natural birth

My Daughter’s Birth Story

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Monday 9/16/13. I woke at 7 in the morning two days past my due date to discover wet panties. When I told my husband that my water broke he said, “Are you sure it’s not pee? I mean you’ve been coughing a lot lately.” When I assured him it wasn’t pee, I made phone calls to family and then sent text messages alerting my birth team, close friends and colleagues. I even texted my boss, and told him I’d work from home until I no longer could.

The gushing began around 9:30 when I went to move the car from a Tuesday spot to a Monday spot. The fact that I had a lingering cough from a cold I caught a week earlier, didn’t help the flow either. When I got back upstairs, I was met with the reality that I wouldn’t get through the day without using pads.

Mild contractions started around 3:30/4 in the afternoon. I shut down my computer and let my boss know that was going to be it. I called Jason at work and asked if we were doing dinner together. He said that if I could wait to eat after Mylo went to bed then yes. I told him I had a feeling that could be too late so I grabbed dinner at Chipotle, and bought dog food at PetSmart.

I remember running those errands by myself so clearly. On the one hand I felt so liberated, to be out and about on my own – no husband, no three year old in tow and no baby yet. And I also felt like a real rebel. I remember a couple of people looking at me and giving me a gesturing nod. Probably just being kind about my very pregnant state, but for a minute I wondered, ‘do they know I’m in labor right now?’

Contractions picked up in the evening while Jason ate dinner and we got Mylo ready for bed. I downloaded a contraction app on my iPhone and began to time them. They averaged 30 seconds long and about 6-10 minutes apart.

Evening sky while I was in labor.

Evening sky while I was in labor.

At 7:00 my midwife texted that I should try to go to sleep early and get some rest “before things take off.” A couple of hours later I heeded her advice.

Only when I did lay down, things picked up rather quickly. I had to use the potty a couple of times and experienced a couple of super painful contractions while sitting on the toilet. I labored in the bedroom alone with Jason and our dogs for as long as I could.

Around 10:00 it became obvious that getting shut eye wasn’t going to happen.

At 11:15 Jason texted our doula that contractions were one minute long, less than five minutes apart and that I was beginning to feel nauseous. Dia joined us an hour later.

Tuesday 9/17/13. When I made it to midnight, I knew for sure that we were going to have a baby on September 17th. I posted this Dr. Seuss quote on my Facebook page that I had come across months earlier and absolutely adored. It was my way of letting those in my circle know that the baby was coming.

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Having Dia at the house was a comforting Godsend. She urged Jason to nap and encouraged me to keep moving and change positions. At one point she even took my cell phone away which was blowing up with texts from two of my close friends. In hindsight, it was actually pretty funny.

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With my doula Dia

We were in the living room with the lights mainly off and my iTunes “baby” playlist on in the background, while Dia timed my contractions the old school way. Around this time I moved into the transition stage of labor. I vomited a couple of times into our beloved salad spinner while leaning over the kitchen table.

Jason joined us in the living room 45 minutes later after an unsuccessful attempt to nap. For the next couple of hours I was in and out of the tub. I can’t recall if I loved it at first or not, but given the extreme pain I was in I know I found it comforting.

Then the bomb of all bombs dropped.

A text came in from my midwife, Kristen, at 3:20. Prefaced with an “uh-oh,” Jason read it aloud.

I’m so sad to tell you this but I am headed to another labor. (You have both been in labor all night!!) she’s ready for me. I’m assuming you may be ready soon. When you are, if I’m not done, I will send (my backup) Barri Malek. She’s wonderful. You’ll be great with her but I will be really sad.

I was in the birthing pool when I got the news. My first instinct was to sink myself under the water to drown out the news I had just heard. But then I had a mind-numbing contraction and thought, ‘I don’t care who you send, just someone get here who can help deliver this baby!’

Barri and her assistant (her daughter Sophia) came over an hour later. And when they did they brought this sense of calm and confidence to the home that only a little while ago, I was beginning to lose sight of.

