research, so I was head of the class in our prenatal class, as well as a go-to person for information for my fellow pregnant friends. My midwives kept saying my weight gain was beautiful and my stomach was super strong and that I was doing all the right things. It had been reinforced over and over again how having a smooth pregnancy will lead to a smooth labour, delivery, and postpartum bounce-back, so naturally I thought I was golden. I now realize in retrospect that I confused “smooth” delivery with “not very painful.”

Naomi was born at 2:35pm on Monday, July 25th, 2011, at home. At the midwife appointment the Friday before, the midwife said I was 3 cm dilated and was like “Wow, you’re 30% there and you haven’t even done any work yet!” So, I was really optimistic after that visit, thinking the last 7 cm should be a piece of cake. Something else to add to my superstar pregnancy streak!

On Sunday, July 24th, I was becoming very aware of the looming due date the next day. Being not only an over-achiever but also a super punctual person, I did NOT want to go overdue. I had been off work for a week and had been chronically nesting. I also get everything done ahead of time, so by now, there was really nothing left to do – we’d even had the birthing tub set up for a week! Because I was so restless, I jumped with glee when my in-laws called and invited us over for dinner. We had a lovely evening, just the four of us, with dinner and sitting outside with a fire in the newly-built gazebo, listening to the frogs sing and the wind rustling the trees. I remember on the ride home having a strange feeling – slightly out-of-body, and a softening of the lights.

My first contraction happened at 11:35pm that night. We were lying in bed when it happened. I knew right away what it was. Deep in my lower back and pretty mild. I was snuggled in my husband’s nook and I looked at him and said, “I don’t think you’re going to work tomorrow!” I also remember thinking that I was going to win the Sears “waiting game” (for delivering exactly on my due date) and would get to go on a shopping spree! From what I learned in my prenatal class, latent labour was supposed to be pretty mild and irregular and that the best thing to do was to get some sleep.

Fat chance.

My contractions got very intense very early on (I only had about maybe 5 contractions that I would even consider mild). I went and sat for a bit in the rocking chair in the nursery, looking at the crib and thinking: There’s going to be a baby in there soon!

The bathroom quickly became the place where I was comfortable to be during contractions. I told Mike to hurry up and get the tub set up. Because my mom and sister all had very short labours (like 4 hours, tops) and considering the intensity of my contractions, I took this as a sign of it progressing quickly (I mean, labour patterns naturally should run in the family – no?).

If I had known at my first contraction at 11:30pm that this baby wasn’t coming until 2:35pm the following afternoon, I don’t know if I could’ve made it mentally. After the contractions started coming on stronger, I told Mike to get up and start filling up the tub.

Now, I love my husband for many, many things, but speed is not one of them. He is a meticulous and careful personality type, which is perfect for his job and for many other things, but not when there is a sense of urgency. The intensity of the contractions started to alarm me and I remember looking at the tub thinking: That’s a really big tub! It’s going to take forever to fill! I remember watching Mike moving things around, hooking up the special hose and faucet, seemingly in slow motion.

When a contraction would hit, I would either sit on the toilet leaning forward, or grasp Mike’s hands and lean forward with my face buried in his chest, or lie on the mattress we had set up in the living room next to the tub.

I paged my midwife at 2:00am and told her I was in active labour. Thinking back, I remember hearing the doubt in her voice, but she said she would come (she later told me that she could tell by the calm way I was talking that I was NOT in active labour, but I didn’t know it was going to get way worse!).

I.K. arrived and I was soaking in the tub, which felt amazing. She checked me, and to my dismay, told me that I wasn’t far enough along and that she would have to come back later. Imagine my disappointment when she told me that I was only 1 cm dilated! I had regressed! So began the disheartening thought that things weren’t going to play out according to plan.

The next few hours were a blur. Mike and I were so exhausted. I was now switching between the tub and the mattress. I took a few bites of some toast. We would snooze between contractions on the mattress. When one would hit, I would get him to apply anti-pressure on my lower back. They would start in my lower back and then creep to my uterus, which was hard as a rock. I remember looking at the clock, thinking: This will be over in a minute. Another 45 seconds…30 seconds. Yeah, the visualizations I had of floating over waves in the sea and of a flower opening and closing – fuck that, they did nothing to help me. I was watching the clock.

At 6ish am, I told Mike to call I.K. back. She came and checked me and did say that I was in active labour (you mean I wasn’t this entire time!?) so she was going to stay. I was constantly disappointed at how much I was dilated because I wanted it to go faster! I was a really loud moaner during my contractions. I remember looking at I.K. and thinking: She should be doing something. I don’t know what, but something. I’m moaning! I just thought that it was weird that here I am, lying here, moaning away, and she was just sitting there.

I ate a Popsicle in the tub and realized how thirsty I was. I went out on the deck at 8:30am and saw what a beautiful morning it was. I watched the cars driving to work and felt the sun and the breeze on my face. I found a comfortable position sitting sideways on my patio chair. During one of my contractions, my water broke. I’ve heard it can be a gush or it can be a piddle – mine was Niagara Falls. Good thing I was on the deck! Someone joked that it was typical me that I did it in a place that was easy to clean. Sure enough, Mike was out there 10 minutes later hosing it down. We told I.K. and she came to check the colour. She said there was a hint of green, which concerned her, and for a moment she debated going to the hospital (because if it’s meconium in the amniotic fluid there could be a risk of infection). I thought: I so do NOT want to get into a car right now! After a bit of an assessment, she decided that the colour was clear enough that there wasn’t much meconium, and that we could stay home. Good thing, because I was so intent on having a home birth that I hadn’t even packed a hospital bag!

After my water broke, everything intensified. The contractions would start in my back, travel to my front, then down into my bowels. They made me whimper in despair and my knees buckle. I endured quite a few of them standing up, gripping onto the kitchen island. Mike would tell me I was amazing and doing great – and to breathe. At this point, I found that the only position I found bearable was on my side on the mattress on the floor.

During some of the more intense contractions, I.K. would tell me to open my mouth. She put drops of Rescue Remedy under my tongue and I instantly relaxed. I thought: So, THIS is Rescue Remedy! She did that a few times. Except it seemed to relax me so much that my contractions actually slowed down a bit, so she made me walk around – which was torturous because sure enough, the contractions came back. That midwife knows her stuff. I kept running through all the women in my life who were mothers and thought that if they could do it, I could, too. That was a thought that kept me going – that I was soon going to be in the mighty company of these women who I felt an instant admiration for, in a way I couldn’t relate to before.

Some comic relief: At about 10:30am, there was a knock on the door. Mike answered it, while protectively using his frame to guard the entire entranceway. I heard my friend Basia say that she was dropping off a gift for me. I contemplated saying hello (which I realize was ridiculous, as I was naked and about to pop a baby). Mike is usually a very friendly, laid-back, happy-go-lucky guy, but that day he was very businesslike.

The pressure was getting intense. The second midwife, B.A., arrived around noon. I was so happy to see her! I.K. said I was ready to start pushing and I almost jumped with glee. Being a goal-oriented person, I was excited to start doing something that would ensure progress, plus being the LAST step! She said I could get back in the tub if I wanted to, but by then I was unwilling to move from my one bearable position on the mattress, so I said I’d have it right there. I.K. gave me the instructions that when I felt my next contraction coming, lift my head and my legs up with my hands behind my knees, hold my breath, and push (the position I said I would never deliver in because it was “unnatural” and was contrary to gravity. Whatever!).

I.K. and B.A. were a great team! I.K. gave me tough love and barked instructions at me while B.A. rubbed my leg and told me how great I was doing. After my very first push, they were both so impressed with the progress of it. B.A. even said to I.K. , “We should be filming this and show it at the clinic!” I felt a bit of pride in hearing that (yes, some positive reinforcement!). She did ask where my camera was and I absentmindedly pointed to it at the table. I didn’t notice her taking pictures until I reviewed them after the birth and noticed she took pictures of… everything!

Pushing took about an hour in all. It was by far my favourite part of labour. I felt like an Olympian. Mike was holding my head up and feeding me sips of water. During each set of pushes, all three of them would yell: “Go! Go! Go! Push! Push! Push! Keep going!” and then in between they would tell me I was doing great, I’d get rubs, and water. I didn’t feel any pain at this point – just lots of pressure and a bit of burning.

