I sat on the couch of the delivery room. The sun had yet to rise. Contractions were still five minutes apart.
As the new day dawned, it revealed an ocean of uncertainty between us and the birth.
I said a prayer and reflected.
It took a hard road to get here. And I was bracing for this new challenge.
Would the next few hours test us as much as the last five years?
How it started
My wife and I had made a habit of having another kid every 30 months. The kind of precision made possible with natural family planning. Even with Georgia’s hospital-industrial complex being among the worst in the nation, we managed some good outcomes for unmedicated vaginal births.
But things changed during COVID.
We had to navigate changing requirements at the OB office and hospital. Like where we could go without subjecting ourselves to experimental masking or testing.
On top of that we had a doctor in the practice pushing for induction while our normal OB was on vacation.
Nothing gives you confidence in your care team when their response to a second opinion is “Do you want a dead baby?!”
We got some relief, though.
Our son was due in the summer of 2021, a period when COVID cases ebbed. Requirements lessened to the point where our doula could join us…until 9 pm. And a different, less forceful doctor was on duty.
That still didn’t make up for 16 hours of unrelenting Cytotec treatment. Or a mob of cranky nurses who didn’t care if our team could access the room at 1 am.
If only challenges ended at the birth.
Dragged Through the Dirt
It wasn’t just the medical-industrial complex that made it complicated to navigate COVID. There were also well-meaning, but heavy-handed employers to contend with.
And when I went on my own to start my writing business, I fell on my face.
I lost half of my life savings and saddled the family with extra debt when I tried scaling my options trading.
To pay bills, I settled for a job paying 20% below market with fewer advancement prospects. Benefits weren’t terrible, but what good is two weeks of paternity leave when you can’t afford the family you have?
So when those 30 months passed and my wife wasn’t ready for another baby, it felt like the end of an era.
An era I wasn’t ready to let go of. One I didn’t know how to mourn.
But still: I wasn’t ready to let go of it.
Turning the Titanic
I worked at finding another job with the opportunities I needed to provide for my family. And after 18 months landed a 30% raise at a manufacturer with rare growth prospects.
“This is it!” I thought. The era wasn’t over. There was still a chance at having another kid before our window closed.
And we did get pregnant shortly after the new job. It was the perfect Christmas present.
But the first sonogram revealed our baby stopped growing after 7 weeks. He was only the size of a blueberry.
This was completely new to us. It would take another three weeks before my wife passed him. And another 9 months of preserving his body until we could bury him.
Maybe that was the end. Maybe God was telling us something with the miscarriage.
But we worked at it as a couple. My wife and I accepted what was and grew closer together. Through tears and bonding. And we found the courage to let go of our plans and try again.
And, last summer, we had success.
Would we be able to handle it?
Back to the Delivery Room
Again, the situation looked challenging. Masters was coming up and threatened our access to quality care.
Or worse, significant pressure to induce before all the medical staff left town.
On top of that, it was our first birth at a new hospital since we moved down to Augusta. We didn’t know what to expect.
And the stories from our birth team weren’t encouraging.
Our doula warned us it was not “baby friendly” certified, there was pressure for interventions, and they featured a 1950’s style nursery instead of caring for the baby in the room with us.
Another doula familiar with the hospital confirmed it was as bad as we heard.
So when we showed up to triage at 3 am, the directness of the triage doctor started to confirm our worst fears.
Of course, when you start digging in for a fight, you aren’t open to what could happen.
Hope Starts to Glimmer
Finally getting into the room after 3 hours and seeing our doula brought relief. It allowed us a chance to regroup on our game plan.
That extended into appreciating our surroundings. The delivery room was much bigger and homier than I expected. Not a birth center with midwives, but the birthing balls and versatility of the hospital bed were accommodating.
It also gave us a shift change.
With that came a new nurse who really knew what she was doing. She reviewed our birth plan with us, found there was nothing extraordinary we were asking for, and made every effort to walk us through how to make it happen. On top of that, she went through our birth plan line-by-line with everyone who entered the room.
There was still an X-factor hanging out: we hadn’t met this OB yet. And the nurse’s description of him being old school and needing to assert ourselves if he defaulted to his protocols had us on edge.
But when we met him and reviewed our birth plan with us, he just nodded in acknowledgment.
This was much different than what we had before. No mob rush for the last pushes. Just the right amount of help with the shared goal of making a natural, unmedicated birth happen.
Doing the Work
As good as our team was, we were still up against the escalating interventions that start twelve hours after admission.
But all the prework done on our behalf freed our doula and nurse to recommend different positions for my wife to speed up the labor. This helped my wife manage her depleted energy from the on-and-off contractions the prior two days.
Which reduced the last problem to a speed bump.
Our son’s head was too high with a lot of water between him and descending. But we were confident with the minor interventions from the doctor to get him into place.
Breaking the water, repositioning our son from the outside, and hand-guiding him down freed the doula and I up to coach my wife through the fine points of the pushing.
And a few minutes later, we were holding our son.
Weeks before, my wife doubted how she could do one more natural, unmedicated birth after 40.
Mere minutes before, she was on the verge of giving up, begging for the birth to be over.
Now, she was wide awake and full of energy. Turning the tables and coaching me to talk to my son while I gaped in wonder.
My son looked quietly for me as I called him.
Open to Receiving
After all that, I sat wondering how the birth went so smooth. Didn’t we walk into this hospital uncertain how much we would have to fight?
With all the things we had to work for over the last five years, it felt like everything was just…given to us.
The fierce opponent I expected never showed up. Whatever enemies I thought we had were delivered into our hands.
It should be enough to bond together over birth. To see our baby boy enter the world.
Am I worried that because I didn’t have to work so hard this good thing will be taken away? Or is this all it takes to do what we are meant to do?
But maybe the challenge is to accept gifts after getting used to working for them.
And when the gift comes, realizing that God heard our prayer.
That’s a challenge that will never cease.
I watched my son lay helplessly on my chest, remembering I’m no different than him.
Unsolicited Endorsement
If you’re pregnant in the CSRA and need a doula for your birth team, contact Strong Birth Journeys today. The above story was possible because of her.
We currently hold her personal record of attending four of our births. Challengers welcome.
Affiliate Corner
Guys, don’t let birth be a mystery. Get the book I read to coach my wife through six unmedicated vaginal births: Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way by Susan McCutcheon.
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