The following is a letter I wrote to a baby boy (and his Mumma) in the days after his birth. I write birth stories from my perspective after attending a birth because it helps me learn from the experience and helps me remember the finer details that get lost over time. I've also found some women really love having a record of the birth from someone else's perspective (I'm still waiting on my birth teams to do the same for me!). Some of those stories I post here with the mother's permission. For Oscar I felt his journey merited something more personal than an account of what happened, writing a letter felt more appropriate. To read Oscar's birth story from his Mum's perspective
click here.
***trigger warnings for birth trauma survivors***
Dear Oscar
At the time of writing this you are 74 hours old. You are in your Mother's arms and you know how very loved you are. You are such a blessing to so many. You are the fifth blessed child your parents have had, the second little brother your big sisters have doted on and you are the sole brother that your big brother is over the moon to meet. To me you are a great many things, to you: I am doula.
I met your mother six years ago at a park. Your big brother was just a toddler. I remember giving her a much needed hug. I was joyfully surprised by the news of your conception last year and to celebrate I decided to make you and your Mumma a ring sling. We went shopping together and your Mumma chose which fabric she wanted for your sling. When it was time to go our separate ways her good-bye included a request for me to join your birth team. Back then the team consisted of just your Mum, Dad and siblings. But shortly thereafter: myself and a wonderful midwife were added and your Noni. Your birth was going to be your Mumma's first homebirth, something she had been dreaming of for six long years, since the birth of your big brother. I was ecstatic to be part of Team Freckle, Freckle being your in-utero name (which I still think when I see your precious face).
Your Mumma had a wild ride gestating you to term. Blood pressure issues gave her most cause for concern. But with the aid of her midwife, your Mumma managed to keep it under control with diet and rest. When the end of a long and challenging pregnancy was in sight your warm-ups began: regular contractions for weeks. We were at the ready, knowing the call from your Mumma could come at any minute. Then your warm-ups kicked up a notch during the nights. Your Mumma was sleep deprived, longing to meet you, but you were not keen on this birth starting during daylight. Each night we wondered if this would be your night. Your Mumma considered taking action to help bring you into the world faster. One afternoon I went to your home, certain we were going to meet you, but you and your Mum had a change of heart and with a little nurturing your Mumma told us she could stay pregnant "forever". But she did not want to be labouring through the nights anymore.
Despite these challenges you and your Mum were in good health. Every couple of days your midwife came to the house and checked your Mumma's blood pressure, your position in her womb, and your little heartbeat. All signs were positive, we just had to be patient.
We had another of these midwife check-ups on your meaningless 40 week due date. As much as I respected your right to choose your own birthday, I felt for your Mumma. It had been four sleepless nights in a row for her, moving through the early stages of birth and knowing it was too soon to call myself or her midwife to the house. She'd also had a bloody show, which usually means the baby is not far off. Your Mumma needed a break, she needed some love. So I was delighted when she asked me to stay for a few hours after the check-up to keep her company. To begin she wanted to go out for dinner.
When we arrived at the restaurant called Stallions, your Mumma went to the toilet and the rest of your family and I sat down at our table. Just as I opened my menu I felt your Mumma's arms around me and she whispered in my ear "my waters just broke". Finally! We were elated. We laughed at how you had been "induced by Stallions". Smiling, excited, nervous, we ordered take-away and headed home, ready for your birth to begin. Oh how ready we were!
After dinner your Mumma and I went for a walk through the bush. Peaceful perfection. We wandered through the trees, talking, listening to the sound of the bird and the crickets. Butterflies seemed to follow us wherever we went. After a hot and sticky 40 degree day, the night was cooling to just the right temperature. We headed back to your home and spent the rest of Friday night laughing at The Castle together. Your Mumma sat on her pink birth ball, knitting. I wasn't surprised you hadn't started your journey just yet, the pattern had been to start up when everyone else went to sleep. So, I was expecting a call sometime during the night. Your Mumma asked me to stay over, which I did.
Morning came, but you did not. We were certain you were close, your Mum had had another night of warm-up contractions. I was a live-in doula until such time as you were in the world.
Saturday your Mumma went to her Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner. I found
some information that might reassure the rest of your family that it's normal for a baby to take his time being born, even after the waters have broken. We now knew that 90% of Mummas have their babies within 48 hours of their waters breaking, and that was a way off yet. We knew the signs of infection to look for and your Mumma had none. We just had to be patient.
