Now that you know a little bit about who I am, allow me to tell you more about the why.
We often introduce ourselves to people by telling them what we do. However, what we do MAY NOT BE who we are. This is where the WHY becomes important.
My first born child turns 21 this month. When people tell you to cherish the moment, because time flies, they aren't kidding. I can remember vividly the first moment I knew I was pregnant.
I don't often share my first birth story, at least not until the person I am sharing with has a birth story of their own. But that birth story is a HUGE part of my why.
I was young, 19 when we learned we were pregnant, 20 when she was born and 21 when we got married.
I was dismissed, talked down to, and there were a lot of unkind assumptions made about who I was going to be as a mother. I didn't know that private birth classes were a thing, and the hospital Childbirth Education Class was "full" with the next session not starting until 3 weeks after my estimated due date. It didn't bother me, I didn't think I needed to learn "he he he" breathing. I was strong and capable.
No one told me it was NORMAL for first time BIRTHS to be 40 weeks plus 10 days. My daughter was born at 41 weeks and 3 days. At my 40 week appointment I was scheduled for induction. Later in that week we to a picnic at the park with some friends. I wasn't feeling well. I went to go pee and I saw my mucus plug. Not really feeling contractions, but not feeling well either we opted to head to the hospital.
I was told I was dehydrated. I was given 2 bags of fluids and 2 pills. The pills were supposed to help me sleep 4 hours each. And they did. The next morning I started having contractions but I was determined not to be laughed at and sent home (yes the resident actually laughed at me for thinking I might be in labor). I was waiting for my water to break. All day long I walked around our tiny apartment, stopping and squatting every few minutes. Late that evening the father asked if he should order the Wrestling Pay Per View or if I thought we were going to need to go back to the hospital. I told him to order it and I took a bath.
After my bath my contractions were stronger, but my water hadn't broke. I was determined to wait. Eventually we went to the hospital. They hooked me up to machines and according to the machines I wasn't in labor, and since I wasn't dilated they started me on pitocin. I wasn't asked if I wanted pitocin. It wasn't explained to me. The pros and cons were not laid out so that I could make an educated decision.
Once the pit was started I wasn't allowed out of bed. The machines monitored the baby's heart rate, and my contractions. According to the machines I wasn't having very strong contractions, but they felt pretty strong to me. Somewhere in the 18-20 hour mark (steady pit drip) I was told that I needed to get some rest if I wanted to be able to push. So I was "offered" morphine.
Somewhere in day 2 I was fully dilated and starting to swell. Baby wasn't crowning. There were repeated and frequent internal exams to check my dilation, the state of swelling and babies head.
I reached a point where I looked at her father and I said "I can't do this, I just want to go home." That feeling in that moment still sits with me. Feeling like in all of procreation I had somehow failed.
I was told going home was not an option. My water was broken (no one asked me, it was just done), I agreed to an epidural.The epidural had to be redone. The head of Obstetrics was called in to consult on a cesarean, and as he was leaving my beautiful baby girl crowned. Forceps were used (I wasn't asked), I was given an episiotomy (I wasn't asked). My baby was not allowed to cry, not shown to us, just whisked away to special care.
For 2 hours we didn't know anything other than that we had had a baby girl. She was returned to us, normal oxygen levels, a scrape over her eye and angel kisses.
I was exhausted, she was exhausted. I just sort of figured out the nursing thing. I was not offered a consult with a Lactation Consultant. A burley and angry nurse told me to wake my sleeping baby (and tried everything she could to wake her, but after nearly 3 days of labor that little girl was exhausted). When she did wake her, she was shoved at me. I was told to hold her like a football. It was uncomfortable, and she didn't much like it either. The nurse gave up and went to go get a bottle since I "wasn't going to really breastfeed anyways." When she came back I had good latch in a position that came naturally to me and a happy baby.
I was not offered hospital photos, to be fair I was in a hurry to go home and didn't stay the night after her birth. My Doctor was also her Doctor and he came to the hospital at 7:30 in the morning, furious with the nurses for not calling him when his patient was taken to NICU as he would have come over at whatever ungodly time it was (I really don't remember, my daughter thought I told her 3 in the morning) to see her. He gave her a clean bill of health and got me permission to go home (as I was already up and walking).
I never wanted another human being to treated the way I was treated, but I didn't know how to do that, and I was busy trying to figure out how to keep this tiny human and myself alive. When she was a 19 year old woman my journey came full circle as I took DONA Doula training. I met women I was meant to meet. I healed old wounds, and I learned a lot about why I felt like a failure as a mom. (Remember that moment when I felt like I couldn't do "this" during labor? That moment set the stage for our parent/child relationship.
I am passionate that prospective parents have the opportunity to birth on their terms. My second birth was so much better. I was better prepared (had more knowledge) and I learned that empowerment often comes in the form of knowledge and support.
This is my WHY for my Doula support services.
Comments