Then they said they could see the top of the hairy head, which was weird because I think I was expecting to feel some sort of “baby thing” between my legs. That was probably why I was so surprised when during one of my pushes she shot out of me like a football. It felt like a big emptying gush and instant relief. I leaned back into Mike’s hands and breathed deeply.

After a moment, I cried out: “What is it??” and B.A. said “Why don’t you see for yourself?” She placed this beautiful baby on my chest… it was a girl! So sweet with her eyes closed and thick dark hair.

She was whimpering quietly as B.A. towelled her off. She showed me how to express colostrum with my finger and feed it to her, which she took to hungrily. Then she placed her head on my boob and she actually made contact with my nipple, and I felt my first rush of pride in my little girl (another little over-achiever?). Naomi hadn’t cried yet and was very pale so the midwives were a bit concerned. They worked her over to get a good cry out of her, and it took almost an hour. There was a moment when the midwives debated us going to the hospital because they weren’t comfortable leaving her with us in that condition. Now, if I didn’t want to go to the hospital before, I REALLY didn’t want to go anywhere now!

Luckily, Naomi did get some colour and the midwives felt better. She weighed a healthy 7 pounds 6 ounces and was 19.25 inches long.

I was starving. Remember that huge carb-filled feast I was planning on? I ate a banana ravenously, then opened a container of yogurt. I ate half and was done. I was exhausted beyond exhausted. The midwives gave Naomi to Mike to develop some skin to skin contact, and put me in the shower – the BEST shower of my life. This was when I was SO happy to be in my own home. They then helped me into my sexy underwear and tucked all three of us in bed. I barely remember them leaving.

Around 4pm, there was a knock at my door. It was my sister and her 2 daughters. She said she knew it was my due date and thought she’d drop in for a visit! There I was standing at the top of the stairs with Naomi in my arms. “Hi! I just had a baby!” I went back to bed, but my sister said to the girls: “Let me take some pictures of you and your new cousin!” So, there we were, Naomi and I in bed in a total daze while my two little nieces were posing for photos. I haven’t seen those photos but I bet they aren’t pretty. I remember a few days later getting a little pissed that she had done that! She’s had babies – did she want a photo shoot an hour and a half after delivering a baby??

So began the rest of my life as a mother. My birth on paper was picture perfect (well, a part of me wishes I delivered in the tub, but there’s always next time!) but there was a part of my mind that kept flashing back to the contractions. I was in shock – I mean, I’d heard it was the most painful thing ever, but I just plain expected myself to handle pain better. I’ve always handled pain very well, from not crying when I got my ears pierced, to getting 5 wisdom teeth pulled without being put under and then eating tacos 3 days later, to refusing to take the T3s when I had my broken arm because I’d rather deal with the pain and be regular than have no pain and not go to the bathroom. Even I.K. told Mike during the labour that “She handles pain very well!”

And as my good friend told me, I probably did. I didn’t know what to expect – I hadn’t been through labour before. There’s really nothing you can even compare it to. Really, you can do all the prep you want but nothing but having gone through it before can really prepare you. When during my labour (especially because I was vocal about the moaning during the contractions) I was thinking, “Why isn’t I.K. doing anything? I’m obviously in a lot of pain!” I now realize that as a midwife, she has seen thousands of births, and this was a delivery going very well. Yes, I was moaning a lot, but never did I say “I need drugs!” or “I can’t do this!” or “Take me to the hospital!” She was able to gauge from me that I was able to handle what was going on, though in my head I wasn’t so sure of myself.

It was comforting to talk to a few of the strong moms I know – those that I would expect to be able to handle labour very well – and learn that this is very common reaction, that they all experienced a lot of pain and that right after, they didn’t think they could do it again. And as time has passed, the vivid memories of the pain are being softened by the surmounting joy and love that grows every moment with my beautiful girl. I am definitely at a point where I look back at the birth of Naomi with pride and joy. When people asked where I had her, I would point at the spot on the floor and would say, “Right there.” Mike and I have been renovating this house for the past 4 years for this moment, and the house had served us well.

***

Shared by Mary Snow from Ontario, Canada.

Photos by Unique Journeys Photography, Waterloo, Ontario.

I was very healthy through the whole pregnancy. I continued to bicycle to work until 25 weeks. My blood pressure was always really low, and I had no issues with diabetes.

I had arranged things with the lab so that I would work until 38 weeks (November 25th) and take 2 weeks’ vacation before starting my maternity leave. I took the bus to and from work right up until the last day. My labmates had a small pizza party for my last day and they gave me a gift card and some homemade muffins.

On Saturday we made a trip out to Ikea to buy the crib mattress and the bug lamp for over the change table. On Sunday we tidied a bit around the house, and I took the kids to swimming lessons that evening. I had planned on keeping the car on Monday to do the grocery shopping and get some cleaning-up done in the house in preparation for the baby.

At about 1:30 on Monday morning, I woke up in a big puddle. At first I wondered if I had wet the bed, and then as I woke up further, I realised that my water had broken. I woke up Tyler to get him to help me change the sheets and set the bed up for the birth. I had no contractions. We called the midwife and Nadine asked if the fluid was clear (it was) and if I was having contractions (I wasn’t). I had a regularly-scheduled 38-week appointment for 11:30 that morning. Nadine said that if I didn’t have any contractions by then to just go the clinic for the appointment.

Tyler went back to bed, but I couldn’t sleep, so I texted my friend in Australia to tell her what happened. We ended up chatting by facetime for a few minutes. I went back to bed at about 3:00 a.m.

In the morning I still had no contractions, so we sent Jackson and Thomas off to school. I called my parents to give them a heads-up, and intended to drive Tyler to work so I would have the car for the midwife appointment. After a minute I got nervous that if my labour started I wouldn’t be able to drive back to get him, so I called my parents to come down so they could take me to the appointment. Tyler went off to work.

My parents arrived at about 10:30 a.m. Tyler came home shortly after that. In the meantime I had swept, vacuumed, and washed the floors, still with no contractions. Tyler set up at the dining room table and frantically put together some supply teacher plans while my parents and I went for a walk around the neighbourhood.

At 11:30, Tyler and I went to the midwives’. I was still leaking like crazy but had no contractions. Sarah felt my belly and we talked about what our options were. We decided that we would wait until the morning. If the baby wasn’t born by 9:00 a.m., we would have to go the the hospital for an induction.

Tyler and I came back to the house and had lunch with my parents. Tyler continued to work on his supply plans and went grocery shopping. My parents and I continued to go for walks in hope of triggering my labour. My mom and I tidied up the bedroom to get ready for the birth. We also taped shower curtains to the floor to protect the carpet.

At about 2:30, I went upstairs for some alone time so that I could nap and try some nipple stimulation to get labour started. I was able to trigger some contractions, but as soon as I stopped, the contractions would stop.

We had dinner at about 5:30, and I finally started to feel some faint irregular contractions. We called Sarah, and she said to call back when they were more regular and strong. Tyler and I went back upstairs to spend some time together. At about 6:30, we managed to get some strong contractions started, so we called the midwife to come.

My contractions were going well – until the midwives showed up and started setting up their equipment. Then my contractions stopped and we couldn’t get them going again. I tried going into the boys’ room with the lights off and with a lot of nipple stimulation we could get some contractions started, but they wouldn’t keep going on their own.

Sarah listened to the baby’s heartbeat (it was fine) and I agreed to an internal exam to try and figure out what was going on. Sarah said the the baby was completely posterior and I was only 3 cm dilated. The midwives suggested that they step out to the coffee shop on the corner, and that we call them when things picked up again.

The midwives left at 8:15 p.m. As soon as they left, the contractions started up really strong. Tyler and I stood up for a while and then I felt like I needed to lie down and rest. After about 30 minutes I felt like things were really strong, and I started to shake with each contraction. I felt that the midwives had just left, so I couldn’t possibly be ready for them to come back. I debated about calling them back until just before 9:00. After the next contraction, I realised I needed to push, so I told Tyler to call the midwives.

He ran downstairs to get the number, and while he was gone I had two strong contractions and started pushing. He came back up and I told him that the baby was coming. I told him to get ready to support the head and I started breathing though some of the contractions to slow the baby down so I wouldn’t tear.