Your Mumma was craving pancakes, so we had lunch at the pancake parlour and got me some overnight supplies, since it seemed I would be staying at least until Sunday morning. Just as we were about to get into the car your Mum had a sudden urge to use the facilities, so we went back into the shopping centre, where she said she almost pushed you out in a pancake parlour toilet cubicle! Thankfully we made it home safely, and you stayed put.
The TCM practitioner was confident that we would meet you that night. We spent the second night of this doula-slumber-party in the lounge room again: your Mum knitting, me cross stitching, and my 13 month old baby sleeping at my breast. Yours would be the second birth my doula-baby would attend.
Sunday morning started the same as Saturday morning. We still had not reached the 48 hour mark, that would come at dinner time. But we were all starting to get antsy.
The rest of my family came for a visit that afternoon and stayed for dinner. Your Mumma was craving red velvet cake, the two of us baked one in the hope it might entice you to be born. A birthday cake ready for you. We joked about the way to really entice a baby is to put some breast milk on a Mumma bad. Sunday was also the day you and Mumma had your final midwife check-up before you were born.
Your Midwife found you to be head down, ready to go, posterior. Mumma's blood pressure was still okay, your heart rate was good and there was no doubt we'd meet you very soon (though we'd been saying that and hearing that for what felt like a very long time by this stage).
After dinner my family went home. You and Mumma were no longer part of 90%, but still in good health with no signs of infection. Your Midwife suggested that perhaps what we thought were your waters breaking was in fact an enormous hind water leak. She reassured your family that the waters do not run out once broken, either. She explained that they would replace themselves as need be.
Sunday night I finished my second cross stitch project since leaving my home lunchtime Friday. Your Mumma had yet another sleepless night of contractions. When I woke on Monday morning I was shocked that yet again I had not been woken to attend a birth. I checked my phone and saw I had a missed call I'd slept through, foolishly leaving my phone on silent! I jumped up and went to check on your Mum. She was asleep and still pregnant. I went downstairs and had breakfast with your Dad, while your Mumma slept in.
Your Dad was reaching new levels of concern and we talked about his worries and what we could all do to be as supportive of your Mumma as possible and what she might need to help get your birth going. I felt we all needed a change of scenery and to get our minds off when you might come. A watched pot never boils! Your Dad had some brilliant suggestions for activities we could spend our Monday doing, including a drive up the mountain, a walk through the rainforest and lunch at a tea house. We felt it was a good sign that your Mum was having a big sleep in. "Perhaps this is the calm before the storm?" I suggested.
When your Mum did rise she had already decided how she planned to spend her day. She wanted my baby and I to accompany her to a local babywearing meet at a cafe and do the grocery shopping, then come home and eat whatever your Dad had made for dinner. She had another great sign that you could not be far from born, now. Another bloody show letting us know her cervix was dilating.
Your Mumma clucked like nodbody's business over all the babies in slings at the meet. She showed off the sling I made her, empty as it was and she worked through a contraction or two in the cafe's facilities. When it was time to go, we went to a shopping complex nearby so I could stock up on more nappies for my bub and then we decided we needed to go to Spotlight for yarn and embroidery thread.
Towards the end of the grocery shopping your Mother had a couple of awesome contractions. She was doubled over, face screwed up as she breathed through the intensity. She moaned a little and I could tell she was still feeling the sting of it for quite some time after the peak. It was a biggun! When it finally finished we exchanged a look and I said "I thought a baby was going to fall out of you then!"
"Me too!" said your Mumma.
But once again we made it home safe and sound, with you inside.
We were convinced that you would slide out of your Mumma quickly, once things got going. But, we had also been sure you'd fly out after Mum's waters broke, as that had been a pattern of hers...until you.
The atmosphere was still tense at home. Every sibling was asking your Mum when you were coming and your Mum was understandably tired of this line of interrogation. I suggested we hire a movie and get lost in it, forget this birth and baby business. We chose The Help, which we knew the rest of the family would leave us to watch in peace.
