VBAC- Finding a Midwife

I have had several people over the past few months asking me about finding a care provider to support their decision to have a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Caesarean).


Each pregnancy after the Caesarean birth of my eldest son, was a struggle to search for a midwife.   Why a midwife?  Because I KNEW without a shadow of a doubt that if I had chosen a Doctor in a hospital setting I would fail.  I knew that I wanted to labour and birth at home and that going with  a midwife was my only option.  And of course there is the fact that the model of midwifery care was so much more appealing to me:  Being with the same two care providers for the entire pregnancy, knowing that THEY would be there for the birth and that I wouldn't be subjected to the laws of chance with what doctor I would have when labour started.  Not to mention the fact that midwives have much lower statistics for Caesarean Sections and unnecessary medical interventions.

With each of my pregnancies I had to search for a midwifery group to take me on- and the searches became far more involved and difficult after each C/Section. What finally won out in each case was perseverance!   (That and the fact that many of my emails to Groups said things like "I'm having a home birth regardless of whether or not I can find a midwife!"...)

The following is a copy of the letter that I sent out to just about every Midwifery Group in SW Ontario.  Feel free to use it as a basis to write your own!!

Good morning,

I would like to introduce myself...and then beg for your help.

My name is Danielle Arnold, I am a breastfeeding and natural childbirth activist and co administrator of Natural Mothering. I'm also a mother of 4 and due mid February with baby #5.  My family and I have recently returned from Africa, from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  Since arriving back in Canada in Sept. I have moved and settle my family in Brantford ON, and I am now trying to find a maternity care provider.

I realize that this is very short notice, but I am desperate to find a midwife or obstetrician to support my need to have a VBAC birth.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of my birthing history.

My eldest son, 1991- born at 38 weeks after my water was "accidentally" broken, failed induction followed by, of course, a caesarean section.

When I became pregnant with my eldest daughter in 2002 I knew I did not want to repeat my experience in a hospital birth. We found a midwife and had a  natural home birth.  10 hours of active labour and 35 minutes of pushing.

When I was pregnant with our youngest daughter (2005) we moved across the country  to Kamloops BC, and I made the shocking discovery that there were no midwives within a 3 hour drive of our city.  Back to the hospital, and another OB and another very negative experience. I ended up with a slow posterior labour. Tsking OB's telling me that I'm endangering my baby..... exhaustion and no support, I gave in and allowed them to do a C/S.  As far as C/S's go it was very easy and the recovery was quick and relatively painless.

Then came my pregnancy with my youngest son in 2007.  We had moved back to the Toronto area and I spent 4 months trying to find a midwife who would take me on for a home birth.  Finally I found a lovely midwife in east Toronto.  We found an OB to consult with at Toronto East General, and he agreed to my TOL.  By 41wk5days I'd been in and out of prodromal labour for over a week, at 3-4 cm and fully effaced.  When I called my midwife, while in early labour  she was uncomfortable with our home birth plan and advised  that we transport. The OB on duty (NOT our consulting OB), was a completely obnoxious man who screamed at me and my husband, told us that we were trying to kill our baby, alluding that we were horrible parents etc.....and yet again I ended up agreeing to another C/S- though this agreement was completely made under duress:  I was left feeling that I had no support and no say in the decision.

This is where the main difference comes from my previous C/S births.

First of all the spinal block  did not take on my upper right quadrant,  no one would listen to me when they started the surgery.... when I started screaming at them "I can feel that", the student anaesthesiologist (yes, it was a student who placed the spinal block....again, against my wishes) pumped me full of Ketamine- Instantly I was out of my mind.  I couldn't see or hear anything... but I could feel everything.  By the end of the surgery I had managed to get control of myself again and was at least verbal and aware.   They took us to the recovery room and left us there.  I managed to nurse my son with a lot of help from my husband, and when the nurse came in I asked for painkillers. (as the spinal block hadn't taken in the upper right abdominal area, neither did the painkillers)  She said that she would find a doctor to get the "OK", and that I would be moved to my room in the next 1/2 hour ........ 3 hours later I was still in the recovery room, hadn't seen a single medical staff member and still had no painkillers.  My husband finally stormed out to the nurses station and demanded that someone come look after me and get me moved to my room (the previous nurse had forgotten to tell anyone that I was there.)  2 days later I went home and 2 days after that I returned because I KNEW that something was wrong- that I wasn't getting better.  It turns out that the surgeon had stitched an abdominal nerve into my internal stitches.  Solution: NONE.  I was told that I just had to wait till the internals dissolved...in 8-10 weeks.  So I spent the next 8wk5 days hunched over , unable to walk straight, unable to carry my new born baby. Because of the huge amount of drugs for pain they had me on (they had to keep changing them because of the reactions I had- such as ulcers...), I have almost no memories of my son's first 9 weeks of life.

