Don't Push!

Last Tuesday Lena turned twentyfour. For the first time in five years Lena woke up in our family home for her birthday, she's moved back home for a while.

Lena has always been an independent young woman, the first time she went to Germany by herself she was only six years old! She travelled on a Lufthansa flight as an 'unaccompanied minor' to spend the summer with her grandparents. After six weeks with Oma and Opa (which included a holiday in Crete and a stay in a Cretan hospital all by herself) she came back scarily mature and three inches taller. 

Lena has been the most amazing daughter to have chosen us as her parents. She's wise beyond her years and she's incredibly kind. She's also never been afraid of work, earning her own money from the age of fifteen. We've always fostered self-ownership and self-responsibility and by the time Lena was 18 she moved out to live with a group of friends.

Like all young people everywhere, Lena was forced out of socialising and exploration by the madness that befell us in early 2020. The world had been calling her to adventure for a while but it couldn't be helped, her travelling plans would have to be put off. When restrictions were in full swing that first summer of what far too many people were happy to accept as 'the new normal', Lena decided to relocate from Belfast to Liverpool for a taste of life away from the island of Ireland.

I am very proud of the fact that Lena was never eligible for a certain type of travel documentation required during the darkest months of 'The Pandemic'. Even though she was itching to travel, she trusted us enough to pass on any of the newly available pharmaceuticals even if it meant biting the bullet on international travel until further notice.

Thankfully it wasn't all too long before we were all free to travel again and by last summer Lena had saved up enough money for a two month trip around Europe. She gave up her house in Liverpool and took to solo travel once more - an 'unaccompanied major' this time! What a pleasure it was to hear her updates, to witness her explore bits of France, Switzerland, Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium and Italy. Gerald and I were so happy for her. We were wondering where she'd go after her travels expecting that she'd most likely be living with us again soon.

We were right, her visit in September would be an extended one:

It's been so beautiful having her home and I am so looking forward to this run up to Christmas with the three of us living under the same roof. Having your grown up child living with you is a revelation. It comes with all the joy of marvelling at your child's magnificence (to me she's always been perfect) but without the hard work that marks the early years of parenting. To any of you reading this with young children or teenagers to parent I will say that the work you are putting in right now is absolutely worth it. Investing in your relationship with your children will eventually pay off. And no, it's not always been easy, we've had our ups and downs as a family and at various stages it felt like we had messed up entirely. But just now we are in a beautiful bubble with our girl that I will always cherish to remember regardless of what lies ahead. 

The day of her birthday turned out perfect! We had a birthday breakfast as a family and then we each went about our daily lives. For me this meant showing up at Essentially Birth, Lena went to her office job in town and Gerald went to do his work. I had a full massage clinic and two yoga classes. By the time I got home just before 10 pm we all sat together for a bit chatting about the day she was born.

I was reminded that The System had done a job on me; on all of us! 

Twenty four years on and I still don't like talking about aspects of how our only child entered the world, though I have come a long way! It took me eight years flat to be able to talk about my daughter's birth without crying. Remembering has always been bitter sweet and, like many women, I have had to work through feelings of guilt for the emotions that accompany remembering her birth. 

My favourite memory is her looking at us for the first time. I can still see her little face primed to connect with her parents. She recognised our voices and looked straight over at us when Gerald spoke to her. Are you noticing the fact that she was looking over at us? Yes, she had to look for us FROM ACROSS THE ROOM! Because Lena was born by forceps, the routine protocol was that the paediatrician had to examine her before we could get a moment to meet her properly. Even though she cried immediately at birth, the doctors got to meet her first, before her parents. My request for immediate skin to skin hadn't been honoured, just like my attempt to decline the 'injection for the afterbirth'.

'Sure, you've had everything else, just take it'.

I'll never forget these words from my midwife (one of the many we met in the hours of labour). I didn't argue so I got injected with Syntometrine.

The brief moment Lena got to be on my chest before she was moved to the resuscitaire, she was on a green sterile sheet that had been draped onto my chest.

'I want her skin to skin!'

'Sure, we'll dry her off for you first, pet.'

