I sit back and inhale the scent of newborn skin, the first month postpartum rounding to a close. This journey..will take a lifetime to process. The birth story of Ellavie Faith is so much more than the story of her birth, it began so long before her physical existence was known. When I was pregnant with my second baby, I had a dream. Those that know me well, know about my dreams. In this dream I had triplets, two boys and a girl. Throughout this pregnancy, I had many more dreams of the little girl with blonde hair. They were so real and so frequent, finding out the baby was a boy was a shock. The longing I felt for this little girl was unreal. When I was pregnant with my third baby, again the dreams picked up. I was sick, so so so sick. I was sure this was the final baby I would have and it would be that little girl. Boy. Another boy. I was so devastated. I was angry. I resented the little person growing inside of me, the reason I felt like I was wasting away. Over time, that began to change and by the time he was born, I was very well bonded to him. But the little girl from my dreams NEVER left my mind. She was always in my thoughts. I really struggled with having faith at this point. I didn’t want to be pregnant again. I didn’t want to be so sick again. I needed more time. It was a time of great emotional and spiritual torment. I was constantly searching for answers to why I was so sick with my third pregnancy. We spent hundreds of dollars trying to heal my body. I was told to avoid pregnancy at all costs because of the toll the last one had taken, the likelihood of carrying another baby to term and delivering without major deficits was extremely low. Again, my faith was shaken. If I was supposed to have this other baby, why was this all happening? I began to let go of the idea. I began to accept that my third baby would be my last. Until he wasn’t going to be because I was pregnant. Divine intervention. So I ate. I ate as much as I could. I took a ton of vitamins, drank protein shakes, and I ate. For two weeks, then it hit like a truck. The weight I gained was gone in a matter of days. I deteriorated so fast, it was really really scary. I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum, put on home IV therapy, referred to Maternal Fetal Medicine, accused of having an eating disorder, and told I was getting a feeding tube placed. I spent my days crying in bed, or laying on the bathroom floor. I was so weak. I was so angry. I tried so hard to fix my body so this wouldn’t happen again! I felt like God had abandoned me. We decided to find the gender out as soon as we could. So at nine weeks, I took a gender blood test. When the results came through that the baby was a girl, I couldn’t even get the words out to tell Devon. I just sobbed. Cried and cried and cried. Hope. The next several months, thanks to medication and being so proactive with treatment, I stabilized and we decided to transfer care to a home birth midwife. The pressure to have a perfect birth looming, paired with my complicated mental health history, finding that midwife was a very stressful matter. A choice I questioned for several months after it was made. Midway through the pregnancy, the reality of my physical health being on the decline hit us in the face when what should have been a minor infection took over my whole body and landed me in the hospital on three types of antibiotics over several days. Where was God? After an emergency tooth extraction, I slowly recovered from the infection and my mental health began a rapid decline. The month of September snuck up and danced it’s mockery in my face. The memories of my past more real than ever, thanks to parallel pregnancy dates. I’m still trying to make sense of those emotions. Towards the end of pregnancy, I am a WRECK. I warn everyone in my life to expect it, and this time sure did not disappoint. I warned my midwife, and even she was thrown for a loop when I had a pretty serious bout of false labor at 37 weeks that lasted into the early hours of the morning. It was maddening. Infuriating. Embarrassing. It triggered panic due to loss of control. I shut down, nobody could reach me. I felt betrayed by my body. By my midwife. By God. Each day after that I woke up crying. I was so emotional! I longed for this baby to come. To finally put this pregnancy to a close and all of the traumatic sickness behind me. So begins the end. Friday. October 27. The routine of the day moved forward, despite another night of prodromal labor. A passing thought “put a towel in the car”. I ignored it. Because why would I do that? The keys were gone, Devon took them to work by accident. Frantically searched the house for a spare. Ran to preschool, thought of going home but for what? Needed something different. Walmart works, we could use more food. And with Halloween approaching, I wanted a cape. I hadn’t planned a costume for myself since I was sure I wouldn’t want to participate in anything so Super Pregnant was all I could muster. Before getting out of the car, another passing thought “take your jacket”. It was a warm day, but I grabbed it anyways. They didn’t have any capes. So the two year old and I walked around without a list, taking our time. I was tired of rushing. I’ll never be able to look at gluten free chicken nuggets the same. Rounding the corner into that aisle in the middle of Walmart, I felt a pop. A warm gush of fluid followed. UH. Called Devon, hysterically laughing. He thought I was calling to let him have it about the keys again. I could barely speak. Frozen in place, afraid to move. “I think my water just broke…” Adrenaline filled my whole body. Baby was coming for sure, now. Excitement was quickly replaced with “OH SH*T I’M AT WALMART IN GRAY LEGGINGS” So after an internal ten minute debate, I tied my jacket around my waist and continued shopping. Yes, really. Two aisles in, it really became clear that my water had indeed broken as it continued to leak out so I texted my midwife to let her know. By the time I got to the checkout, I was still laughing. Everyone thought I was losing my mind, I’m sure. Two year olds are fantastic for having an excuse for this. My leggings were soaked to my knees, the cashier handed me my receipt, and I began what felt like