At midnight we entered Tuesday, February 28th. And your big sister turned 14. She had been worried the entire pregnancy that you would steal her birthday and was not happy about it. She joined us just before midnight and watched the end of the movie. As the movie wound up, I noticed your Mum was having some rather intense contractions. She had to stop what she was doing, get up, move, close her eyes, focus on her breathing. I made no comment on this, but went to bed as soon as the movie finished, suspecting I'd be up long before my body clock wanted to wake me.
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| Just look at that belly! |
Sure enough, about an hour after dozing off, I got the call from your Mum to start readying the birth pool. Today would be your birthday, as well as your sisters'.
Your Mumma had called the Midwife and unfortunately she was at another homebirth and was unlikely to make it to yours. This worried your Dad quite a bit, but your Mum remained calm and determined to have the homebirth she'd been dreaming of for six years. So we filled the birth pool, lit candles from friends and put lavendar oil on the burn. Your Mum was getting contractions every two minutes, between them she was talkative and bright.
Your eleven year old sister was more excited than everyone else put together. She was just bursting to see you be born. But your Mumma asked Dad and your sister to watch a movie for the time being. "This is women's business" she said, and assured them I would come and get them when you were crowning. Upstairs your birthday sister and your brother slept.
From 2AM until around 3:30 it was just you, me and your Mum. I felt truly honoured to be allowed in that sacred space with you both, witnessing this longed for homebirth. I remember the scent of lavendar, how warm my face felt in that small candlelit room, the sound of crickets singing and soft rain falling. I remember the sleeping face of my baby in a sling on my front, and your Mother, eyes closed, breathing through contractions. Untouched by others, in her own space, her own universe: a safe and sacred place she had not been able to find in her four previous births. The moment had finally came and witnessing your mother living her dream at last made me smile. Between contractions we talked about you and birth and giggled at how you had waited and waited until finally it was your sister's birthday and now you were coming.
Contractions were one minute apart and more intense, still your Mum was very chatty and happy between them. I was waiting for her to get the endorphin haze and doze between each one. She moved around the pool slowly, searching for the most comfortable position and not finding it. She verbalised some fears about birthing without a midwife. I was sending regular updates to Midwife and asking when she thought she would arrive. Your Mum wanted her to come whenever she could, even if it was just to weigh you, hours after you were born. Your Midwife suggested we call her back-up Midwife, but Mum declined, saying it would all be over by the time that hour-away midwife could make it.
Sometime after 3:30 your Mother told me to get your Dad and sister because she felt you were coming on the next contraction. I went and got them and then we waited. With mobile phones we filmed your Mother, on her knees, ready to catch. But you did not crown. She asked us to call Noni so we did. By the time Noni got there Mum had given up trying to catch, realising you were a way off yet, but she was now getting an endorphin haze between contractions. Your Brother also joined us.
My baby had spent your birth sleeping on my front in a mei tai carrier. But she woke up when your Mum started feeling pushy and she refused to go back to sleep. It was much harder to give hands on care to your Mum now, so I taught your Brother and Sister how to provide your sore Mum with counterpressure to ease the pain. We talked about what Mumma's like to hear while they're birthing and what they really don't like. Noni helped keep the smaller doulas in line.
Your Mumma complained of something feeling odd. She reported sharp stabbing pains, which did not sound right. I rang the Midwife who was not able to help from a distance. Your Mum also complained about not being able to pee. She was in a lot of pain and the endorphin haze had disappeared. She was complaining that the contractions were not doing anything and it had been too long (it was now about 5:30AM and she had felt close to pushing for many hours and contractions had gone from 1 minute apart to 30 seconds apart and back to 1 minute apart). She was very fed up with birth and the rest of us in the room thought it meant we would see you crown very shortly. But your Mumma knew better.
She asked for an ambulance. She had warned us during the months of preparation that as she transitioned into second stage she would beg for an epidural, gas, ambulance and caesarean, so we weren't sure what to make of her request. I reminded her how the intensity can mean it will be over shortly and once the birth is done she has the rest of her life to enjoy the memory of her homebirth. I was worried that if we called an ambulance she would birth in hospital or on the way there when she could have stayed at home and she would be so disappointed and probably angry at us for not being a better support team to her. But when pressed she clearly said "I don't care about having a homebirth anymore. He's stuck, I want him out. Call an ambulance." She was angry, but she was calm and knew exactly what she was doing, a Mumma in transition is not usually so clear, calm and logical in manner. The choice was obvious when she asked for the phone herself.
