Delmarva Birth Stories: The Birth of Nellie

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It’s been a while since we’ve shared a Delmarva Community Birth Story! I love love love this family and their story! I especially love waking up to instagram DMs with birth announcement news, which has happened a few times and is just the perfect start to a good day! If you live/birth on Delmarva and would like to share your story, we would LOVE that! ALL birth stories are worthy of sharing—vaginal, cesarean, induction, unmedicated, epidural, hospital, home, birth center, etc!!!! You do not need to be a THRIVE client or class participant to share! Email me at maria@thrivebirth.org and we will chat <3 Now here’s the birth of baby Nellie, told by her strong and brave mama, Jena.

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I was advised to schedule an induction because I had gestational diabetes (diet controlled). My induction date was set for 6 days after my due date. I didn’t want to be induced, but I didn’t want to go against medical advice. We went fishing Wednesday evening, the night before my induction was scheduled (maybe not advised to induce labor but we thought we would give it a try).

When we got home from fishing, I was having contractions and was really hoping they would pick up throughout the night. They did not.

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We got to the hospital at 7am. They checked me when I got there and I was 2-3 cm dilated. I told the nurse that I was trying to labor as naturally as possible and she was so supportive from the beginning. She brought me an exercise ball and a wireless monitor to monitor the baby’s heartbeat and contractions.

The midwife suggested Cytotec to help ripen my cervix because I was already dilated. They gave me two doses, which took 8 hours. I was hooked up to the wireless monitor so I could move around. I spent most of the time bouncing on the ball, pacing, while my husband binged watched a Netflix series. I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and they never once told me I couldn’t eat after any point.

After the 8 hours on Cytotec, my contractions were stronger, but the nurse said they were in an irregular pattern. The midwife did not want to use Pitocin, so she just recommended we wait to see if my body picked up with the contractions, which they did. The wireless monitor was having battery issues and the nurse was getting frustrated with it. She then said we could take it off because I was not on any medication and they would intermittently check me and baby’s vitals.

Then they manually broke my water around 9:30pm, but offered to do it sooner. I opted to wait and see if my body would continue to progress on its own. The contractions kept up but were still irregular, according to the nurse (not very long, but three in a row then a break). At 1am they checked me and I was around 6cm.

At like 3am I was crying and begging Brian to get the nurses and an epidural. I was in a dark place having super intense contractions, like 3 in a row with no recovery. I couldn’t rest. Every position I got in besides standing would cramp my stomach or bring on a contraction. I hadn’t slept at all and didn’t know how long I could go without sleeping and then potentially have to push for a while. I spent most of the time on the toilet or standing up pacing and rocking. At one point, I was sitting on the toilet throwing up into the biohazard trash can. I had read that sometimes women vomit when they are close, so I was really hoping that was the case.

I felt like if they checked me and I hadn’t made much more progress, I would be mentally defeated. I couldn’t rest in any position, and in 2 hours, I would have been awake for 24 hours. I did not want to be exhausted from no rest when it was time to push. Brian went out into the nurse’s station and asked them if we could discuss pain medication. They told him that it would take 45 minutes to get it because the anesthesiologist was on call. The nurses came into the bathroom where I was on the toilet. They checked me and said I was 8.5-9cm and that I didn't need an epidural because it would regress me. I thought to myself, and probably outloud, “Well, I am not going through this again,” and I decided against an epidural. They offered me other pain medication.

Brian came into the bathroom and asked the nurses to leave for a minute and he just held my head close to his and he comforted me and told me I could do it. The nurses kept saying that I needed to get to the bed because I was still hovering over the toilet. 

I felt like I needed to push so they helped me get to the bed. The nurse checked me one more time and I was 9.5cm. She kept her fingers in on the next contraction and helped the cervix get to 10cm. I rolled from my back to all fours with my upper body over the back of the bed in the incline position. Brian was up near my head holding my hand and my face. I began pushing very soon after that. It felt like 10 minutes to me but Brian said it was about 45 minutes. And then she was here!