There's nothing worse than being ignored in your most vulnerable moment. 

Legs in stirrups, a doctor sitting in between  them getting on with the business of removing your baby's placenta and then stitching up that episiotomy he had cut routinely with the instrumental birth. There were bright ceiling lights above me, the midwife was getting on with tidying around us talking to me occasionally.

None of what she said felt genuine. She had said it to many women before me, women she'd never met and she'd likely say it all again to the next woman that night duty. She was at work, our baby's birth was nothing special to her, I could tell.

I have no recollection of how I finally did get to meet my daughter. Was she placed skin to skin after all this? I truly can't tell you. The next thing I remember is lying on my side to feed her for the first time and wishing the midwife would just leave us alone. I remember feeling flat and somewhat indifferent, I remember the transfer to the ward through the sleeping hospital and Gerald being ushered out soon after we had made it to my bedspace. 

Having said all this, there was a bit of advice that midwife gave me that proved valuable in the end (though not in the context it was given). 'Don't push' the midwife said when I was 'pushing too early'. I had been 'examined' by the previous midwife, a young woman, possibly fairly new at her trade. She was really sweet and 100% on board with my birth plan. She figured I was 'nearly there, just a little bit of cervix left, 9cm!'. Knowing that I had wanted a waterbirth, but wasn't allowed now owing to Group B Strep on a swab, she helped me out of bed and had me standing at the side of it leaning.  By the way, practice has changed by now and women with GBS 'can go into the pool'.

When you read the words 'allowed' and 'can' please imagine me saying them with a cynical undertone, because of course 'informed consent' (same cynical tone) would have it that I was the one to decide wether or not I'd wanna give the birth pool a pass after considering the evidence. 

So, I was leaning on the bed and I started to feel an urge to push. The sweet midwife encouraged me to breathe through those surges and then her shift was over. She gave a handover to my new midwife (I think we have already established that she was not sweet) who figured she needed to 'check me' again. I allowed it and she revealed: 'You are NOT 9cm, you are maybe 4!' It felt like she was accusing me, though having worked in the birth space for 18 years since, I reckon she was judging the other midwife for her miscalculations. That's when I lost my sh*t. I ripped off the belts for the CTG monitor I had endured all day long because of the Group B Strep (also not common practice anymore) and I just totally lost it. I was screaming and shouting and I was now really pushing. I had lost all ability to breathe through and I know that I would have been fine without this interference. I yelled 'Just give me a sectiooooonnnnnn!'. That midwife laughed at me! 'I thought you wanted it all natural, we can't give you a section.' Being laughed at in this moment of total vulnerability stuck with me for a long time, it really hurt! Far more than anything that was going on inside my body. Again, having been on the inside, I know how cynical some midwives can be when they read a birth plan like mine. 'She'll soon learn about doing it au natural.' or 'With this birth plan she'll definitely end up a section.' and comments like these are not unusual among a certain type of midwives. Sad but true!

The sister in charge came in. Gerald likes to remember her because she was able to get me calmed down. She held my gaze and she got me to focus on my breathing again. I don't like to remember her because once I was calm, she coerced me into getting an Epidural. 

'Nicole, there's still the 'E' word. I know it says in your birth plan that you don't want an Epidural but with only being 4 cm and not being able to control this urge to push I think you really need it.' 

So I had it sited. 

My baby was born at 23:05...by forceps, because she 'was distressed'.

Here's the thing:

Shift change happens just after 20:00 hrs. Then there's handover (about 5 minutes). I still 'needed to be examined' (about 20 minutes). I lost my sh*t (about 15 minutes). My taking off the CTG belts led to 'my baby getting 'a wee clip on the head' (another 10 minutes I'd say and there are no 'wee clips', this is a needle the shape of a cork screw that punctured my dear baby's scalp). The anaethetist had to be called and the epidural was sited (around 30 minutes if it's quiet, I think they came to me pretty promptly). My point is that a 'normal' second stage in a first time mum takes around 3 hours and had I been left at the bedside, breathing through until the only thing left to do was push my baby out, I am certain I would have done it! This is what used to cause me the most sadness, the fact that I was robbed so last minute.

