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Isaiah's Birth Story Part 3: Good Catch!

In a last ditch effort to ramp up my labour, my Doula Kirsten suggested we go for a midnight walk.  I can’t remember the last time I went for a walk in the dark, but it sounded terrifying and exciting…so Ivan, Kirsten & I headed into the cool night air.  I started strolling along, when Kirsten informed me – “Mama, this is gonna be a brisk walk” and basically started jogging circles around me like Rocky (okay, not quite – but it was less leisurely than I had pictured).  Kirsten & I are so similar, it’s amazing.  Lie again – we are complete opposites and the walk reminded me of that ; )  I was ready to walk the small familiar court we live on…while Kirsten started heading in the first direction her feet could find.  I tried to walk on the nice safe sidewalk, while Kirsten lured Ivan & I into the middle of the street with a confidence that screamed ‘come on, don’t be a wimp!’.  I almost reigned her in like a mom, but then realized that it was the middle of the night and there were no cars to be seen, and I was as big as a house, so the chances of us getting hit by a car were slim.  Kirsten chatted energetically most of the way, about things like the recurring dream she had the night before that she had missed Isaiah’s arrival, while I stayed pretty quiet aside from my contraction moans while hanging from Ivan’s shoulders.  Despite our different personalities & approaches, Kirsten & I shared the same common goal: to get this labour moving!  When we got home, I was proud that my contractions seemed to have stabilized around the 5-minute mark.  But I was still keenly aware that I had a ways to go, as evidenced by the fact that I served my team a platter of my homemade banana bread!  I wondered aloud if I should climb into my birthing pool, but Kirsten wisely suggested it might be time to rest.  Now, just because I like being right: I would like to point out that if I had gotten into the water, I’d like to think there was a reasonable chance my labour may have progressed and Isaiah may have arrived sometime that night.  But if that were the case, I may have also been completely exhausted and that is not a good way to enter active labour.  Anyway, remember when Kirsten said ‘walk’ and meant ‘marathon’?  Well I should’ve known when she said ‘rest’, she quickly clarified that she thought Ivan & I should go ‘cuddle’ with a wink.  The midwives followed her lead and gave us some alone time, but little did they know we had already checked this off the list earlier…and I had no interest in a Round 2.  So Ivan & I laid down to try and sleep a.k.a. Ivan was snoring within 2 minutes tops and I stared at the ceiling for an hour.  Needless to say, things slowed down, yet again. 

 The ladies then made some noise as they came upstairs to find us doing a whole lot of nothing.  I let them know that the rest (and probably the thinking) had slowed my contractions down to about every 10 minutes.  Theresa suggested bypassing another assessment since we all knew that things were going in the wrong direction.  I still had hope that after some proper sleep I could get things moving quickly in the morning.  I was even tempted to ask Kirsten to crash on the couch…but I also knew that if she were there, I would probably be worrying about whether she was comfortable and possibly wanting to make her breakfast in the morning ; )  I think she read my mind, because she immediately offered to make her long trip home to the other end of the city and promised to return as soon as I needed her.  So all 3 ladies left me high & dry, along with my motivation & excitement.  I was pretty spent, so I asked Ivan to make my favourite meal (chapatti & omelette) right before we both went to sleep.  I unhooked myself from the Tens machine that was helping manage contraction pain, and managed to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep while things were still slow.  Ivan slept like a baby, while I obsessed about the one inside me, and plotted how I was going to get him out.

