Minerva's Birth Story

From the beginning of this pregnancy, I had a feeling that this delivery would be very different from my other ones. At 35 weeks, after several weeks of study, debate and prayer, we made the decision to switch to home birth, due largely to the pandemic and the impact it was having on local hospitals. Once the transfer was made, I assumed that was the big change I had felt was coming. Little did I know, it was just the beginning.

Because I had gestational diabetes, I was seeing a Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor throughout my pregnancy. I managed my glucose well, and every test, scan and measurement came back perfectly. At 34 weeks I asked the head perinatologist to sign off on my pregnancy going as long as 41 weeks, provided it continued to look healthy, which she did. I was confident I would have my baby by then, but also felt that if she didn’t come on her own, that it would be sensible to induce then.

I established care with a trusted midwife, and continued care with my hospital CNM group. My due date came and went. I wasn’t too surprised, until I found myself a couple days away from my induction date, and feeling pressured to deliver soon, or else forfeit the home birth I had planned and prepared for, in lieu of an induction that I felt was safer in some ways, but far less ideal.

So my plan shifted from “she’ll come when she’s ready” to “try all the things, and if she doesn’t come, we’ll induce.” We set aside an entire day for it. It started with a visit to the chiropractor, then a labor stimulation massage, and then a kid-free date. We ate ice cream, walked around, took a nap in a park, and finished with a trip to Fizz. I felt so relaxed; it was exactly what I needed for my mental wellness. We picked up the kids and some take out and went home. We put the kids to bed, and I put some Clary Sage on my belly, sat on the ball and watched a movie while I began to pump.

After 10 minutes on the pump, I felt some contractions. I alternated 15 minutes of pumping with 15 minutes of walking, rocking and squatting. After two sessions like this, my baby punched hard, and I felt a small pop inside, but didn’t want to get my hopes up. On the way to the bathroom, I had some water drip to the floor. I emptied my bladder and walked back to the ball. The next time I stood up, a bunch of water trickled out and I knew-- my water had broken! (10:22 pm) I shouted out in excitement, and then cried in relief. In the past, once my water broke, my baby had been born very quickly. So I alerted my entire birth team that it was go time, and began to prepare for my approaching birth.

My team quietly and excitedly arrived, one by one: two midwives (one acting as my doula), an assistant, my sibling doula, photographer, mom, and then my daughter. Zoey was so excited, and changed into her doula shirt, grabbed her Rebozo and was ready for action. Her little face, filled with anticipation made me so happy.

I did my best not to play hostess, but it was so hard, having my living room full of people and not feeding them or worrying about any mess left over from the day, or finding everyone somewhere comfy to sit. I soon noticed my contractions had spaced far out, and I thought about Watched Pot syndrome. So I moved into the kitchen to eat a snack and sit on my ball, and see if contractions would pick back up again. But they didn’t.

I wasn’t too worried, but figured I was putting too much pressure on myself to perform. I decided to go upstairs after awhile and pump again to get things rolling. I was sure once a good labor pattern was established things would all click into place and off we’d go.

Just 5 minutes into pumping, contractions were back to every 3 minutes and strong, so I got up and walked, alternating belly lifts, rocking and just swaying. I had some back labor, but didn’t feel like she was posterior. My lower back had always hurt after being on my feet much lately. After another hour like this though, contractions began to space back out. The midwife suggested that I rest while I could, and though I was afraid it would stop my labor completely, I knew it was a good idea to conserve my energy for active labor.

Gavin and I laid down and turned off the lights, and before I knew it I was dozing off… and my contractions went away completely. I kept myself centered, reminding myself to trust my body, because it knew what it was doing, and that I was not the one in control here.

After a couple hours I felt restless to get things moving, and got up again. I got a snack, chatted with my midwife, and a few contractions came and went, while everyone else slept on the couches or the floor. It was dark and quiet, and I liked that. I had creeping doubts, but did my best to keep a calm, clear mind, and to trust in this process, confident that everything would happen in its own time and way.

Before I knew it, the sun was coming up. I continued to alternate movement and rest, with contractions coming stronger with time, but no more consistent. I was waiting and waiting for an active labor pattern to emerge, and it didn’t seem to be coming. My cervix was checked here and there and was steadily progressing, which surprised me, because I didn’t feel like active labor had even begun yet, and my baby was still high, at a -2 station.

The kids woke up and Gavin fed them breakfast and sent them to kind neighbors who had agreed to watch them. The day wore on and I began to feel more and more discouraged, thinking I must be doing something wrong, or it wouldn’t be going this way. I labored in the bath tub for awhile, and pumped as I labored. Gavin snoozed between contractions and gave counter pressure each time I needed it. I felt a dull, strong pain in the left side of my pelvis with each contraction and began to suspect she was in a weird position. Her back was all over my belly, but never posterior. I got out of the tub and said I needed to be alone with Gavin. He gave me a blessing. As soon as he laid his hands on my head I began to sob, as all my fears, frustrations and doubts bubbled to the surface. I was reassured that I was doing everything right, that I needed to continue to try different things and be patient, and that Mini was feeling reluctant. A burden was lifted from my shoulders and I felt a new wave of calm and trust in this process and in my body.