For the first few weeks as a new mother I felt very unsure of myself and I know that part of the reason for this was my violent initiation into motherhood. The night duty midwife's words were helpful then. 

'Don't push.', I thought,

'Be gentle with yourself.'

'Take time to get to know her.'

Lena spent hours and hours skin to skin with me or her dad. I made sure I explained to her repeatedly that it was okay if she felt a little overwhelmed with how she was born, so did I! I explained that her sore head would heal, that I was sorry. I explained that I was told she 'needed' that needle in her head. I kissed her beautiful soft skin, took in the smell of her head.

I had a book about baby massage and many mornings I sat in front of our little heater to massage her with a beautiful essential rose oil blend for babies. 

'Don't push!'

And so we grew together, made up for the missed opportunity. 

Things finally really clicked into place when we introduced Lena to my parents in Germany. We went to Germany to visit them and to celebrate Christmas toghether, to see in the new Millenium. I remember so clearly watching my father meet his granddaughter. His soft voice, the rhythm, the pattern in his language. Hearing him speak German to her sounded so natural. Me, I had been speaking German to her, too, but I was surrounded by people from a different culture. Until then it felt clunky. What does a German say to a little baby again? I had forgotten. I was young. I needed to see my elders interact with her.

Look at that eye contact! Something primal happened in me when I saw this and my parenting became much more inutuitive from then on in. 

I healed. Lena healed. Gerald healed.

For the longest time I thought that I went into midwifery 'to make a difference' but I went there to heal and it worked (until it didn't, but you already know that and if not, you can catch up by working your way through my blogs). My healing started to happen when I could be the midwife I thought I would have wanted at my girl's birth and as I said in my very first blog post there's no longer any anger. Any anger I felt about my various encounters with The System, as a mum and then as a midwife, is gone. I get a little excited when talking about certain things, my cheeks have reddened as I am writing this in such detail, but I don't feel angry about any of it anymore.

I gave myself permission to see it for what it is and leave it all behind. I wouldn't want a registered midwife at my baby's birth anymore because I wouldn't want to compromise anyone with the type of birth plan I would have. There really isn't a routine observation I would want and understanding how the system works, I know just how much of an ask this is even of the most amazing midwife. I don't believe in our approach to observing birth anymore so how could I stay in this trade?

To the midwives I have spoken to in recent weeks ('I have never been this unhappy in my life') and to the mamas in my clinic who have recounted their children's birth stories in tears ('I find it hard to forgive myself for agreeing to having my waters ruptured'),

'Don't push!'

BREATHE!

FLOW!

TRUST in yourself and in your ability to heal!

I am telling this story for a few reasons. Even though I know that if you are pregnant this must be a scary read, it needs to be told. I am sorry I don't have a better personal story to tell but I have seen many, many euphoric births. It is possible!

I am telling my story because it might also have been yours in the past. I wanted to let you know that you are not alone in processing the feelings this type of experience brings with it.

I am also telling it because none of my birth trauma was inflicted by BIRTH itself. None of it was caused by the delicate innate processes of birth. I coped fine with the 'pain' of labour all I needed was kindness and privacy.

I am telling it for the birth partners. Gerald felt trauma, too. He was totally overwhelmed by the feeling of watching on and allowing those people to dismiss my wishes.

ALL of our collective trauma stemmed from things that were inflicted by the people around us and sadly we are not on our own.

As Dr Rachel Reed posted just this week:

 'Maternity care has developed in response to the needs of institutions, not the needs of women. Turning this around is a huge undertaking, and change will undoubtedly meet resistance from those who benefit from the way things are.'

If you are currently pregnant, be wise to this! Understanding birth isn't the hard bit. Trust in yourself and your baby will get you there. Trying to understand the supposed purpose of the interventions that accompany pregnancy and birth in modern obstetric and midwifery practice is where the crux lies. Do not trust them blindly and get suspicious of 'birth education' aimed at justifying policy and manipulating you into compliance! 'Free' birth education comes at a price. Get help in finding balanced information. 

Reach out if you would like me to support you! 

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