Needless to say I do NOT wish to have a repeat Caesarean Section.

As I said at the beginning of this long winded letter, I am a Natural Childbirth advocate.  I have done more research on the topics of VBAC births and C/S's, medical interventions and the statistics involved than most maternity care providers.  I am VERY well aware of the risks of uterine rupture  during a TOL VBA3C, probably more so than most medical professionals.  I am also VERY well aware of the risks of having a 4th C/S, to both my self and my baby. I am not an unreasonable woman, I am not someone looking for that miraculous all empowering feminine experience who wants to have a Home water unassisted lotus birth in the back yard in a teepee... so that I can say that I did.  What I am is a well researched, knowledgeable mother that wants what is best for myself and my baby.  Which is NOT a scheduled caesarean section.

I do not expect any midwives to agree to allowing me a TOL HBA3C... as much as I detest the necessity, I realize that Ontario midwives are bound by the rules of the Ontario Midwives Association and the "guidelines' of the hospitals that they have privileges in.  But I need someone to support me in my wishes to have a vaginal birth in a hospital.  I NEED someone to go to bat for me with the hospital administrators and obstetricians , to say "this woman knows her situation and knows the information and knows the statistics and knows the risks involved and wants to have a Vaginal birth."  Someone who will guide me in my quest to make this a reality.

Because the truth is this:  This is my body, this is my baby, this is my birth.  I am the only one that should have the ability to say how and where I will birth my child.  I should have the right to say "NO" to a scheduled caesarean section.  I am aware of the legalities and I know that a hospital can not force me into a medical procedure that I do not allow.  But I also know enough to know when a C/S is necessary and am willing to work within those parameters.

So please:  I need your help.  I do not care how far I have to travel to have my baby.  I just want to find someone who will support my informed decisions and will stand by me.

I am looking forward to speaking with you further, and hope to have the opportunity to convince you that I DO understand all that is involved in my decisions.

Regards,
Danielle Arnold

A Mothers Victory: My VBA3C Birth Story

“Boobalumba has arrived!”

After three Caesarean sections, I knew I wanted a natural birth for my fifth child. I had written a detailed birth plan describing how I was to be involved and treated during my labour and birth at the hospital, with as little intervention as possible. My plan notwithstanding, this is my story of the very difficult labour and birth of my son on February 8, 2010.

by Danielle Arnold-McKenny


It all started with a week of annoying, stop and start prodromal labour. There really is nothing quite so frustrating as playing the guessing game every time the contractions start. Is this it…this time?! But after a week of lots of contractions and various other questionable symptoms, early evening on Saturday (February 6, 2010) I was pretty certain that we were onto the countdown.

Contractions continued during the night for the first time. Although they slowed right down and became erratic, they kept getting stronger. Sunday morning they slowed to a halt for about three or four hours. When they started up again, it was like being back at square one.

So I kicked my husband Nick and the kids out of the house to go to a friend’s to watch the Super Bowl. Then I set out to do some serious relaxing: filled the living room with candles, put some of my favourite aromatherapy oils in a burner, put on soothing music, got settled into my super comfy rocking chair, and just…R E L A X E D.

Soon enough the contractions became steady at about 8–10 minutes apart. Nick brought the kids home and tucked them into bed late that night, and we called my best friend Lynda over to be with us.

By 3 AM I was definitely in labour. While still only about 6–8 minutes apart, the contractions were strong enough for me to need to support myself and focus on breathing through them—rocking and swaying. We called our midwife, to put her on alert that the party was definitely on. By 5 AM the contractions were still 6 minutes apart but very strong. I had to decide what to do next.

I knew that the kids would be waking up soon and really didn’t think I could deal with my labour and them. So I made the decision for us to head off to the hospital. It was too early—I knew it was—but I was so tired, having not really slept in two nights. I just wanted to know where I was in my labour, to know how far/fast I was progressing.

