Homebirth after loss

Homebirth after Loss: This is a truly beautiful and empowering story from an amazing woman
The Birth of Lena Maree
I dread the common question, ”how many children do you have?”. It
depends on who is asking the question as to what my answer is. If I am
feeling protective and guarded I just answer “two” and smile. But in my
heart it will always be three, and sometimes I tell the truth to the least
suspecting people. So, when I sat down to write about the birth of my third
baby Lena, I realized that it is impossible to do that without first talking
about the birth of my second baby, Noah.
Our much longed for baby boy Noah was stillborn when I was 22 weeks
pregnant, on December 7th, 2012. It rocked our world, and that of our 4 year
old daughter Ellie. We were all so looking forward to welcoming a baby into
our family. Ellie was finally going to have a little brother or sister. As a
doula I had supported countless women and their families as they welcomed
beautiful, healthy babies into the world. At the time I couldn’t understand
why this had happened to me. I had such a wonderful first pregnancy with
Ellie, and went on to experience an empowering natural birth with her. I was
so inspired by that experience that a purpose ignited in me, and I had
immersed myself in pregnancy and birth, became a doula, studied
HypnoBirthing, branched out into birth photography and one day hoped to
become a midwife. Yet now, here I was, faced with the death of my own
baby. My pregnancy cut short, my baby gone and our dreams of a homebirth
and a bigger family shattered.
I travelled through the inevitable guilt that a mother experiences – did I do
something wrong? Was it that piece of soft cheese I ate, or that time I fell
over, did I take enough supplements, was I being punished for not being a
good enough person? These questions are all pointless. They are also very
self-centred. I finally had the realization that I wasn’t the only being to be
considered here (I’m not referring to my husband Richard or my daughter
Ellie), but that Noah himself had a reason for coming to us for such a short
time – and for choosing us. Whenever I could poke my head up out of the
grief and remember that Noah chose us, that he chose me to be his home,
and that for every second of his life he felt nothing but wanted, adored and
cherished by myself, Rich, Ellie and our families, then I started to feel better,
and a little more sane.
I knew from the moment we discovered that Noah had died, that I wanted to
birth him normally. What does that mean anyway? To me it meant a natural
vaginal birth. Our private midwife Robyn was a rock from the beginning and
accompanied us to the hospital to meet with the specialist and plan the next
step. As my body was showing no signs of going into labour naturally, and
with Christmas fast approaching, a planned induction was organized for the
following week. Noah’s story is a whole other article to be written, but I will
say a few things about my birth experience with him. Most importantly, I
was surrounded by immensely supportive, compassionate people. My
midwife Robyn, my doula mentor (who also happens to be a midwife)
Susan, and my amazing husband Richard. Together the four of us were a
tight little unit in the hospital, all with the one goal of Noah being born into a
peaceful environment with as little medicalization of the labour as possible.
I wanted to be ‘present’ for his birth, just as I had been for the birth of my
daughter. This was very important to me. Some of those close to me had
suggested I have an epidural or some pethidine, and I understood that this
came from a loving concern for my emotional wellbeing. But these options
never entered my mind, just as they didn’t with Ellie’s birth. If there were
things to face then I wanted to face them with full use of my body, not lying
on a bed, and with full clarity of mind. I know that an open heart can take
you through anything, often quicker than if you dull your senses and prolong
those feelings and emotions. And most of all I wanted to do it for Noah, to
honour him and welcome him into the world as any one of our babies would
be welcomed. So despite the trauma of losing him, my memory of his birth
is positive. Ultimately, I feel that normalizing birth as much as possible on
that day was hugely helpful, comforting and meaningful to me. And that is
the feeling that I take away from Noah’s birth.
The morning after Noah’s birth we learned that he had died of hydrops
(heart failure) as a result of Trisomy 21. Our baby boy had Down’s
Syndrome. My legs buckled to the floor in our hospital room and I ran to the
bathroom, dry retching and crying from relief and sadness all at once. It was
nothing that I had done to him. And it wasn’t something that should
necessarily happen again. Despite the emptiness and pain, we also felt so
fortunate to have a medical reason for his death. I know many families who
still wonder what went wrong with their babies, and will never know. That is
an unimaginable place to be.
When I found myself pregnant again four months later, Rich and I were
ecstatic, but cautious. We barely allowed ourselves to believe it, let alone tell
anyone. We knew we wanted to have another baby but it took a few months
before we were emotionally ready to try again. We probably would have
waited longer, but I felt my age creeping up and didn’t want to wait too long.