The ambulance arrived around 6AM and by 6:30 your Mumma was in a hospital bed with pain relieving gas, myself, your Dad and Noni by her side. At home your twenty-one year old sister had come over to look after the rest of your siblings.
Now, over the years you might hear your birth being spoken about as a "failed homebirth", in my opinion this view could not be further from the truth. At hospital we learned what we would have sooner had your Midwife been able to make it: you did indeed need medical assistance. Just as your Mumma had sensed. Your head was no longer down and engaged as it had been before, it was up high and your back, no longer posterior was now "oblique transverse", meaning you were lying across your Mumma's womb. And with every contraction your Mum was feeling your head thrust into her bladder, as she had complained many times "he's trying to come out through my bladder!" We also discovered that your Mumma's blood pressure was higher than it had ever been. All of this would have been discovered earlier had your Midwife been with us. Instead, your Mumma, going on her own instinct, figured out something was wrong and got the help she needed, giving up her very dear dream to have a homebirth. Your Mumma was wise, selfless, heroic and brave in the face of adversity, there is absolutely nothing about your Mother and her call to transfer that can be classed as "failure". Nothing.
There was talk about you requiring a caesarean to come out. But your Mumma, Dad, Noni, me and a hospital Midwife called Fiona were firm that this was Plan Z. When we had a moment I asked your Mum how she felt being on the bed and if I could help her to get into some different positions to see if we could help move you. But it didn't matter what your Mumma did, you were comfy, just as you were. Every minute another excrutiating contraction would grip your Mother's body and try to squeeze you out through her full bladder.
My baby had fallen asleep again and this meant I was able to once again massage your Mumma's back during contractions. Your Mumma was very upset that you would not be born at home after all, and we shed tears over this while we waited for the hospital staff to organise the next move.
The doctors had located waters in front of your head and proposed to break them in the hope that you would move into position and follow them out. Because your baby head was quite high and away from Mum's vagina, there was a risk that when they broke the waters your cord might prolapse and you would need to be delivered by caesarean. So, it was decided not to perform any manouvers on your Mother until in theater where they were ready to take the last resort option. Your Mumma was asked to pick one member from her support team to come with her and she chose me. I was able to transfer my sleeping babe from my body to your Noni's and wrap the mei tai around them both, without the babe waking. Noni and I swapped babies for the remainder of your birth, her caring for my 13 month old and me caring for her 37 year old baby.
Your Mum had told me the most important things for me to advocate, should she find herself unable to advocate for herself. Each midwife and obstetrician we came in contact with I told "delayed cord clamping! No vitamin K! NO FORMULA! If the baby has to be separated from Mum, I am to be with the baby". I was given scrubs to wear and then we made our way downstairs, your Mum still contracting on the hospital bed, but finally released from the monitors. We waited to go into theater for half an hour. We had now been in hospital for about four hours and weren't impressed with how slow progress had been. Homebirthers are always told to go to hospital because in emergencies the hospital staff can act fast, but we discovered this is a myth. The staff really let your Mum down on this. They were told many times she had not been able to relieve her bladder, but it took them two hours to get onto it. When they finally did administer a catheter your Mumma released 600mls that had been trapped for hours. She had been asking for an epidural for three hours and it was only happening now.
Your Mum cried with the pain, she had been made to wait too long and my heart went out to her. I kept asking how much longer and asking them to get a move on, it was too much for your Mum to bear. Yours was no normal labour pain for Mum, normal labour pain involves a baby coming down into the vagina, the vagina stretching, the Mumma moving with the pain to help a baby out. None of this was happening for your Mum. For hours she had endured you, stuck, and she had worried. The pain can be all worth it in most cases, but your Mum could feel that it was all for nothing in your case, you were stuck and she did not know when or how you were going to get out safely. A terrifying situation for a mother to be in, and a shock to the system for a mother birthing her fifth baby! While we waited, we cried. Your Mother was begging "get him out! Just get him out!" She had felt you were in her too long for six hours of pushing now.
Finally, at 10:30AM (around ten hours since your Mum had first realised today would be your birthday) your Mumma was taken into a theater room to be given an epidural, have the waters in front of your head broken and your manouvered from the outside by the hands of the Ob, to get you into place. I was not allowed to come into the room with you and Mum because they wanted as few people around during the epidural administration, a bump while playing with a needle in your Mother's spine is a big deal, so I understood their reasoning, but I still didn't like it. You were without your support team, in a strange and surgical world. I felt ill, wondering how you both were and what was happening while I waited alone in the empty bay your Mum and the bed had just been in.