I sat on the rocking chair while working my way through contractions. Each time I had one I was urged to lean forward, which wasn’t easy to do. Dia was on the ground on my left side and Barri was on my right. As I worked through each contraction they stroked my feet.

I asked Barri if she was going to check me. She explained that she preferred not to but that if I really wanted it, she could. Then she asked me why I wanted to be checked. I told her that I needed to know how much longer I had to go. To which she told me that judging by my ability to carry on a conversation, she guessed I was midway through labor. That news alone was enough to take my mind off an internal and get back to focusing on my labor.

After a long and agonizing trip down the hallway and into the bathroom in our bedroom to relieve my bladder, I headed back to the birth tub. I must have made another comment about how much longer I’d be doing this when Barri asked me if I saw what Sophie was doing in the background. I didn’t exactly because it was dark, but I had a sense that she was setting up the birth supplies. I know from my son’s birth in the hospital and from the few births I’ve been a doula at, that it’s a good sign when the nurses begin to organize the equipment. It means there’s going to be a baby soon! Again, more news to help me labor on.

The only thing I would change about my birth is bringing the photographer in earlier. And perhaps, that Jason remembered to handle that part of it as well. The last time the photographer heard from me was in the morning the day before, when my water broke. Mark arrived around 5:30am.

I was in the birth tub when Mark walked in. With my head down, I said hello to him. I remember the quiet clanging of his lighting equipment being set up in our living room and I appreciated the noise that was drowning out the soft whispers of my birth team.

Not long after Mark arrived, my midwife Kristen and her birth assistant Piper walked in the door. My birth team was complete, in fact more than complete! I had two midwives, two midwife assistants and a doula!

In between contractions I asked Kristen about the other woman who gave birth. I needed to know what she had and at what time. It helped me to know that someone else went through what I was going through and she made out ok. The other mom had a girl around 4am.

The whole team

The whole team.

I never announced out loud when it was time to push, but my body did. Out of no where I had this intense urge to begin pushing, something I didn’t have with the labor and birth of my son. I started out on my back in the pool with my feet up against the sides. I pushed through a couple of contractions but it didn’t feel that productive. When I told the midwives that, Barri began pulling down my perineum to help open me up with each push.

Not only did that help in bringing my baby down lower but the pain of her stretching me out, took my mind off the pain from pushing. At one point Barri, who was all smiles, even while she spoke, said my baby would be here in a couple of more pushes. I remember looking at her dead in the eyes and saying, “You don’t have to lie Barri, I know we’re gonna be here a long time.” (Based on the fact that it took me two hours to push my son out, I had this sinking feeling it could take that long again.)

Barri chuckled and said something along the lines of ‘Why would I lie? You’re doing this, your baby is almost here.’

Time was becoming a factor for me. It probably didn’t help that I was sitting facing the clock on our kitchen wall, but I was acutely aware of the fact that my son Mylo would wake up soon. Though my birth plan originally called for him to be present if possible, I no longer wanted him to see me in this final stage of labor. I didn’t want my screaming to alarm him.

I’m not sure if I wanted to change positions or if I was told to change positions but I made my way to the edge of the birth tub, resting on my knees and shins. This squatting position which I had labored in earlier, was a total game changer. I was still in unbelievable pain, but bearing down while pushing was way easier and more productive. Not to mention it gave me a sense of privacy that being spread eagle didn’t.

The 15 minutes or so that I spent in this position was a complete out-of-body experience. There was a lot of screaming. A LOT. At one point, I screamed “PLEASE HELP ME,” something that had me laughing and feeling ashamed about later when I recapped the events with Kristen. There was also a lot of focusing on objects — like the sun rays on my doulas T-shirt and the darkness outside the slightly opened window. I was in a trance. I remember having a very hallucinogenic moment in which I closed my eyes and saw this girl I knew from my school days, dancing around in a jester’s costume. Freaky. I know.

I could feel the bulging when I pushed and it was then that I knew I was close. When Kristen told me to reach down and feel my baby’s head I said no. Not because it weirded me out, but because if any part of my upper body let go of the side of the pool, I was convinced I was going to fall in.

