My First Birth

My older son was born in October of 2018. I went to the hospital a few days past 40 weeks, with very minor contractions, but because I had contractions 1 minute in length, 5 minutes apart, for 3 hours, I figured it was time to go in. I was 2cm when I arrived, and the doctor immediately put me on Pitocin. As soon as the medicine set in, the contractions were brutal. I got an epidural at 4cm, and labored for over 30 hours in the hospital, before reaching 10cm and being told I can start “practice” pushing. Unbeknownst to me, I was still at -2 station and I ended up pushing for over 2 hours with little progress. My doctor came in and said she doesn’t like for patients to push for more than 2 hours, and a c-section was called.

Once they began to prep me for the c-section, they realized the epidural had fallen out, and told me the best option would be to do a spinal tap. I agreed. As soon as I was on the operating table, I felt the numbing come over my whole body. I tried to speak and couldn’t. I tried to get the attention of the anesthesiologist, but didn’t have the ability to move my arms and had no voice for him to hear me. Once he looked at me, I lipped to him that I couldn’t breathe. He told me that they had given me too much medicine, that I was in fact breathing, but just didn’t feel like I was. The spinal had numbed me too high, past my chest.

The surgery itself was a blur. I was focused on getting through this terrifying feeling of being suffocated, more than enjoying the miracle of my son’s birth. When my son was born he wasn’t immediately crying, and I physically wasn’t able to voice my questions and fears because of the state I was in. Once he was stabilized, they walked him next to me but I couldn’t take in the moment because I hardly felt capable of holding or taking care of my son in the state I was in. As soon as the surgery was done and the medicine wore off, it was the biggest relief in the world. The recovery of the surgery was easier than I imagined, but I knew pretty soon after his birth that I wanted to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) for my next child’s birth. I really didn’t want to go through another c-section.

My Second Pregnancy

When my son was 8 months old, we began trying to conceive and I found out I was pregnant again almost immediately, with a baby boy. My husband and I relocated to a new military base and in the new small town we lived in, there was only one local option for obgyn providers. When I went in for my first appointment, the midwife walked in, having glanced over my records, and one of the first things she told me was that my body was not ‘made to give birth’. That I would never be able to deliver a baby vaginally. Besides being upset that a doctor would tell me something that serious, without any empathy at all- it also confused me. I had never been told that by my last provider. I found out I had a note written in my records, that I had CPD (cephalopelvic disproportion, meaning your pelvis is too small to fit your baby). So that hospital refused to allow me to have a VBAC.

My previous obgyn that performed my c-section said I was a perfect VBAC candidate, so this midwife’s opinion that had just met me didn’t hold much weight. I knew that this was not the place for me to deliver my son though, and I switched providers that day to the next closest hospital, 1.5 hours away.

I soon hired an incredible doula, and throughout my pregnancy I tried to prepare myself in ways I wasn’t prepared with my first. I did Spinning Babies every night to make sure my son was in the perfect position. I watched birth videos all the time, I read every VBAC book I could find, I ate dates, I drank red raspberry leaf tea, I even got regular prenatal massages. I was determined that I would walk into this birth feeling physically and mentally prepared. My pregnancy was much easier than my first, I had hardly any symptoms, and towards the end it felt like everything was falling into place.

Then, at my 39 week appointment, I found out my son was frank breech. It was something I didn’t see coming and I was absolutely devastated. I had prepared in every way possible for a vaginal birth, and for this to be realized so late in my pregnancy was incredibly frustrating and mentally defeating. His positioning had been the same for months, I even pointed out every appointment what I thought was his butt bulging out on my right side- but come to find out, that was his head, breech, all along. Although I tried to remain hopeful, I also began to come to terms with having another c-section. But the doctor said we’ll give it a week to see if he flips. If not, we would discuss next steps at my 40 week appointment. Although I was devastated, I also was determined to not give up hope.

My husband took off work for the week and we made it our mission to get this baby to flip. I did handstands in the pool for an hour everyday, went to a Webster certified chiropractor sometimes twice a day, did the Pelvic tilt, forward leaning inversions, the hot/cold technique, played music on my belly, seriously you name it, I tried it. I wanted the peace of mind that I did all I could to get my son head down, and then I knew I wouldn’t have regrets agreeing to a c-section if he didn’t flip.