A couple of pushes later, at 9:17 p.m. on November 28th, 2011, Jennifer was born.

Tyler carefully brought her up to my chest and laid her down. I told him to get some receiving blankets to cover her and keep her warm. I latched her on and she started feeding. I asked him if it was a girl or a boy, and he said it was a girl.

At this point we heard the midwives come in downstairs. They came into the room and checked her out. They helped Tyler cut the cord and encouraged me to push the placenta out. Jennifer latched and fed for almost an hour. Once she was done I went into the shower to get cleaned up. They weighed and measured her (7 lbs, 0 oz, 51 cm) and dressed her.

The following morning Jennifer and I had a nice bath in our large tub and I cleaned her up. I noticed that I thought she had a posterior tongue tie. Her palate was really high as well.

After a couple of days of breastfeeding, my nipples were cracked and scabbed. Jennifer had lost weight and now weighed 6 lbs 8 oz. The midwife and I disagreed on whether or not she was tongue tied. My milk came in on Wednesday night (Nov. 30). At that point, it became obvious that Jennifer wasn’t latching well or able to drain me properly. I had Tyler put together my hand pump in an effort to relieve the engorgement. The next time we saw the midwives, I insisted that they send in a referral to Dr. Promnitz in Guelph (Ontario) to have her tongue examined. Over the weekend I noticed that my breasts were really soft and I was only able to pump a few millilitres of milk. I tried to tube-feed at my breast, on my finger, and finally bottle-feed Jennifer. She didn’t seem able to suck very well, and only took in about 10ml of milk at a time.

On Monday afternoon, Nadine (the other midwife) came by and she was very concerned about the fact that Jennifer had lost over 10% of her body weight and hadn’t gained any in over 5 days. She said that I needed to start feeding her 90 ml of my milk or formula every 3 hours (for 8 feeds in 24 hours) until she gained back her birth weight. She also said that it was going to take too long to get in to Dr. Promnitz, and that I should book in with Dr. Jack Newman’s clinic in Toronto. Tyler went out as soon as he got home from work and found somewhere to rent a breast pump. I started pumping that evening and had to pump every hour to get 90 ml by the time my 3 hours was up and I had to feed her again. I had to force feed her with the bottle because she couldn’t suck very well. I started fenugreek and blessed thistle the following morning. I pumped around the clock for 7 days until our appointment at the Newman Clinic. My friend Mandy supplied us with some donor milk to make up the gaps in my pumping. Jennifer only had 1.5 bottles of Mandy’s milk.

On Monday, December 12, I got up with Jennifer at 5:00 a.m. I pumped and fed her 90 ml with the bottle, and we got ready to go to Toronto. At 6:00, just as I was gathering everything to pack in the car, the power went out. It was pitch-dark and I couldn’t remember where we put the flashlight after the birth. Using my phone as a flashlight, I went upstairs and woke Tyler (so he wouldn’t be late for work) and found the flashlight. I finished packing the car and we drove off.

Jennifer cried for about the first 20 minutes, and then she fell asleep. The traffic wasn’t too bad, and I arrived at 8:00 for our 8:30 appointment. The clinic staff were really nice. I sat with her in the waiting room and filled out the intake form. I was nursing her on-and-off because she was getting fussy. Even though she couldn’t get much milk, she always still liked to pacify at the breast.

Soon, they showed me to a private room, and a student IBCLC spent some time with me going over our history, and she worked with me on Jennifer’s latch. After about an hour, the doctor came in and examined Jennifer’s mouth. He agreed that she was very severely tongue tied. He discussed the risks of getting the tongue-tie clipped, and explained the procedure. I agreed to everything and handed her over.

They held her down, and in a matter of seconds, they used scissors to clip under her tongue. He commented on how far up her tongue jumped when she was clipped. There was only a smear of blood in her saliva.

She screamed really hard and took about 10 minutes to calm down. The student IBCLC stayed with me and helped me tube-feed her at the breast, once she was calm enough to latch.

At 10:30 a.m., very tired, I booked the follow-up appointment, and left to go home.

Once we arrived home, Jennifer and I had a nice warm bath in our big tub. We nursed in the tub, and for the first time, she truly drank from my breast.

From that day forward, she was strictly fed at the breast, and has gained weight like crazy.

Shared by Tania Archbold from Ontario, Canada.

You may also click through to read Tania’s first two birth stories, Jackson’s and Thomas’s.

***

Here is the story of your birth.

Peter (Daddy) and Tasha (Mommy) were interested in having a baby, but Mommy lost her period for a year due to a medication she was on, so she was really worried about infertility – she didn’t know what had happened at first. They kept waiting for it come back but it never did – or so it seemed.

Well, for their summer vacation in 2008, they went to High Sierra, a music festival in San Francisco. Four days before the vacation, Mommy started to get sick every morning, and throughout the vacation, she had bad burpsies and sicky times very often. She could not figure out what was wrong, and she had not been drinking in the least!

Then when she returned home she was sick at work for two days, then decided to call the doctor and ask him what was wrong – she thought maybe she had stomach cancer. The doctor agreed to see her that evening so she went in and explained what she had been feeling. He said “Well, let’s try a pregnancy test.” Mommy thought that was funny, since she still had no period, so did not realize she might still get pregnant.

Well, he came back and said “You are very pregnant!” She was overjoyed since she had wanted a baby for some time and was very worried about the possibility that she might not be able to conceive. Funny thing was, Daddy had said before she left for her appointment that he thought she was probably pregnant.

So then Mommy went through about 8 months of sicky and nausea and burpsies, but the reward at the end was worth every second.

In September, when Mommy was about 5 months pregnant, a band that Mommy and Daddy really liked who had gone into retirement, Phish, decided to make a comeback. They announced one series of shows – three nights in Hampton, Virginia. The tickets were impossible to get, but in January a friend they had traveled with, Tara, decided to ask Mommy if she would mind if Daddy was offered an extra ticket she had.

Well, since both Mommy and Daddy really wanted to go and had been to all the hiatus shows and comeback shows so far – she was thrilled that would Daddy have a chance to go. So she said “Yes, please to save the tickets for him.” Daddy was ecstatic and decided if baby Zack came early enough he would go.

Close to the due date, Mommy started to feel really ready, and having heard that many women with boys due had gone into overtime with pregnancy, she stated to rub her belly here and there and tell baby Zack – you – to come out now. She also started drinking raspberry tea, which is supposed to help moms go into labour.

Well, on February 22nd, a Sunday, things started. The day before, Daddy and Mommy had gone to the movies and seen Coraline in 3-D, and Mommy had been uncomfortable all day. On Sunday Daddy had planned to go skiing with Grandpa Lane.

So at about 5 a.m., Mommy was sleeping on the couch downstairs and Daddy was upstairs, and Mommy started to feel some cramping. She had never had menstrual cramps or anything of the sort, so she was not sure if it was Braxton Hicks contractions, or false labour, or the real thing. So she sort of tried to cat nap in between the 5-minutes-apart, 1-minute-long cramps… which were in fact contractions – but she was not sure yet.

At 7 a.m., Daddy went skiing and did not say goodbye – so Mommy never told him what was going on. She decided to call the midwife and ask if this was for real. The midwife thought since she was two days from her official due date, it was probably for real, and Daddy should be called home. She also said that if Mommy felt that it was false labour she could have a hot bath and maybe they would go away – if not, then it was definitely for real. So Mommy drew herself a hot bath and jumped in – it slowed things down but did not stop them.

At about 9 o’clock Mommy decided she had to call Daddy and tell him to come home. He was already almost 2 hours away, and it took him till 11 a.m. to get home. By this time, Mommy had been having contractions at home alone for approximately 6 hours.

The midwife had said to call if anything major changed in the contractions. Mommy could not really tell yet if anything had changed, as they were still about 5 minutes apart and 1 minute long that whole time. Daddy wanted to go by the book, so to speak, and they were trying to draw on their prenatal class for guidelines about how labour should be going.

At 11:30 things changed. Mommy started to feel like she had to bear down – involuntarily – and it was kind of scary and felt really painful… it also felt like she had to go number 2 really bad.

So Mommy told Daddy to call the midwife. Daddy said, “Why don’t you?” and Mommy said, “’Cause I can’t – I’m in pain.”

