My mother's births, and why my mother will not be at my birth.

My mother gave birth twice. Both were victories, in their day, in some ways.

Her first child (me) was born by caesarean section. This was something she had always hoped to avoid, but at 8.5 months, I turned transverse and would not budge. There was too little amniotic fluid to attempt version, so a c-section it was (given her second pregnancy, I wonder if I might have turned if I had been left to cook a bit longer, but this was the 80s). My mother was upset about it, but was even more upset that she would have to leave my father behind. At that time, the partners of women getting c-sections were expected to stay out of the operating room, leaving the woman totally without a support network at a time when she really needed one.

My mother successfully argued her way into letting my father come to her birth. My father was the first non-doctor father they'd allowed in to see a c-section birth, and he stayed and took pictures (they didn't turn out too well until I was out, but that's okay). My mother didn't have to be without labor support, something that was very unusual for that time and place.

Four years later, when she was pregnant with my sister, my mother saw no logic to the "once a caesarean, always a caesarean" rule. Her body had been more than capable of birthing, my positioning was just very unlucky (and unusual -- a very, very small percentage of babies stay in the position I did for as long as I did!). She wanted this newfangled thing she'd been hearing about, a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarean). Her OB/GYN flatly refused, and fired her as a patient when she continued to insist. She went to one who would "allow" her a "trial of labor," and her pregnancy progressed. She and an aunt of mine had an identical due date, and when my aunt gave birth at 36.5 weeks with a very short and precipitous labor, my mother felt more than a pang of jealousy. But she was happy when she passed 38 weeks and my sister was head-down, just like she should be. At 40 weeks, she could see my aunt's nearly month old baby and started wondering when labor would kick into gear. Another week passed, and another. At 42 weeks, many hospitals would force a patient into an induction, but they knew that an induction with a VBAC meant a higher risk of uterine rupture. She went in for tests daily to make sure the baby was okay, which it was. Another week passed as she tried all the usual methods and some unusual ones for getting labor to start: she had a lot of sex, did physical activity, rode a motorcycle. Nothing worked, and another week passed. At 44 weeks, I'm sure she wondered if she'd EVER stop being pregnant.

At 44.5 weeks, she had her successful VBAC after a 48 hour labor. As it turned out, the OB/GYN who had flatly refused the VBAC was the one on call that night, and handled it with professionalism and decency (he is now a big advocate of VBAC!). My father was there at this birth as well, and my mother tried very hard to lobby for me to be present at the birth too. In spite of the fact that they never let children under the age of 8 into the delivery room, I was already into my "I want to be an obstetrician" phase, and wowed the doctors with my high level of verbal interaction. However, because VBACs were so new and there wasn't tons of data on their safety yet, they were worried there could be major issues, and the doctors didn't want to have to worry about what to do with me if my mom had to be whisked off to the OR. So I stayed and waited with my aunts, and only got to meet my sister when she was cleaned up and presentable.

My mother was a fighter against interventions she saw as unnecessary, and fought for labor support and to have her immediate family around her during birth. It should come as no surprise to her that I would be similarly radical in thinking. But upon even testing the waters in discussions of birth with her, my mother has nothing but good things to say about epidurals and medicalized, hospitalized birth. When I've mentioned my plans for a natural birth, she's said "oh, you'll be crying for the epidural in an hour, and remember, it took me 48 hours to have your sister." When I've even mentioned the idea of home birth, she seems to think it's a naive and foolish thing to plan -- again, her idea is that I will automatically want to go to a hospital right away.

That kind of defeatist attitude, the idea that failure is inevitable and that my body won't be strong enough, is exactly the wrong kind of thing to have around at birth. There are many points during labor where going to the hospital or staying home to birth are determined by the level of support and optimism the laboring woman is surrounded by. During the parts of labor where I say "I can't do this, I refuse to do this, the pain is too much," I want someone to be around to say "you're already doing this, this is normal, you are doing great. I worry that if my mother was around, she'd say "well, the pain would go away if you'd just go in to the hospital." I worry that if she was up here, even if she said nothing, I wouldn't let my control lapse. If you can't let your guard down, you can't birth effectively.

The people I will have at my birth are the exact people who live here in the house now. One of those people, my housemate J, whom I've talked about in previous entries, is a doula and knows a whole lot about birth. The other three are men, two of whom I love and couldn't imagine a birth without, the other of whom is J's husband, who will be there for the little logistical things that need to be done, like calling people who need to be called or heating blankets or sterilizing scissors. Four other people. I've seen them all naked and vice versa, so there's no possible body shame issues there, and they will be there the entire birth. How many hospital births can you say that about? Most hospital births involve a small platoon of medical personnel, many of whom are only seen by the laboring woman for a short amount of time.

One of T's jobs -- that's J's husband -- is to call my mother when the pushing stage starts. Even traveling at top speeds with no traffic, it's seven hours from my mother's doorstep to mine. That means that even with a long pushing phase, my mother will get there when the baby's born and not before. If somehow she managed to get up here sooner, the pressure to have an epidural or whatnot is off at that point.

In some ways I sincerely wish I could invite my mother to my labor as well. It would be a culmination of those ways in which she fought for herself, an evolution of the type of birth she wanted. I would have no issue inviting my father, because he would tell me that my choices are my own. But as it stands, I think she would be more of a hindrance than a help and I can't very well invite dad without mom. So, mom, if you find this blog (you've found all the other ones, right?), that entry is for you. If, between now and my birth, you can convince me that my fears are wrong, I would be more than happy to invite you. I could see you being a fantastic help, if only you could get it through your head that sometimes I don't want the same things you want!