I rolled over to my back and they put her on my chest. I could not believe that she was inside of me! She looked so long! She curled up on my chest and the nurse encouraged me to breastfeed her. I swear she climbed right up to my breast. It was so amazing to me that she knew what to do.

Looking back, the Natural Childbirth class from Thrive was so informative to my husband and me. He knew how to support me. We knew what to expect in the labor stages. I knew what to ask for in a birth plan (but didn’t even need to ask because the Birthing Center at Easton Memorial Hospital automatically did everything that I wished for). I knew what to do to get through the stages of labor without pain medication, even though I was in the dark moment at 3am. I knew the risks and rewards for pain medication. My husband knew how to relieve pressure and support me during the pushing stage. My husband also knew what NOT to do...

Maria answered my questions after the class via email and social media. She is the best! I cannot recommend the class enough!!!!!!!

…Omg, I forgot to include this in my story- when Tiana {midwife} asked Brian if he was ready to cut the cord, he said yes and whipped out a pocket knife! I was mortified and the midwives eyes were huge! He just started laughing and said, “gotcha!” Gosh, she probably thinks we are such rednecks....

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The Birth of Eden

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Local mom Amanda retells the story of the birth of her second child, Eden.  We're sharing this story on October 15, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day.  Eden's story is powerful, real, raw, and beautifully touching.  I hope you can find some time in your day to remember baby Eden and send some good thoughts and prayers to Amanda and her family.

I’ll never forget the moment I found out I was pregnant with our second child.  I had gone in for my annual gyno appointment, expecting to discuss birth control options with my provider because our daughter was 7 months old and I was finally feeling human again. To my surprise, my bloodwork came back positive.  How could I be pregnant? Ok, I knew how I could be pregnant, but I was exclusively breastfeeding. Don’t the old wives say you can’t get pregnant while nursing? Aren’t the old wives educated medical professionals that bar out all acts of God with the collective wisdom of the ages?  After informing my husband (and subsequently reviving him), I sat down to sort through my feelings.  Fear and an overwhelming worry of how we would provide for two kids on one income and how I would mother two children under two all wrapped up in the promise of an even greater sleep deficit crept in first.  I did what any overwhelmed mother would do in this situation-- feed the child snacks and pray I make it to bedtime. After some ice cream and the metaphorical “bedtime”, hope arrived.  Excitement at the promise of a new life and all the potential love and laughter that would ensue filled my heart.  I would just embrace the chaos, and take it one day at a time, cherishing the small things.

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            A few months, a handful of doctor appointments, and one sonogram later, we were ready to announce.  It was December, and now that we had sonogram photos, we decided to do a Christmas themed announcement.  Our daughter held a stocking that said “Big sister” and a photo of our newest bundle to be.  The congratulations poured in over the next few hours.  Here we were, about to be a family of four. I still wasn’t sure totally how to feel. 

Three days later, on 12/13/14 I began to see spotting.  Immediate dread filled my heart.  I knew that blood, no matter how minute, was never exactly a good thing.  We called the doctor, but of course it was the weekend so I had to wait for a call back.  That was the longest 20 minutes I’ve ever experienced.  Again, my thoughts wandered to “How?” This baby was perfect 72 hours ago during the sonogram.  Perfect development, strong heart beat.  How could it have ended so suddenly? The on call physician told me that there was really nothing that could be done at this point, that my body was “taking nature’s path.” They said only to come to the hospital if I was experiencing hemorrhaging, and that it was probably best to just ride it out at home because my fetus was 6 weeks short of being viable.  They gave me no advice on what to expect next, so I tried to google without being sucked down the web-based medicine rabbit hole. 