Daddy called, and the midwife, N, heard Mommy in the background and said, “I’ll be right there.” She arrived at noon. She immediately checked to see how far Mommy was dilated and said, “You’re fully dilated – do you want to have the baby here?”

Daddy said, “F*** no!” and then said “Figure out how we are getting to the hospital,” which was five minutes away.

N said, “Do you have a car that the seats go all the way down in?” We did, and Daddy quickly packed the car and rolled the seat back. N said to Mommy, “You cannot push at all on the ride,”; but since it was involuntary to push, this was very hard.

So Daddy followed N to the hospital and they arrived at just before 1pm. It was the LONGEST 5-minute ride Mommy ever had.

Arriving at the birthing unit at Guelph General Hospital, there was another midwife, M, waiting for us at the entrance with a wheelchair. M and N quickly got Mommy up into the room and set up to push.

By 1:00 p.m., the delivery was going down. One of the harder things about this was that they got there so ready to go that Mommy could not take any drugs to help with the pain, and she was sure she needed them to get through it.

One of the other hard things about this process was experiencing the slow progress your head made on its way out. Push and Push and Push and then your head would slide back in… then finally pushing your head out through the “burning ring of fire.”

You were born Zack Zoltan Lane, on February 22nd, 2009. You were 6 pounds, 14 ounces.

Zack, I saw you and at first you looked all wrinkly and white – but they put you on my chest and wrapped you up, and before I knew it you were pinking up and looking as cute as ever. You were a beautiful baby – everyone thought so.

I was in love with you the first moment that you were laid on my chest. I could not believe what I had just gone through, and despite not getting any drugs, how little I recalled the pain I had just gone through. In fact, somehow it all seemed enjoyable now. With you on my chest everything changed. Daddy was so proud.

I was so hungry and the midwives asked if I wanted a snack and I said yes. Daddy went to the kitchen and got me a piece of peanut butter toast with raspberry jam – my favorite. Then I decided to have a shower – that was right in the birthing suite. I bled all over the bathroom floor and thought to myself, “Glad that wasn’t at home!”

When I got out of the shower I had a hot meal waiting for me; hospital food isn’t that great but this was delicious. At this point I felt like I was getting the spa treatment. The midwives were testing and checking you out. Daddy was waiting for me to finish my meal. Daddy’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Lane, were on their way. They arrived at about 7 p.m. and visited and held you for a while, and then they all went out for dinner to celebrate your birth with Daddy. I stayed at the hospital and relaxed. I was enthralled with my new baby – you!

Daddy came back a little drunk at about 10:30 and rocked you to sleep. Then he left at about 11 p.m. to go home to stay with Grandma and Grandpa.

I stayed in the hospital overnight and only once got woken up by you choking – but I jumped up and patted you on the back and called the nurse and you were fine. Other than that you slept through the night.

When I got up I decided that you were ready to go home, and called Daddy to say that we would like to come home in the afternoon. So Grandma and Grandpa and Daddy all came back to the hospital that afternoon, and Grandma and Grandpa said goodbye for now and Daddy and I got you bundled up and in your car seat for your first ride home. You were very well behaved for it!

When we got home we settled in to our new family and welcomed Grandma Barb and Aunt Cheyenne and Cousin Jurrien for a visit.

And that was how you came into the world. In about two weeks, I was mostly recovered from the labour and delivery. The midwives came to visit us at home so they could check us both out – it was nice not to have to go out that first two weeks after the delivery. We stayed under their care for 6 weeks.

And baby Zack – you came in time for Daddy to bond with us both and help us out the first few weeks, and then he was able to go to see Phish in Hampton! Grandma Lane stayed with us to help out. It was a nice trip.

The adventure begins: two people that are kids at heart have their own kid! We love you very much and are extremely happy to have finally met you.

***

Shared by Tasha Kravchenko, from Guelph, Ontario, Canada.

When we got home, I cooked dinner, sitting down on a chair for each contraction,
because it felt best for me to sit on a hard surface with my legs at a 90-degree angle.
Strange how these things work! I finally called the midwife, and said, “I’m feeling
these contractions but I don’t know for sure if it’s early labour.” She reassured me
that I was likely in very early labour and to just keep going and call her later.

It was a bittersweet evening. The day I had been waiting for was here, but I was
annoyed. I’d planned to go for the best cheesecake in town that week with three of
the women from my pre-natal class. Food, fun friends, what could be better. Now I
was the first one to go into labour, and it didn’t look like I’d be able to keep that date
– even though REALLY wanted to. Looking back… I should have gone.

The midwife said to take a warm bath, along with some pain relief, and go to bed.
The pain went away partially, although all night I was waking up every half-hour or
so with a strong contraction.

The next day, I was pretty sure the baby was coming soon. My husband stayed home
with me. I went about my day, having contractions about 5 minutes apart, for about
30 seconds each. It was uncomfortable but bearable and didn’t seem to really be
so bad. Of course I kept asking myself when it was going to progress… let’s get this
show on the road!

By about noon, I figured I was in full, active labour. The midwife came over and
checked me, and told me I was only in early labour, about 4 cm dilated, doing fine. I
was so mad at her – I’d been doing this for 24 hours already, up and down all night
long, and I was in “early labour”, only 4 cm dilated?? You’ve got to be kidding.

I was in labour all day at the same pace – contractions every 5-10 minutes, with
pain definitely getting worse… and just for so long, such a long time to be thinking
about it, and, let’s be honest, for it to be significantly hindering my life. Patience is
not my strong suit so this was the first of many tests I would have as a new mother! I
had bloody show at some point during the day, and my husband said, “Let’s get this bloody
show on the road!” At least we had some comic relief.

When we talked to the midwife, she said to have a glass of wine (advice I can
follow), and then we went out to eat.

We went to Swiss Chalet for dinner. I remember I went to the bathroom and had a
contraction on the way, so I stopped and breathed through at the server’s station.
It was amusing to see people’s faces, wondering if I was going to pop, but I knew I
wasn’t going to deliver soon, because my water hadn’t broken.

We went home, and the midwife came at 11 pm to check on me, and went home
again. I was still only at 5 cm. At this point I started to panic. If, after all that work
and all those contractions, I was only 5 cm… I felt like, I can’t do this!

We laboured all night. The dog slept through it in our bed. I sat on a little box stool
– again, I needed a 90-degree angle and a hard surface. The contractions were
relentless, on top of each other. It had now been 36 hours since they’d begun.

My husband suggested, in the middle of the night, that we try some other positions
– moving around, leaning on the bed, squatting next to the bed – just like they
recommended in the prenatal class. I know he meant well. Unfortunately, these
other positions were intense. They just didn’t work for me – I growled through
clenched teeth, “I’m not doing this again!” I did, at one point, tell him he should go to
sleep; he slept for about 40 minutes and then I woke him up, furious that he’d been
asleep. I probably called him names and was pretty mean to him. That is not a proud
moment for me, but it is what it is.

We called the midwife and she came back at about 5 in the morning. I was moaning
like a bull moose, trying to keep my diaphragm open and relaxed. She checked me
… and I was STILL 5 CM. I had basically stalled out, my water had not broken – there
was no progression. This was not good. The midwife stayed with us, knowing things
needed to start happening.

We were planning a hospital birth and so at 7 a.m. it was time to go and get this party
really started.

Getting to the hospital was a nice break from walking around my house, but as anyone
who has had to travel while in labour will tell you, it is not fun. I had to get dressed
(very fetching muumuu-style outfit). My husband ran a red light in an effort to deliver
the moaning moose to the hospital and get me out of the car as quickly as possible.

At about 8 a.m. we arrived at the hospital, and they said they had to break my water.
They pulled out the giant crochet hook and did the deed… and I thought I had bad
labour before! It was suddenly so strong that I literally thought I was being torn
apart inside. I turned to the midwife and said, “I think something’s wrong”.

My husband said, as he was supposed to, “I think you’re doing fine, can you make
it for 10 more minutes?” Because if you can, you have the strength – you don’t need
the epidural. I thank my lucky stars that he did that… neither of us wanted to have to
resort to pain management.

The hospital has a beautiful, deep bath to labour in, so I got in. What a difference:
the pain was reduced, I felt more in control, and there was a modicum of relief!
Then, when I said I had to pee, they just said “Go ahead.”