The wait for labour to start after your waters broke on Friday night had been approximately 80 hours long. It had felt like months. And the minutes I waited to hear how you were going in the next room, felt like hours. Finally a nurse came to get me.
"Please sit down" she said and my heart sunk. I knew she had bad news.
She told me that your mother's curved spine made an epidural impossible. They had tried to administer it twice, but the risk to your Mother was too great and they had to give up. Other pain relief options were not available at that point in your labour, in that part of the hospital, and so a caesarean was all we were left with.
This was the nightmare we'd talked about earlier. Actually, it was worse than what we'd feared because we didn't know that your Mumma couldn't have an epidural, she would have to be put under a general anaesthetic for your delivery. She would be unconscious and possibly in recovery for hours before she would know you were earthside. You two would be separated. I felt sick at the thought.
"You can't be in the room while they're operating" the nurse told me and I snapped out of my thoughts
"I have to be with the baby. I am NOT leaving the baby. She specifically said that if she can't be with her baby I have to be."
"Okay. As soon as he is delivered I will get you" she promised.
She led me down the corridor to the operating room you and your Mum were in and told me to sit in the chair near the door. As she turned to leave I stood up:
"Have they started?!"
"Not yet"
"I need to see her. The last time I saw her she was going into the next room for an epidural, it was meant to be a few minutes. It will be hours before she sees any of us again, including her baby. I need to see her."
"Give me a minute".
She went into the OR and returned to usher me in. I walked in as quickly as I could and there was your Mum, laying on the table, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. She did not want this. She was "meant" to be at home with you at her breast right now. She was meant to catch you, her hands the first to touch you, in a pool of warm water in the front room in your home. Her grief was all over her face and I could feel it on mine.
I wanted to be strong for your Mum and reassure her that she had fought galantly for you. I wanted her to know that I knew just how strong and brave she was to have endured the birth as it had happened. How wise I thought her for knowing her body and you well enough to know when she needed help. And for being courageous enough to give up her own dream of homebirthing, to ensure your safe delivery. I wanted her to know that I saw her, I felt her heart breaking for the greater good and I knew the road to recovering from this would be long and challenging. But finding all those words was beyond me as I lost myself in her tears and started crying myself.
I did manage to tell her I was sorry, that I loved her and I would be with you when you came. I kissed her forehead and then the scrubs around me started ushering me out. As I fell into the chair outside the OR I burst into full-blown tears, body shaking, head buried in my hands. How I wished I had the power to make your birth be something that it wasn't, how we all wished that! Upstairs your Noni and Dad waited for news, we had been gone almost an hour and I wondered if anyone had even told them that their beloved wife/child was about to have major surgery?
As I stopped crying, I listened. I was waiting to hear your cry, which would let me know you were in the world and it was time for me to go to you. Inside I felt like I was shaking...like my blood was trembling with all the emotions my body was flooded with. I stood up, trying to see what was going on in the OR through the small window in the door. I couldn't see much and I couldn't hear you, but I wasn't sure they had started. I sat back down and then I heard you, a big gurgled cry. You were here at last! You sounded strong. My spirits lifted.
I moved to the OR door and the nurse from earlier opened it and gestured to where you were. I walked toward the little table they had you lying on, there were a couple of nurses and the peadiatrician crowded around you. I squeezed in and saw you up close for the first time. There was no question whose baby you were! The spitting image of all your siblings, that gorgeous mix of your Mumma and Dadda.
"Oscar" I said your name aloud, immediately. I wanted you to hear it, to know there was someone in the room who knew who you were and where you belonged in this world, even if you couldn't be there right at that moment.
You were a perfect newborn size. They had already dried you off, sadly. Neither your Mum or I ever saw you in all your gooey goodness, this was a first for me: a dry and blood free newborn, it was odd. Your cord had been cut immediately, my heart sank, knowing this would hamper your respiratory stats. I took your hand in mine and you squeezed it and it set any worries I had at ease.I noticed all the other hands on you were wearing gloves and that I was the privileged person who touched you skin to skin for the first time in your life.