I think that this is one of the worst things that most labouring women do—worry about the numbers: how many minutes apart, how many centimetres dilated, how many hours of labour…This turns so easily into a downward spiral.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were met by one of our midwives—and so started that downward spiral. She checked me at 6:30 AM. I was only 3 centimetres…3? Just 3 centimetres?!? Oh gods!!! Immediately I became depressed, completely despondent. Three centimetres was exactly where I’d been when I’d gone to the hospital in labour with my youngest daughter Keira, and exactly where I stayed with that labour, which this one had so far exactly mirrored. Keira’s birth ended up being a Caesarean section…

On my midwife’s advice, Nick and I started walking the hospital hallways, to try to “ramp up the contractions,” as she was convinced that I wasn’t in active labour yet—another very disappointing announcement that brought me down even further. How was I supposed to continue like this? In my opinion, my contractions were damn strong, as strong as they were when I was close to transition with Quinlin, my home-birth, vaginal-birth-after-one-Caesarean (VBA1C) baby.

So we walked the halls, stopping to lean on whatever I had available during contractions. We talked and I cried. I was so despondent, and after two nights of almost no sleep, I was completely exhausted. How was I going to make it through this if the contractions were already this strong and I wasn’t even in “active labour”!?!

Nick was a huge support both physically and emotionally. While we walked, we talked: about my fears, about the “options,” both of us knowing what the “option” was…We returned to our room and talked to our midwife about the jumble of emotions, about the labour and my fears. We decided that we would talk to the obstetrician on call. Even then I knew that we were taking the first step down the road to another Caesarean. But I was so caught up in my anxiety and despondency that I had lost hope.

When the doctor arrived finally at around 9 AM, I was desperate for some relief from the contractions. Luckily I had an OB who wasn’t a pusher. Oh, he definitely wanted me to have the C/S, to remove the “risks” of my trial of labour, and to save the staff from the obvious stress of having a VBA3C on their labour & delivery floor. But he suggested that he see how far along in my labour I was before we made the final decision. For this alone, I have much respect for the man, because at that moment I was so vulnerable that he could have pushed me right down to the operating room himself and knocked me out. I wouldn’t have uttered a peep. But instead he checked me over.

I was 8 centimetres!!!!

From down in the valley of emotional despair so dark and heavy that I could barely breathe, I flew up to the top of the tallest mountain of elation!! 8 centimetres?!? I could do this!!!! Nick’s face lit up in what I knew was a mirror expression of my own. Eight centimetres were unimaginable.

“What do you want to do?” the OB asked. “I want to continue to labour!!!” I almost shouted in excitement.

He then started on the litany of risks, and rules I “had to” follow. He suggested that we break my water to help get things moving along. I readily agreed. Hell, if he’d suggested cartwheels while holding a bottle of nitroglycerine, I’d have eagerly agreed with him!

So he quickly broke my membranes. With a huge rush of lovely, clear amniotic fluid, I instantly felt Baby Boobalumba (as we had nick-named him) drop down a bit farther. Continuing with his sermon, the OB warned me that he’d give me one hour to show some progress, and that we would discuss “the options” when he returned.

For 20 minutes or so, the contractions eased off in severity, while coming closer together. I was laughing between contractions and joking with Nick and my midwife. That break was short-lived, though. Very soon transition fell on me like a lead curtain.

Oh, it was bad.

After an hour, the doctor returned and checked me again. Still 8 centimetres. “Tsk tsk tsk” is what I got, and again he started listing the risks and lecturing me on the dangers of having a uterine rupture if I didn’t hurry up and progress. I argued that Boobalumba moving lower was progress. I immediately lost my high regard for him when he began shushing me and telling me off like a naughty child.

Have I mentioned that I don’t take lightly to someone treating me as an inferior being? Hackles were raised, and Nick quickly set about to calm me down. We were given another hour.

Oh gods!!! Contractions were now never-ending waves that carried away any semblance of humanity I had left. The logical Dani was left behind by the primal Dani, who ruled unchecked over the writhing body that had been human just a few hours before.

Occasionally the logical Dani had flashes of insight that penetrated the haze of transition: thoughts of caged mountain lions screaming in rage at their captors; the lone wolf caught in a trap that gnaws its own leg off to try to escape…for I was the trapped animal, trapped by the hospital staff, policies, doctors, and my midwives. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor that inhibited my ability to move. I was suppressed by people telling me where to go and how to position myself, and reminding me of the clock that continued to tick towards the “deadline.”

Some of what happened that I’m about to relay, I learned later from Nick. At this point my chronological memory that was recording the events as they happened became seriously erratic (resulting in gaping holes big enough to drive a truck through).

