I had such a powerful coaching call this week where I was the one being coached (shoutout to the incredible Emily Cheney!! Throughout the call she helped me see one thing that is lacking that if I figured out how to have more of it in my life, I would absolutely see incredible results.
That one thing?
Self-Trust.
As she said it I felt deeply all the way down to my core that she was right.
I respect and latch onto advice from siblings, husband, trusted friends. I hesitate in indecision and look for guidance and help, only to second-guess when the decision is finally made.
It is not wrong to depend on others. In fact, she also helped me see that I am so blessed to have people who love and support me, guiding me as I go.
But it is time to trust myself. To lean into my own intuition. Do decide I've had enough experience up to now to make decisions and try things and if I make a mistake, well, it's alright. Part of the learning process, part of what it means to be human.
So as I'm starting to work on this myself, I don't pretend to be any kind of expert or even have strategies for you... yet. But I think back to the hospital experience with my first birth, and I think I have some things to share about that, which will help you if you're pregnant with your first or perhaps not but you just need some permission to start looking inward and upward instead of looking around.
Now in this blog post, I want to share with you my first birth experience. I don't know why, but I'm gonna follow my intuition and tell you about it.
[TRIGGER WARNING: hemorrhage, birth trauma]
My first birth
I was pregnant, due in November. The exact date was a major guess. Based on my cycles, I assumed November 8th. First ultrasound, they said November 4th. Half-way through they said she wasn't big enough for that due date to be right so they changed my due date to November 15th.
She came November 22nd.
So... If my assumed due date was right... 2 weeks late. If their first assumption was correct, 2 and a half.
I didn't know much about birth yet, but I had believed my whole life that hospital births were the only responsible births. Just in case of an emergency, I wanted to be in the "right place". On November 21st I was walking a LOT to try to turn my Braxton Hicks into "real labor" and I thought it was working. My mom was with me on that windy afternoon as I'd pause to get through contractions and then we'd continue on our way.
I decided I wanted to go to the hospital. I hoped it was time.
I remember my excitement, and this weird hope that I could be one of those moms who nurses would be impressed with-- my ability to handle pain and be polite and kind. I wanted to be a "good" patient.
They checked my dilation when I arrived. I was pretty shocked by how uncomfortable, even agonizing it was for them to do it. I was at a 4. They took a while to get back to me about the possibility of sending me home. The message? "We'd normally send you home but the baby's heartbeat is dipping when it shouldn't be dipping. This could indicate your placenta is really tired and you may need a C-section. We'll need to keep you."
I had wanted an unmedicated birth. C-section hadn't even crossed my mind as a possibility. From the moment it was mentioned as a possibility, fear shifted my attitude. I almost went to a place of "Ok, whatever you say. If I'm a good girl, If I comply, I can avoid the C-section."
I remember every time they wanted to check my dilation. "Ok, whatever you say." Even though it was the WORST when a contraction was happening and they went ahead anyway.
I labored for quite a while by myself in the tub. I turned on the jets every time a contraction came. I counted all my cousins as I thought through the long list by name and in order.
I was tired. I wanted help to get out of the tub. I knew my husband was sleeping.
I pulled the cord to call somebody in to help me. Then, right as the nurse came in I realized- I was naked and she was going to come in and help me. Instinctively, I covered up what I could right as she came through the doorway.
She laughed.
She said something like, "You're covering up?! Oh. Everybody's going to see you, honey."
Now I had fear. And I had humiliation.
It felt like so long that I had labored on my own. I felt kind of proud of myself that I had navigated those contractions and let my husband sleep. How considerate of me!
I noticed the clock. Only an hour. I thought it had been at least 3 or 4. They checked my dilation. A 5.
I was defeated. I was deflated. How could I carry on? My brain quickly calculated the different factors of rate of dilation, time it had taken to come that far, pain I was in. Plus Fear and Humiliation. And Feeling All Alone in it all.
'There's no way I can do this.'
It was then that I asked for an epidural. And it felt like a major defeat.
A kinder nurse came in as we waited for the anesthesiologist. She gave me consistent back pressure during each contraction. With her there, I was managing fine. Part of me wanted to say, "I don't ACTUALLY want this epidural. I just want your support. Will you stay with me til this baby is born?" But I knew I couldn't ask that. She was a nurse- she had other things to do and people to see. And besides, I would be inconveniencing the anesthesiologist who was already on his way. I would be annoying the hospital staff who would have to cancel the order.
So I just settled for grateful for that nurse and soon after that, got the epidural.
A tear tipped out of the side of my eye as I pushed the button to administer the medication to myself. I had a birth I had wanted-- supported, unmedicated, beautiful, and it was already so different from that. I felt in the middle of other people's opinions and desires for what this birth would be like. I felt boxed in. Trapped.
When the affects of the epidural were in force I dozed off. And oh, it was glorious. I was so tired. On top of all of the normal hard work of labor my body was experiencing, I had disappointment, defeat, humiliation, fear, loneliness. And all of those were very heavy.
So I slept, refreshed, until the contractions woke me again. I had only pushed that epidural button once, and I was starting to feel the familiar waves of pain. But now I could handle it. I was well-rested, I was more familiar with my environment and how things were going to go, and I knew I could always push that epidural button again.