You looked good for a dude who had been stuck for so long, who had been surgically removed from his Mumma after exposure to gas, pethidine and a general! Your heart rate was always good. You were calm but alert. You were looking for your Mumma. I could see you twisting your head trying to find her, you stared to the side and looked up at the Midwife Fiona.
"He's trying to have the first gaze" I drew Fiona's attention to you.
"Oh is he, hello Oscar" she said
"He'll forever have a fascination-"
"For women in uniform."
I knew you didn't want to see her or me or anyone else but your Mumma. I glanced across at her, still out like a light. Staff crowded around her abdomen stitching her up. There was a lot of counting, other staff members making sure they knew where every surgical item was so nothing was left behind inside your Mother.
I whispered to you that Mum was nearby and she wished she could hold you. I whispered to you how loved you are, how longed for you are. I told you about Dad and Noni upstairs, waiting to meet you and all the siblings at home who were so excited. With my free hand I stroked you arms and your head, I stooped down to plant a kiss on your head. You had little wisps of soft black hair and your skin was warm and oh so smooth, velvety. I loved you.
"I've never had such an urge to rip off my clothes and hold someone to my chest before!" I exclaimed, but the staff ignored me. I looked back at your unconscious mother and wondered if I could pull up her clothes and lay you naked on her chest, where you were meant to be. But the doctor was still working on you and you were taking sometime to turn pink.
You were a colour I'd never seen before...a reddish brown all over your body, but your hands and feet were white. Above the little table you were lying on there was a light, keeping you warm and making my arms uncomfortably warm and itchy, as I held and stroked you, but I wasn't letting you go. Hell no!
You were still rather gurgely as well. I learned that as a baby comes out the vagina, the vagina squeezes the fluid from her body and babies born via caesarean as you had had to be, did not get this squeezing help. My instinct was to pick you up and rock you on my arm, head down, rubbing your back to drain the fluids, as I had done with my own baby 13 months ago. But the staff seemed puzzled by this suggestion and put a suction tube down your throat and up your nose. You, understandably cried out and squirmed. I tried to reassure you it would be over soon and kept on stroking you.
The pediatrician was trying to make up her mind about whether or not to send you to special care. I hoped not, I knew this would mean a longer separation period for you and your Mum. But eventually she decided you should go to special care because your breathing was slightly shallow (something to be expected given the anesthetic that had just passed the placenta to you for the surgery!). You were wheeled out, further from your mother, a different room from her for the first time ever. I kept up, trying to hold your hand as we walked, getting myself in the way. I asked if I could carry you there in my arms, but they said no, because of the risk of me dropping you. I wanted to run you back to your Mum and hold you to her breast until she was awake and able to hold you herself.
We got to special care and you were weighed. A very healthy 8.98 pounds/3.906 kilograms. Then you were put into a humidicrib. I had the presence of mind to take a photo of you, finally.
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| Oscar Byron ~ 8.98Lbs/3.906Kgs ~ born 11:01AM Tuesday February 28 2012 |
You were so serene, lying on your tummy. You were sucking your hand, hungry for Mummy. Your instincts were awesome. I could see you trying to get to your Mumma's breast, using your hands and knees to crawl upward to where you hoped you'd find the milk. It tugged at my heart strings to watch you when I knew how far your Mumma was, when I had my own breasts aching to feed you.
You reminded me of my duty to your Mum to ensure nothing but breast milk touched your virgin gut. She had been firm on this. She had been firm on everything, but we had lost the battle for a homebirth, to avoid a caesarean and to delay cord clamping. Now I had to focus on the end game: vaccination and artificial milk free.
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| Trying to breast crawl |
I told the staff what your mother wished for you and they were not happy.
"Find the Father" the pediatrician said, subtle as a sledge-hammer about her plan to undermine your mother's wishes and get around me and any issues of consent. It had been two and a half hours since we had seen your Dad and Noni (and my baby). I stood by your crib wondering if I was allowed to touch you while you were in there. Falling asleep on my feed, but no one offered a chair, they wanted me gone.
"Can I touch him?" I asked
"Put that on your hands first" they gestured to some soap, no such soap had been required in the OR, but whatever.
I opened one of the portholes and reached in, you were warm and pink and perfect. I stroked you back and head and face, I rested my hand gently on your back so you did not feel so alone in that box. You were still so calm, like you understood exactly what was happening and why. Wise as your Mumma.
