Heron’s birth story:

Heron is my second child and second birth, his big brother Arthur was born in November 2021. When Arthur turned a year, I wrote a lengthy version of his birth story. Writing it down was therapeutic for me since his birth was surprisingly traumatic. In writing it I realized how much healing I had already done, and had left to do. Heron’s birth was a very different experience. I have not spent nearly as much time thinking about it or processing it, like I did with Arthur’s. Nevertheless it feels like honoring the experience of birthing him, to write it down like I did his brother’s. I also happen to have a friend in labor this very moment of writing, so there is some power I think in this story:

Once again, I was very pregnant, and my due date came and went. My pregnancy was harder this time around, I felt depleted, tired and honestly depressed about how I would manage having another baby. Having to be pregnant with a 2 year old was much harder than the glossy-eyed optimism of my first pregnancy. I was trying for a VBAC, and looked on paper like a great candidate. But because of this they were limiting me to 41 weeks, unlike my first pregnanyc when I went all the way to 42 weeks. Despite trying to convince myself that I would go into labor early, and not have to suffer the summer heat at full term, every day that went by past my due date, with no real sure signs of labor starting, was a sign that I was heading for an induction.  

Another thing going through my head was In a late ultrasound, they detected a 10 pound baby. I remember telling the ultrasound technician that I had read that these were actually not very accurate estimations of weight. But she was undeterred, saying she had gotten a clear measurement of the baby’s femur. Well. That had me a bit scared. I had an induction scheduled at exactly the 41 week mark. But then I called and moved it up a day. I was worried that if I came in at 41 weeks, they would not allow me to pursue the VBAC (TOLAC is actually what it is called: Trial of Labor After Cesarean) since it would mean birth would be after 41 weeks. I remember it was hard to actually schedule the induction because the hospital was so packed with scheduled inductions! But I thought if I followed every rule and recommendation, they would let me do the TOLAC the longest. 

I tried all the things that can bring on labor naturally, leading up to 41 weeks. If you’ve heard of it, I tried it: dates, eggplant, curb walking, miles circuit, herbs, membrane sweeps etc. , though this time around I had a lot less trust in this part of the process. Once again my baby was just too cozy in his little womb home. I think I was 1 cm dilated when we arrived at the hospital for the induction. 

It started off slow, of course. Despite getting there at 8 am, we had to get checked in, sign forms, wait and wait and things didn’t actually get started until about noon. First up was the foley balloon, which I was dreading because it was so painful last time. Surprise, this time it wasn’t bad at all. After a few hours I had dilated enough they could pull it out, but still wasn’t feeling contractions, so they started me on pitocin. This means of course I was strapped to an IV, which I could walk around with, but was still kind of a buzzkill. Pitocin has to be ramped up slowly, so every hour or so they would increase the dose. I don’t think it started kicking in until it was up to 14. So 7 hours or so after starting. 

In those 7 hours, we walked the hallways, I bounced on the ball, I did other exercises our doula recommended. I did a lot of looking at photos of Arthur on my phone. I remember the OB came in and suggested breaking my water insanely early. I knew enough to wait. The anesthesiologist team came in and also offered to get an epidural placed: not start the epidural, but get the catheter in place so that it could be started easily when the time came. The catheter is a piece of flexible tubing, NOT the giant ass needle they use to insert the epidural. I said no. I was still hoping to have this baby without an epidural, and getting that in place meant I would inevitably use it, which I didn’t want. Despite knowing that being on pitocin makes labor much more painful, I thought I still had a chance of a “natural” birth. 

Towards the evening, I started to feel contractions. They were not comfortable, but I was so relieved to actually get to this point in the process, as I didn’t with Arthur. They were like waves I could ride. Rhythmic and tight feeling, but I could move and breathe through them and even dance. Andrew was sleepy so I gave him my blessing to get some sleep while he could. I snuck a protein bar, since I hadn’t eaten all day.  I danced to my playlist, bounced on the ball, and felt like a very capable birthing person. The waves came and I rode them. They were directional: they came from behind my right side and slid out through the left. I could do this. It wasn’t easy or comfortable, but there was something really magical in this hour in the dark, doing my thing.