At some point during my transition to a blubbering mess, my friend Lynda showed up after taking my kids to her parents’ house. Between Lynda and Nick, I had a small bit of calm to cling to. They took turns talking to me, feeding me sips of water, rubbing my back, and helping me be as comfortable as possible.

Then my second hour was up. The OB arrived and announced that I was still just 8 centimetres and my cervix was inflamed.

I begged for relief. The last piece of human Dani was ready to admit defeat. But I managed to beat back the primal contractions and somewhat coherently tell the doctor that if I could just relax for a minute, just have a moment’s respite to regain control of myself…If I’m heading down the hallway to the operating room anyways, then give me the epidural so that we can try just one last time to finish this dilation thingy that you’re all so hyper about!!

Then the human spark slipped away, having said its final piece, and the primal Dani took over again. Nick discussed it all with the doctor. They arranged to get me an epidural, and Nick bargained a further half hour to see if we could achieve the final 2 centimetres that they wanted.

Immediately the room seemed to fill with people. Two maternity nurses bustled in to set up an IV…I remember biting the head off one for even thinking about putting the IV into the back of my hand…my second midwife was there.…the noise levels rose substantially and I felt like I was in a stadium surrounded by overwhelming crowds. I vaguely recollect my midwife checking me again and saying that she thought the cervical lip could be moved…and she did something down there that wasn’t pleasant.

Then they all decided that I needed to be lying down right now. “Take the pressure off the cervix”…“let the swelling go down”…snippets of directions, with me arguing that I didn’t want to lie down. I can’t lie down, I won’t lie down…yet somehow they had me down flat on the bed, taking away the last vestige of control that I had over this three-ring circus.

More people flooded into the room. The anaesthesiologist came with cartloads of paraphernalia. At some point they kicked Lynda out of the room on some flimsy excuse, leaving me with one fewer island of support to cling to.

At this point I remember feeling “the push.” I told “them” that I needed to push, that I felt that pressure, that I needed to poop…and I remember “them” telling me not to push, that it was too early, that I wasn’t fully dilated to the golden 10. They rolled me to my side to get ready for the epidural, hands on me everywhere, voices ordering me to do this and do that, curl into a ball, hold still, don’t move…I tried to follow orders. The small inner voice of logic screamed at the primal me to listen: “Don’t move, you idiot!! That’s a needle in your spine!!!”

All of a sudden my primal self was engulfed by an all-consuming command to push…Out of the confusion of the moment, standing out from the roaring crowds came the scream: “I have to push!!! I have to push!!!!!”

The crowds yelled back at me: “Don’t move!!” “Don’t push!!!”…

What came next is a moment of clarity that I will remember to my last breath. It came so clearly and so powerfully that it is permanently etched into my brain. I pushed. With every fibre of my being. Every muscle, every tendon, every vital organ. I pushed once, then again. And I felt Baby Boobalumba burst through some invisible barrier and move down into my vagina. I felt every contour, every millimetre of his descent.

A primal growling scream rose out of me that was pure energy. I was filled with a sense of exhilaration as endorphins flooded my system. I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN BIRTH MY BABY!!!—only to be cut off by grabbing hands and barking orders from the madding and maddening crowds…“Stop!! Don’t push!! Don’t move!!”

Voices tumbled overtop each other. “Is the baby coming?” “Can you see the head?” “I can see the head!” “Turn her around!” “Lie on your back!” Voices bellowing at me…

The human Dani fought with the primal Dani to take back control. The human Dani knew logically what she needed to do. Knew that she needed to retake control of her body, not just from the primal Dani, but from all of these people who were trying to control her.

I needed to get up. I needed to get off my back and upright. I needed to find my voice and make these people all shut up and listen to me.

Another contraction and another push. This time my midwife cheered me on: “Push!!!!!” and I did, feeling the baby’s head start to crown, the burning that brought with it that all-encompassing need to keep pushing—only to have it all come to a crashing halt. The epidural kicked in, to block all sensation of the contractions.

The voices yelled at me to push, but the urge was simply gone. Along with the realization that my guide had disappeared came the awareness that I couldn’t breathe. “They” kept yelling at me to push, to lie back and grab my legs and pull them back…but I couldn’t find my centre, couldn’t breathe in the air deeply enough to get a full breath, couldn’t feel the contractions to cue me to push…I needed to get up. I had to get up, I tried to tell them to let me up…but they just kept pushing me back down and telling me to grab my legs…

“Tsk tsk tsk we missed another contraction.” “Dani, you have to push, the baby’s head is half way out!!! You have to push!!!”