It goes without saying that this pregnancy with Lena was quite a
rollercoaster of emotions. I would go for weeks trusting the health of my
baby and certain that he or she would arrive safely. Then it would just take a
few hours of feeling very little movement and my mind would spiral off into
the worst case scenario. Every ultrasound appointment felt like I was
walking to the firing squad, believing that we would be told there was no
heartbeat again. But our baby was just perfect. The first 17 weeks were very
tough. We didn’t tell Ellie, although she asked us a couple of times, and I
hated lying to her, but she had been heartbroken once and if we had to go
through it again we wanted her to be spared. At 17 weeks I began to feel our
baby’s movements, strong and purposeful – it was the most exquisite feeling
at last and filled me with confidence and calmness. We told Ellie around this
same time and she was over the moon. She came along to my midwife
appointments with me, and held the Doppler so we could listen to the
heartbeat, and used the pinard stethoscope like a little midwife. We planned
our much longed for homebirth, the spare room piling high with equipment,
the birth pool, towels, old sheets and so on. I’m sure some people questioned
our choice to have a homebirth, particularly after the loss of Noah making
this baby all the more precious. But that’s the very reason that we chose
homebirth. This baby was precious, and this experience was going to be
precious for our family. To us that meant feeling relaxed, calm, unrushed
and safe. This birth was going to be a family event, Ellie had asked to be
there, and what better place than our home to welcome this baby. I trusted
my caregivers 100%. And most importantly, I trusted birth. As the weeks
went on, this pregnancy became a joy and we were so happy. Also, after
Noah’s death I had joined a wonderful support group run by Deb de Wilde
and Belinda Power, where I met beautiful women that were all grieving the
loss of their babies. We bonded in a way that we couldn’t with anyone else.
Many of us had gone on to get pregnant again and form a Pregnancy After
Loss group. We met monthly, and this was hugely beneficial in coping with
the fears that crept in with this new pregnancy. Between my caring husband,
loving family, some understanding friends, the wonderful support group and
phenomenal private midwives Robyn and Hannah, I made it through the
pregnancy without losing my mind!
Lena was ‘due’ on January 1st, 2013. A new year, a new start.
We had expected this baby to make an appearance early, possibly even in
time for Christmas. She had been deeply engaged in my pelvis for weeks
and we just had it in our minds that she would be here before January. Yet
the due date came and went and I moved into ‘post date land’. It is
interesting what happens to our minds after the due date. Even though I
knew better and that this was normal, I felt adrift, unable to plan anything, or
go too far from home. I was frustrated and impatient. Our families were
waiting for news too, and my in-laws were leaving for an overseas holiday
in a few more days and were getting nervous that they wouldn’t get to meet
this bub before they left. To add to this, all the mums in my support group
had given birth safely already- even those with due dates after mine! This
played on my mind a little, and I had fleeting moments of doubt at our
choices. I tried to tell myself all the things that I would tell my pregnant
clients. Baby will come when baby is ready. Have trust that your baby
knows best. You are ‘overdue’ on a date that is an estimate anyway. You are
normal, this is normal. I even reread the wonderful birthsong from Anita
Diamant’s The Red Tent – “Fear not, the time is coming . . . Fear not, the
baby is at the door”. I found a wonderful and comforting piece by American
midwife Jane Studelska on the last days of pregnancy where she refers to
this time as ‘The Time of Zwischen’. It’s a German word for between. A
time when a woman’s vulnerability and openness are heightened; a time of
“in-between”. At the same time I had come down with a bad head cold and
could hardly breathe through my nose without fits of coughing – not very
convenient when I really needed my breathing abilities to be fully
functioning for birth!
As I lay in bed on the morning on January 5th, 2013, I smiled to myself as I
felt the familiar achey sensations of early labour. I didn’t want to get my
hopes up too much as I had been having plenty of warm up labour for days
that had not gone anywhere. My nose was still a bit blocked so we decided
to treat this morning like any other morning and head down to the beach so I
could dunk my head in the salt water. Before leaving, Ellie (now aged 5)
made a special sign to stick on the door that read ‘Please Do Not Disturb,
New Arrival Coming’!