It was now getting later, maybe like 9 or 10 pm. They wanted to do a cervical check. I consented, and I was up to like 4 or 5 cm. Despite all the walking, bouncing, dancing, etc. I hadn’t really progressed much after the foley balloon. I had expected this, it seems so common in all the birth stories. So now the prospect of breaking my waters to speed things up made more sense. We talked it over with our doula, who was still waiting to come in until she was really needed. 

We said yes, let’s break the waters and see what happens. This was another thing I was dreading, expecting to be pierced with a giant crochet hook and feel a lot of pain. However it was surprisingly painless. What was shocking was the amount of fluid that gushed out, and how warm it was. The nurses left and very soon the contractions skyrocketed in intensity. I remember getting up from the bed, staggering to get to the bathroom which was just a couple of steps away. I had to poop, and while I was doing that I also threw up. It was awful. I was clinging to the railing in the bathroom, while contraction after contraction buffeted me. Eventually I made it out of there and sat on the birthing ball, holding on to the side of the tub. I knew some movement could help with the contractions. I tried moving on the ball. But I felt like I was like being run over by a freight train. There was no way to breathe through them or do anything other than cling on for dear life. Our doula was on her way by now, but it was dawning on me that this was so intense, I wasn’t sure I could handle it. At some point they came in and turned down the pitocin. My contractions were so back to back, I wasn’t getting a break between them, which no doubt added to my complete overwhelm. By the time my doula came, I had already told Andrew to go ask for an epidural. I had wanted to experience the wild animalness of labor. But I also was really set on a VBAC and I was worried that I would get in the way of that, if I wasn’t able to cope with the contractions. I knew it would be hours to come, about an hour per centimeter until I was fully dilated. The prospect of surviving for that long just did not seem possible. My doula came and asked if I would like to try the tub first, before the epidural. I said no way (I think this is my only regret, really, maybe it would have helped. But it was unimaginable to me at the time that being in water would do anything). 

The team came in to do the epidural. I had to sit absolutely still at the edge of the bed, which was extremely challenging. I was shaking a lot too, something about adrenalin or the pitocin or just my body responding to trauma. But I did manage to stay still enough for them to insert that giant needle. I heard the anesthesiologist say something about a blood tinge, but didn’t know what that meant. I lay back on the bed, expecting relief, but it didn’t come. I still felt the contractions steam rolling me. And it was harder now to deal with them because I had to lay on my back, which was not at all comfortable. The relief just didn’t come. I told the nurses. Everyone could see. They turned up the epidural. Did it help, they asked? I said maybe a tiny bit (I don’t think it did at all, this was just wishful thinking). For what seemed like hours I lay on my back, agonizing through the contractions. Andrew and my doula were there, trying to comfort me, but it didn’t make a difference, I really felt like I was just clinging on for dear life. This was the worst of the whole experience: having to lay there. I was wishing I had never asked for the epidural, so that I could at least move around. My low point was wishing I could just be sedated, and have a C-section after all, I couldn’t bear it. Luckily I was able to keep that thought to myself.  Finally they came and replaced the epidural again. He said there had been “blood tinge” when he withdrew the needle the first time, meaning maybe they had not placed it correctly in my spinal cord. What is crazy to me now, is that means all the fentanyl was going straight into my bloodstream, and not doing a damn thing!

Within a minute of the second placement of the epidural, I felt complete relief. It was unmistakable. Sweet numbness. I finally had the presence of mind to look at the clock, it was around 12:30. Over two hours since they had broken my water. Now we could turn down the lights and I felt overwhelming peace. My doula had a projector that looked like the night sky. Andrew could sleep, he was snoring. I just lay there dozing, trying to sleep for a couple of hours, because as they told me, I would need all my energy when it came time to push. 

My doula Evan and I talked some. I said I knew it was the right call to get the epidural, but part of me still wondered. Why did I want to try it without? I guess I had some romantic notions of being able to tolerate the pain. The pain being lofty, somehow. But now I think there is no virtue in suffering, despite whatever protestant work ethic bullshit is somehow ingrained in me. It  felt like a miracle, being able to get that peaceful break. I also know now how hard just having a newborn is, how I would count every hour of sleep in the next months as a blessing. Evan told me that only one person she ever helped with birth, out of hundreds, had had pitocin and had their baby without an epidural. That made me feel better. 