HELLO?! I’m perfectly aware of exactly where the baby’s head is, thank you very much!!!!

I tried again to tell them that I couldn’t feel the contractions, that I couldn’t breathe…but the crowds drowned me out with their incessant commands and annoying nattering verbal diarrhea.

I reached down and felt the top of my baby’s head, and ran my fingers through the masses of soggy hair. Someone pushed my hand away and forced me to grab the back of my thigh. The human Dani sighed in resignation. They couldn’t hear me, they wouldn’t listen. I had no choice but to do it “their” way. So ignoring the roaring of the masses surrounding me, I breathed in as deeply as I could and P U S H E D.

The relief of his head coming fully out is one that every woman who has given birth can no doubt relate to. Again I reached down. I wanted to birth my baby. I wanted to grasp his slippery body as it came out of me, as we started our journey as two separate beings. I wanted to be the first to hold him. Then someone pushed my hands away again and forced them back to my legs. And so again I pushed as “they” ordered, and Baby Boobalumba was born.

Strange, but as soon as he was delivered onto my belly, the human Dani completely took over. I immediately reminded my midwife not to clamp the umbilical cord, and asked for a warmed blanket to put over both of us.

Once the cord was cut a few minutes later, my midwife asked me to push to deliver the placenta. At that point one of the nurses made a motion to press on my belly. I immediately slapped her hand away and told her No, then told my midwife that I did not want any cord traction applied. As the epidural was now firmly in place and I had no feeling at all, I concentrated on muscle memory and pushed…hard, delivering the placenta in one quick swoosh.

When one of the nurses tried to rub Boobalumba down with a towel, I pushed her away again. After that, no one interfered with me and the baby; no one tried to weigh him or measure him or clean him. They left me alone to be with my baby.

Now that clarity had returned, I could concentrate on him and interact with the people around me as a rational being again. I immediately started asking Nick for details and found out only then that Lynda had been kicked out of the room and he had run out into the hallway as soon as Boobalumba was born to grab her and bring her back in. He also told me that the nurses wouldn’t allow him to take a picture as our son was crowning. That made me so angry.

Oh, I was mad, really mad!!!

But on the surface I was able to enjoy the victory for what it meant to me personally: a validation that I was not broken. Though the birth had not gone even remotely as I had wished, and my birth plan was basically trampled on by galloping hordes, I did it.

Writing this down now, a little over a week later, I am able to verbalize many things that at the moment were just notes stored away for later analysis. The basic need for understanding and support for the VBAC mother. Support and care that are different from what other birthing mothers need.

My personal story is one of vindication of a VBA3C mom. We are not broken. We are perfectly capable of birthing our babies without the surgeon’s knife. My story will, I hope, inspire those that were there—the OB doctor, the labour & delivery nurses, my midwives—to realize that it is possible if only women are given the choice.

I wasn’t given the “choice.” I demanded that they allow it. I didn’t have their support or their understanding. I had to rely solely upon myself and my husband, knowing that if we wavered even for a moment, as we came so close to doing several times, we would be engulfed by the medical machine and processed as yet another number.

Sure, our birth is a number, but a very different and more important one: the first VBA3C in Cambridge Memorial Hospital (Cambridge, Ontario, Canada) and by the Cambridge Midwives Group. I hope that through my experience they will open doors to more VBAC mothers. I hope that my story inspires others to make choices for themselves and to learn from my mistakes and my victories. We can do it. But we have to fight for our rights and continue to fight to make changes so that other women will not have to fight the battle I did.

Victory: My VBA3C

Introducing Kael Lachlan Rodney Arnold-McKenny, Born Monday Feb 8th at 12:21 in the afternoon. 7lb 2oz and about 19 inches long

Boobalumba Has Arrived!!!

It all started with a week of stop and start annoying prodromal labour. There really is nothing quite so frustrating as playing the guessing game every time the contractions start: is this it..... THIS time!!!? But after a week of lots of contractions and various other questionable symptoms, on Saturday early evening, I was pretty certain that we were definitely on the count down. Contractions continue during the night (for the first time) and although they slowed right down and became irratic, they kept getting stronger. Sunday morning the contractions slowed to a halt for about 3-4 hours, and when they started up again, it was like being back at square one. So I kicked Nick and the kids out of the house to go to a friends to watch the superbowl, and I set out to do some serious Relaxing: filled the living room with candles, put some of my favorite aromatherapy oils in a burner and put on soothing music- got settled into my super comfy rocking chair and just.... R E L A X E D. Soon enough the contractions were steady at about 8-10 minutes apart. Nick brought the kids home and tucked them into bed late that night, and we called my best friend Lynda over to be with us. by 3am I was definitely in labour and the contractions- while still only about 6-8 minutes apart- were strong enough to need to support myself and focus on breathing through them- rocking and swaying . We called our midwife to put her alert that the party was definitly "ON". By 5am the contractions were still 6 minutes apart but very strong and I had to decide what to do next.