I said, “I can’t get out of the tub!”

They said again, “Just go ahead.”

Eventually I peed in the tub, but it took me about 20 minutes to relax enough to do
so. It was so contrary to habit. Then they said I needed to get out of the tub. I think
they may have rolled me down the hall naked, but by that point you really don’t
care. I’d gone from 5 cm to 8 cm in an hour.

I got back into the room at 11 a.m. I turned to the midwife and said, “How much
longer?” She said she suspected the baby would be born before noon. I had already
been told things like this and it was never true, so I was skeptical.

Then, at about 11:10, I got the urge to push, the real thing – not that you want to
push, or that someone tells you to: you just have to. I didn’t have an epidural, so I
could feel the baby move forward and back, and suddenly, it didn’t hurt anymore.
It was great. Finally, real progress. I could feel him crowning, and I felt the burning
pain of the “ring of fire” – they got me to breathe through a couple contractions so
that I didn’t push, to allow the perineum to stretch rather than rip.

Honestly, I loved the pushing stage! If I could skip labour and just do pushing, I’d
love it.

My first son was born at 11:38 a.m. The birth was 48 hours long, all told, from first
moment to his blessed arrival. I had no stitches, so although there were minor
fissures all over, I was generally fine. The healing was easy.

The midwives put our baby on my stomach. We asked what it was, but they didn’t
tell us – just let us discover the gender ourselves. Then they helped him latch, and he
nursed for a whole hour, only 10 minutes after being born. (It was a sign of things to
come!)

We were home by 2:30 p.m., and all had a beautiful long sleep as a family.

Shared by Tova from Ontario, Canada

***

When Sebastian was born, we already knew he wasn’t alive. Just before noon on July 8th, we found out the results of that morning’s ultrasound, which showed that our son had died unexpectedly earlier that day. He was at almost 35 weeks gestation.

The only warning had been two days before, at an extra ultrasound to follow up on an echogenic bowel found at 20 weeks. This test showed that Sebastian was measuring much smaller than he should have been, and that there was zero amniotic fluid, even though blood flow was fine, and the baby seemed normal-size on palpation. We knew he was breech, but not in danger at that point. We then had a non-stress test at the hospital, which showed that he was not in distress. The evidence, taken all together, didn’t make sense.

And then his heartbeat was gone.

We were still in shock as the doctor and midwives explained our next steps to us. We would be given a prescription to begin induction, doses to be taken twelve hours apart, and started whenever I was ready. The pharmacist said to take one dose before bed and the next one in the morning… and that’s what I did, because I didn’t know how else to know I was ready. Finding out your baby is dead makes you afraid to keep him inside, but also unwilling to let him go. We had started to feel the grief, but beyond that, we hadn’t yet started to process anything.

We were told induction might take a long time, because my body wasn’t already preparing to go into labour at that stage. Also, my first labour with my son E was a very long one. Still, I had an odd feeling that I might not need to take a second dose of the prescription – and I was right.

I took the first dose (that is, my husband helped me with it, since it had to be inserted) before going to bed, at about 10 p.m., and I started feeling the first twinges very soon after that. I tried to ignore it, figuring it couldn’t be that quick. At around 11:30 or so, I came out to the kitchen, thinking I might do what the midwives say to do when you want to slow things down and get some sleep: have a glass of wine and some Tylenol. (The one time you’re supposed to mix, I guess?) We didn’t have wine, but I started by sharing a beer with my sister, who was staying with us just in case we had to leave in the middle of the night. We chatted (about what I have no idea) as I got increasingly uncomfortable. I decided the beer wasn’t working and took some acetaminophen… and almost immediately, I started feeling truly bizarre: my palms itched and I began to shiver uncontrollably. It was surreal – I was freaked-out, but kind of fascinated at the same time.

I got into bed with my robe still on, and my husband woke up and put his arms around me until I warmed up and stopped shivering. I tried to sleep, with no success; the discomfort was quickly becoming pain. Apparently the induction drug they prescribed me would just keep on truckin’, other substances notwithstanding.

It was around 1:30 a.m. when we paged our midwife (B). I felt bad to be waking her up, thinking I should have waited until morning to take the drugs, but I couldn’t have known this would happen so much faster than predicted. Also, the doctor and midwives had all said I could have whatever pain management would ease this, since there was no danger to the baby. No reason to deal with a lot of physical pain, in addition to the emotional pain. We agreed to meet B at the hospital for a shot. I was glad to be going now instead of later, since I clearly remembered how agonizing the car trips were during my first labour, when the contractions were further along. As it was, I still had trouble getting up to the Birthing Unit, and had to pause a few times to hang onto Sean and wait out a bad one.

I was really looking forward to that shot. I remembered how with E, a dose of Nubain totally took the edge off the contractions, and made me so drowsy that I could doze in between them. So I gritted my teeth and crouched by the bed in Triage – there was nobody there but us – until B was ready to inject some Demerol into my thigh. After the shot, she asked if I’d like her to check my cervix, though she didn’t seem to think it was necessary. I thought it might be a good idea. To her surprise, I was already at 2 centimetres’ dilation – she figured it would only be about 6 or 7 hours before he was born.

Here commences the most intense experience of my life so far. We headed out to go home and get a bit of sleep. The drugs had already started to hit me: I was definitely feeling dizzy. But as we got in the car, I remember saying, “I’m not impressed with this Demerol,” because for some reason, it was not taking the edge off the contractions. I was waiting for that beautiful relief, but the pain was actually getting worse. I wondered what was going on: why wasn’t it working? and how could I be expected to get any sleep if Demerol doesn’t actually kill pain?

I cringed and breathed all the way home. We were talking about whether I should crash on the couch or whether we should try to get ourselves back into the bedroom, where E and his auntie would both (we hoped) be sleeping… but it became increasingly clear that it was a moot point, because being “comfortable” was out of the question.

I got as far as our front doorstep before a huge contraction hit me. I tried squatting down to see if it would ease the pain a bit, but instead, I was suddenly in what I can only describe as agony – as if I were breaking apart from the inside. It seemed to go on and on. Finally, Sean was able to help me through the door and into the living room, where I rested my head on E’s little table and held on for dear life, paralyzed by pain. I remember asking Sean to get me a bowl, because I thought I might throw up – and I haven’t thrown up, for any reason, for – literally – 17 years. Thankfully, I did not ruin my streak that night, but it was a close one. I was trying to remain calm, but my brain was frantically thinking, How can I escape this? How can I possibly get back to the hospital when I can’t even move? Please can I just leave my body now??

After spending some minutes (don’t have a clue how many) in that spot, I crawled over to the couch between contractions. Sean was asking me if he should call B back again, but I didn’t know what to tell him – and it was very hard to speak, anyway. I remember burying my face in the couch cushions to stifle whatever sounds I was making – something akin to crying, or maybe closer to keening. Then, the pain seemed to shift and change – and become more bearable. It gradually dawned on me that it had changed because it had moved lower, and that if I went along with the surges, it actually felt better… uh-oh. I was pushing. I managed to get out this news to Sean, who said, “That’s it. I’m calling her back.” Poor Sean – I can hardly imagine how scary this would have been for him, watching his normally calm wife freak out, trying to judge what to do when we were still supposed to have six hours to go.

I could vaguely hear Sean speaking on the phone, and then he asked me, “Can you breathe? Like, pant through it?” I didn’t know what this was testing for, but I tried. It came out as more of a whimper. Next thing I knew, he was out the door and back again – B had told him to get me lying down in the backseat of the car, so he’d gone out to remove E’s toddler seat with lightning speed. He said, “Let’s get you into the car,” and I couldn’t see how this could possibly be accomplished… but there was no choice. He half-carried me as I hobbled out to the car and lay down – it was not easy for him to close the doors because I barely fit back there, even curled up.

Even at the time, in the alternate world I was in, I was aware of how amazing my husband was. He drove us back to the hospital as fast as he dared, sounding very collected, telling me what landmarks we were passing, and reminding me to breathe – that’s when I figured out he was trying to help me not to push. And I did okay at calming down and breathing… partly because I could tell it was, in a way, too late. I had felt my baby move down, I had felt the “ring of fire” starting… and now I could feel that he was not even fully inside me anymore. Looking back, I can see that after E’s wacked-out labour and birth that didn’t follow any guidelines, Sebastian’s delivery was textbook: I was in early labour in the living room with my sister, active labour on the way home from the hospital, and transition on the doorstep. Except that you’re not really supposed to deliver in the car… or the street.