I called my mom to tell her my progress. "Do you want me to come?" she asked? The thought had NOT occurred to me in the slightest. My mom has a low pain tolerance, especially when she sees her child getting hurt- she herself feels hurt as well. How could I do that to her?
She sounded earnest, even hopeful, so I agreed.
My mom was the best thing that happened during that birth. She watched the monitor I was hooked up to, and JUST on the beginning crest of a wave she stood up and came over to me, pushing right beneath my knees giving me a firm knee press. She held it throughout the contraction and then sat down again. Never did I have to call for help. Never did I feel alone in it. We were mostly silent, the room was calm, the only light being from the rising sun coming into the room.
It felt sacred, a mom taking care of her 25 year old baby who was taking care of her almost-newborn baby.
Eventually that calm and sacred vibe shifted when the staff came into the room again. I was checked, I'd "progressed" to a 9. It was the first I had seen of the midwife, and after the quick check she left, telling a nurse, "I have other people to see and she'll still be a while."
Well, I wasn't a while. It was time to push, and no one had explained what that would be like. I lay in that bed on my back with my legs in stirrups as several nurses and people came into the room. I thought, 'Oh. This is what the nurse meant earlier. Everyone DOES see me. All these people, uninvited, coming in and seeing more of me than I want them to.'
They told me to push. "How?" "Use the same muscles as if you're pooping."
Are you kidding me? Pooping in that position with all those strangers in the room?
But I also felt the urge and somehow was able to get over myself. My mom was at one leg, a nurse at the other. Someone was hurrying to find the midwife as I pushed. My husband, overwhelmed, was sitting over on the couch away from me.
This is not how it's supposed to be, I thought as I pushed. An agony I had never experienced in my life erupted a scream out of me as I felt that ring of fire. The midwife rushed into the room and was there just in time to declare I had pushed out the head (much faster than she had guessed I would).
A nurse encouraged my husband to stand up and come closer to me. "I see her head, her ear. She has so much dark hair, Diane!" the wonder in his voice was all I needed to push again.
Agony again. I later learned her shoulders had cut me on both sides all the way up (whatever that means). I had torn badly, but finally, she was out.
And then, the quickest touch to my belly with that baby and the cord was cut, before I could ask, "what's happening?" They whisked her away to a warming table I turned and twisted and strained to try to see. My baby. What is wrong? Why did they take my baby?
Baby peed on the nurse out of spite (nobody takes me away from my mama!) and after a diaper was on she was handed to my husband, who sat, dumbfounded as he watched all the blood.
Even more staff came into the room. Things felt very chaotic. The midwife was asking for some tools, and when the nurse handed her the tray she angrily said, "Not these, these aren't clean, we need a new tray!" Someone was pushing on my stomach which REALLY hurt and all I could do was look over at my husband and baby on the couch across the room and wonder what was happening.
"What's going on?" I pleaded. "Will someone please tell me what's going on? Why are you pushing on my belly? Why can't I hold my baby?" it was quite assertive for the girl who was trying to be the "good" patient, the obedient patient, so nothing would go wrong.
But nobody answered. They just panicked around my open legs and eventually streamed back out of the room when everything was resolved. Someone told me I had torn badly and was hemorrhaging, the midwife left without a word, and a nurse said to my husband over on that couch as they left the room, "And THAT'S why you have your baby in a hospital." with the tone of "She could've died."
I lay in that bed after that, shocked at what just happened. My epidural had been turned WAY up so I wouldn't feel the stitches and whatever else during the hemorrhage. My body was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't hold my baby because of the shaking. I was exhausted and confused and felt broken.
I waited out the effects of the epidural. I hid my shame and the bag of urine on the bed from my catheter when family members visited. I expected to be able to get up and move my body but was so numb that I was waddling out of the hospital on that last day.
I don't really know why I shared that birth story as part of this post. Maybe it comes to mind because that baby will turn 12 this Saturday. Maybe because so many expectations and hopes I had were squashed during that birth, and when I got home I began to second-guess everything. To analyze 'am I doing this wrong? What would the experts say? What if I make a mistake?'
You and I, we have intuition. We know a lot more than we give ourselves credit about our bodies, our babies, what we want, what is right for us.
I want you to trust it. Even if this is your first baby. Even if you think hospital staff or others are always right. I want you to not dismiss what YOU want, what YOU think.
Please don't get me wrong. I am grateful for hospital staff. There were some very kind and good people that helped me with that birth. But my instincts wanted to give birth much more privately. With just some safe and familiar consistent support. In a different position, and I ABSOLUTLEY wanted to be holding my baby the moment she was born.
And after I hemorrhaged during my 5th birth surrounded by familiar and supportive people who had my best interest in heart, and they never once separated my baby from me, my suspicions were confirmed.
Birth doesn't have to be an emergency.
Intuition is real.
Self-Trust.
It's a thing we can strengthen.
If you want help with learning what you want for your birth and how to find the right people to help you with your goals and dreams regarding it, DM me on instagram @douladiane or email me at holdthemom@gmail.com .
I've gotten my own "dream birth" since that first traumatic experience. I can help you do the same.
It's not too much to ask. Birth is a big deal. You deserve to feel good about how it unfolds.
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