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The Birth of Aiyana Autumn!
Newly 19 and spilling out at the seams, I rolled out of the night and into the early morning. After weeks of false labor and trying everything from walking to spicy foods, I was 9 days overdue and my body ached with anticipation. My olive skin was stretched taut over hiccupping life and churning limbs. I waddled my way to the toilet, wishing my grandmother a good morning on the way. I was calm and unassuming. My movements were steady and intentional rather than the usual clumsy, pregnant stance I had grown accustomed to. There was something different with the way I carried myself that morning. Maybe it was nerves (I had an induction scheduled the next morning) or relief from knowing, subconsciously, I was already in the beginning of natural labor. I do believe, knowing the time was near, my body relaxed and released the right stuff. I remember I was more sensitive to light and sound during those last few days.
For weeks before my labor day I had been anxious and frustrated with my larger-than-life belly and everything in between (mostly from everyone constantly questioning my due date), but this day was different. I relieved my what-seemed-to-be-full bladder and ran the bathtub faucet; dipping my legs into the pooling water. My grandmother had home-made a labor-inducing concoction of essential oils and I poured it into the swirling water around my full-moon belly. Glistening stripes of collagen gleamed at my hips and thighs. My breasts impatiently awaited a suckling mouth. My mind wandered to the appointment I had scheduled the next morning. The doctor had suggested I be induced since the baby was overdue and I was uncomfortable. I knew I didn't want labor induced, but I complied. I leaned back in the tub as the warm-up began. I knew all along she'd come in her own time, but I let the doctors say what they wanted. I had nearly lost faith in my body's timing...all too early.
The contractions came slow and soft; like a long-awaited whisper; barely noticeable and creating rising confidence within.
It's strange to think back on my mind state while enjoying that last ritual bath. I remember going into the process feeling very aloof and naively "prepared". I refused all labor and birth classes, though I did extensive research and studied the process throughout my pregnancy. I can truly say I never feared the labor and birth process.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give.”
I breathed in the soothing thoughts that surrounded my mind and exhaled nothing but trust in my body. The natural rhythm took over as I rocked my hips into the smooth porcelain. Knowing my child was on her way was utterly orgasmic. My body opened up, vibrating with the universal energy. Taking time to relax and ready myself for the long day ahead, I watched the clear ripples radiate from my first-time pregnant belly. It was the last time I would be in that bathtub with a baby in utero. I sighed and climbed out of the tub and dressed myself. I told my grandma I thought I was in labor and she perked up and began to prepare for the day. She saw me leaning over the sofa during a contraction and said, “Yep, that's labor!”
My mother arrived to take us to the clinic where they referred us to the hospital right away. The car ride was obnoxious. The pain intensified in the car as we approached the hospital. I now know it was most likely my body reacting to the observant and public environment. My cell phone rang and I answered. It was the baby’s father. He was calling to see how I was doing. Hearing his voice made me feel uneasy; why had I not wanted to call him with the news? He made me feel weak in a time I needed strength. I told him where we were going and he said he was on his way. Finally, we arrived at Lutheran Medical Center, my daughter's birthplace.
Dressed in the dull, blue hospital gown, I laid on the bed clenching through contractions; the baby’s father (Tyler), my mother, my grandmother & my mother's youngest sister observing me with wide eyes. Tyler picked up on my discomfort because he took the nurse aside and told her I wanted less people in the room. I was thankful for his help with this. The nurse asked me what I wanted and after many months of telling them they could experience the birth along with me, I finally realized I needed to be alone. I needed to give birth alone. The nurse sent my family into the waiting room so I could focus on myself and the tiny person inside of me. Once the room was clear of frantic and anxious energy, I let Mother Nature do her work. She twisted at the soles of my feet, climbing higher, growing into my ankles and knees, bringing blossoming vines of tranquility. The contractions grew stronger, more frequent. The nurse said a Doula happened to be on duty that day; I had her bring her in. Having no childbirth classes during my pregnancy, I was thankful to see a beautiful, expecting Doula at my side. Looking back on this day, I realize I was never completely collected. I was off in my own world…time, reality, emotion, any thoughts I had previously conceived of what labor should or would be like, was lost in a blur of raw, primal instinct. It came at me and I took it in all at once, yet one step at a time; moving forward, progressing toward a new life. I think I may have been in a trance the entire time I was laboring and it was a wonderfully innate mind state. We should not only celebrate the birth of a baby, but the birth of a new mother. The preperation of motherhood is intense and like nothing else. Labor is a time when you are fully aware of your connection to the world around you, the animal kingdom, Mother Nature, the universe...all living things were birthed from a mother; be it seed, womb, or egg. During natural labor and birth you shift from one consciousness to the next; an unharmed birth changes you psychologically...for the better.