We pulled up across from the hospital, Sean practically leapt out of the car and called to a nurse who was on her smoke break, “Can I get some help over here?” I was only aware of voices and physical sensations: the nurse coming to check me, Sean’s “Oh my God -” as he saw the baby’s feet, the same nurse studiously keeping her cool as she said, “Okay! We’re having this baby right here.” Then I heard my midwife’s voice – and I was being asked to help get myself into a wheelchair. Sean told me later that this was when B had arrived (having just arrived at her house and then turned right back around again) and explained to the nurse that there was no danger of breech complications with this baby, because he was not alive. We had time.

It was like starring in a hospital drama as they raced me through the halls to the elevator and into a birthing room. By this time, I felt like I could choose when to push, so when they asked me to, I was ready. This part seemed easy, natural. I think it only took two pushes for him to arrive, and one more for the placenta. It was 2:45 a.m. on July 9th, 2011, less than five hours after taking the prescription, less than thirty minutes after I was checked at 2 centimetres.

There is something to be said for the combination of Demerol and a sudden release from acute pain. The result is a blissful calm approaching euphoria. Neither Sean nor I was euphoric, of course: being brokenhearted doesn’t allow for this. But relief and love were the more powerful feelings at that moment. I was able to look at Sebastian, gather him in my arms when the midwife handed him to me, and feel peace. He was beautiful, precious, and amazing. Just as he would have been if his heart had been beating.

{The last paragraph above is from my personal blog, itsdilovely.com. There is more information about the aftermath of this experience under the category called Sebastian.}

Shared by Dilovely from Ontario, Canada. To read Dilovely’s first birth story, please click here.

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My due date was January 19^th. On January 9^th, a Saturday, I was woken up at 2 a.m. with what felt like period cramping. I wasn’t sure if it was labour or not, but it stopped after I put a warm pack on my stomach.

The cramping started again on Wednesday morning around 7 a.m., suddenly enough to wake me up. I had felt totally normal on Tuesday night, and my husband and I had even gone out of town for dinner with his parents – no sign that I would be going into labour the next day. It was basically the same thing, like period cramping but more widespread, back and front and even in the hips. We got up, called our parents to let them know what was happening, and I managed a breakfast of eggs and orange juice to keep my strength up.

Contractions were progressing: they would come every 10 minutes, then every 7, every 5, then back to 7 minutes. I was breathing through them, leaning on the kitchen counter, rocking back and forth – I tried using the birthing ball but it didn’t help as much.

We called the midwife around 11:30 a.m., and she said to take a shower, take a walk. I took shower, but I didn’t get out the door for the walk, because the labour seemed to be progressing too quickly to manage that. The midwife arrived around 12 or 12:30, and contractions were every 3 minutes by then. I felt pretty good, a bit nervous; the pain was bearable, I was still dealing with it when she got there, but it was definitely getting more intense. The midwife checked me and I was 3 cm. dilated.

What I didn’t know at that point was that Greg had called his mom, and said I was dealing pretty well, she had said, “Don’t tell her this, but it will get much worse.” Good thing he didn’t tell me that until after.

My midwife was helping me upstairs in the bedroom. I would lie on my side, and she would put pressure on my hips with each contraction, or sometimes I would stand and she would press to open up the hip bones; this helped a lot with the pain. She taught Greg to do it, which was even better since he was stronger.

Around 1 o’clock, contractions were lasting 45 seconds to a minute – though I was not really paying attention, thinking “Just get me through” for each one). I said “Are you going to check me?” and the midwife said “No, first-time moms take a while. We don’t check every 15 minutes because that would be silly. We check every 2 hours.”

She was helping me breathe, but the contractions were getting a lot more painful, to the point that I vomited once. I could only manage sips of water. Greg came up often to check if things were okay and get things for me, but he couldn’t stay the whole time – it was too intense. He talked to his mom on the phone downstairs a few times. He did pretty good, better than I expected. He said one thing that was extremely helpful, each time I would get through a contraction: “That’s one less contraction to worry about, one less to go through.”

Around 2:30 p.m., the midwife checked me, and said, “Um, you’re nine centimetres!” She wasn’t ready for that – it was kind of a surprise for her. I thought “So much for the epidural!” Not that I had assumed I would have one, but still.  At that point, I wasn’t totally with it. The pain was so bad that I kind of separated from myself a little.

Greg said, “Nine centimetres?” And he just looked at me. “Shouldn’t we be going to the hospital?”

She said, “Yeah, we should get going.” We headed to the bathroom to check again, and there was bloody show coming, she could feel the sac, but my water wasn’t broken.

Everyone was getting stuff ready, so I walked out to car and stood there waiting for someone to open it. I have no idea what kind of weather it was that day. “Just get me to the hospital!” was all I could think. I was so afraid I was gonna burst in Greg’s car and mess it up. That was probably the biggest thing on my mind at that point. We put towels underneath me just in case.

I had already been sort of starting to push in the bathroom, trying not to push, but I felt like I had to by the time we were in the car. Every minute to two minutes at that point, pushing was coming. Greg was helpful again, telling me exactly how far we had gotten, telling me the landmarks we were passing so I’d know we were getting closer and closer to the hospital.

He pulled up to the birthing area and a member of the medical staff came out, to meet us. Greg said “My wife’s having a baby, we need a wheelchair!” I was doubled over, trying to hold myself up, just thinking “Get me the wheelchair.” They got the wheelchair, and the volunteers took me from there – I don’t remember how I got to the birthing floor. Greg went to park the car. Just remember coming through the doors at the nurse’s station, and three nurses smiling at me, and with the way I felt right then, I didn’t want them smiling.

I remember getting into the room, and someone asking me to get into a gown, and I was like “How am I supposed to do that?” Greg came in as the two midwives were helping me into my gown. He asked the midwives if I could have an epidural, even I though I knew I couldn’t, and they said I couldn’t, and Greg got really angry (I don’t remember this, but he told me later). He was angry when I went into the bathroom and the midwives were being nonchalant about it.

Greg came to help me in the bathroom and I, sitting on the toilet, yelled “Get out!!” just as my water broke. It was like a water balloon dropped from a 10-storey building – it exploded all over everything, including Greg. He just said, “Oh my God.” And the midwives came running.

One of the midwives checked me while I was on the toilet, and she said “We should probably get you back into the bed.” She got the other one to double-check. She said to the other midwife, “Yeah, you’re right, that’s not the head.” I was too fuzzy to even think about it. When I got into the bed, then they said to me, “It’s not the head, we need to get the obstetrician to check you.”

The OB said, “You’re breech. I haven’t even had time to go through the pros and cons of C-section.”

I said “Doesn’t matter, just do the C-section, do what you have to do – and hurry.” I was pushing with every contraction.

They told me to “slow it down” (What??! How??) and coached me how to breathe through it. It’s overwhelming, the urge to push, you have barely any control over it. At that point I was wishing I had had an epidural. I’m told that even if you’re in a coma, your body can give birth and push out a baby if necessary. You don’t even have to be conscious. That could be helpful, since you could just shut off and let your body take over.

At that point, the midwife had an IV in my right arm and they were prepping me for the O.R. That’s when Greg didn’t know what to do. They took him into a little room for 15 minutes where he had time to ponder alone what was going on, which he said was very scary.

They wheeled me down and I had one contraction, but I don’t remember it. I remember two contractions in the O.R., grabbing onto a nurse’s shirt and not letting go, trying to breathe through two contractions without pushing. She detached her sweater from my grip and I just grabbed it again. It’s crazy, trying not to push.

I remember the anesthetist saying “Turn on your side, and don’t flinch”, but I flinched. They put the needle in, and it felt like a little flick in comparison to the real pain. When the medication went through, I felt tingling in my feet, tingling in my legs, and then nothing. The pain went away, totally.