By 7:30am, I told Ivan I couldn’t sleep anymore and was ready to get things moving yet again.  He tried convincing me to sleep in a few minutes longer…but that was about as effective as, well…anything my husband suggests.  While Ivan reheated the water in our birthing pool, I texted a friend to let her know I had jinxed things yesterday.  I called Theresa to update her and my jaw dropped when she suggested we touch base around 6:30 that evening.  I honestly think a part of my brain said ‘but we have to pick up the girls from daycare by 4:30’.  Next, I texted Kirsten, who assured me she could zip over anytime...but the fact that she was at the zoo with her daughter reminded me that I was becoming the Boy who Cried Wolf.  Ivan and I both climbed into the pool, which was actually set up in Isaiah's bedroom in lieu of nursery decor - poor 3rd kids!  At first, I tried to stay comfortable  but Ivan reminded me that squatting would help, and I knew he was right...so this time I listened.  I got out feeling refreshed and put on my second cutest maternity dress.  Around 9:30am, I called the girls at the babysitter’s house and Mariah asked impatiently “did you push Isaiah out yet?!?” I told her I was working on it, but that wasn’t good enough “Please, please, please can you promise to push him out before we get home?”; I assured her I would do my best.  I texted Kirsten again to let her know Ivan and I were planning to try another walk to keep up the momentum.  We came downstairs where I laboured over my exercise ball and managed to plug in my phone, since the battery was dying.  I noticed on my contraction counting app that they were getting mighty close together, so I called Theresa around 10:30 to update her.  Theresa could hear in my voice that things were more intense than yesterday, so she agreed to head over with an ETA of 11:15.  I honestly think I should have screamed ‘No, I need you now, please speed!’…but I’m a people pleaser so instead I said ‘okay’ before hanging up.  My last text to Kirsten read: “I think head over please : ) Had a few close ones (2.5, 1.5, 4)”.  I told Ivan a couple of times that I thought we should move back upstairs, but he assured me I was managing the pain really well where I was so we stayed put a few more minutes.  On the last contraction downstairs, I dove face first into the couch to moan, and realized that the pain was getting more intense.  When I stood up, Ivan even commented ‘Oh, your lip is turning into a frown…I know this part of labour!’ – which essentially signified the exact moment of my ‘transition’ into active labour.  I almost went back for my phone, but Ivan assured me not to worry about it since he could come back for it.  

We quickly, but slowly, managed to get back upstairs before the next contraction hit – and I returned to my usual position over my exercise ball on top of an Ikea gym mat in our bedroom.  For whatever reason (probably because it was part of my ‘plan’ that I was desperately trying to cling to), I asked Ivan to reheat the water in the birthing pool.  He tried his best, but as soon as he could turn on a faucet or move a hose, I begged him to come back.  My contractions were now only a minute apart or less, so Ivan & I finally both simultaneously said in our heads ‘F—the pool’!  My moans became deeper, more serious, more guttural.  Midwives and Doulas often talk about this ‘singing’ stage, which instinctively happens to mamas during active labour…don’t let the name fool you: it’s not a pretty song!  The noise itself is so real though, that it has its own beauty and reminds you that even humans are creatures of survival.  To be honest, the only other time I’ve ever heard anything similar, is when people mourn a loved one's death.  The contractions began to occur ‘one on top of each other’, which is the stage most women remember vividly since you can barely catch your breath and mentally prepare before the next one arrives.  During the short moments between my deep moans, I began to whimper to Ivan (which ironically sounds strikingly similar to newborn baby noises), and half-jokingly said ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’.  That was the familiar point of feeling pain like nothing else I could ever imagine, knowing in my head that it would be over soon, but feeling like I couldn’t handle even one more second.  I’m a huge advocate of natural childbirth and homebirth, but its that moment that reminds me I would never try to pressure another woman into the experience or lie to them and tell them it’s a breeze.  It’s not…and I know that if I were in hospital and offered medication to make the pain go away, I would accept it without a doubt.  However, since natural midwife assisted homebirth offers tremendous health benefits for mother and baby and has actually been scientifically proven to be far 'safer' than hospital birth, I'm confident it is the right decision for me.  

I told Ivan I needed to move onto the bed, so he helped me up and I collapsed on my side for a few moments before the next contraction pulled me onto hands & knees.  I buried my face into the pillow during that contraction and shifted gears again into ‘this is happening’ mode.  On the next contraction, I could feel baby’s head pushing on my cervix so I moaned to Ivan “baby’s coming”.  He totally didn’t believe me!  He asked a couple of times ‘do you want me to check?’ – I didn’t even humour that with a response because I knew it, and I had already told him, so I really didn’t care whether or not he checked.  When he did start to believe me, Ivan tried to tell me he needed to get the phone from downstairs (to call Theresa), but I quickly shut that idea down, exclaiming “No!  Stay here!”.  Third contraction on the bed: my body took over and I moaned with a bit of high pitch to explain I was for real "I’m pushing".  Now this next moment is a bit comical in my head because everyone who hears the baby arrived before the midwives congratulates Ivan on skillfully ‘delivering’ the baby, with some assumption that he was calm and sure of himself.  Instead, I literally heard Ivan say to himself “Oh shit, he's really coming…what the F—do I do?!?’"  He tried yet again to inform me he had to get the phone, but I screamed “No!” and he braced himself for the inevitable.  Second push, and out flew baby, straight into daddy’s frightened but ever-capable hands.  I used to smirk when midwives spoke of ‘catching’ (instead of ‘delivering’) babies.  But it was this moment that truly helped Ivan & I understand it.  Catching honours the fact that a woman does all the hard work – her body knows exactly what to do, and if she chooses a natural birth, her body usually does it all without a hitch.  A midwife’s role during this part is to help guide mom’s pushing to minimize tearing, and to help shift or accommodate baby if he is not in the ideal position.  The role is so important and valuable, yet humbly accepts its role as mom's assistant.  

