An Unexpected Path: Birthing Baby #9

This time around I did something drastically different than I had done in any of my previous births. Baby number nine had a unique entrance into the world — not unique in human experience, just in mine. But before I get into that story, let’s back up a little so I can tell you about the pregnancy leading up to it.

How I Felt Physically & Emotionally

I wouldn’t call it a “difficult” pregnancy, though it had its trials, for sure — the typical ones. From about late November 2021 to sometime in the Spring of 2022, I had painful gas cramps almost every day, but only slight nausea (thank goodness). Mostly, I was extremely tired. This tiredness abated somewhat during late Spring and early Summer (which enabled me to get some gardening done), then resumed full force in mid-Summer until the baby was born. I was so physically exhausted I had to speak in a whisper most of the time. “Bone tired” is what people call that kind of feeling.

That’s the physical side. Overall, not too bad.

The emotional side was much tougher.

Whenever I thought of the upcoming birth, anxiety would slap me up the side of the head. I cried often, dreading the pain I knew I would experience, especially during the last phase of labor up to and including the passage of the baby out of the birth canal. I wouldn’t say I was “terrified” — that would be way too strong a word to express my emotional state. However, I would definitely say I was “distressed.”

Why?

Now, you would think that after eight previous births, I would be a pro at this! My last six births had taken place at home in a birthing pool. There had been no complications: no tearing, no excessive bleeding, no trouble getting the baby to descend, no prolonged labor . . . nothing of that sort. I was resolved to birth at home, let happen what would happen during the birth (as long as it wasn’t an emergency). I had dealt with high blood sugar and high blood pressure successfully, controlling both of those dangers through natural means. So why did I feel this way?

Nothing in my own experience was able to give me the answer. The closest I could figure was that after so many births — so many times of forcing myself to be brave and face the pain — I just didn’t want to do it again. As in, not a single time more! I had hit an emotional block.

Afterwards, both the midwife who attended my birth and another midwife who works with her in the clinic told me that it is not at all unusual for women to feel this way after multiple births. They have gone through the same scenario so many times they begin to dread going through it again. After all, it isn’t as if childbirth gets easier the more times you go through it! No. You progress through the same stages, you feel the same sort of pain, it’s just as intense. I felt like I wanted to run away from it all, if I could. But of course, I couldn’t.

Now, I feel I can understand more deeply those women who fear birth. Yes, I had fear; I feared many things. Mostly, I feared the pain, but I also feared the what-ifs like never before. What if I hemorrhaged? What if I tore? What if the baby wasn’t in the right position to descend? What if my blood pressure suddenly shot through the roof? What if the baby came too fast — or what if he took forever? So many fears!

Dealing with the Fear

I attempted to manage the fear through thinking positively about the birth. I’m not talking about New Age guru stuff; I’m just saying that I tried to think trusting thoughts instead of fearful ones. I could trust God, couldn’t I? (But what if He let something bad happen?) Even if He did let something bad happen, it would be for a good reason. (Could I accept His reason? Would I understand it, would it make sense to me? Even if it was a good reason, it would still hurt — did I want to hurt?) I meditated on Bible verses that emphasized having faith, God’s care for us, and the honor & blessing of bearing children.

I read a good book called Redeeming Childbirth, by Angie Tolpin, which talks about how God can use the pain and difficulties of pregnancy & childbirth to bring us closer to Him, to refine us, to give us compassion for others, to allow others to be blessed through helping us, and even to testify about Him. Could I let God use the pain I knew would come? I nervously resisted the thought of pain.

I uploaded the Christian Hypnobirthing App and listened to the Scripture-based breathing exercises, visualizations, positive affirmations, etc. on my phone. (By the way, the tracks & birth preparation course don’t emphasize hypnosis; they focus on being relaxed and having a faith-filled outlook, trusting in God to uphold us during childbirth). While Tara Menzies, the creator, admits that pain can be a part of childbirth, she also doesn’t believe that it is a necessary part of it — it is possible to achieve such a deep state of relaxation that we don’t experience the pain as “pain” but experience it as simply an intense sensation.

So we can look at labor from at least two different perspectives: God in the pain, or God removes the pain. I believe that either view fits with Scripture; either path could be our course. It’s up to God, and to a lesser degree up to us (the mindset we choose to adopt about birth). I asked God to remove it. I prayed for His grace to provide a miracle for me: a pain-free birth! (This wasn’t the first time I had prayed for this.)

All those ways of preparing for birth were good, and I definitely recommend them and will continue to follow them in the future, though I will perhaps tweak them a bit. However, I still struggled.

