Gentle Jess

     I really wanted to name him Rowdy Valentine instead of Jess Valentine, but I am glad I didn't. This little guy is so mellow and gentle. His whole presence has a soothing effect on whoever is holding him. He's bright and engaging, too, but not in a rambunctious way at all. He lulls me with his peaceful power into hours of holding him as he sleeps. I don't get much done, and most times, I don't much mind.

     Since his birth, I find myself experiencing real moments of tranquility. I know it is a gift he carried into this life. 

Master, the Tempest is Raging

     I have been thinking for a while about posting the birth story of my first son, Marshall.  It was almost the polar opposite of Jess' birth.  It was a beautiful and valuable experience that I created for myself.  I, in no way, see it as a "bad" experience, but in the telling, I'm not sure that will be conveyed. 

Jess' birth was a spring rainfall.  It was healing, soothing and gentle.  

But here is the story of the tempest.

     

     When I attended Seminary, I had an excellent teacher the year we studied the Old Testament.  He frequently pointed out and explained  symbolism, imagery and parallels  from the Bible. We talked about Adam and Eve, the Creation, the Fall and the Atonement.  Among many other things, I was taught about the parallels of Christ's Atonement to a woman's giving birth.  I was fascinated! 

   

     I woke  up from my Sunday afternoon nap with mild cramps. After seeing a tiny bit of blood, Kurt called my midwife to tell her. Mom made me a sandwich and started recording my contractions on paper.  I took a bite of my sandwich and couldn't chew it. This should have been told to my midwife immediately, but we were new to childbirth and we questioned ourselves. (Not being able to eat is a sign of the start of hard labor.) The mild crampiness turned into strong contractions within 15 minutes.  There was no time to ease into what was happening. I got into the birth pool to try to manage the pain.

     Right away, I was worried.  My insides were being ripped assunder with each contraction. I was really scared that I would have a long labor...feeling this intense, indescribable pain for 20, 30, or more hours. I had no idea something could hurt that bad and not kill me. (Now I understand that this is not typical of most labors-especially for a first time mom, and fast labors tend to be more intense.)

     Strange things happened in my mind. I began to feel sorry for myself. (BAD IDEA) With each surge of pain I  slowly comprehended that I was utterly alone, that no one could do anything to help me, that I was going to do this all by myself...no matter who was there "with" me. My midwife was almost two hours away. There was no time for her to get there.

      

     I did not feel like I was participating in the labor. I felt acted upon. I felt my free agency taken from me.   I saw some of the skeptical faces of women I had enthusiastically told about my plans to give birth naturally, and these faces mocked my pain. I felt angry. I didn't expect to feel angry in labor. This seemed wrong to me, and so I also felt disappointed.

      From taking Bradley Childbirth classes, I knew I needed to empty my bladder every 30 minutes. A full bladder can increase pain. Increase? The pain could increase? I made three trips to the bathroom. The last time, two contractions came close together when I was out of the water. My husband was holding my hands. I vividly remember my feelings of desperation and despair. I looked into his eyes, no, past his eyes and into his soul. I wanted to climb in them, climb out of who I was, climb up and over and away. I could barely breathe. I tried to breathe. 

     In the Garden of Gethsemane He labored with great agony 

to enable our re-birth.

     His disciples came with Him, but all fell asleep as He suffered. 

     He only could do what had to be done. He bore it alone.

 His blood was shed for us, so we could have free agency

 and be redeemed from the Fall.

     My mom recorded that my Bradley teacher, Nancy, arrived at 4:35pm, two hours and 48 contractions after I felt those initial cramps.  She also wrote that I kept whispering " I need a break...please...please...please" and "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." I wouldn't move from my side-lying position in the water. I was afraid to move for fear of losing my mind. I was afraid to lose my mind because I feared it would cause more pain. I was just holding on by a thread. It was more like I was trying to grasp at a rope, only to find it made of sand: it was a cruel joke.

     It didn't feel like my body was floating in the water. I felt like a rock. Barely a sound came out of my mouth, and that seems incredible to me because all I heard was screaming and the roaring, rushing water of the tempest.

     I was in transition. Transition is the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." But I did not feel God. Where did He go? All I felt was black space and nothingness.

I didn't care about my life anymore. I wished for death; death seemed merciful to me. Hope was gone. I floated in blackness.

"My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"    

 Nancy touched a cool washcloth to my forehead and hand. 

     This simple thing saved my life in that moment.  I turned away from the darkness and began to move back to the world. It was like she was an angel whose message was, "Not today...you will not die today." It was time to return and have a baby.

      My body shook violently on the inside. I felt a jackhammer pounding with the next stage of contractions. Down, down, DOWN! These contractions didn't hurt the way the others did. These were almost exciting to feel in comparison. I was still unsure of myself, though.

      The midwife that lived closest to me arrived around 5:30 pm. (My midwife often works with two other midwives.)  She had my husband turn me from my lying position to a sitting one. A gush of blood filled the pool. With the next contraction, I pushed out my baby's head. With another contraction and a slight push, out came my little baby boy. 7 pounds 9 ounces. This was a three hour labor.

     Hope, joy and peace returned in full. 

     But on what shelf in which room had they been put as I suffered? 

Who was the keeper of such a horrible place? 

