Birth Stories - Natural Homebirth with Your Community Midwife for Southwest Idaho

BIRTH STORIES

Jason's Birth
July 26, 1980

My first baby was born "on the way home" at the local hospital where I had done my first couple of prenatal checkups in the nurse-midwifery clinic, before beginning prenatal care with Dr. Paul (who was not affiliated with the hospital). Dr. Paul was part of a group of friends and swimming companions. During the course of my prenatal care I began serving as a homebirth midwifery student.

Just having moved into a house, I had planned to take a day off from the unpacking chores to rest. (My husband had been working overseas during most of the pregnancy.) But the contractions started, so I called Dr. Paul and met him at his office. We had a few hours to wait until things were to move along more actively, so the "next logical step" was to get into some water. Labor progressed gently and gradually while swimming and floating in the Southern California ocean for part of the day.

Later that evening, I was resting, visiting and flowing with the contractions at my father's house, along with Dr. Paul. We started to drive over to my home where some other women attendants were going to meet us for a homebirth, when suddenly I felt the most incredible pressure in my pelvic area. Not wanting to give birth in the car, the only other choice seemed to be the nearby hospital.

So that night as labor was intensifying, we walked cheerfully in to the receptionist area. I briefly explained to the woman what I did and did not want done to me or my baby, while I breathed awkwardly with the baby's head moving fast down the birth canal. She glared and shoved a wheelchair behind my legs so that I fell into it (ouch), thrust paper and pen into my hand and growled "sign this". (I wrote what I didn't want at the bottom of their admission contract and then signed it, which infuriated the poor woman even more.) I stood up, said "I'm not sick, just having a baby" and waddled into the elevator and onto the L&D department.

There we were met with a mixture of cold stares and some approving smiles from the nursing staff. Happily requesting a natural birthing room and a midwife (but not getting either), all we saw were people who suddenly began talking rapidly and loudly to each other in front of us. They pushed me onto a gurney. I tried again to set them straight: "I'm having a baby, not a heart attack!" They attempted to inject medications into me, which I adamantly refused. (They could not come up with a logical reason.) They wanted to keep my family out but they finally had to give up on that notion, too.

Knowing that God was with us, my baby was healthy and my body able, we proceeded the best we could in the cold, harsh environment of the delivery room.

They quickly saw that I was not about to lie down in the manner they demanded and their attempts to strap anything onto me were futile. My determination was based upon complete trust in the labor that had been bestowed by God and that all was progressing normally. Within a few minutes, that faith seemed to have transferred onto the folks in the ceramic-tiled delivery room and the cold walls faded into the background. My own "Doc" and my grinning Dutch father - (yes, Opa was there for his first grandchild's birth!) - were helping calmly at my shoulders, observed by hospital personnel as a statement that I was trusted to do this.

I remember having prayed out loud in the name of Jesus, as my baby's head was crowning -- when the only other woman in the room at that moment, who was the hospital's attending physician standing some distance away, asked if I was OK and did I remember where I was. Dr. Paul spoke up from just behind me and said softly, "It's OK, she's calling upon spiritual strength." The hospital's doctor starting making some negative suggestions, and Dr. Paul firmly interrupted her with "It's her mantra, OK?" "Well, that's OK, then; that I understand", she said, and politely stood back again.

I breathed deeply and pushed. The only way was to lean over my left side, struggling with the discomfort of the hard, narrow, short surface under me.

We successfully dodged the male medical student's episiotomy knife. I still clearly remember Dr. Paul's gentle yet powerful words "she won't be needing that" and seeing his hand come forward to protect me from the sharp blade. My own "team" then wrapped themselves closer around me to help block out the non-home environment.

A few seconds later, my first baby boy was born, looked me right in the eyes and said "eh...!" At that moment I was filled with great joy. God had bestowed this wonderful blessing. There is no way to describe the deep love which stirred my heart for my son. I held little Jason close and spoke to him softly. He was peaceful, plump and bright-eyed.

There were a few more struggles with hospital policy and unnecessarily negative protests from unenlightened nursing staff, and we made it home shortly thereafter -- tired, happy and glowing.

I am thankful that a Heavenly presence was felt during Jason's birth. I am thankful that he was born healthy, and as peacefully as possible under the circumstances.

And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me." - Matthew 18:5. This message rang true for Jason's birth.

It can be a challenge to live up to scriptural advice - an ongoing process of learning. Yet we are blessed in ways we could never imagine. (Jason is the eldest of my five children, four of whom were born in the comfort and safety of our own home.)

We all have many things to learn on this great journey. I pray that we will learn to live more in the spirit each day and that our hearts will know the difference.
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