I made my way to the Jacuzzi tub. Slipping into the familiar warmth of the water, I remembered I had taken at least two baths a day while pregnant. I was in familiar territory; I am a creature of the water. I felt at peace as the pressure of the jets massaged my back and hips. I breathed slow and deep and slid through the water like a round-bellied mermaid. Back and forth, front to back. The pain was welcome, because I knew it meant progress. The nurse came in and said Tyler's sister tried to “break into the room”. I laughed and shook my head. By this time, I had been in labor for a few solid hours. After a contraction subsided, I opened my eyes to see not one, but two Doulas observing me. One had tears in her eyes and the other a look of pure excitement. The pregnant Doula wiped the tears from her face and told me how beautiful this scene was and she was happy she was a part of it. She told me her shift was over and that the new Doula was here to stay for awhile. I laughed. Throughout my labor, I laughed. I'm not sure what brought it on, but it felt good to laugh between contractions. I knew what I was doing without ever going to a childbirth class; I knew it would be all right; I knew my body could be trusted to deliver my baby safely into the world.
I stayed in the water for awhile until the contractions picked up suddenly. It rocked me at the core. I wondered what the tiny being in my womb was experiencing. We were in this together and the comfort swelled inside of me; my chest warm and pulsating with love for my unborn child. My long, deep breaths became suddenly shallow and sharp. The pain was contracting in on me, wrenching my body and shaking my bones. I felt sick. The Doula handed me a bed pan and I filled it with stomach acid and melted ice chips. I quickly remembered I had not eaten for 10+ hours as I wretched again. Another contraction came swiftly and heavily. I closed my eyes, panting as my heart raced beneath my sports bra. The first Doula left and the new one took my hand and helped me from the tub and into my hospital gown. She then introduced me to the birth ball. My legs felt too weak to play on it for long. I rolled it between my thighs, opening my hips so her head could lower into place. Finding no relief from the ball, I found the birthing bar and gripped it, my knuckles turning white as another contraction bore down on me. The bar was frustrating me so I paced the floor, letting the laboring energy flow through me. The nurse asked me if I would like something to take the edge off the pain, I laughed and shook my head. For some reason I never took the offer seriously. Medication was never an option in my mind, not because I felt I had some feminist-macho-ism to prove, but because I knew it wasn’t right for myself or my little one. I went to use the toilet and found I had lost my mucous plug. This reassured me this was the real thing, not another false alarm. I returned to the bed to receive my next dose of antibiotics (which I now know is not good for mother or baby) for my Strep B, enduring contraction after contraction. I wanted to let myself flow in and out of the pain, but I had nearly lost control several times as the rushes surged wildly through me.
The progress seemed incredibly slow as the nurse checked my cervix and reported the dilation. At this point, I was beginning to tire. After all this time and pain, it still wasn't time to push. I needed outside nourishment and the hospital staff refused to let me eat or drink. I began to question whether or not I could do this without easing the pain somehow. The Doula reassured me I was approaching transition and this is why I was feeling so freaked. I pulled my mind out of my body, still tolerating the pain as best I could. I planted my feet into the cold linoleum of the hospital floor and let the roots grow from my toes; moaning and panting, trying desperately to find some relief from the constant sickening pain. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was excruciating and arduous like a raging sea welling and filling a cave and it did all of this inside of me, inside my tiny female frame. I leaned and swayed into the Doula. I wrapped my arms around her neck and she danced with me, letting me envelope her with my pregnant body. The power and strength I had swirling within me began to expand as she supported my mind and body. She reminded me of the power and strength I have as a woman; the power and strength to bring a new life from the watery darkness of creation into the sparkling light of consciousness. Once again, my mind left as my body did her work. I had composed and nourished life inside my swelling belly and it was time to let this tiny person take her first breath. I climbed back onto the bed, frustrated, yet refusing to let exhaustion set in. This was my time; this was our time. I faced the back of the bed, gripping onto the thin mattress. I screamed again and it quaked in my throat, filling the room and possibly the entire labor and delivery unit. Tyler returned to the door several times to check on my progress and to see how I was doing. Any thought of him while I was in labor made me feel cautious and uneasy. I wanted so badly for him to witness the birth of his daughter, but for my own well-being I needed to focus without his influence. As the next contraction radiated deep in my abdomen and found my extremities I cried out again.