     It was me, I owned that room. I created it along with the entire experience of this birth. I created my own Gethsemane for reasons that mean nothing to anyone but me.

    I have been taught that we sometimes pass through sorrow so that we may know joy. I have lived that truth. I have fulfilled that principle. 

 I no longer fear the pain of laboring to bring a child into this world. 

It was once my biggest fear.

    More importantly, I no longer fear JOY. 

Home Water Birth

     I had a scheduled prenatal appointment at home a day before my due date. Since my midwife, Stephanie, lives over an hour and a half away, I joked that I would try to go into labor when she arrived to save her an additional trip a day or so later. My previous labor lasted only about three hours, so going into labor while she was already in town was important in that respect, too. Okay, I admit it, I am a baby!  I wanted her there to "hold my hand" the whole time. 

     Steph arrived about 12:30 and we had lunch and a typical prenatal. I DID NOT want her to leave; the thought made me panic a little. The feeling in our home just made me feel like it was time and I would be in labor soon. I asked her about "stretching the membranes". I had heard it was terribly painful. Remember, I am a baby, a whining baby. She said that it can be very intense. She checked my dilation, which was about 4cm, and did a little stretching at my request. It was intense, but not near as bad as I expected. Whew! 

     I started having some mild cramping. The time was between three and four in the afternoon. It didn't feel like the start of my previous labor, so I didn't think it was going to turn into anything. I was wrong. Never had I been so happy to be wrong! After a nice walk around the block with my husband, I knew I was in labor. This was not news to Stephanie. She called the other two midwives to put them on notice, but not to rush over. I was feeling extreme excitement! Soon I would be holding my new baby. I didn't know if it was a boy or girl. I have never felt convinced that sonograms are completely harmless, so I never had any done.

      While I was feeling these early contractions, Stephanie noticed I was giving them too much attention. She recommended I let them pass unnoticed for as long as I could. They would intensify, and she didn't want me using up my coping skills on the little ones. That was some of the best advice I had ever gotten in my life. My perspective changed after that.

       I began to have FUN. I helped cut up a tray full of beautiful fruits and veggies for everyone to eat. I made sure I ate as much as I could, too, because I didn't want to run out of energy. I walked around the house, just feeling happy. I sat out under our canopy of desert trees on a big ball, next to my herb garden. When the contractions got more intense, I took a little time to play my fiddle for a distraction. Around 9:30pm, I was finally ready to get in the birth pool and relax.

     The water felt so good! It relieved the intensity of the contractions nicely even though they were stronger. As I floated in the little pool, I was amazed to find that labor could be this gentle. This didn't just happen on its own. I had to willingly take the guidance of my midwife and the reminders of my husband. "Relax" and "Breathe your baby down" were helpful to hear during contractions. Fighting a contraction by tensing up or not actively surrendering to the surge of energy made it worse. 

     Two hours of hard labor passed quickly. I was getting tired as it was nearing midnight. I think this is when Stephanie asked me to get out for a potty break and try to sit through two contractions while on the toilet. I really, really, REALLY did not want to do that. During my previous home birth, I remember two terrifying contractions on the toilet. But deep down I knew it would speed things along and I wanted to be able to hold my baby as soon as possible. A week earlier Stephanie had prepped me by assuring me that anything she asked me to do during labor,  I would be able to do it. I can't remember if she meant physically or emotionally, but for this request, I needed courage in both areas. I did four contractions on the toilet! Yes, I am proud of that fact.

     I practically ran the few steps back to the birth pool.  This field trip did its job. I soon went into transition. Transition is often the shortest stage of labor, but it can be the most difficult. Self doubt lingered around these most intense contractions. Again I received reassurance and reminders. During transition I felt my baby wiggling gently down. This was incredible to me. This baby was working as hard as I was! It helped me bear the intensity to realize this and it made me feel a swell of compassion  and love for this wise baby.

     Then, at last, transition was over. I knew it was over because my breath caught. It is like an involuntary stuttering while breathing. Second stage contractions had begun. These are the "pushing" contractions. Without pushing very much, the baby seemed to move quickly down and I felt it pressing on my pelvic floor. This was so exciting! Soon I would be able to hold my baby! I listened to the instructions given for gently pushing the baby's head out. I felt I had done a good job birthing the head only to find it was the sack of water! Stephanie had to use two hands to break the sac; it was so tough.  Soon, the head was out and I felt it with my hand. Can you imagine how wild that would be? Bizarre and Beautiful. Another contraction came and with it, the baby. This all took about 15 minutes, about 4-5 contractions.

     It's a boy! 12:26am...on his due date. Upon my chest was a wide

 eyed, vernix covered, chubby and squishy nine pound three ounce baby boy. He lifted his head and I could feel his strength. His head seemed huge, 15cm I found out later. The midwives rubbed his back and he got nice and pink quickly. His umbilical cord was fat and short. We waited for it to stop pulsing before his papa cut it. Then, as if on a timer, in walks my two year old son who had been sleeping. Everything was perfect!

 

     That early morning I nursed Jess Valentine for the first time. He latched on like a pro and nursed for about 30 minutes before drifting off to sleep. He looked like an angel and smelled divine! I couldn't dream of sleeping and missing a moment of the magic. Who was this new, strong little person that was entrusted to my care? My life had already been beautifully altered by his presence. His birth was a healing and illuminating experience.  I stayed up all night looking at him.