Then Greg walked in, and I said “Hi, honey!” Greg smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he came over and sat with me and said “Hi! How are you doing? Feeling better?” I was. What an incredible relief. The weirdest sensation is when you’re watching them move your legs and you can’t even feel it, it feels like they’re still on the table.

Greg was beside me, at my face, on my side of the drape. The OB and staff were doing their thing, going ahead with the C-section. I was getting anxious to hear the cry of my baby. It wasn’t very long, it seemed like not even 10 or 15 minutes for him to be born.

As soon as I heard our baby cry, it was a relief to hear it, even though, looking back, it was hard not being able to see our child right away. The anesthetist was like, “It’s a… it’s a…” (“A what!?”) “It’s a boy!” Greg smiled at me, and we had our little moment.  Both of us were crying, totally overjoyed. They took him directly over to check him out (when the baby doesn’t go through the birth canal, they have to do the APGAR test right away to make sure there’s no fluid left in its lungs), and I was craning my neck, looking over my shoulder to try to see him.

Greg forgot where he was and looked over the sheet at one point, when they were starting to sew me up, and sat back down quickly. “Oh yeah. Right.”

I asked if I could breastfeed, but the drape was still up so we couldn’t yet, but one of the midwives opened up the neck of my gown so they could place my baby on my bare chest, and we got a good look at him. That was the best moment. We wished him happy birthday, and told him, “You’re perfect, buddy!” It was amazing.

They wheeled us into another room to check out both me and the baby again, clean him up a little better. Both midwives were there. Everything was a first for our son – first time seeing your parents, your grandparents… My parents came in, but they wouldn’t let in our niece and nephew yet.

Recovering from a C-section is tough. You definitely have to get going right after and start moving around – slowly but surely. It hurts to stand up, but you can get past the pain. It wears off. Definitely take the pain medication regularly. And don’t have them take the catheter out too soon. I couldn’t pee, but my bladder was putting pressure on my incision – so they put it back in and I drained 1400 mils!

The main thing is, it’s worth it. Our son has changed us, changed our lives, and we love him more than we could have imagined.

Shared by Tracy from Ontario, Canada.

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As Remembered by the Doula

Tania was referred to me in her last month of pregnancy. She felt that, had she received the right kind of support for her first delivery, it may have gone differently and less traumatically. After 3 prenatal visits and a refreshed course, Tania and Lorin were prepared for the birth of their second child.

Tania and Lorin called me (Heather, the doula) at 6:10 am on Aug 23 2009 with contractions about 5 minutes apart. After asking a few questions I suggested that they call the hospital and then let me know what they were told. Tania called back around 7:00 and said that they were told that they should come in but not to rush. I arrived at the house at 7:45am and found that Tania was having good contractions at about 3-4 minutes apart, was coping well while sitting on the ball but was feeling nauseous. After a few bouts of vomiting Tania decided that she would like to go to the hospital, so we packed up and left.

We arrived at the hospital at 9:15am, Tania was still vomiting but was already 4cm dilated. Lorin started counting out the contractions for Tania, letting her know when the contraction was half-over (30 seconds). In triage the nurse told her that hydration was not going to be a problem because she would likely have the baby within 2 hours. We all got a chuckle out of that. Within 15 minutes Tania was off the monitor and in her room.

Dr. S came in and gave a fairly negative speech about how the body tightens up beyond your control when you are in labour and that epidurals usually help. He said that Tania should be flexible in her desire not to have an epidural if possible.

At 10:15am Tania was still interested in being up and mobile but was definitely feeling the contractions more strongly, so she decided that the tub might be worth a try. What a great relief! Lorin spent most of the time showering her belly while counting out the contractions (15…30…45). Tania kept saying how great the tub was and seemed so surprised that more people weren’t made aware of this option. After a little over an hour, Tania started feeling a bit lightheaded and decided to get out.

At 11:45, back on the monitor, the baby was coping well but Tania was having a bit more difficulty. She spontaneously started breathing with deep sighs and asked me if I thought that she was in transition. I said that I didn’t think so, but that maybe she was around 7 cm. She got some comfort by being up and swaying/slow dancing with Lorin. At 12:15 she told me that she felt that she was still on top of the contractions and wondered when they would check her dilation. I suggested that they ask the nurse.

Dr. S came in at 12:50 to check on Tania. He broke her water, found that she was fully dilated but that the baby still needed to come down some more before she started to push: “Just let the contractions do the work and let the pressure build.” Tania felt best lying on her side and waited for the urge to push, which came at 1:00pm.

Tania and Lorin had clearly explained to the doctor and nurses their concerns about perineal tearing based on her previous experience. So with my help and the doctor’s instructions to breathe slowly and push gently at the appropriate times, Tania brought Athena Christina DeVries into the world in a smooth, controlled and beautiful manner at 1:24pm. About 15 minutes of pushing and no sutures at all required. Tania kept saying “I did it!” Beaming and excited, she said it was so much better than last time. Grandparents were called immediately and told of the beautiful, perfect Athena weighing in at 9 pounds 13 ounces.

A fair amount of massaging was required to stem the bleeding after the placenta was born and then oxytocin was administered to assist the uterus to contract and then Misoprostol rectally. This was effective but left Tania feeling a bit nauseous.

After breastfeeding a bit, Mom and baby were transferred to another room at 3pm, where Tania drank and tried to eat but was not really up for the offerings from the cafeteria. Another attempt was made to breastfeed, but Tania soon discovered that Athena was happy, skin to skin, just looking at her while she hummed a familiar tune.

Since Mom was getting sleepy, I decided that it was time to leave Tania, Lorin and Athena to rest and so I left at about 3:30pm.

Tania and Lorin exemplified natural birthing at its best. They got into a groove and did what came naturally, following the rhythm that Tania’s body played. Tania never fought the surges that were bringing her baby into the world and Lorin knew how to peacefully be there for his labouring wife. With patience and confidence, Athena travelled her short but challenging journey from one world into another, and was welcomed gently and lovingly. I wish the same birth for all women and their expectant families.

Shared by the DeVries family, and Heather Aguilera of Helping Hands Doula Services, from Ontario, Canada

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Hard to believe it was 25 years ago that my first daughter was born. Some memories will come and go, others fade with time, but birth memories stay with you forever!

Pregnancy was always something I dreamed of and looked forward to, even as a little girl. And let me be clear, I really do mean pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong. I adore kids, the younger the better, but I always imagined that my true state of being is pregnant. My first birth story is a textbook one. It amazes me that we all read countless books on pregnancy and birth, and yet no one really seems to come close to that textbook scenario. Well, that is, until it was my turn.

My husband and I had been married for a few years and decided it was time to start a family. He was writing a final set of board exams in the States in late May, so, as planned as we always are, we felt the earliest we should plan for a child would be in July, the month he would receive notice on whether he had been successful in his board certification. Our first daughter was born on her due date, July 11. How’s that for planning (and incredible luck!!)? And I was right. I loved being pregnant, every moment of it!!

A week before my due date I began to experience Braxton Hicks contractions that kept me up most of each night. In the morning, just as I thought we were really getting somewhere, they would slacken, and then ultimately disappear. After 2 nights of this I noticed a bloody discharge, so I knew the mucous plug had loosened and that my cervix, at least, was paying attention to the “false” labour that was keeping me up at nights.

I was out walking our dog two evenings before my due date and as I picked up my pace to see what had enticed Elsa to dive into the woods, I leaked. Not a lot of fluid as I had expected from other moms’ stories of their water breaking, but enough to be wet and conscious of it. Every 2-3 steps brought on another burp of fluid. Surprisingly, I was spared a night of BH contractions and slept.

The following morning I headed into my doctor’s office. When I say doctor, I’m actually referring to a group of 4 OB-GYNs who formed a group fondly known as “40 fingers”. The idea was that throughout your pregnancy you would have the opportunity to meet each one of the doctors at least twice, then when it came time to deliver, someone who you knew and who was already familiar with your case would attend you. Believe me, I would have gladly opted for a midwife, but at that time there were very few and they were relegated to “a-legal”, or non-status. One of the consequences of this was that if you had to go to a hospital your midwife would be left at the door. My husband, with his medical knowledge, was not on board with taking this chance.

Back to the office: Dr H did an internal, said I was about 3cm dilated, and should check into hospital at noon whether or not contractions had started. I did as I was told. I started having contractions about 1pm, but they were nothing more than a nuisance. My husband and I walked the halls, sat in lounges, and otherwise tried to keep occupied.