Labor Begins

After many weeks of false labor (and many baths, magnesium lotion, and cramp bark), the dreaded day finally came. After a couple hours of contractions early in the morning and a hot bath which didn’t make them go away, I was sure I was in labor. False labor contractions had sometimes felt like my uterus was simply tightening; at other times, I had experienced a spreading, lower back pain along with the tightening. But this was different: this time, I felt an intense, spreading, crampy pain in both my lower back and lower abdomen . . . and it kept getting stronger!

The midwife came and checked on me. When she told me I was at about four centimeters, I was so disappointed. With how painful I was experiencing these contractions, I had thought perhaps I was already at eight, or at least six! During my previous birth with baby number eight, I had been at nine centimeters and felt so relaxed I thought I was only at three or four. What a difference one’s outlook makes!

Then I broke down crying.

While my husband was in the living room preparing the birthing pool (side note: why do air pumps have to be so noisy and annoying?) and my oldest daughter was in the kitchen setting up the birthing supplies (this was to be her first time attending one of my births as a helper), I was in the bedroom sobbing.

We took my blood pressure; it was a little high. This worried me even more. Perhaps if I had been peaceful and confident it would have stayed low, but I wasn’t. I think my own anxiety caused it to rise. But I took it as perhaps a sign: maybe this was God’s way of saying it would be better to go to the hospital. If we went now, we would already be there if my blood pressure continued to rise, and there would be less rushing. It wouldn’t turn into an emergency (there was my fear speaking). Also (sneaky thought that seized the opportunity to jump right in though I hadn’t invited it), I could get an epidural.

This thought had not occurred to me in such a striking manner before. Before, I had simply envied those who had epidurals even as I recognized the risk of plummeting blood pressure possibly leading to a caesarean. I was very optimistic, though.

The midwife was supportive (I love her for it!). She said she wouldn’t judge me, that whatever I decided to do she would be there for me. So the decision was made: we would go to the hospital. I told my husband, who was fine with it. Actually, on the way there he lovingly told me he was glad I wasn’t too prideful to go to the hospital if that was what I needed; he just wanted me and the baby to be safe. I don’t know if it was really what I needed, though it felt like it at the time. Maybe it was just what I needed emotionally.

I was very sad to have to tell my daughter, though. The thought of disappointing her after she had been looking forward to this day so much was almost too much for me. I think I cried more tears for her than I did for myself.

Before the birth, we had gone over all the details of how she was going to help. We made a list together that included things like preparing the diffusers with essential oils (I had her write down which ones and how many drops of each), preparing the water for the washcloths to put on my forehead and neck, lighting some unscented candles, opening the birth kit and putting everything on the kitchen table, getting out the mixing bowl (for the placenta) and the cookie sheet (for the midwife’s utensils), taking the bath towels and washcloths out of the linen closet, etc. She had already done most of those things when I came out and told her we were going to the hospital. She tried not to cry — I could tell she was holding it back. But (and I’m so proud of her!) she smiled and said she understood.

So away we sped. I told my husband to slow down; all the bumps in the road made the contractions harder to bear.

The Hospital

It wasn’t how I had expected it to be. My first two children had been born in the hospital (a different one), but the admission procedure had gone a lot quicker. This time — I am not exaggerating — they took from about 7:30 am (when we arrived) to right up until the baby was born at about 10:30! Can you imagine having to answer a new question between every contraction? I couldn’t focus on keeping calm and relaxed with all that “interrogation” going on. I don’t know if I could have even applied Tara Menzie’s tips for breathing and visualization while trying to mentally keep track of the last question I was asked so I could answer it as soon as the contraction had passed.

Besides that, even though I had told them almost as soon as I got there that I wanted an epidural, they didn’t hook me up to the IV fluids necessary for the epidural (to keep the blood pressure from dropping) until just a little more than an hour before the baby was born (very late in the interrogation process). When I finally got the epidural, I had already progressed through most of the labor; the baby was born about thirty minutes later.

Bad thing: I had to go through the majority of labor with the pain I had wanted to avoid.

Good thing: The meds started kicking in right before the last and hardest part of labor.

As I pushed the baby out, it was almost like a miracle: no pain, just the sensation of him moving down the birth canal. Contrary to how I had imagined having an epidural would be, I could still feel and move my legs and body. Interestingly, my feet tingled, my abdomen itched, and my bottom felt numb. After a few hard contractions I finally started to get relief from the pain. Gradually, the contractions began to feel easier. That is, all eight or so of them (I didn’t have that many left until the end of labor).

Then, they had me scoot down (I couldn’t believe I could still actually move) and put my legs in stirrups. They told me to hold my breath for ten counts, three times during each contraction. We did this for a total of about three contractions — then the baby was born!

I was handed him almost immediately (they put his little blue hat on and placed a receiving blanket on his back before opening my hospital gown to put him skin-to-skin with me). I cried with relief and joy. My beautiful darling! Finally here after all that dreading!