Tyler was at the door talking with the nurse and asking if he could see me. I screamed through the pain and turned him away. One look at the Doula and I quickly turned my shriek into a deep moan; I steadied myself; deep breath in, deep breath out. His presence was making me feel defensive and vulnerable. The contractions were taking over like internal earthquakes. One after another, barely 30 seconds apart. It was so hard to handle, and for the first time all day, the thought of pain-relief entered my mind. A scream escaped my lungs; the Doula corrected me immediately. She told me to channel that energy into breathing, into focusing on the progress I was making. I shuddered, shaking and almost in a panic as the pain was too difficult to control, too hard to endure. My state of mind was one of chaos and panic. It was getting harder and harder to stay strong and stable. I was trembling, I was dizzy and I was falling fast. The nurse grabbed an oxygen mask and held it to my face. I panted into it, inhaling the sweet scent and imagining it nourishing my baby girl. Transition had been wringing my body for hours. I had entered the stage where my body was no longer just dilating, but had suddenly shifted to power my uterus down toward my pelvic floor. I felt the pressure of the baby's head so low in my pelvis I thought I was squishing her head with every movement I made so I got on my knees and made circles with my hips. My cervix was stuck at 9 centimeters for what seemed like eternity. I just wanted her out. I was mentally done with this. My physical self was flooded with exhaustion. I swayed. I had reached the point of wanting to give up. Every natural birth reaches this point before or around 8 to 10 centimeters during the time of transition between dilation and actual delivery of the baby. During the first several hours of labor I couldn't imagine the pain getting any worse than it already was; oh, how I was wrong. The pain of early labor seemed like nothing compared to this.
Transition was by far the hardest time of my life. I wanted to rest, but the contractions were on top of each other with no break in between. I would love to say every muscle, artery, every cell in my body hummed in unison throughout my laboring, but all I could really feel was crushing, painful rushes. I cannot even begin to find words to describe the place I was in as my mind became hazy and my body surrendered to the universe. I felt crippled as another debilitating contraction swept over me. I yelled out, clutching the bed again. Nauseous and weak, I was forgetting to breath. A minute later, it passed. The Doula fed me a spoonful of orange gelatin. I swished it on my sticky tongue and swallowed. It came back up immediately. I cried from weakness. I was trembling; tears welling in my eyes. Only 10-30 seconds of down time before another surge. The nurse hurried to check my cervix again and I was finally at a 9.5. I cringed, my toes curling as another contraction enveloped me entirely. Gasping into the mask, I brushed it aside and moved to the end of the bed. I was stuck at a 9.5 for too long. I was upset that the lip of my cervix was still lingering. The only word to describe how I was feeling at this point is total panic. I wanted to push even though I wasn't having the urge every woman talks about. I need to push! I wanted so badly to push, to be done with it, but I had to hold back for fear of swelling my cervix and delaying the birth even longer.
I looked into the Doula's eyes and pleaded for some sort of relief. Her gentle gaze always reassured me that the world was not coming to an end, but merely just beginning. She massaged my hips, compressing my waist with her palms. I can't do this. Oh, help me. Please, help me. I had been in hard labor all day and the sun was setting quickly outside the hospital window. I asked the nurse for some medication, just to take the edge off, I told her. She told me I was too far along for any relief now. My eyes watered. I took a quick moment to retreat inside myself. You can do this, you have no choice. Hurry the process, just get her out and it will all be over. Just get her out, just get her out. The nurse checked me several more times between contractions before I finally hit 10 centimeters and could begin pushing.
The descent of the baby was sluggish. I pushed and pushed with what seemed like no advancement. The Doula said her head was stuck beneath my pubic bone. She'd lower for a moment and withdraw into her cozy home; Lower and withdraw, lower with every push and withdraw as soon as I took a breath. (I now know this is completely normal, especially with first births. The baby’s head gradually descends to increase blood flow in the birth canal and ascends to allow the tissues to stretch slowly and without tear.) This went on for quite some time. The Doula told me to rock her head beneath my pubic bone and bear down. I did as instructed. I felt fluid gush between my legs. I was relieved thinking it was my bag of waters until the nurse told me it was not the sac; it was urine from the baby pressing on my bladder. I was discouraged my water hadn't broken yet. I wondered how much longer I would be in labor if my water refused to break.
