shared with permission

In the weeks and months that followed Lou’s birth I grieved. I clung to my baby like a life raft in the choppy seas after a ship wreck. I couldn’t bear to be separated from her. I was exhausted, but every time I laid my head to pillow nightmares would torment me. So vivid and real I was afraid to sleep. Little things would bring back the memories. I couldn’t drive on the interstate. Every time I passed the hospital I would sob uncontrollably, I would have to pull over because I was unable to drive. I would look at my tiny baby and wonder if she was really mine. How could I be sure? I felt so guilty for thinking such things but still she seemed so alien to me. In short, I was a mess.
I replayed the events over and over. Trying to make sense of what had happened, to find where I had faulted. What had gone wrong?
But then I found support, other women who knew what I had been through and one in particular who had experienced something remarkably similar. It was such a relief to be understood, to talk about this pain and to let it all out. They were so wonderful to me, so caring and compassionate. I began to wonder if I could try again.
At first I assumed that any subsequent children would be born in an operating room. But this never felt right to me, try as I might I just couldn’t picture it. It took me a long time to realize that I could probably give birth, and to want to try. At some point I had to make a pact with myself, I wanted to have more children, and if that meant I would have to undergo surgery again, then that was okay. But I wasn’t going to give into that without a fight.
It wasn’t long after that that I discovered I was pregnant. All that I thought I had worked though came back to me. I was terrified.
I went to an OB and I discussed what I wanted for this birth. I tried to go the more traditional route, but it just left a bad taste in my mouth. I just couldn’t walk into a hospital while in such a vulnerable state as labor. I researched UC and planned out how I would give birth alone, in secret. The idea was more comforting to me than the thought of giving birth in a cold hospital room under bright lights. I had to talk to my husband, feel him out a little and see what he would say to another homebirth attempt. Much to my astonishment he was all for it, he said, “I don’t have any doubt that you can do this, what happened last time wasn’t your fault and the chances of that happening again are incredibly small.” I was so excited I thought I would burst.
Everything was going smoothly in my prenatal care with D. We knew each other, she was there for Lou’s “birth”. I didn’t have to explain anything to her.
Around 30 weeks I had a short lived breech scare. It only lasted 2 weeks, but in that time I had mentally run thru every option available to me. Truthfully there weren’t that many. Luckily he turned and it became a non issue.
Around 34 weeks we discussed our transport plan and what would happen if my cervix was torn during this birth. This was a scary discussion. Worst case scenario, I would hemorrhage, requiring transport via ambulance. If this happened I would be leaving the baby in the care of my sister. I was not willing to take the chance that they would try to keep him in the hospital. As a precaution we decided to have a second midwife, C, attend the birth. We hoped she would be unnecessary, but in case of this emergency she might be able to stop the bleeding and suture the cervix herself. Of course we didn’t think it would tear, but we just didn’t know. There certainly wasn’t a lot of information about birthing with a previously torn cervix, especially one that had torn completely up to the uterus in two locations. The other side of this was that we didn’t know how well my cervix would dilate. The scar tissue might seriously impede my progress. I prepared myself for a long labor.
This discussion weighed heavily on my mind. Up to this point I hadn’t really thought much about this particular what if. The reality of the potential situation was unsettling at best, but I felt we had a good plan in place and I tried not to let this idea interrupt my gestation. A long labor I could handle, screaming sirens and flashing lights I wasn’t so sure about.
At 36 weeks I received the devastating news that my midwife had breast cancer and would be having surgery. She was recommending me to a new midwife, C, who lived about an hour and a half away from me. C was a totally different midwife than J in temperament and personality. I liked her, but it was hard to transition especially this late in the game. I drove to C for our prenatal appointments and didn’t see D again until after the birth. I worried about her, but was assured by C that she was well, or at least as well as could be expected.
That takes me up to the 40 week mark, you can imagine my crazy mindset at this point.
The Birth Story

It’s funny the things you remember. I can remember repeatedly telling my sister that I would be waking her up when I went into labor. I told my husband he would have to make me a big breakfast in bed after the delivery. And I told them both that this baby would either come before my due date, or after a really fast labor. At the time I didn’t give these comments much thought. I can even remember my sister saying to me once, “why are you so sure you’ll go into labor in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t know, I just have a feeling.” Apparently I had some pretty accurate feelings about the events to come. I also had a feeling about water birth, I just couldn’t decide whether or not to invest in the supplies. I had labored in water with my first baby and loved it. But for some reason this time, I was completely up in the air about it. I eventually got the supplies, but in my minds eye I still didn’t see myself using them.
Wednesday was my due date. Friday was my birthday, I really wanted to have the baby that day. But no luck. Saturday was Birth in the Bluegrass, which was fun. Monday I had a blessingsway. That evening I had a little more energy than normal and decided to get all the housework together and bake some cupcakes. Oh boy, cupcakes. I had made a “birthday cake” the night before I went into labor with my daughter. I was sure it was going to be the night.
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