I knew that the kids would be waking up soon and I really didn't think I could manage to deal with my labour AND them... So I made the decision for us to head off to the hospital. It was too early, I knew it was, but I was so tired, having not really slept in two nights and I just "Wanted to KNOW" where I was in my labour, to know how far/fast I was progressing. I think that this is one of the worst things that most labouring women do- worry about the Numbers: how many minutes apart. how many cm's dilated. How many hours of labour..... so easily turning into a downward spiral.

We arrived at the hospital and were met by one of our midwives, and so started the above mentioned downward spiral. She checked me at 6:30am and I was only 3 cms.... 3? JUST 3 centimetres?!? Oh gods!!! I was immediately despondent and completely depressed. 3cms is exactly where I was when I'd gone to the hospital in labour with keira...and exactly where I STAYED with my labour with keira (which this labour had so far exactly mirrored) - which ended up in a Caesarean section.

On my midwifes advice, Nick and I started walking the hospital hallways- "to try to ramp up the contractions" as she was convinced that I wasn't actually in active labour yet... another very disappointing announcement that brought me down even further. How was I supose to continue like this? By my opinion, my contractions were Damn strong- as strong as they were when I was close to transition with Quinlin (my VBA1C home birth baby).

.. So we walked the halls, stopping to lean on whatever I had available during contractions, and we talked and I cried....I was so despondent, so depressed, and after 2 nights of almost no sleep I was completely exhausted. How was I going to make it through this labour if the contractions were already this strong and I wasn't even in "active labour" yet!?! Nick was a huge support both physically and emotionally. While we walked we talked: about my fears, about the "options", and we both knew what the "option" was.... We returned to our room and talked to our midwife about the jumble of emotions, about the labour and my fears, and we decided that we would talk to the OB on call.... I knew then that we were taking the first step down the road to another C/S, but I was so caught up in my anxiety and despondency that I had lost hope.

When the Doctor arrived finally at around 9am I was desperate for some relief from the contractions. We talked and I will say that luckily I had an OB who wasn't a Pusher: Oh, he definitely wanted me to have the C/S- to remove the "risks" of my TOL , and to save the staff from the obvious stress of even having a VBA3C in their L&D floor- BUT, he made the suggestion that he check me to see how far along in my labour I was "before" we made the final decision. For this alone, I have a big amount of respect for the man, because at that moment I was so vunerable that he could of pushed me right down to the OR himself and knocked me out, and I wouldn't of made a peep..... But instead he checked me.

I was 8 cm!!!!

From down in the valley of emotional despare so dark and heavy that I could barely breath, I flew up to the top of the tallest mountain of elation!! 8 cm?!? I COULD do this!!!! Nick's face lit up in what I knew was a mirror expression of my own. 8cm was unimaginable.

"What do you want to do?" the OB asked.
"I want to continue to labour!!!" I almost shouted in excitement.

Of course, he then started on the litany of risks, and rules I "had" to follow. He sugested that we break my water to help get things moving along which I readily agreed to (hell, if he'd sugesting cartwheels while holding a bottle of nitroglycerine I'd of eagerly agreed with him!). So he quickly broke my membranes and with a huge rush of lovely clear amniotic fluid I instantly felt baby Boobalumba drop down a bit farther. Continuing with his sermon, the OB warned me that he'd give me "One hour" to show some progress and that we would discuss "the Options" when he returned.

For the 20 minutes or so, the contractions eased off in severity though getting closer to gether. I was laughing between contractions and joking with nick and my midwife..... that break was short lived though as very soon TRANSITION fell on me like a lead curtain.

Oh it was BAD.

After an hour the Doctor returned and checked me again- still 8 cm. Tsk tsk tsk is what I got, and again he started on listing the risks and lecturing me on the dangers of having a uterine rupture if I didn't hurry up and progress. I argued with him that the fact that Boobalumba was lower WAS progress and he immediately lost my high regard of him by shushing me and telling me off like a naughty child.