We took a tincture the midwife had that was designed to strengthen contractions, and did some inversions and Rebozo sifting to encourage a better position. She wiggled around and settled back into my pelvis. It felt better, and then as I contracted, I would feel her slide back into that spot in my pelvis. As contractions began to space out again, my midwife suggested doing some deep squats to try and get them going again, and it worked! It was very intense, but every 4 minutes, I’d squat all the way down to the floor, while she lifted my belly and Gavin squeezed my hips. Every 3-4 contractions came on their own. I felt myself beginning to get tired, and became desperate for a strawberry milkshake. My mom went right out the door to find one. It was around 4 pm. I was dilated to about an 8, but certainly didn’t feel like it. Contractions, though strong, were short and very sporadic: 5, then 10, then 15 minutes apart.

My mom came back with the milkshake and it gave me a spurt of energy and a refreshed awake feeling. I was soon nearly complete, with just a cervical rim all around. But my baby was still high, and confirmed asynclitic, as my midwife reached in and felt an ear. She suggested that I bear down while she attempted to rotate the baby’s head, so she could help me push past the cervical lip. The cervix was extremely soft and stretchy, but after every push, she would slide right back up.

I changed positions multiple times, trying to push her lower, but nothing worked. The pain was becoming excruciating, as I pushed bone against bone, and my midwife tried to help the baby’s position. I began to cry out in protest with each contraction; it wasn’t working.

Then the midwife expressed her concern that my uterus was becoming fatigued and that my risk of postpartum hemorrhage was increasing. As though waiting for someone else to say it, others began to chime in, that yes, I should probably go to the hospital. I felt totally shocked and a little betrayed by this suggestion. I hadn’t even considered uterine fatigue, and had only focused on my baby’s signals, which had all been well (no meconium or decels at all). I began to image what a hospital transfer would entail, and felt all my plans begin to slip through my fingers. I opened my eyes to see Zoey’s face, with tears in her eyes, pleading with me to try again. I knew I had it in me, but felt so incredibly alone, as I tried to make sense out of what they were telling me, and what I felt in my heart.

Finally, my mom cut in. She said my name, and asked me what I wanted. Without hesitation, I said I needed rest. I wanted to gather up my strength to give it one last try. And my team respected me, and I rolled onto my left side and immediately dozed off. After 10 minutes or so, a contraction came, strong and painful. Several minutes later, another one, this time, for the first time, I felt the urge to bear down, just at the peak. A third contraction came, and I wanted to push. My midwife asked me to roll onto my back and bring up my knees to shorten the birth canal. It was the last position I wanted to be in, but I was ready to do anything to get my baby out then. As I felt pressure mounting, I grabbed my legs and bore down with all my might. I rallied every bit of strength, determination and stubbornness I had left in me, and pushed for everything I was worth. My midwife began to shout that it was working! She could see her hair! Afraid she’d slide back up again, I drew another breath and pushed again with all my might. With that, her head emerged. One more push brought her shoulders out, before they could even rotate, and the room erupted into sobbing cheers. I reached own and took my baby into my arms and brought her to my chest. (7:22 pm) She cried out loudly, then blinked and looked around at us all. Triumph and relief washed over me. I did it. Despite every obstacle and every doubt, I did it.

After a couple minutes, the placenta released and emerged. My midwife pushed on my uterus and a giant gush of blood poured out of me, followed by another. My team quickly got to work and stopped the bleeding, using Pitocin, Methergine and Cytotec. My mind was momentarily afraid of the rushing of blood, but in my heart I felt trust in my team and peace that everything was well. Things soon calmed down and I looked down at my baby (who had significant molding on the right side of her head) and soaked her in. Zoey came over and cut the cord, and we celebrated and cried and sat in awe and amazement at what we had all just experienced.

Minerva was examined and weighed-- 7 perfect pounds of sweet baby girl-- and gradually, everyone took their leave and went home.

I’ve since had a lot of time to reflect on this birth, and although it’s nothing like I imagined it would be, it was incredibly powerful, unique, and beautiful in its own right. As my midwife put it, I was thrown curve ball after curve ball, and I knocked every one of them out of the park. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I am proud of what I accomplished.

Truly, every birth is a unique journey. My journey took me to the brinks of hell and back, and I have emerged with a new sense of empowerment, and a deepened respect for birth and those who undertake it.



Photos: Courtesy of Yellow Kite Lifestyle Photography
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