ATTICUS
Born August 31, 2013
Submitted by Marcia Kuehnen
Keywords: VBAC, Homebirth, waterbirth
4:38 am on Saturday, August 31st was the most accomplished, redeeming and joyous moment of my life. The birth of our second son came after 6 hours of active labour, 40 weeks plus 5 days of waiting, and 3 years of determination to have a VBAC following an unplanned C-section with our first born.
It was January 2010 when I first encountered the Midwives of Muskoka, and at this initial appointment, these actual words left my lips: “If someone offered me a C-section, I would take it in a second. I don’t want any trauma bestowed upon my glorious vagina; I associate my bed and home with a place of peace and don’t want to have a baby in it.” Little did I know the paradigm shift I was about to undergo- the following months of informative appointments, the sharing of knowledge and experience, the inclusion my husband and I would have in the birth experience completely transformed how I viewed labour and delivery. By the time I went into labour, I was 10 days overdue, and very prepared to attempt a drug-free, natural birth in the hospital. However, after a stalled second stage labour and two failed suction attempts with the doctor on call, I got an epidural, an IV and was off to the OR; my mal-positioned (OP) baby delivered via C-section at 10:11am, 15 hours after I went into labour. I recall coming to just in time for the surgeon to say ‘You may feel a bit of pressure here’, then I heard crying and said ‘Is that the baby? Is that my baby?’ It was- a big 9lb, 22” long baby boy with a cut on his cheek from the scalpel opening my uterus. I got to tell him how happy I was to finally be meeting him, and then I was asleep, my husband off to have the first moments of skin-on-skin with him. Two days later I was home, nursing fine but unable to sit, stand, sleep, eat or go to the bathroom alone, and it all hit me: What the hell just happened?
I can confidently say that it wasn’t until days after my successful VBAC the animosity over my C-section finally dissipated. It took 2 years of talking with other women about their birth experiences, working with therapist and participating in a very cathartic birth project to finally arrive at my truest self: I knew what it was to carry a baby, have contractions and be in labour, but I did not know what it meant to give birth. It haunted, alluded, and pained me- a scar visible on my body did not compare to the scar on my soul, cutting deep into the very core of my womanhood.
I discovered I was pregnant on Christmas Eve, 2012- this was 2 months after I had miscarried at 11 weeks (which was disturbing to me outside of the obvious reasons- 4 months after having our first, I had to have surgery to remove an IUD that had perforated my uterus and then, suffering a miscarriage almost 2 years later, I was very concerned that my uterus had a lot of scar tissue, which is why I couldn’t hold the pregnancy). Luckily, we got past that milestone of carrying past 11 weeks, then 12 weeks, and before I knew it, I was 40 weeks and ready for labour to begin again.
I read everything I could get my hands on about natural delivery and VBAC- stats, stories, studies. We decided early on to have a home birth, and I promised to ‘set the stage’ which was completely opposite from the hospital setting. I transformed my rec room into my ‘birthing studio’ – it had inspirational quotes and photos on the wall, the pool, music, candles, and a cozy bed ready to hunker down in once this baby was born, and all the supplies suggested for a homebirth. Knowing to ‘expect the unexpected’ the first time around, I had pre-registered at the hospital in advance, and with this birth plan I had stated that if we got to the 6 hour mark and this labour start taking shape like my last one (with a stalled second stage), we would consider transferring to hospital. However there would be no clock in my cave, so my midwife would have to be keeping an eye on that- she had been with me on the whole ride thus far, and she did all she could to encourage me, keeping me focused and primed for the delivery she knew I so desperately wanted. I was doing lots of exercises to keep this baby properly aligned, as well as a regimin of homeopathics to help with delivery and recovery. I visited her often once I was overdue to check my cervix and the baby’s position, and had my third stretch and sweep on the Friday of Labour Day weekend.
That evening, I felt that ‘pang’ that is only ever the bag of waters breaking. Contractions persisted every 5 minutes for a half hour, and we alerted the midwife. She suggested a Gravol and a warm bath, seeing as it was 11:30pm and we all need a good night sleep before having a baby! I got into the bath and contractions got more intense, and when I spoke to my midwife for a second time in 30 minutes, I could hear her getting into her car and knew she was on her way. It was go time.
My photographer friend was the only other person we were having present besides the midwives; when she arrived at 1:30am, I was in the full throws of contractions, which were strong and long-lasting. Pots of water were being boiled and the birthing tub was slowly getting filled; our three year old was sleeping peacefully upstairs while we worked to bring his sibling into this world. I was not the calm, humming and swaying Earth Mama I initially wanted to be- I was primal and guttural, loudly groaning with each pass and needing physical support of the closest person or a wall during the contractions. My Pisces-self was very happy to be able to get into the birthing pool at last (which felt incredible), but laying down made me feel like I was floundering and ungrounded; I could focus much better kneeling . My photographer quickly became my doula, holding my hands and breathing through contractions with me while my husband put counter-pressure on my back, the midwife checking the fetal heartbeat and making notes the whole while. She was also on the phone a lot, and I eventually found out that there was a slight hiccup with our plan: our secondary midwife was busy at another birth, the other midwives were off call, and none of the second attendants were picking up their middle-of-the-night-on-a-long-weekend pages. Essentially, we were on our own. I gave my consent to have EMT alerted and waiting outside in the case that the baby had complications and needed support once birthed, and while I felt positive that meant things were going as planned ultimately, I still wasn’t convinced my body was going to birth this baby.
