Birth Story Part 3

Matt came into my peripheral view and took my hand. Dr. Farzam came around and bent low to my ear. He said, very calmly, "Sarah, the anesthesiologist must listen to you when you say you're in pain. And if you say it often and strongly, he'll have to put you under, because he must assume you're really in pain. But we don't want to put you under. We want you to be awake. We want you to hold your baby the moment he comes out. You will feel tugging and pressure and it will be weird. But it will not be painful. Okay?" 

I took a deep breath. I wanted to believe him but I couldn't. I wanted to stay awake but I couldn't shake the deep fears of something going terribly wrong. Matt held my hand. Roxanne, my midwife from the birthing center, came close with an I-phone and asked if there was any soothing music I wanted to play. Earlier that week in Sunday School, we had read Psalm 100 and it reminded me of a song I used to sing as a child. I asked for Psalm 100. She was momentarily confused until I explained that I just needed the scripture. The lyrics come directly from the Bible. She pulled up the passage and began to read. I started singing. She recognized the song and began to sing with me in rounds. Sometime during the first few verses, they cut me open. My mind left the room and traveled back in time to recall the words. As we sang together, anxiety slipped away. 

Dr. Farzam joked when he would get a copy of the CD. He interjected a couple of praise-the-Lords (turns out he was a Christian) and remarked later that he'd never had someone sing during a c-section. My baby boy was suddenly on my chest. I didn't realize he was there. I numbly whispered shhhh as he cried. Then I watched a nurse take him to a little table to examine him and Matt follow to cut the cord. As I watched, it hit me. I called out to Matt "Honey, what is his name??"

Matt answered: "Zebadiah" Bestowed by Yahweh; gift from God. They wrapped him up and brought him back to me. Finally, finally, I was rescued from the dark places in my own head. My little boy filled up all the space, pulling me outside myself into the world around me. I didn't notice as they stitched me up. Not a single thought was about pain. January 22, 7:35 p.m. It was over. 

My little boy stayed in my arms and we went back to my room. He snuggled with me all night. Except for a brief 20 minute circumcision the second day in the hospital, he has yet to leave my side. My recovery was a little hard, I had to have an extra procedure, which I will not go into here, and stay an extra day in the hospital. I'd like to say that I took a deep breath, prayed, trusted in God, and got through it okay. But that's not the way it happened. The truth is, until the moment I started singing, anxiety never left me. I wasn't brave at all, but God took care of me anyway. I was fearful until the end, but in the end, it didn't matter.

Birth Story Part 2

I've read many articles about 'birthing without fear', about how your body was designed to do this and you just had to let it. But what if your body was no longer doing it - what if it was numbed, taken out of the game and sliced open? How do you birth that way without fear?

In those moments after I dried my tears, Matt and I decided to transfer to a hospital an hour away based on the recommendation of my sister. Our midwives excitedly confirmed that the hospital had an excellent family-friendly approach to birth. We went home for a couple more hours, re-packed with several hospital days in mind and drove to Cleburne. Here again is another silver-lining. If the cesarean had been an emergency we would not have had time to pack and we would not have had a hospital choice. Both were critical to our experience.

To distract me from growing more anxious, Matt and I discussed names on the hour-long drive. My midwives met us at the hospital and we met the midwife on staff at the hospital, I had a distinct feeling that I had seen her before. It turns out that she attended nursing school with my former roommate and dear friend Sara P. and with my sister's sister-in-law, Becky. We had met at a baby shower for Becky several years ago. It was an incredible connection. Their exam confirmed Zeb's continued breech and the c-section was scheduled that evening. As we left room to be admitted, she took a moment and asked to pray for us. To find familiarity in the unknown and such comfort in middle of distress, was like a gentle hug deep within. I cried again.