I tuned out the staff and their talk of numbers and politics. I focused all my attention on you. I hoped that while you lay there, you could feel all the love and healing I wished for you, pulsating invisibly from my heart, to my hand and onto your little body. I spoke in whispers to you, to keep the staff from being part of the little universe I imagined you and I in. I told you about your Mum and that soon you would meet your Dad.
You were about one hour old when your Dad entered the room and laid his eyes on you for the first time. He was rattled, seeing his precious son in a box like that. He reached in and touched you, the first touch of a family member:
My energy was waning terribly, and I fear that from here I may have let you down, Oscar. I tried to advocate for you, to get at least one thing your Mother hoped for you to come true. But the staff have their ways and their attachments and your poor Father's heart was stretched about as far as a man's heart can stretch. Two and a half hours he'd heard nothing about the state of his wife and baby. The doctor started talking about the rarest worst case scenarios, she mentioned "brain bleeding" without any mention of rates, statistics, risk factors or your personal case. She made no mention of opposing views to her own either.
I reiterated your Mother's wishes. The pediatrician positioned herself between me and your Dad, her back to me. Subtle as a sledge hammer again.
"I wish we could wait until she's awake to discuss these options with her" I chimed in "All I know is what she has told me and it is very important to her that nothing but breast milk touch his gut. After everything they've been through it would be nice for one thing to go their way!"
The pediatrician started trying to discredit my concern for your gut flora and I was too tired to remember everything I usually know about breast milk and baby guts.
Your Dad asked for time and they were willing to give it to him for the vitamin K option, time for your Mum to wake up and weigh in on the discussion. But they pestered him into consenting to a heel prick test and reminded him that they believed they were acting in your best interests. I was ill.
I could feel the chambers of my brain shutting down, like lights in a house being switched off one by one. By this stage I had had one hour of sleep in about 28 hours. I felt I was no use to you anymore. You had your Father and I had no rights in terms of consent. After watching them give you a heel prick test and you scream it was clear they were going to put something other than breast milk in you and I was too weak to take it.
I left the room and found your Noni to tell her what she had missed and to feed my own baby who had woken in her sling on a strange new woman. Then I went in search of your Mum, who was still in recovery. I had to eat, I was running out of fuel. I went to the cafeteria and inhaled crappy food, fast as I could, desparate to get back to you or find your Mum. I hated the idea of your Mother waking up alone, childless, with a fresh wound on her body. I must have fallen asleep, my head on the table, my baby on the table playing with my hair, because when I lifted my head up your Dad and Noni were sitting with me.
I found your Mum's room and heard her down the corridor being brought to it, I had hoped to see you in her arms, but no, you were still in special care. I told her all I knew about you and asked if she'd seen photos and no, she hadn't, I pulled out my phone and showed her the ones I had taken of you in your humidicrib and her face spasmed into a thousand emotions. Mostly she looked delighted in you.
"Ooooh! I wanna eat him!" she cooed and we giggled.
She took the phone and your Dad's phone and took a good look at every photo.
Every staff member who entered the room was asked when she could see you. She said she was ready to get up and run to you if someone didn't organise something pronto.
Your Mumma did not get to meet you in the flesh until after 3PM the day of your birth. Over 4 hours after you entered the world. They wheeled her up to you, and as much as I wanted to be present for that moment, to see both your faces, to photograph it for you to have forever, I was not allowed in with my baby. It was felt that my baby might have germs (but siblings are germ free). Instead, I waited in the room feeding my girl and waiting to hear all about it. I'm told I fell asleep too and your Noni has photographic evidence of this I have yet to see.
There are so many things that I'm sorry for. Most of which I understand was out of my control, much of which was simply your journey. But there were things that happened, that I did or forgot to do because I wasn't clever enough or with-it enough to think the better in the moment. Most of all, I am sorry I left the special care nursery. I wish I had had the strength to stay by your side, to withstand the impotence of having no say in what happened to you. I feel sick when I remember there was that period when three of us were in the cafe and one in recovery and no one with you. That should not have happened.
I'm also sorry that it was days later that I first thought to ask about your placenta. I didn't even see it when in the OR with you. I was so lost in all that had happened and the battle that lay ahead for me to advocate on behalf of your unconscious mother that it completely slipped my mind to save your placenta. I don't know what happened to it, or if your Mother knows. It was meant to be dehydrated. I was going to make postpartum capsules to aid your Mumma's healing.