At about 3:30pm Dr T (whom I had never met, so there goes their system) came into my room, introduced himself and told me he would be delivering my baby. His first question was “ What size shoes do you wear?” Hmmm, interesting question. Would he be buying me a new pair of shoes to welcome me to my new role as a Mom? No, that certainly wasn’t what was on his mind. He had taken one look at me, all 5ft 1¾ inches and 112lbs of me, and decided that a shoe size of 5 meant only one thing…… C-section. My husband and I were not privy to this decision until a nurse came in to take blood for cross-matching. D questioned her. She told him I was to be prepped for surgery, and when he told me, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I began packing my bag to leave. There were some words exchanged with Dr T and after we all agreed that, at that point, there were no indications of trouble brewing, bar (in his mind) my size, they would leave me be.

My contractions continued to get stronger and more frequent, but nothing that I didn’t feel I was on top of. I once had a dance teacher who likened labour to training for an athletic event. She told me that you wouldn’t decide today to run a marathon tomorrow and expect to complete it. She believed that the training dancers receive could put them at an advantage when it came to giving birth. Much of dance involves mastering your body’s ability to create and maintain strength and tension in one
group of muscles while simultaneously relaxing other muscles to float, effortlessly, feather-light in the air. This was the thought I held in my mind during labour. I focused on relaxing every muscle in my body and just allowing my uterus to do all the work. I really believe it helped me maintain my stamina throughout the marathon of labour. It is HARD work!

About 11pm, while D and I were walking the hospital corridor, I had such a strong contraction that my knees buckled and I was forced to hold on to the railing in the hallway. It was time to lie down. This time when Dr. T examined me I was 8 cm dilated, but he said I was still several hours away. I couldn’t find any comfortable position on the bed. Every movement brought on a contraction and all I could do was concentrate on my breathing and ride out the waves. I felt overheated during contractions and then shivered between.

By 12:30 am things noticeably changed. The contractions did not feel as desperate and I felt like the baby was being pulled out of my body. I didn’t feel a need to push. It was, as I said, as if the baby was being pulled out and all I could do was go with it. The pulling sensation was so strong that I felt air being sucked forcefully in through my nose and mouth and dragged through my larynx, which produced quite a grunt. I never remember crying out, but D told me later the grunting was quite evident!

This stage, although louder than earlier stages, was a relief after hours of labour. The nurse examined me and said I was fully dilated and ready to go….but she wanted me to hold back until they could get hold of Dr. T. I was wheeled into the delivery room and got myself on to the birthing bed (very new concept in those days). Dr. T arrived shortly, and I was given the go-ahead to push. Pushing was such a positive feeling for me. Sure it hurt, even burned, but it was energy and action and it absolutely empowered me. After 6 pushes Erica, 6lbs, 3 oz. was born….on her due date, after 13 hours of labour, naturally, drug-free, no episiotomy, no stitches…….and no new shoes LOL!!!!

Kirsten’s Birth, March 1987

Eleven months later I found I was pregnant again. Busy with a one-year-old and already knowing what to expect, the nine months disappeared. March is a fickle month. At the end of the first week we were treated to a beautiful, welcomed sunny day and record-breaking temperatures of 17 C. I woke feeling crampy and antsy. It was a Saturday and I didn’t want to miss such a glorious day, so we headed down to the farmer’s market and did the weekly shopping around town.

By noon I was in full labour. My mom was coming from Montreal to help with Erica, and I was trying to get the curtains finished for the guest room before she arrived. Some desperate sewing happened that afternoon!!!

By 4pm my contractions were about 2 minutes apart and strong enough that I had to stop whatever I was doing to breathe through them. A girlfriend had agreed to look after Erica when I went to the hospital, but after phoning several times and getting no answer it was clear she wasn’t home (no cell phones in those days – ha ha!). For the next 30 minutes D and I scrambled to get someone else to help out. We finally arrived at the hospital at about 5:30pm. The contractions were coming on top of each other, and I really had to concentrate when it came to walking.

Dr. C was waiting for me, and immediately did an internal. He said I was 8cm dilated and that my membranes were still intact. Without any discussion he ruptured the sac, saying things would go faster. Huh? Faster was certainly not what I thought I needed! Within 5 minutes I felt that pulling sensation, but Dr.C had left thinking it would still take me several hours to deliver. The nurses acted immediately and wheeled me into the delivery room. This time I only just made it onto the bed and Kirsten was born at 6:10pm, weighing 6lbs 14 oz. . Dr.C was somewhere else in the hospital.

So, can I push now?

Brianna’s Birth, August 1991

Third time is the charm. Three years after Kirsten’s birth I finally convinced my husband that our family really needed three kids. So far, I have told you of the amazing experiences I have had in childbirth. I have not had anything to caution or steer anyone away from. This time I do. NEVER agree with your husband, 7 months before your due date, that it is a fine idea to build and move into a new house 2 weeks before you’re due.

No one told me, so on a sweltering July morning, after weeks of packing, I found my very ripe body trying to manoeuver all the belongings from one house to another. The day began with the moving company backing the off-loading ramp right through the front door of our new house, completely destroying it. The air conditioning did not work and the contractor had failed to ensure the phone lines were hooked up. That night I watched my belly tighten in contractions. All I remember saying is “please not now, please not now”. Someone listened and took pity, and the contractions stopped within a few hours.

Three weeks later (1 week past my due date) I was again out walking our dog in the evening. I was walking a lot then, trying anything I could to start labour. As it was with Erica, I felt a sudden wetness and knew my hours being pregnant were numbered.

I had a hard time settling that night but I didn’t feel my first contraction until 8am the next morning. We told the girls that the baby would be born that day, and otherwise tried to continue as any other day. At noon I made the kids lunch, stopping to breathe through contractions. At about 1 pm my contractions were coming every 2 minutes and a tightness had settled into my lower back. This was different from my other 2 labours, but I had carried this baby very low (the tendons in my pelvis had loosened so much that my left hip would regularly click in and out of place, and I felt like I carried the baby between my knees for the entire third trimester).

We decided that we should start making arrangements for a friend to pick up the girls and for us to head to the hospital. Erica was adamant that she bring her Lite-Brite set with her and I knew it was still packed in a box somewhere in her room. As I searched through her closet I felt that transition between hard muscle contraction and the pulling sensation which announced, for me, imminent baby exit. I puffed on my hands and knees and yelled for D. My only question to him: did he want the baby born on the floor in the kitchen or in the bathroom?

He choose option 3 (not a viable option for me at that point), we would head for the hospital. He literally plucked Erica and Kirsten up and threw them over the fence to neighbours we had just met (leaving instructions with my friend to pick them up there rather than from our house). D and I got into the car but somehow entered a scene taken from a comedic film in which he repeatedly put his keys into the ignition but nothing happened. Panic (on D’s part) ensued as he frantically looked through the house for another set of keys. I, meanwhile, concentrated on my breathing, was very aware that I couldn’t sit down, and that I would have been much more comfortable on the kitchen floor.

We got the car to start, hit every red light, and finally careened into the Emergency Drop-Off parking spot at the entrance to the hospital. I tried to time my getting out of the car between contractions (gruuunt…that pulling sensation was all I was aware of) and managed to take 3 steps towards the door when I felt a distinct popping sensation. Too late, the baby was crowning NOW. D hustled me, I don’t know how, to the elevator… forget checking in. The doors opened. I could feel the baby’s head. The elevator was, of course, full. We got in and the elevator descended to the basement. Oh NO!!! Everyone apologized. We headed for the 4th floor. Doors opened. D yelled for help. Two nurses grabbed me under the arms and pulled me into a room. I was trying everything to hold the baby in. Hoisted on to a bed. I was vaguely aware that some idiot was trying to tie a fetal monitor around me. They’re all too late. I grunted one more time and… Brianna made her grand entrance. The doctor arrived 15 minutes later. Half an hour after that I was up, having a shower, thinking how much easier things would have been if I had just stayed at home!

Cherish every moment you have with your children, especially the difficult ones. It’s in those challenging times that you learn more about the world and yourself than in any other situation in your life.

Shared by Lorraine from Ontario, Canada

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