In my room, nurses came to put the IV in me and get me ready. Each one was incredibly nice, gentle and understanding in the face of my expressive anxiety. The anesthesiologist came and I regaled him with every bad experience with anesthesia and questioned him in detail about his plan, intentions and competence. He told me it was going to be fine. I told him I didn't believe him. To say he was patient and nice is an understatement! Then Dr. Farzam, who would perform the operation, came in to introduce himself. With a puffy jacket and a ball cap, he looked like he stepped straight out of a New York subway and could throw down a hip-hop rap. I wanted to fist pump him. He was incredibly calm and slightly cool/awkward, and explained his intentions to perform the surgery in such a way that a future VBAC would be possible. Matt would be in the operating room with me and I could hold my baby as soon as he came out. They would assess him right in the room and give him back when they were sure he was fine.

They wheeled me into the bright, cold, white room. I sat up in the bed and bent over, exposing my spine. The nurse tried to distract me but I told the anesthesiologist that if he didn't do it right, I would hurt him. I flash-backed to a spinal tap when I was 8 yrs. old. I started shivering and babbling. The needle finally went into me. I was never going to be prepared for that scary moment and I let out an exaggerated cry of pain more psychological than physical. My legs started to tingle. After a chuckle, he asked if he was my friend yet, I gave him a 'maybe'.

They laid me down and put up a curtain. Dr. Farzam came in and Shannon, the midwife for the hospital. Matt wasn't in there yet. I asked where he was several times, plaintively and desperately. Then I asked, repeatedly in rapid fire, if they were going to test me first before they started cutting to make sure I was numb. My voice was taunt. The moment had arrived. And I was in full blown panic.

Birth story part 1

It would be easy to think of Zebadiah's entry into the world via cesarean section as a trial. Indeed, it was scary and painful. But the entire journey was marked by obvious attention to us by God and I felt loved and known. Far better is this than to have perfect circumstances and distance from Him. In so many little moments I knew my Father was with me, and because of that, Zeb's birth story to me is a blessing and a gift.

On Wednesday, January 21, I hit the mark for 42 weeks and went to the birthing center for a sonogram. We had hoped, planned, and expected to give birth at the birthing center, a peaceful environment where my sister had successfully given birth to all three of her children. The decision wasn't necessarily about being natural - although that played a role. I have multiple negative experiences which left me with a pervasive dislike and even fear of hospitals. I most definitely did not want to give birth in one! Our midwife and midwife intern had provided care to me from the start and since I'm equally un-fond of doctors, this was a preferable set-up for me.

At this point, I was rather certain I had been having contractions for about a week. But they kept stalling. The sonogram showed us why. Zeb was breech. Up until that day, he had been head-down in perfect position. But because he was breech, the contractions weren't dilating me - they didn't have the added help of his head pressure bearing down. I wasn't making any progress in labor. I don't know why, after 42 weeks of perfect positioning, Zeb was suddenly all twisted up. The moment we found out, we talked to our midwives about getting him turned. I mostly assumed he would turn. I couldn't conceive of a reality in which he remained breech. That afternoon, still at the birthing center, a midwife performed an external version on me. This is where they press and massage your stomach incredibly hard in an effort to actually move the baby through your skin. I can honestly say it was one of the most painful parts of Zeb's entire birth story. He was wedged in there pretty tight and after two tries, my ligaments were stretched to the max, my stomach was bruised, and I was painfully sore. He was still breech.

We went to the chiropractor that evening (our midwives went with us because they are awesome!) and she did some technique called the Webster, designed to help flip baby. Then we went home to rest, contemplate the possibility of a c-section, and do some different positions and exercises to get him turned. Thursday morning, back at the birth center, he was still breech and I consented to another attempt at an external version. This was a courageous decision for me because it was sooo painful and I didn't want to do it again. But Matt wanted to give it one more go and in the end, if it was worth avoiding the hospital, so did I. He was still breech.

At this point, our midwives confirmed their recommendation that we transfer to a hospital and get a c-section. I cried, not from failure, but from fear.