Have I mentioned that I don't take lightly to someone treating me as an inferior being? Hackles got raised, and Nick quickly set about to calm me down. We were Given another hour.

Oh gods!!! Contractions were now never ending waves that carried away with it any semblance of humanity that I had left. Occasionally interesting flashes of insights penetrated through the haze of transition: thoughts of caged mountain lions screaming in rage at their captors. Comparisons between myself and the lone wolf caught in a trap that gnaws it's own leg off to try to escape.... for I was the trapped animal. trapped by the hospital staff, policies, doctors and my midwives - hooked up to a fetal monitor that inhibited my ability to move, inhibited by people telling me where to go , how to position myself and reminding me of the clock that continued to tick towards the "Dead line".

Now some of what I"m about to relay is what I learned happened later from Nick. At this point my chronological memory that records the events as they happen becomes seriously irratic with gaping holes big enough to drive a truck through.

At some point during my transition to blubbering mess, my girlfriend Lynda showed up after taking my kids to her parents house. Between Lynda and Nick, I had a small bit of calm to cling to as they took turns talking to me, feeding me sips of water ,rubbing my back and helping me get as comfortable as possible.

Then my second hour was up. The OB arrived and announced that I was still just 8cm, that my cervix was inflamed.....I begged for relief. I was ready to admit to defeat. I managed to beat back the contractions and somewhat cohearantly tell the doctor that if I could just relax for a minute, just have a moments respite to gain control of myself again.... If I was heading down the hallway to the Operating Room anyway, then give me the epidural so we could try just one last time to finish this dialation thingy that they were all so hyper about..... Nick discussed it with the Doctor and they arranged to get me an epidural and Nick bargained a further half hour aftewards to see if we could achieve the final 2 cm that they wanted.

Immediately the room seemed to fill with people- two maternity nurses bustled in to set up an IV and I remember biting the head off one of them for even thinking about putting the IV into the back of my hand.... my second midwife was there... the noise levels rose substantially and I felt like I was in a stadium surrounded by over whelming crowds. I vaguely recollect my midwife checking me again and saying that she thought the cervical lip could be moved.... and that she did something down there that wasn't' pleasant. Then they all decided that I needed to be laying down: RIGHT NOW. "Take the pressure off the cervix" "let the swelling go down".... snippets of directions, with me arguing that I didn't' WANT to lay down. I CAN'T lay down. I WON'T lay down.... yet somehow they had me down flat on the bed, taking away the last vestige of control that I had over this 3 ringed circus.

More people flooded into the room- the anesthesiologist with cart loads of paraphenalia. At somepoint they kicked Lynda out of the room on some flimsy excuse, leaving me with one less island of support to cling to.

At this point I remember feeling "The Push". I remember telling "them" that I needed to push, that I felt THAT pressure, that I needed to poop.... and I remember "them" telling me not to push, that it was too early, that I wasn't fully dilated to the golden 10. They rolled me to my side to get ready for the epidural, hands on me every where, voices ordering me to do this and do that, curl into a ball, hold still, don't move.... I tried to follow orders. The small inner voice of logic screamed at myself to listen, "don't move you idiot!! that's a needle in your spine!!!" But the primal me all of a sudden was engulfed by an all consuming command "PUSH" ....Out of the confusion of the moment, standing out from the roaring crowds came a scream "I HAVE TO PUSH!!! I HAVE TO PUSH!!!!!"

The crowds yelled back at me "don't move!!" "Don't Push!!!" ...

What came next is a moment of clarity that I will remember to my last breath, it came so clearly and so powerfully that it is permanently etched into my brain: I PUSHED. With every fiber of my being. Every muscle, every tendon, every vital organ.... I pushed once, then again. And I felt baby boobalumba burst through some invisible barrier and move down into my vagina, felt every contour every millimetre of his decent. And a primal growling scream rose out of me that was like pure energy. I was filled with a sense of exhilaration as endorphins flooded my system.....I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN BIRTH MY BABY!!! Only to cut off by grabbing hands and barking orders from the maddening crowds "Stop!! Don't push!! don't Move!!..." Voices tumbled over top of each other "Is the baby comeing?" Can you see the head?" "I can see the Head!" "Turn her around" "Lay on your back!" bellowing voices barking orders at me.....

The human Dani fought with the primal dani to take back control. The human logical Dani KNEW what she needed to do. Knew that she needed to take back control of her body- not just from the primal Dani, but from all of these people who were trying to control her. I needed to get up. I needed to get off my back and upright. I needed to find my voice and make these people all shut up and LISTEN TO ME.