He was gorgeous and looked exactly how I would have expected “Ethan Everett” to have looked. I kissed him and caressed his silky head. I didn’t have to look to know he was a boy, but I heard them say it from beside me.

Funny thing was, I had been so fearful of the pain of birth, but I had absolutely no fear of the epidural injection. When the anesthesiologist poked that needle into my back, I wasn’t nervous or trembly in the least; all I felt was a little prick. I was worried, though, when I didn’t start to feel the effects immediately. He reassured me by saying with certainty, “You will.”

Positives

Being at the hospital helped calm my fears: if something were to happen, I was at a place where they were thoroughly prepared for any negative possibility.

I was happy that I finally got the epidural. For me, it fortunately turned out to be a good experience which saved me from at least the worst of the pain. (Though I’m also glad, in a funny way, that I got to experience most of the labor without that relief, since I think I would feel I was missing something if I hadn’t. I was still able to exeperience that sense of accomplishment which comes from having faced a trial and dealt with it successfully. Perhaps going through most of labor without synthetic pain relief also helped the hormones do their work more efficiently.)

The nurses were kind and knew how to do their jobs. With the exception of a few interesting comments later on, they were mostly supportive of homebirth and our choice to have a large family. When asked why I had decided to come to the hospital, I told them the honest truth: I had been very anxious about something bad happening, and I had wanted to have an epidural for the pain. None of them evidenced any sort of judgmental attitude about it. In fact, the doctor (a female, thankfully) said, “We listen to our patients’ feelings and take them seriously, here.” The next day, she told me she was glad the things I had feared “didn’t manifest,” saying that it’s usually best to listen to our gut feelings. I like her.

My husband was confident that I would be well-cared-for if something were to happen, which I think helped him be at peace. True, he had been at peace during my home births, but he also knew that this time around I had been a lot more anxious, which probably caused him to feel more apprehensive for me.

The baby and I were checked often. My blood pressure throughout the whole ordeal remained normal. I didn’t tear, even though I didn’t birth in water (I had been of the opinion before this that the reason I hadn’t torn was because of the warm water, which may be partly true, but through this experience I discovered that it was probably also due to the fact that I’ve had so many births and my body is “stretchier”).

Also, my midwife was able to be with me throughout the last part of labor, for which I am so thankful! The nurses were very busy monitoring the machines, so they couldn’t be much comfort to me. Though my husband would have stayed by my side the whole time (as I had strongly wanted), he couldn’t have given me advice on how to breathe or have known where to place his hand on my back to help relieve the back pain. (He was by my side during most of the labor, but when the midwife finally came in, there unfortunately wasn’t enough room for everybody so he waited nearby.) I was so glad my midwife was there to hold my hand and help me manage!

Negatives

Unfortunately, the midwife wasn’t allowed to join me until I had moved from triage into the labor room, which took a couple hours. She had to wait in her car until I texted her that it was okay for her to come in. I had been hoping she would be with me the entire time and that she would be able to answer all the questions for me. Too bad!

Because of the constant questions during labor and the very late epidural, I feel I might as well have birthed at home since I would have at least had my warm, comforting water and a peaceful, quiet atmosphere. Yes, I would have had to go through the pain of labor, but hey — I mostly went through that anyway except for the last thirty-or-so minutes. Birthing at home would have meant going through the dreaded last phase with almost no pain relief, but . . . it would have been over quickly. The midwife thinks the baby would have been born thirty minutes sooner if I hadn’t been holding back because I was waiting for them to administer the epidural. I intentially didn’t get into a super good laboring position for much of the labor because I instinctively felt that once I did so, the baby would come fast and the feelings would be intense.

As I already mentioned, my husband wasn’t by my side the whole time, which was a disappointment to me. If I had been at home, there would have been plenty of room for him, the midwife, and any other birth attendants. There wouldn’t have been a need to pick and choose. He would have let me rest my head in his lap while I reclined in the birth pool, he would have held my hand during contractions, and he would have supported me while pushing. When the baby came out, he would have been right beside me to see our new baby together for the first time. I sure do miss that.

A couple more issues that made things more difficult for me was having the fetal and contraction monitors on my tummy and being connected to an IV drip tube. Those things restricted my ability to move. If I wanted to go to the bathroom, someone had to help me hold the tubing and move the rack along with me. If I wanted to change my body position (for example, from semi-reclining to hands and knees in order to relieve back pain) , the fetal monitor (on my lower tummy) would move and not detect the baby’s heartbeat as clearly. Then, it would need to be readjusted. The contraction monitor (on my upper tummy) was tight and uncomfortable.

