Fearless Childbirth

Up until March 30, 1987, I'd considered myself a confident, strong, and capable woman. But on that day I entered the hospital as an obstetric "patient." And a "prima gravida" at that! My husband accompanied me through the Emergency entrance. I was admitted and we were escorted to the sixth floor maternity ward -- me in a wheelchair. It was hardly what I'd call an emergency. In fact I didn't give birth until many hours later. By the time my daughter was born I'd been drugged (to take the edge off), immobilized (flat on my back connected to monitors), epiduraled (uh, why?), and convinced that I had a deformed cervix, which prevented my baby from completing her journey through the birth canal. I'd like to note that she has since proved herself to be intrepid, headstrong, and very determined.

The obstetrician had actually begun to prep me for the C-section a couple of days earlier when he (the old fart) reminded me that I was not, at thirty-five, the "youngest chicken on the block" to be giving birth for the first time. I was already in a physically weakened state because I'd dutifully stopped eating the moment my contractions started -- just in case surgery became "necessary." After his admonition I felt vulnerable and inept as well. So, I let them take over and eventually they presented me with a perfect baby girl. I was stapled back together and sent home after seven days of recuperation. I couldn't have been happier.

Twenty months later, I was joyfully with child again -- this time in a new town with a different OB who instructed me that at the age of thirty-seven with one C-section behind me, I would, of course, be scheduling the surgical birth of my second baby. I left his office a bit disappointed and again feeling somehow diminished. I was not used to being told what I had to do. At least he hadn't mentioned my deformed cervix. That was a sensitive subject.

Then I read an article in the New York Times quoting women who'd had vaginal births after caesareans (VBAC). They described the "gift" of the birthing experience and how they had not been willing to relinquish their power again without a fight. A wave of unexpressed grief came over me. I wept. And I decided not to miss this opportunity.

A book called Silent Knife: Cesarean Prevention and VBAC was my bible. I read it in bed sitting next to my husband. It became clear to me that my surgery had been necessitated not by some physical flaw or my advanced age but by a paralyzing fear. Each night before sleep I slammed the book shut, saying out loud, "I'm going to have this baby at home." "O.K." was all he ever said -- a sure vote of confidence. We located a group of midwives who were willing to attend home births. They recommended a childbirth educator who worked exclusively with hopeful VBAC parents; she had birthed three babies at home herself. She pointed out that for most of us the first time we attend a birth we are the ones delivering! In the old days, children were present at the births of their siblings, cousins, neighbors, and friends. To them, birth seemed natural and normal. They grew up knowing what to expect. Today we're kept in the dark until it's our turn. Birth is treated as a life-threatening medical condition and something to be feared. Oh, the pain and screaming that is vividly displayed in every single television or cinematic portrayal of childbirth! No wonder we're scared. One evening in class we watched a nine-minute video of nothing but babies popping out. No contractions, no screaming, just squatting, pushing, and birthing. After seeing that movie there was no doubt in my mind that vaginal birth was indeed possible and in fact, a beautiful thing. We became fully educated. We sent for a homebirth kit and eagerly awaited our time.

On August 17, 1989, at eleven p.m., the midwife arrived at number four High Street. Twenty minutes later we had another perfect little girl. Fully present, I watched her being born! My husband got to catch her and cut the cord. There were no drugs. There was no screaming. After a couple of hours the midwife and her assistant left. We all slept in our own beds that night feeling content and invincible.