I asked my midwife every so often to check my dilation and make sure I was 10cms; she told me to just ‘listen to my body’. I asked my photographer friend how she did this twice; she told me to ‘trust the process’. I asked my husband how I was going to get through this; he told me I was ‘getting through it right in front of his eyes’. But I didn’t believe any of them. I needed to know the mechanics were actually in motion. I needed to know the baby was descending. I needed to know why the crock pot hadn’t been turned on yet. I needed to know if our son was still asleep. And I needed to know how close we were getting to the 6 hour mark, because I wasn’t sure I was going to avoid the hospital.
Everyone sensed my anxiety, and sometime between 3:30-4:00am, my midwife suggested I get out of the tub and go to the bathroom. I looked at her like she was asking me to run 5K. Begrudgingly, I got out of the pool, hobbled to the bathroom, had 3 huge contractions on the toilet, and then she said ‘OK, back to the water- on to the birth stool’. This did not impress me (I was already in the tub, thank you very much!), and the birthing stool did absolutely nothing for me during my first birth except make me very uncomfortable. I physically needed help getting my legs over the edge of the pool and back in the tub, and once I sat down on the stool, I exclaimed ‘Whoa! Something is changing! I feel stinging! What does this mean?’
The overwhelming feeling to push hit me, and permission was granted. My husband’s gentle, trusting face was my focal point, and my friend was around back bringing me hands-on comfort. The head could be felt. I was informed our secondary midwife was only 7 minutes away, and we were close to meeting this baby, yet I still couldn’t believe my elusive vaginal delivery was a few moments away. Our second midwife arrived, and she kissed my cheek and said ‘I wasn’t going to miss this!’ There was nothing left to do but surrender. My friend grabbed her camera, and 3 minutes later captured the birth of baby, another beautiful boy, the same weight and length as his brother.
In the home visits following the my transformative home VBAC, it came up again and again how shattered my confidence actually was thanks to the split second where the C-section was ordered during my first delivery. But now I was humbled and connected to the female knowledge as old as time: I had delivered my baby just the way Nature had intended.
Born August 31, 2013
Submitted by Marcia Kuehnen
Keywords: VBAC, Homebirth, waterbirth
4:38 am on Saturday, August 31st was the most accomplished, redeeming and joyous moment of my life. The birth of our second son came after 6 hours of active labour, 40 weeks plus 5 days of waiting, and 3 years of determination to have a VBAC following an unplanned C-section with our first born.
It was January 2010 when I first encountered the Midwives of Muskoka, and at this initial appointment, these actual words left my lips: “If someone offered me a C-section, I would take it in a second. I don’t want any trauma bestowed upon my glorious vagina; I associate my bed and home with a place of peace and don’t want to have a baby in it.” Little did I know the paradigm shift I was about to undergo- the following months of informative appointments, the sharing of knowledge and experience, the inclusion my husband and I would have in the birth experience completely transformed how I viewed labour and delivery. By the time I went into labour, I was 10 days overdue, and very prepared to attempt a drug-free, natural birth in the hospital. However, after a stalled second stage labour and two failed suction attempts with the doctor on call, I got an epidural, an IV and was off to the OR; my mal-positioned (OP) baby delivered via C-section at 10:11am, 15 hours after I went into labour. I recall coming to just in time for the surgeon to say ‘You may feel a bit of pressure here’, then I heard crying and said ‘Is that the baby? Is that my baby?’ It was- a big 9lb, 22” long baby boy with a cut on his cheek from the scalpel opening my uterus. I got to tell him how happy I was to finally be meeting him, and then I was asleep, my husband off to have the first moments of skin-on-skin with him. Two days later I was home, nursing fine but unable to sit, stand, sleep, eat or go to the bathroom alone, and it all hit me: What the hell just happened?
I can confidently say that it wasn’t until days after my successful VBAC the animosity over my C-section finally dissipated. It took 2 years of talking with other women about their birth experiences, working with therapist and participating in a very cathartic birth project to finally arrive at my truest self: I knew what it was to carry a baby, have contractions and be in labour, but I did not know what it meant to give birth. It haunted, alluded, and pained me- a scar visible on my body did not compare to the scar on my soul, cutting deep into the very core of my womanhood.
I discovered I was pregnant on Christmas Eve, 2012- this was 2 months after I had miscarried at 11 weeks (which was disturbing to me outside of the obvious reasons- 4 months after having our first, I had to have surgery to remove an IUD that had perforated my uterus and then, suffering a miscarriage almost 2 years later, I was very concerned that my uterus had a lot of scar tissue, which is why I couldn’t hold the pregnancy). Luckily, we got past that milestone of carrying past 11 weeks, then 12 weeks, and before I knew it, I was 40 weeks and ready for labour to begin again.