I regretted that my daughter hadn’t been able to be at the birth. Perhaps she would have been able to come with me to the hospital, but I guess that because of possible Covid restrictions I wasn’t sure if she would, and I didn’t want to show up at the hospital only to find that she wasn’t allowed to come with us. What would she have done? Probably waited in the lobby for several hours, which I didn’t want her to have to do. I thought it was better for her to be with her siblings at their grandparents’ house; at least that way, she could help with them and wouldn’t be sitting around being bored.

And finally, as much as I appreciate the care I was given after the birth, it was also hard to have someone checking on me once every hour or two; it seemed as if I would never get a chance to rest!

Lessons Learned

First, I’ve learned to have more compassion for those who fear childbirth (I’ve always had compassion, but now I have more). Angie Tolpin (author of the book Redeeming Childbirth which I mentioned earlier) is right that going through hard things (even if those hard things are just our own minds playing games with us) helps us be able to sympathize with others. I’d never really feared birth before this; I’d been mostly confident and resolved (though there had definitely been moments of panic, as you’ll see if you read my other birth stories). This time, my anxiety broke down that confidence and caused me to feel more vulnerable than I ever had.

Second, I’ve learned that I can’t trust childbirth preparation, as important as it is, to be an absolute cure for overcoming my fears and taking away the nearly-inevitable pain (“in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children,” Genesis 3:16). My fears were chosen, in a way; they also felt as if they were thrust upon me, in another. “Chosen,” because I could have tried harder to push past them; “thrust upon me,” because no matter how hard I thought I was trying, they returned with full force.

I don’t know exactly what to do with that.

Could God have helped me overcome those fears? I’m sure He could have. Then what went wrong? One way of looking at it is that He let me experience those fears more strongly than ever before so I could relate to what other women go through, so I wouldn’t look down on those who feel they “need” to have an epidural (or a caesarean).

Please don’t misunderstand me. The Bible says, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). I do not believe it was God Who caused me to be afraid. Fear is not from Him — at least not irrational fear. Yes, sometimes having a healthy sense of caution, a rational fear of real & imminent danger, could be His way of keeping us safe. But much of the time we simply suffer under an illusion of danger when there is none. So in my case, I’m not saying I think God wanted me to be afraid; I’m saying I think God could have easily removed my fears but allowed me to struggle with them, instead.

I also think it was just natural for me (as the midwives said) at this point in my childbearing years to experience more intense anxiety.

You know, it may be that sometimes we are not going to be “strong enough” to overcome our fears (or our depression, or our grief, or whatever it may be) on our own. It seems to me that God may not always choose to solve our problem the direct way by giving us the solution within ourselves; He may choose to solve our problem the indirect way by using other people as His channel of help.

For me, I think that was my midwife, my husband, and the doctor & nurses who supported me in dealing with my fears through taking me to the hospital and getting me the epidural. Does this mean I failed? Or does this mean I succeeded because I let them help me with a solution I didn’t feel strong enough to provide on my own? (Though I still think completely natural birth, if possible, is ideal since it’s the way God designed us to give birth.)

To be totally honest, I do wonder what would have happened if I had stayed at home. Was there a miracle (the one I had prayed for) waiting for me that I missed out on because I “wimped out”? Did I miss an opportunity to let God use my pain — to be there for me in the pain? And yet, even without being at home I feel God used the birth to teach me important things. And He was with me. That’s the main thing, isn’t it? To focus on God no matter where we happen to be and what kind of birth we have.

Perhaps I’ve gone over a bump in the road. Perhaps next time I will discover that my fear is gone and I’m able to face labor with fresh resolve and confidence — hopefully, more. Perhaps this means I will be able to let go even better now that I’ve held on and seen what that’s like.

Who knows?

One thing for certain I’ve learned and am still learning is that every child is worth the struggle, no matter how that child is born into this world — whether through home birth or a hospital birth, with or without an epidural, natural or through caesarean. Every child is worth any amount of anxiety, difficulty, discomfort, or pain we may have to endure throughout the process of being pregnant and giving birth (and beyond).

Why?

Because each and every human being is created by God in His image and is extremely precious. You, too! Me, too! We were worth whatever struggle our parents may have gone through, and it’s no different for any of these new little ones.

My childbearing years are limited, and I’m so happy to be able to give my body to the Lord for however many more children He decides to give us. When the day comes that I realize, “I’ve hit menopause,” will I look back and regret that I had so many children? I’m sure I won’t. When I get to menopause, I know I will thank God for the time He’s given me to “be fruitful and multiply” (Genesis 1:28). Then I will humbly turn to the next important task He has in store for my time here on this earth.

Perhaps you would like to read my two previous birth stories published on this blog:

“God performeth all things for me”: Birthing Baby #8

An Outpouring of God’s Grace: Birthing Baby #7

~Jessica