This trip to the beach was extra special as I was continually aware of
tightenings and cervical aches and knew that my baby and body were getting
ready. I walked hand in hand with my daughter across the sand, my big belly
casting a giant shadow on the beach. People did a lot of staring and asking of
my due date. I relished the morning, realizing that it would be my last
morning pregnant. It’s funny how we can want something so much, and then
when it is on our doorstep we are already missing something else! I couldn’t
wait for our baby to arrive, but at the same time was sad to let go of being
pregnant and all the magic and joy that it brings.
At 11am, as I lay floating where the lagoon meets the ocean, Richard
photographing my belly poking up out of the water, I could feel surges deep
and low every four minutes. When a surge would come, I would stop
floating and kneel on the sandy floor and breathe up into the tightness. Then
it would pass and I would go on floating. It felt so refreshing and
invigorating to be suspended in the salt water, I didn’t want to leave, but I
knew it was time to start heading home to prepare. Things seemed to step up
a notch as we packed up our belongings and started walking up the beach to
return to our car. Instead of being able to continue walking throughout a
surge, I started needing to stand still until it passed. My daughter was excited
and fascinated to see me stopping and breathing, and then carrying on as
normal. On the drive home any doubts that I had that this was real labour
vanished as the regularity of the waves were consistent and getting stronger.
I was still talking as normal, but I knew that this was it. We have a lot of
steps from our carport to the house and I took them slowly, stopping to
breathe through surges. Rich wanted to know when to phone Robyn &
Hannah, but I didn’t think we should yet. I decided to have a shower to wash
off the sand and salt, and ‘see what happens’. Ellie curled up on our bed to
watch a movie, and I was happy for the peace to just tune in to my body and
what was happening.
Over the next hour or so I started to get dressed, only managing to pull on
underwear and a sarong as it was already too hot. I called our dear friend
Emma who was going to be our doula, take photographs and look after Ellie
if need be. While I was chatting on the phone to her I sounded fine – it was
really hard to gauge where I was at as mid-sentence I would have to stop and
breathe. We decided that she would get herself organized and come over
when we next called. I don’t know why I was so worried about calling
Robyn, Hannah and Emma too early. I guess working as a doula I had spent
many hours with women long before intense labour set in. I didn’t resent
those times at all, on the contrary, I loved being there with them. But now
that it was my turn, I didn’t want to bother anyone until I was absolutely
sure labour was progressing. What I had forgotten was that even in my first
labour with Ellie I had arrived at the birth centre 9cm dilated without much
ado. So I wasn’t necessarily going to realize the right time to call the
midwives this time around.
Time moved very quickly and before I knew it I was spending a
considerable amount of time on the toilet! Robyn offered to come when we
rang her. I was feeling the baby moving so I knew he/she was fine, but
nonetheless I was relieved to know that Robyn was on her way. From this
point on things intensified. My breathing turned to moaning, which extracted
Ellie from her movie for all of two minutes to see what was going on. What
are you doing Mumma? Having the baby my darling. Oh.
The pool was sitting there ready for me, but I didn’t think to get into it. I
think I was worried about getting in too early. I desperately wanted a
waterbirth as I had not ended up with that for Ellie’s birth.
I was sitting on the toilet again absolutely convinced that I needed to poo
when my midwife Robyn arrived at 2:35pm. I would get off the toilet
between contractions as I found it much more comfortable to be on all fours
or kneeling during the surges, as opposed to sitting. Just as Robyn walked
into the bathroom a contraction dropped me to my knees onto the bathroom
floor. It was a big one, surprising Robyn and myself and spurring us into
action. Robyn told Rich to call Hannah to come, and then checked the baby
with the Doppler – all was perfect. Robyn said very calmly “Are you still
wanting a waterbirth?”, I said yes, and her reply was “well you better get in
there, this baby is coming”. I couldn’t believe my ears. Despite all the
evidence, I was in complete denial that I was about to give birth. The
moment that I had dreamed of for so long, and had grieved over losing with
Noah, had finally arrived. It was all happening so fast, I wanted to slow it
down. That’s like trying to stop a giant wave from crashing on you by
holding out your pinky finger. I got to my feet and rushed down the hall
towards the birth pool and scrambled in. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh that feels
soooooo goooooooood. I’d heard so many women say that same thing so
many times, and its SO TRUE! I wondered why I had waited so long to get
in! The warm water comforted and embraced me to the very depth of my
being. It was complete relaxation – for all of a minute before the next surge
rolled in. I heard myself saying ‘oh no not yet’, and I knew that I needed to
fully surrender to this birth, not try to hold it back. I wanted to hold on to
this incredible feeling in the water, and I felt I needed time to gather myself.