Sometime around 4 am I started to feel some pressure. Turns out I was at 10 cm, and ready to push. It still feels like divine intervention to have had those hours be totally painless and peaceful, to be able to welcome my baby in peace, not urgency or distress. 

The next two hours were spent pushing. I was able to feel my contractions enough to time my pushes with them. The top of Herons head was poking out of the birth canal for most of those two hours, he just had to turn. Pushing was exhausting. Later I would feel it in all my muscles, especially my arms. I think having a doula was the most handy in this situation, because having the numbness of the epidural made it harder to respond to my natural cues. But Andrew, Evan, the nurses were like coaches and cheerleaders. It kept seeming like he was almost out, just one last push! I did one last push again and again. Just when it started to feel too hard to keep going, finally, suddenly, Heron was here and on my chest!!! The feeling of relief, lover, wonder, surged through me. He was wet and crying and squirming. Very alive!!! I have a video of this moment that Evan took, which is too gruesome to ever share with anyone. But the thing that stands out to me the most is how big Heron’s feet looked! How cuddled up he had been inside of me one moment, and out the next.

The next two hours were spent alternating between cuddling him and getting him to latch, and him getting weighed (9 lbs 12 ounces!) and assessed by the nurses. There was some concern, he had low blood sugar, which happens with bigger babies. I had tearing and had to be stitched up. It was a 2nd degree tear, which is not bad for such a large baby--one benefit to having pushed for so long. But the OB resident was not totally sure she had done the sutures correctly, so called in the surgical resident. And the only way to check was to undo all the stitches, and then redo them. I wasn’t too bothered at the time, still gratefully numb from the epidural, and feeling that sweet relief of having a healthy beautiful baby. I was never super concerned about the low blood sugar Heron had either, I knew he was in good hands and he seemed so big and full of life to me. But later, when I was no longer numb and feeling all the pain from all the aspects of childbirth, I felt aghast about having to be stitched up twice. It also literally took 2 hours, 2 extra hours of my feet on the stirrups, spread open for all to see.

We got up to the Mother Baby floor and I just felt bliss. Heron was by our side the whole time, and despite needing a little extra help with formula right at the start, to even out his blood sugar, he was clearly thriving. I realize now too, that with a second child, so much of the anxiety and shock of those early newborn days, tasked with keeping a baby alive for the first time, felt like cake. I was able to enjoy myself way more, despite the pain of recovery, of my milk coming in, of incessant breast feeding. 

Despite all the bad parts: ending up needing an induction again, the failed first epidural, tearing and the getting stitched up twice, this birth was truly healing to my psyche. I’m not entirely sure I can say why, exactly. It just went much more like how I imagined a birth to be. And feeling the sheer bliss, that transcendental moment of the baby going from inside to outside, to being in my arms, is truly unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and was completely missing from my first birth.  

Physically recovery seemed harder with the VBAC than my C-section, though I do think I got lucky with my C-section and mostly had numbness instead of pain. I also didn’t have a toddler to care for the first time around. Another fun fact, turns out it is quite common for second babies to be bigger than first babies, and my birth canal did not exactly get stretched out the first time. I was suprised how damaged I felt after this birth. I was wearing ice packs for weeks. But also amazing in the end, how quickly and completely I healed. Those tissues are indeed built for this. 

A year out, I know that I have some healing still to do, though this time it feels less complicated and much more physical. A body goes through so much in pregnancy, childbirth AND in the caring of little children. I constantly push my body’s needs to the side. I can count in one hand, how many full night’s of sleep I have gotten in the past year. I haven’t taken a walk, by myself, for pleasure, in more than that. There will be a time, maybe in another year, when I can actually reintegrate into this older, postpartum self. For now, I still have this out of body, sense of disconnectedness. But there is a completeness now too. I know with certainty I will not give birth again in this lifetime. A full family, a full life. Two babies, two beautiful boys, two sweet loves.