I read everything I could get my hands on about natural delivery and VBAC- stats, stories, studies. We decided early on to have a home birth, and I promised to ‘set the stage’ which was completely opposite from the hospital setting. I transformed my rec room into my ‘birthing studio’ – it had inspirational quotes and photos on the wall, the pool, music, candles, and a cozy bed ready to hunker down in once this baby was born, and all the supplies suggested for a homebirth. Knowing to ‘expect the unexpected’ the first time around, I had pre-registered at the hospital in advance, and with this birth plan I had stated that if we got to the 6 hour mark and this labour start taking shape like my last one (with a stalled second stage), we would consider transferring to hospital. However there would be no clock in my cave, so my midwife would have to be keeping an eye on that- she had been with me on the whole ride thus far, and she did all she could to encourage me, keeping me focused and primed for the delivery she knew I so desperately wanted. I was doing lots of exercises to keep this baby properly aligned, as well as a regimin of homeopathics to help with delivery and recovery. I visited her often once I was overdue to check my cervix and the baby’s position, and had my third stretch and sweep on the Friday of Labour Day weekend.
That evening, I felt that ‘pang’ that is only ever the bag of waters breaking. Contractions persisted every 5 minutes for a half hour, and we alerted the midwife. She suggested a Gravol and a warm bath, seeing as it was 11:30pm and we all need a good night sleep before having a baby! I got into the bath and contractions got more intense, and when I spoke to my midwife for a second time in 30 minutes, I could hear her getting into her car and knew she was on her way. It was go time.
My photographer friend was the only other person we were having present besides the midwives; when she arrived at 1:30am, I was in the full throws of contractions, which were strong and long-lasting. Pots of water were being boiled and the birthing tub was slowly getting filled; our three year old was sleeping peacefully upstairs while we worked to bring his sibling into this world. I was not the calm, humming and swaying Earth Mama I initially wanted to be- I was primal and guttural, loudly groaning with each pass and needing physical support of the closest person or a wall during the contractions. My Pisces-self was very happy to be able to get into the birthing pool at last (which felt incredible), but laying down made me feel like I was floundering and ungrounded; I could focus much better kneeling . My photographer quickly became my doula, holding my hands and breathing through contractions with me while my husband put counter-pressure on my back, the midwife checking the fetal heartbeat and making notes the whole while. She was also on the phone a lot, and I eventually found out that there was a slight hiccup with our plan: our secondary midwife was busy at another birth, the other midwives were off call, and none of the second attendants were picking up their middle-of-the-night-on-a-long-weekend pages. Essentially, we were on our own. I gave my consent to have EMT alerted and waiting outside in the case that the baby had complications and needed support once birthed, and while I felt positive that meant things were going as planned ultimately, I still wasn’t convinced my body was going to birth this baby.
I asked my midwife every so often to check my dilation and make sure I was 10cms; she told me to just ‘listen to my body’. I asked my photographer friend how she did this twice; she told me to ‘trust the process’. I asked my husband how I was going to get through this; he told me I was ‘getting through it right in front of his eyes’. But I didn’t believe any of them. I needed to know the mechanics were actually in motion. I needed to know the baby was descending. I needed to know why the crock pot hadn’t been turned on yet. I needed to know if our son was still asleep. And I needed to know how close we were getting to the 6 hour mark, because I wasn’t sure I was going to avoid the hospital.
Everyone sensed my anxiety, and sometime between 3:30-4:00am, my midwife suggested I get out of the tub and go to the bathroom. I looked at her like she was asking me to run 5K. Begrudgingly, I got out of the pool, hobbled to the bathroom, had 3 huge contractions on the toilet, and then she said ‘OK, back to the water- on to the birth stool’. This did not impress me (I was already in the tub, thank you very much!), and the birthing stool did absolutely nothing for me during my first birth except make me very uncomfortable. I physically needed help getting my legs over the edge of the pool and back in the tub, and once I sat down on the stool, I exclaimed ‘Whoa! Something is changing! I feel stinging! What does this mean?’
The overwhelming feeling to push hit me, and permission was granted. My husband’s gentle, trusting face was my focal point, and my friend was around back bringing me hands-on comfort. The head could be felt. I was informed our secondary midwife was only 7 minutes away, and we were close to meeting this baby, yet I still couldn’t believe my elusive vaginal delivery was a few moments away. Our second midwife arrived, and she kissed my cheek and said ‘I wasn’t going to miss this!’ There was nothing left to do but surrender. My friend grabbed her camera, and 3 minutes later captured the birth of baby, another beautiful boy, the same weight and length as his brother.
In the home visits following the my transformative home VBAC, it came up again and again how shattered my confidence actually was thanks to the split second where the C-section was ordered during my first delivery. But now I was humbled and connected to the female knowledge as old as time: I had delivered my baby just the way Nature had intended.
