Birth Experience: Selah Joelle (Get Comfortable)

One of the first questions inevitably asked when someone learns that I was present for my sister's two homebirths is if it's something I'd like to try. And invariably, my answer has been NO. Absolutely not. I'm a hospital girl, an epidural girl. Eden's labor lasted the better part of three days, Judah's labor was induced (read: contractions like a Mac truck) and in both circumstances, I could have kissed my anesthesiologist, on the mouth, husband present. I'd had what I considered very positive experiences with the hospital, medications, the whole thing. But a weird thing happened about halfway through this pregnancy.

A friend had just had her second child, and when we went to visit them in the hospital, I was surprised to learn that she had chosen to go the natural route with this baby, after having an epidural with her first. Like me, she saw an obstetrician, had her babies in the hospital, and had no problem with the epidural the first time around... so I was intrigued. What had changed? Why put yourself through that kind of pain if you don't have to? Was it worth it? Why? WHY?!

I started reading in secret. This could be a major paradigm shift, and it was not one I was prepared to defend, discuss, or commit to... so I didn't really talk about it. Nap times were spent googling natural birth and relaxation techniques, labor positions and how a partner can help. I picked up selections from the library and rented DVDs. I read stories here, among other places, and pored over a borrowed copy of Birthing From Within, a book I'd thumbed through during my first pregnancy and initially written off as a bit too earthy-birthy for my sensibilities. (Having placed myself squarely in the "NOT earthy-birthy" camp, I stuck it in a drawer and returned it after having Eden, happy as a numb little clam after a successful epidural.) Needless to say, I got much more out of it this time around. (But I still didn't do any "birth art.") I focused so much on the birth process and how it might go, that the thought of an actual baby in the bassinet caused more than one mental freakout. Like every mother before me, I wondered and worried and conjectured about how everything would go.

Thursday the 18th was a day like any other that week, except that it was February and the sun was out. It was Derek's last day of work before taking his scheduled vacation time for the baby and, having had a particularly cabin fever-ish week with the little ones, I determined to fill my day with as much activity and productivity as possible, hinderances be damned. I loaded up the kids and headed to Family Fare to stock up on the kid food that was lacking in our fridge and pantry. Judah rode in the front of the cart while Eden kneeled uncomfortably in the basket, her personal space quickly encroached upon by produce and food stuffs. I wondered briefly how I'd do grocery shopping with three kids... Then it was back out into the sunshine and to the library to swap out last week's books and DVDs for new selections. We met Megan and her girls there, as the library is more easily maneuvered when it's tag teamed: someone to scout books and media while the other keeps tabs on kids between the stacks, the game table , and the turtle tank. I was feeling Braxton-Hicks contractions at this point, as I had been throughout the morning, but they were neither painful nor regular, just noticeable. I did mention to my sister that, without being able to give an exact timeline, the baby WAS making a move. Something was shifting, changing... but at the time, that was all I could say for certain. Without any sense of urgency regarding these developments (that I attributed to my morning's activities herding and carrying small children with a smattering of wishful thinking,) we continued on to pick up YaYa in Zeeland and hit up TJMaxx to look for a baby girl outfit to pack in the hospital bag, one of the few pre-baby tasks I had yet to cross off the list. (Yes, we found one... good thing!) We picked up Arby's and headed back to my place for lunch before putting the kids down for their rest time.

I was still feeling contractions fairly regularly, and though they were becoming somewhat uncomfortable, I still didn't feel they warranted any altered behavior or monitoring, besides being aware of them. I didn't mention them to my mom, whom I was conversing normally with, not wanting to get her worked up prematurely, over what seemed like a very pregnant body's understandable response to a morning packed full of physical exertion. I did send Derek a text, however, telling him that I was having lots of contractions "fyi." In hindsight, I suppose the wording might have been a bit alarming, and Derek's response was, "How far apart are they?!" I told him I wasn't even timing them, and not to worry about it, but it wasn't too much later that I tapped out another message: "But... I don't think I'll be making dinner." It was about this point that I started to take this whole contraction thing seriously. My dad had just picked mom up, and the kids were still upstairs resting. I was really noticing each contraction now, as they were becoming somewhat more frequent and more uncomfortable. When I realized that going upstairs to get Judah out of his crib was NOT something I was prepared to do in the middle of one of these contractions, I decided it was time to call Derek. Within twenty minutes he was home, tacking an extra hour and a half onto his paternity leave. (You're welcome, honey!) It was about 3:30.

My previous two labors were greatly different from one another, as well as from what I was experiencing this time. I knew from other accounts, though, that even this could be far from the end of the story, and I wanted to be sure it was the real thing before making arrangements for kids, calling the doctor, etc. I also wanted to labor at home for as long as possible, so I wasn't chomping at the bit to hop in the car. Once Derek got home, I filled him in on what I had been feeling, and told him I was going to take a shower and hopefully have a sense once I was out as to whether or not it was time to call my parents to come pick up the kids. Marking the contractions with tick marks on the steamy shower door, I noted that during my shower, I had 7 contractions that required breathing through. I stuck my head out of the bathroom door and told Derek to go ahead and call YaYa and Boppa.