THE LONGEST WALK TO MY CAR EVER. I got stuck behind a family walking like turtles. Then a ten year old blocking the doors with a cart while his mom looked through the RedBox. Finally got to my car, loaded everything, and headed home. Let me tell you, you don’t know road rage until your water breaks, you’re soaked, having contractions that send more warm fluid rushing out of your body, and trying to drive home while everyone seems to be taking a leisure day. We were foolishly expecting active labor to begin right away so my mom came to watch the kids, Devon headed straight home from work, but silence. My uterus was quiet. I paced. Cleaned. Made my space. Nothing. The day turned to night. We decided to go to bed. Contractions, FINALLY. They began to come frequently and were getting more intense. Text midwife. Text photographer. This was happening. No it wasn’t. I got in the tub, but my fears of a repeat from labor number three came true. Everything stopped. I felt sick. So sick. Was I getting an infection? I requested an IV. I felt drained. I was not thrilled to be taken right back to the days I relied on those fluids for life. I finally slept a little with the IV running. Daylight came. Labor did not. I began to doubt my choice of birthing at home again. Was this why I was so unsettled in the beginning of the pregnancy? I felt like I was being attacked. We discussed a hospital transfer at the fast approaching 24 hour mark. I asked to be left alone with Devon. We talked. A good friend gave me a pep talk. I regained my sense of self and logic. Evidence suggests 95% of PROM cases go into active labor on their own within 48 hours. I could do this. I hadn’t had any internal exams, nothing to increase the risk of infection. We agreed to wait, eat, rest, then really go at it. Walks, orange juice for energy, a blessing, pumping, stretch and sweeps, birth videos and their oxytocin. So many walks over the previous two weeks and not a word from one neighbor but for some reason everyone noticed the giant pregnant me walking that day! After the second stretch and sweep, my midwife had to leave for a couple hours. Contractions were getting really strong, but they were super sporadic and I was having to work hard to keep them coming. I sent her a text, nervous about her being far away. She had just pulled up, active labor began at the moment I read that text. 4:38 PM. I had to pee between every two contractions. Pressure. Don’t have a toilet baby. Leaning forward on the bed wasn’t cutting it any more. Sit on the floor. Feel pushy. Devon panics, summons the midwife to come in. Shorts come off. More pushy feelings. Tears come simultaneously with the woman who had been walking this road with me. This was happening. The room was so full of love. If I could bottle that feeling of intense love and laughter, I SO would. We were all laughing. So much joy. THIS is how babies should be born. I started to shiver. Hormones were changing. Rest and recovery. Experiencing this stage of labor and knowing exactly what it’s for is really neat. I sat leaning into my best friend’s arms, waiting for transition to take hold of my body. Between contractions, we decided to move to the bed. Baby’s head and my sacrum and the hard floor weren’t really friends. More pushing. I could feel my pelvis separating. But why wasn’t this working?? I began to feel frustrated. Tired. Baby’s head wasn’t right there yet. Cervical lip. Flipped to hands and knees. WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG TO TRY THIS. It was much easier to push. Felt more productive. I could feel her head sliding down. The best word I could use to describe the next five minutes (don’t quote me on that) is PRIMAL. I surrendered everything to my body. It moved, breathed, groaned all on it’s own. It was magical. Powerful. I remember the mention of “maybe we should try squatting” TOO LATE. Fetal ejection reflex. Crowning. Panting. Pause. I looked at Devon, “her head is right there. She’s coming.” Time is relative at this point. Nuchal hand, wrapped up cord. The intensity of the moment, the sudden realization that this baby girl I’ve been waiting SO LONG to hold will be in my arms in a few seconds. And just like that, relief. She’s untangled from her cord and passed between my legs to my arms. I lost it. Every second of pain, sickness, confusion, anger, impatience, feeling lost, hopeless, melted into her tiny face as she took her first breath. The hour following, I felt like I was dreaming. She was struggling a little, transitioning to using her lungs for breath. I was bleeding, way too much. But I was lost in the inbetween. I was still not back to this world, one foot was still on the other side. She had hair! She had sass, which I had already learned from the previous months we spent as one. The placenta was just as unique as the experiences leading to that moment. Bilobed, or heart shaped, with a marginal cord insertion. The moment our other kids walked in, I was once again overtaken by emotion. My big girl finally getting to meet the baby sister she so longed to have. My baby boy, suddenly had the biggest head I’d ever seen! Him and his brother were so filled with wonder. The room was so full of love. Devon and I looked at each other and both remarked on how complete we felt. Our bed filled with these little humans we created together. I hope I can keep that memory so close to the surface. I can still breathe it in. Ellavie. Her name is everything about her. Beautiful light. Something I felt so strongly would mean something to her later on. Her calling. Her purpose. She has been my beacon in this time of great darkness and trial. Faith. Every bit of her existence relied on just that. October 28, 2017 6:26 PM 6 lbs 8 oz 21 ½” All birth photography credit in this post goes to Morgan Newey!
If you are in the Salt Lake area and are in need of a fabulous birth photographer or doula, head on over to https://www.facebook.com/mlndoulaandphoto/ and check out what she has to offer. Likewise, if you are looking for a compassionate, calm, and understanding midwife that will put 150% of herself into her work, contact Liz Stika by going to https://www.twoleavesmidwifery.com/
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
October 2018
Categories |