But there was no time before the next surge swept over me and I was gone
again in a wave of breathing and moaning.
In between surges I sunk back against the birth pool wall and enjoyed the
blissful moments of stillness. I clearly remember gazing out across our deck
– the pool was set up right in front of the bifold doors that were wide open,
with a view across the valley. I stared into the blue Summer sky, everything
peaceful and quiet, a single bird soared across the sky. I was in a place of
utter peace in that moment. And gratitude that this was in fact an amazing
experience, as up until that moment I had sort of felt like I had been swept
away with the intensity of it all. Ellie had come out of the bedroom and was
now close to the pool. She came right to me and put her hand on my arm and
kissed my forehead. I was very conscious of her presence and even though
we had prepared her as much as possible for the birth throughout my
pregnancy, I was still looking out for her to make sure she was ok. I was
worried that I was making too much noise, but then the surge would pass
and I would look over to her and ask her how she was and tell her that I’m
fine and I feel good, it helps mummy to make these noises and the baby is
coming soon.
It seemed that within minutes of getting into the birth pool my body started
pushing without any assistance from me. I had longed to feel this sensation.
With Ellie’s birth I had received directed pushing for a long time, long
before I felt the urge to push. I believe that this prolonged my second stage
with her and also played a role in my 2nd degree tears. So it was with awe
that this time I felt my baby’s head moving down the birth path, bulging
forward and back, all on its own, I was a mere passenger on this ride. Ellie
announced that she was going down the other end of the pool to be near
Robyn so she could see the head come out. On the next surge, sure enough,
Ellie said “I can see the head Mumma!”. I was in shock. Surely she couldn’t
see the head yet? Robyn had only just arrived 15 minutes ago! But then I
felt the familiar sting of crowning, and my baby’s head revealed itself a little
more. I reached down and felt the hard head of my darling baby just inside
me. I can still feel my disbelief. I felt as though my body was racing way
ahead of my mind and I couldn’t catch up. I also think I had the birth
pictured differently. First of all I thought it would be at night – yet here we
were in bright daylight on a 30 degree summer’s day. My brain wasn’t
computing that this was it. At some point just after I got into the pool Rich
had stopped getting things organized and came behind me, resting his hands
on my shoulders. We were all there. Rich, Ellie, Robyn, Emma, me –
everyone but Hannah! Hannah who had supported me so much after Noah
died, and throughout this pregnancy. But this baby wasn’t going to wait for
anyone, and at 3:02pm my hand rested on my baby’s head as it oozed out
into the water. An indescribable feeling, and instant relief. I lay still and just
breathed and stroke my baby’s silky hair as it floated in the pool. I felt my
baby turn and the final surge came, and with it a sudden feeling that I
couldn’t do it. I heard Robyn say “yes you can” very matter of factly and
with a good push her shoulders were born and I reached down with Robyn to
bring her up through the water. I will never forget her little pixie face
coming towards me. I was overwhelmed with love and surprise. Who was
this precious creature? It had taken us so long to acknowledge this
pregnancy, for fear of losing our baby and being devastated again, so it
seemed almost a miracle to me that this little person was in front of me now.
After a few moments of euphoria and snuggles, Rich, Ellie and I decided to
check to see if it was a boy or girl. Ellie had wanted a sister very much all
along, so it was with boundless joy and emotion that we discovered we had
another beautiful daughter, and that Ellie had her dream come true baby
sister. Hannah arrived just minutes after the birth to find us all cooing over
this brand new little girl – who also happens to share her birthday with
Robyn!
The time after birth was nothing short of magical, and the very reason that
we chose to birth at home. I would give birth over and over just to have
those hours again. Rich topped the pool up with hot water and Lena and I
stayed there for over 1.5 hours. No-one was rushing us to get out, or be
anywhere else. Lena’s placenta came in its own time and remained attached
to her for two hours. We floated her through the warm bath, snuggled her,
gazed at her and she had her first suckle at the breast. Rich got into the pool
and had time with her too. One of my favourite photos is of Rich and I
holding Lena in the birth pool while I sip on a cup of tea, and Ellie is
holding our cat introducing her to the new baby. All in the middle of our
lounge room, with the Christmas tree in the background. If that doesn’t say
normal I don’t know what does!
Lena Maree, named after two great-grandmothers and two grandmothers,
has brought so much happiness and laughter to our life as a family. She is a
funny, bright little blessing and I thank her so much every day for coming to
us.