The nurse told me my cervix was open and the sac was bulging, but stubborn. I wanted to be done with this. I wanted her out and in my arms. I was so worn out I didn't care if the nurse had to get involved. She got the doctor and said the baby would be delivered within the hour. I sighed deeply as yet another contraction took over. I was at a halt. I tensed up and held my breath waiting for the end to come. During the first 30 seconds the contraction got stronger and more powerful. It welled inside me, filling me with hormones. At the peak of the pain I lost my mind. It was surreal. The adrenaline, the endorphins, oxytocin, and prolactin all played their important role in preparing me for motherhood. The last 30 seconds and the pain slowly began to whirl away.
After the contraction subsided the doctor asked if she could break my water. I wailed, yes! Yes, yes, please break my water. She grabbed what looked like a crotchet needle and water drenched my thighs. She said the water was green from meconium and it was good we broke the water when we did. My baby had passed her first bowel movement in utero. Ah, a sigh of relief escaped my lips as her head lowered and another contraction took hold. My lungs seized up. I couldn't breathe in as she made the decent into the birth canal. The pressure was different now that the cervix slipped up and over her head. (After you reach 10 centimeters and the cervix "pops" over the baby's head- there will be a "resting period" while the "slack" of the uterus contracts against the baby's bottom. I didn't know this at the time, so without allowing my uterus to catch up with the kiddo, I didn't feel the urge to push- yet I pushed anyway.)
The labor picked up rather quickly after my water broke. I pushed with all I had in me. Every drop of strength poured into pushing, into delivering this baby. The oxygen mask was perched on the mattress at my face and I whimpered into it. The baby still wouldn't make her appearance, though I pushed for over an hour. I turned onto my back with my legs in the air. I had ended up in the very position I told myself to stay away from (On your back with your legs in stirrups is one of the most difficult positions to give birth in. It works against gravity and against the natural structure of a woman’s pelvis.) I may have been fighting gravity, but I felt more secure in this position since it was the most common position I had seen women give birth in.
The Doula, doctor and nurses gathered at the foot of the bed. The doctor recommended she put her fingers in and tear me (it was barbaric and traumatizing). I focused on where her fingers met my flesh and pushed with everything I had. After a few more pushes her head began to crown. The Doula spoke to me in low tones. She told me her ears and cheeks were out. She asked if I wanted to watch in the mirror and I said no. I was still polite and reserved though I was in the midst of birthing. I laughed, I cried. It burned and twisted between my thighs. One, two, three more pushes her head and shoulders emerged. Her body slid out into the doctors arms at 7:47 PM and was set on my abdomen.
I shook as I held her, the chills taking over me as my child looked deep into my eyes. Dark, black slits peered up at the mother who carried her for 10 months and brought her safe and sound into this new world. I wept and laughed all at once. Oh my God, oh my God. I was holding onto my newborn child for the first time. Relief flooded my limbs. Any feeling that was wrenching my body merely minutes before vanished entirely. The doctor asked if I wanted to cut the cord. And I did. I cut her umbilical cord, separating the tiny being from my insides. She no longer needed my womb for nourishment.
My baby moon began on September 26, 2007, the night of the harvest moon. The doctor began to stitch me up right after I delivered the placenta and the family came in with my legs still in the air. It all happened so quickly. Gallons of crimson fluid painted the picture of perfection. I was grateful for the wonderful encouragement of my Doula. My baby girl and I had worked together as a team; after more than 12 hours of all natural labor, she was here, she was finally here.
After the family entered the room to see her, she was weighed and rinsed. She weighed at 8lbs 7oz and was 20.5 inches long. After everyone greeted her and held her, she took to the breast right away. She was the most beautiful, sweet-natured baby I had ever seen. Sleeping soundly in my arms and suckling at my no longer impatient breasts, was my first born daughter, Aiyana Autumn.
“The purpose of life, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experiences.” -Eleanor Roosevelt
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this. I can take the next thing that comes along.” -Eleanor Roosevelt