While I feel extremely fortunate to have been the first person to place my skin on yours, to speak your name and kiss your head, I wish more than anything that this had not been the case. It breaks my heart (though not as much as your Mothers!) that you did not see her until 4 hours after you birth. And no one cuddled you for 13 hours, when your Mother was finally allowed to give you your first feed, around midnight.
Despite the many battles, the heartache and the tears I witnessed and I shed, I am deeply grateful to you and your family for allowing me to share in your epic journey earthside. I learned so much from you, your Mother, your Midwife and from being in the hospital, dealing with those staff members. I am not the same woman or doula I was one week ago, when I went to dinner with your family on your EDD.
Because of you I am more grateful for all the blessings this world has bestowed upon me. Because of your Mother I am more in awe and trusting of a woman's instincts during pregnancy and childbirth than I have ever been before. Because of you and your Mother my heart is better able to feel compassion and empathy. Because of you I feel a little less afraid of the world, a little braver. Though, I doubt I will ever be as brave as your Mother. You were wise to choose her, Oscar. She was a warrior for you.
In the face of fear, at a time of her greatest vulnerability, she stood her ground and she made her voice heard. I learned that later the staff tried to convince her to give you artificial milk for your first feed, as you continued to breathe alone in that humidicrib. Your Mumma said no. I watched her fight for kangaroo care and lecture passing staff members about kangaroo care being your best chance for healing. And all the while she bled, in pain. But that wasn't going to stop her. Just as the pain of a transverse baby trying to come through her bladder didn't stop her trying everything else possible before submitting to surgery. Just as her very strong desire to have a joyous homebirth didn't stop her from making the call to transfer.
Every child should have a mother like yours.
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| Together at last Thursday March 1, you are 55 hours old |
You are home safe and sound, now. The battle didn't end after I left on Tuesday evening. It continued on Wednesday when your Midwife came to hospital and fought with your Mum to have you taken out of special care and into Mumma's arms permanently. I was cheering at home when news came that you two were FINALLY skin to skin for good at 5PM on Wednesday afternoon. Your mother continued fighting even after that to keep you formula free and to get you home. She succeeded. You were home by lunchtime today: Friday March 2.
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| Perfect you |
I went home Tuesday evening and I slept a solid twelve hours, out before 9PM. When I left on Tuesday the sun was out, the day was bright before ending. It was such a contrast, we arrived in the dark of night, the ground wet and rain falling. To me, you brought the sunshine with you.
I couldn't visit you on Wednesday, but was glad you and your Mum had your Midwife. Your Mum and I stayed in touch on the phone throughout the day and I missed you both terribly. I returned on Thursday to see you in your Mother's arms for the first time. It was such a sight to behold, at last! Such bliss to see the love between you two, how made for one another you are, just as it should be. And she cooes and squees and kisses you all over. You are so loved, dear boy. A queue of siblings lines up to hold you ready to relieve your Mumma, who has little interest in being relieved. She's waited a long time to hold you, she's worked bloody hard to hold you.
I know that at the moment your Mumma is struggling to call what you two had a "birth". I can appreciate where she is coming from. In the end she needed the assistance of others. She wasn't able to witness your removal from her body, it doesn't feel to her like something she did. But for those of us who were present throughout your labour, who watched her fight to bring you earthside safely and keep you safe and get you home afterwards, well, that journey was full of the same strength, determination, bravery, wisdom, love and transformation of character you find in any homebirth. You know better than anyone that she gave you life.
In time I hope that you both heal from what happened on your birthday. I hope I can support you both in that healing. I trust that both of you will know how loved you are throughout this healing journey. And now I hope to have the great honour of watching both of you grow from strength to strength. And you from babe to boy and boy to man.
From your loving birth servant,
Athena xoxo
You & Me
*posted with permission from Mumma*
One more word...
I have been judged online for being insensitive because in the link on the side of this blog to this letter it is labelled "Oscar's arrival" while the other stories are all referred to as births. At the time that I wrote this and made that link Oscar's Mum was not comfortable with his entry into the world being called a birth. I referred to it as an arrival out of respect for where she was in her healing at that time.
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