After laying down in bed, I tried to come to some sort of peace with what was happening.  Spoiler alert: I’m still trying to come to terms with it, 3 years later.  As the bleeding increased, I migrated to the only place I felt I could be, the bathroom.  It was night, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn on the light to see what was happening.  I knew when it was over, and I sat there pondering if I could bring myself to reach down into the toilet bowl and hold my child.  I couldn’t.  I felt like a terrible mother.  Not only could by body not provide and protect this baby, but I couldn’t muster up the courage to hold him or her before having to just dispose of him or her because they were not “viable”.  I didn’t deserve this angel, and that’s why the opportunity was taken away.   My mind was a dark place thinking that somehow this was my fault. 

I went to the doctor the following day, where a sonogram showed my empty womb.  While the doctor tried to be sympathetic, I saw what she entered in my chart.  “Complete abortion” hit me like a brick wall.  I always felt like abortion was something you chose.  I did not choose this. I would not in a million years choose this.  There had to be a better term.  When it’s referred to it as a miscarriage, I feel like that defines the death of the child but not the birth.  The process IS birth.  I only really noticed that’s what it was because I had already had a vaginal delivery.  The waves of contractions, the overwhelming instant relief as soon as the baby is born are exactly the same.  I can’t speak on the variations of the degrees of pain, as it may be less for someone who experienced loss earlier in their pregnancy.  I was 18 weeks at the time but this was birth just the same.

Six months later, there were two pink lines.  Nine months after that, on Valentine’s Day, our rainbow baby boy was born [read that birth story here].  Full of love and laughter, escorted earthside by his angel sibling.  It was a healing moment for me physically because I spent my entire pregnancy expecting to lose him too.  The anxiety was a constant burden, and that was an unexpected side effect from this whole experience.

I lost a child, but I found a village. People sent their condolences, and hidden in quite a few more of those condolences than I ever expected were privately messaged stories of their own losses.  Because of the stigma, especially for older generations, I never knew how many mothers were in this horribly cruel club.  Losing your child is a pain I wouldn’t even wish upon my worst enemy.  Part of the healing for me was sharing in this web of collective grief.  I was not alone.  So many others understood my pain.  They felt the crushing guilt that I was feeling.  “Maybe if I had been better, healthier, more vigilant, etc.” was the general consensus, even though we all know we couldn’t have prevented it. You can’t keep the darkness from creeping in, but it’s comforting knowing that others came before you to help show you the light.

The village wasn’t all that came from this. I learned how my husband grieves.  During the loss, he was distant.  He kept saying things to assure me that I was fine and was trying to be optimistic.  We never spoke much about it.  A few months after, a teacher from my high school, who is now a genetic counselor, had posted a link to a research survey about how couples deal with pregnancy loss.  There was a questionnaire to be filled out separately by both the mother and the father.   This survey is finally what allowed him to open up and express his grief.  He tried to be the strong one for me, and I mistook his distance and nonchalance for apathy.  Our marriage grew from this new understanding, and I was able to tell him that I had silently named our baby.  Seeking out something gender neutral as my loss occurred two weeks before the anatomy scan, I had decided upon calling him or her Eden.  My paradise, lost.   

I learned a lot about myself as well.  I learned to be patient with my children because some are not so lucky.  I must be more empathetic to strangers, as they are the only ones who know what they are carrying around today.  I cannot be jealous of those that haven’t felt this pain because for some unknown reason I was chosen to shoulder this load and I will do it to prevent their pain.  Most importantly, I learned how to be kinder to myself.  There’s good days and bad days, days where I fail to notice the absence of our other child and days where the soul shattering emptiness feels like it will swallow me whole.  On days like the latter, I must take time to grieve.  One hearty, ugly cry at a time, I hope to be slowly reassembled.  The memories I make with the children I get to keep here on earth with me will fill the cracks and become the glue that holds me together.  Until we meet again, my angel baby, Eden.    

If you're living on the Eastern Shore and would like to share your birth story with our community, please email us at maria@thrivebirth.org.