Things started to move really quickly then, blurry and rushy, but not frantic. This was really happening! Derek took care of the kiddos while I threw a few last minute items into the bag and relaxed through contractions, practicing some of the techniques I'd only read about in books, mostly slow, "sleep" breathing while welcoming the pain, really thinking about what I was feeling and what its purpose was. My mom and dad arrived, and for the ten or fifteen minutes that they were there, I found myself talking, joking, finding items, dodging kids to have a contraction, calling the doctor's office, and sharing excited, knowing looks with my mom, with whom I'd spent the seemingly normal afternoon. Once the kids were off, Derek and I headed to the hospital.

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of experiencing it, a car is possibly THE LAST place one would want to endure a labor contraction, and this is coming from someone whose car ride to the hospital lasts no more than 4 minutes, tops. I was so thankful to get out of the car that I barely let Derek drop me off at the door, figuring that even walking from the parking lot would beat being strapped into that seat. So anyhow, we made our way up to the birth center (sans wheelchair, to the surprise of the person at the front desk... he seemed confused and skeptical that I was actually in labor. It's amazing what sense of calmness one gains having walked this path before.) We got our room, a big space with a western exposure so the room GLOWED with the late afternoon sun. At first check upon arriving at the hospital, I was already dilated to 6 centimeters.


I was loathe to get in the bed, and was promised that I would be able to walk around freely, but the doctor and nurses wanted to get an idea of my contraction pattern and the baby's reactions. The bed didn't feel much better than the car, and I couldn't WAIT to get unhooked and move around. However, maybe 40 minutes into the hour on the monitors I'd agreed to, the contractions were getting pretty intense, and the endorphins released between them had a sedative effect... I was actually falling asleep between contractions! That kept me in the bed without a complaint, and I ended up staying there for the rest of the labor and delivery. An hour after the first check, I was dilated to an 8.

I think because I was so far along when I got to the hospital, and was progressing so quickly once I got there, I didn't even consider pain medication. Though the contractions were intense and quite long (according to my doctor... I had nothing to compare them to,) the pain was manageable, and I was in a good place mentally. Somewhere between 8 and 9 centimeters, though, my water broke. This was the first time in three labors that I FELT my water break, and we heard the pop on the fetal monitor as well. Wild! After that, contractions were noticeably more painful, and it became difficult to maintain the perspective and focus required to stay on top of the overwhelming pain. It seemed that half of the time, I was able to breathe and concentrate and ride the wave, and the other half of the contractions were moaned/ gripped/ occasionally yelled through. I sang (in my head) the words to "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," words that were comforting truth, and one verse plus the refrain took about as long as one contraction. I can't say either method made the pain feel any different, but maintaining composure felt better overall... if that makes any sense. I kept myself from succumbing to the sedative effects of the endorphin haze between contractions; as tranquil and dreamlike and relaxing as these little naps were, allowing them meant waking up to a contraction, without the benefit of preparing for it.

At some point during these "climbing the bed" contractions (ah, yes, THAT, my friends, is what they refer to as transition,) I felt the urge to push... another "first" in three deliveries. It wasn't an overwhelming feeling like I'd heard described, but the doctor encouraged me to give it a shot to see how it felt and how the baby would move. As soon as I did, the attendants scurried to make whatever preparations they needed to make; this baby was on her way! Pushing with this delivery was much less structured than with the previous two, lacking any counting or coaching or waiting for contractions. My body sort of took over, and I didn't really think about it much, apart from the very end when I was encouraged to really give it my all. I was also surprised that pushing didn't hurt much, much more. Frankly, the amount and intensity of pain overall was surprisingly NOT the excruciating, bone-crushing agony I'd sort of expected. The difficulty, again, is in finding the stamina to endure and accept the pain for contraction after contraction after contraction, and that in itself is enough. So anyhow, I began pushing when my body wanted to push, and I don't think it was more than 4 or 5 minutes later that a perfect, warm, wet little girl was swung up onto my chest. I saw that she was a girl right away; if someone actually announced it, I don't remember hearing it. The relief was overwhelming, the love was overwhelming, and the pain was forgotten immediately: there was just my little baby, perfect and new.

I guess I'll know in a few years if this is accurate or not, but I really feel that the clarity of the memory of Selah's birth is more than just a function of its recent nature. I was so much more connected to the entire experience, not only physically, but mentally, psychologically. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it was a sacred, spiritual experience... or maybe I would. Being that connected to something so primal, so challenging, so universally experienced over time and cultures and generations was a blessing, and, for me, an important rite of passage. I've done it both ways, and really, I can't imagine that natural childbirth with Eden or Judah would have been nearly as positive. This is why I went into this experience NOT dead-set on going drug-free, but with every intention of trying, and with the research and tools I felt would help me accomplish that if possible.

I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

Selah Joelle was born at 7:48 in the evening, weighing 8 pounds and 11 ounces, and was 22 inches long. She had a head full of black hair, and looked strikingly like her mama's baby photos (and still does.) Selah wasn't actually "Selah" until the morning after her birth, as her father and I hadn't yet settled on a girl's name. We had a list that we whittled down as we cuddled and hugged and touched and smelled her, and knew early on that this name suited her the best. (For those who are curious, the list of names we were working from included Clara, Marah, Scarlet, Arbor, and Linnea, among a few others.) She is just... she *IS* Selah Joelle... sweet, sing-song, soft, easy. She has found her place in the family easily, a place that has always been hers.

It's like we've been waiting for Selah all along.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father
There is no shadow of turning with Thee
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not.
As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see!
All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided!
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.