My Second Birth

Two days before the doctor appointment, I woke up feeling funny. It felt like my son had moved into a different position, which gave me some hope! I started having small contractions but I had been having prodromal labor on and off for two weeks prior so I thought it could just be more of the same. But they eventually became more consistent and uncomfortable, although I could still talk through them. I text my doula that I thought these were real contractions, and she began to get her things ready to come over. Our plan was to have her drive with us, so we waited on her to get to our house before we left for the hospital. She got to my house a few hours later and we left immediately.

I was pretty nervous leaving for the hospital again, after only having a few hours of contractions, but I needed the peace of mind of being at the hospital, especially with being unsure of my son’s positioning. I figured we would get to the hospital and they’d confirm if my son was breech or not, and then we’d go from there. If he was breech and I needed a c-section, I at least knew that I allowed my son as long as possible to flip. And if he was head down, I felt like I was probably around 4cm, at least enough to be admitted to the hospital.

Leaving our house, my contractions were all of a sudden very close together. But after my first birth was so long, I never imagined I would have a quick labor and I always believed I had a very low pain tolerance. Everyone in my life could attest to me being a complete wuss.

Once my husband started driving, I became really nauseous. I was sprawled across my doula in the backseat of our small car, questioning whether I could make the hour and a half drive. After the second contraction, five minutes into the car ride, my water broke and my body immediately began pushing on its own. My husband pulled over, as my son practically slid out of me feet first, followed by his entire body (including his shoulders, but with the exception of his head) in what felt like seconds. My doula held my son as I pushed on my hands and knees, with my hands in the car, and the rest of me out, pulled over on the side of the highway. Meanwhile, my husband is on the phone with 911 and eventually, the ambulance arrived. As much as I tried to stay calm and focus on breathing and pushing, I was mentally in another place. Afraid for our lives, afraid of what happens next, afraid of my son not surviving this. I pushed the whole ambulance ride with my doula next to me, encouraging me.

I was wheeled into the ER and most of what happened next is blurry in my memory. I remember chaos. I remember my doula telling me to stay with her. I remember three strong tugs of the most excruciating pain of my life, and the relief once they got my son out. And I remember the mass amount of people in that room all tending to my son. I remember repeatedly telling people to not let my son die.

Later that day, I found out that my son was born in cardiac arrest and required resuscitation because of the amount of time he was without oxygen with his head stuck inside of me. At some point, the umbilical cord stopped pulsing and stopped providing the oxygen and nutrients he needed. He was born completely blue, lifeless, no pulse, no heartbeat, with an APGAR score of 0, without the EMS or doctors believing he would survive. I later found out that it was his chin, stuck on my pubic bone, that made it hard to push him out myself. But he was delivered just with the assistance of an ER doctors hands, miraculously. I owe that doctor the world.

Hours later, I was finally able to go meet my son. He was stable, but uncontrollably crying and impossible to soothe. I wasn’t able to hold him and I felt incredibly guilty for putting him through this. You can’t help but guilt yourself when your baby was put through that kind of trauma, even if it was beyond your control.

He was airlifted that day to the hospital I had planned to deliver at, since it was the closest NICU. I was discharged after about 7 hours in the hospital, and my husband and I drove to be with him. Once we got to the NICU, they let me do skin-to-skin right away, and that was the first moment of the day that my anxiety and trembling went away. Finally the adrenaline stopped and time felt like it stood still. I can’t explain how incredible that moment felt!

The next day he was a totally different baby. The most calm, content and peaceful baby I’ve ever seen. We spent 10 days in the NICU, by his side all day, up until he was discharged. Doctors ran every test possible to determine brain damage, and miraculously, we left with the doctors confident that he doesn’t have any brain damage or serious lifelong complications due to his birth.

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Over a year later, not a second has gone by that I’m not amazed by the miracle of my son’s life. But also, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the day he was born. The feelings of fear, panic, anxiety. I’ll never get over it. But the miracles that happened that day, of everything lining up perfectly in order for my son to survive, help bring me peace.

About the Author:

Hi, I’m Megan! I was born and raised in Southern California and I’m now a proud military wife that follows my husband wherever he goes. I’m a graphic designer, avid home cook, and stay-at-home mama of two step children, two young boys, due with a baby girl in November!