Another contraction and another push. This time my midwife cheered me on "Push!!!!!", and I did, feeling the baby's head start to crown, the burning that brought with it that all encompassing need to keep pushing..... only to have it all come to a crashing halt: The epidural kicked in, to block all the sensations of the contractions. The voices yelled at me to push, but the urge was simply gone. Along with the realization that my guide had disappeared came the fact that I couldn't breathe. "They" kept yelling at me to push, to lay back and grab my legs and pull them back.... and I couldn't find my centre, couldn't breathe in the air deep enough to get a full breath, couldn't feel the contractions to cue me to push..... I needed to get up. I HAD to get up, I tried to tell them to let me up.... but they just kept pushing me back and telling me to grab my legs.....

"tsk tsk tsk we missed another contraction."

"Dani you HAVE to push, the baby's head is half way out!!! You HAVE to push!!!"

HELLO?! I'm perfectly aware of exactly where the baby's head is thank you very much!!!!

I tried again to tell them that I couldn't feel the contractions, that I couldn't breathe..... but the crowds drown me out with their incessant comands and natteringly annoying verbal diahreah.

I reached down and felt the top of my baby's head and ran my fingers through the masses of soggy hair. Someone pushed my hand away and forced me to grab the back of my thigh. The human Dani sighed in resignation. They couldn't hear me, they wouldn't listen. I had no choice but to do it "their" way. So ignoring the roaring of the masses surrounding me, I breathed in as deeply as I could and P U S H E D.

The relief of his head coming fully out is one that every woman who has given birth can no doubt relate to. I again reached down. I wanted to birth my baby. I wanted to grasp his slippery body as it came out of me, as we started our journey as two seperate beings. I wanted to be the first to hold him.... then someone pushed my hands away again and forced them back to my legs. And so again I pushed as "they" ordered, and baby boobalumba was born.

Strange, But as soon as he was delivered onto my belly, the human Dani completely took over again. I immediately reminded my midwife not to clamp the umbilical cord, and asked for a warmed blanket to put over both of us. Once the cord was cut a few minutes later, my midwife asked me to push to deliver the placenta. At that point one of the nurses made a motion to press on my belly and I immediately slapped her hand away and told her no, then told my midwife that I did not want any cord traction applied. As the epidural was now firmly in place and I had no feeling at all, I concentrated on muscle memory and pushed....HARD, delivering the placenta in one quick swoosh. After that, it went according to "the plan". At one point one of the nurses tried to rub Boobalumba down with a towel and I pushed her away again, but after that no one interfered with me and the baby, no one tried to weigh him or measure him or clean him. The left me alone to be with my baby.

Now that clarity had returned I could concentrate on my baby. Could interact with the people around me as a rational being again. I immediately started asking Nick for details and found out that Lynda had been kicked from the room, and that Nick had run out into the hallway as soon as Boobalumba was born to grab her and bring her back in. He also told me that the nurses wouldn't allow him to take a picture as our son was crowning. That made me so angry. But mostly I basked in the warmth of knowing that I DID IT!!!!

Oh I was MAD.

REALLY MAD!!! But on the surface I was able to enjoy the victory for what it meant to me personally: a personal validation that I was not broken. Though the birth had not gone even remotely as I had wished and my birth plan was basically trampled on by galloping hordes. I DID IT.


Writing this down, now over a week later, I am able to verbalize many things that at the moment were just notes that were stored away for later analysis. The basic need for understanding and support for the VBAC mother. Support and Care that is different than what other birthing mothers need. My personal story is one of vindication of a VBA3C mom. We are not broken. We are perfectly capable of birthing our babies without the surgeons knife. My story I hope will inspire those that were there- the OB Doctor, the L&D Nurses, my midwives- to realize that it IS possible. That it is something that can be achieved if only women are given the choice. I didn't have the "choice". I Demanded that they allow it. I didn't have their support, nor their understanding. I had to rely solely upon myself and my husband, knowing that if we wavered even for a moment- as we came so close to doing several times- we would be engulfed by the medical machine and processed as yet another number. Our birth is now a number, but one that is important: the first VBA3C to be born in Cambridge Memorial Hospital, and by the Cambridge midwives group. I hope that through my experience they will use that to open doors to more VBAC mothers. I hope that my story inspires others to make choices for themselves and to learn from my mistakes and my victories. We CAN do it. But we will have to fight for our Rights, and continue to fight to make the changes needed so that other women will Not have to fight the same battle.