In the moments after baby flew out, I collapsed onto the pillow in front of me and got a tad concerned when I heard silence.  Little did I know that Ivan’s task went above and beyond the ‘ordinary’ catch, since our little Isaiah was born ‘in caul’ (still completely enclosed in the amniotic sac).  This type of birth is actually quite rare, and many people believe it signifies some special traits the child will have in their future.  The main character in the book I had just finished was born in caul and grew up to fulfill predictions that she was intuitive, in touch with the spiritual world, and had a sense about life that others may not fully understand.  The 'Birth House' took place in the late 1900’s, and even then, the caul was preserved and considered to be valuable.  I doubt Isaiah’s caul will serve as a dowery…but I did have it preserved and put it in his memory bin along with my copy of Amy McKay's book. Ivan later told me that the caul looked like a plastic bag with a tiny whole in it, so he tore it open and saw Isaiah gasp his first breath of air.  Ivan asked himself aloud, ‘what do I do?’, to which I replied, ‘clear his mouth, pat his back’.  He worked on those things and we could both hear the midwives walking through the front door.  Ivan shouted out ‘Baby’s here’, which was followed by the quiet of disbelief and confusion.  Then they walked into the room, and it was the first time I heard cool, calm Theresa freak out: “Oh my God, what happened?” she shouted.  Clearly, she could see what happened, but I think it still took her a couple of seconds before she processed it and then jumped into action ; )  Theresa and I had joked about the possibility during my appointments since my active labour with Mariah was 3 hours, with Kassiah 1.5 hours, and we both knew the pattern would probably continue.  She once started telling me about a recent study confirming that eating dates can speed up labour (something that women in many cultures already practiced, and now have almighty science to back-up).  But then she glanced at my previous charts and said “oh no, don’t eat dates...I want to be at this birth”.  Another foreshadowing 'sign' from my chart was Theresa's note to self (literally on a hot pink Post-It) that read “Ivan wants to catch!”. 

While wrapping their heads around what had just taken place, Theresa and Eileen instantly snapped into midwife mode.  They bundled Isaiah in towels, plugged in their heating pad, tried to get him to cry…and then negotiated with him that a cough was sufficient (I know, poor me: my baby’s not really into crying!).  They helped me onto my back and finally placed my sweet boy onto my chest for our first snuggle.  Once the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, they clamped it and let Ivan finish off his job.  This natural element of post-natal care allows baby to receive maximal nutrients from the placenta, while also promoting mom and baby’s attachment.  Kirsten walked into my bedroom just a few short minutes after the midwives, and I heard her water bottle thud to the floor as she realized what had happened too.  Theresa exclaimed “BBA” (which she explained to me means birth before arrival”).  My three ladies suddenly turned into a gang of interrogators who bombarded us with questions: “When did active labour start?”… “What time was baby born?...and finally: “How could this happen if your last text ended in a smiley face emoticon!?!”.  Ivan and I recapped it all as best we could, with the pride of a power couple that had just walked the red carpet and smiled for the paparazzi.  At some point, I interrupted storytelling hour to let Theresa know I could feel the afterbirth (placenta) coming.  We each played an important role in finishing things up: Kirsten hosed me off in the tub (she literally had to give me a handheld shower since the birth pool hose was still attached to the faucet!); Theresa and Eileen changed the sheets (and not one stain on our mattress thanks to a midwife tip of putting a shower curtain underneath in advance); Ivan snuggled his baby boy; oh…and I don’t mean to brag…there’s no ‘I’ in team…but let’s just say I had already played the leading role! 

Even as I type this out a month later, I can’t believe my own words.  We have always had positive experiences with homebirth and midwife care, but this was truly something special.  Ivan and I drive each other crazy sometimes, like normal couples, and perhaps a bit more these days due to the post-partum adjustment phase.  But I have to say, when push comes to shove (pun intended), we are a pretty incredible team!  In those crucial moments, Ivan was not only an amazing husband, but a midwife, a doula, and as it turns out, a quarterback ; )  I have never been more proud and appreciative of him than in that moment, and I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

And we all lived happily ever after.  The end.  NOT!  Let the post-partum rants begin soon!!!