I remember the excruciating burn, and being told what an amazing job I was doing. I remember Jason being right in front of me, despite plans to be in the back, catching with Kristen. But it was for the best, I needed him to be right where he was, holding my hands.

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With another mind-numbing push, the head was out. I stayed squatting with the head out, about another minute or until the next contraction, and then eased my baby out. When I did, I felt the body leave me in an amazing “bloop bloop” sort of way. Again, something I don’t recall when I pushed my son out.

In an instant I felt the baby’s slippery, jiggly body get past up through my legs. I looked down and saw a squishy little face swimming up toward me. I lifted my baby out of the water and brought it to me.

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Meeting my baby.

My whole world stopped in this moment, for I was overcome with great relief and immense joy.

The baby was pudgy and squat and covered in vernix. She had a shock of black hair and she remained incredibly calm – like the room she was born into – in those first few minutes.

I’m not proud of the words that immediately flew out of my mouth, which were the first words the baby ever heard. They were “Thank fucking God”. What can I say? It just happened.

After a minute or so of relishing in the shock and awe of what just happened, I asked if anyone in the room knew what the sex was. I thought perhaps someone saw something I didn’t.

I was told to reach underneath and feel for balls but I lay her out in my arms instead. I looked down quickly and saw a little vagina. She had holes in all the right places. It was a GIRL and I was THRILLED. I mean really, really thrilled.

Reya Taha Wood was born at 6:27am after 14 hours of labor and a half hour of pushing.

Jason retrieved Mylo from his room and found him sitting up in bed awake and smiling. We’re not sure how long he had been up and what he had heard but he handled the busy room with our birth team with equal parts cutesy and shyness. I was so proud of him.

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Mylo meets his sister.

I birthed the placenta 15 minutes later and Jason and Mylo cut the cord.

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I was guided to the bedroom where I nursed Reya and was spoon fed Cheerios by Kristen.

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Reya was weighed and I texted profusely our beautiful news with family and friends.

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My girl weighed in at 8lbs 13oz – WOW!

 

It’s A Girl!!

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How my feet want to jump up
Push me high to the sky
I found you
How my heart is beaming like the sun,
And the moon and the stars beyond,
I found you…

First breath.

First breath.

On Tuesday 9/17/13 at 6:27am, our daughter Reya Taha Wood, joined us earthside at home in Brooklyn. She’s super cute and we are super happy. We are also super pleased that it’s a girl!

Birth story to come…

 

Our Midwife, Beverly Woodard CNM

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This post has been a long time coming. It’s about our midwife and has been brewing in my mind and in my heart for some time now.

Last March when I was halfway through my pregnancy, we ended our prenatal care with our OB/GYN and set out to find a midwife. My husband Jason and I had just seen The Business of Being Born which was an eye opener for us since we were new to everything regarding birth and babies.

We first met Beverly Woodard of Fruition Midwifery at her office in Chelsea on March 30, 2010. She was the only one of a half dozen women I had called who was willing to take me into her practice. I write about our decision to switch from an OB/GYN to a midwife in an earlier post, here.

Before I met Beverly my impression of a midwife was someone who was was warm, maternal and perhaps a bit crunchy. Beverly was anything but that. She was a whippersnapper. She was autocratic, and she took great pleasure in shooting down our fanciful, liberal hopes for a drug-free birth. She was also impeccably groomed.

The months that followed in the rest of my pregnancy I would come to question our decision to leave our OB/GYN for a midwife. Beverly’s care was top notch, but we were not gelling the way I had hoped. When I brought my mom along to my 34 week appointment to meet Beverly, she said she understood how I felt but that one thing was for certain: Beverly knew her babies.

And so I kept this mantra in my head for the next six weeks and it helped. At my 38 week appointment Beverly advised me to buy some castor oil from Duane Reade and to drink it if my water broke but contractions did not follow. This was the first of many signs that Beverly was in fact fully supportive of my plans for a natural birth.

My labor and delivery was long and arduous, but also all-natural. I say the following with not one iota of uncertainty: I would not have had the labor and birth that I did had it not been for Beverly. I have written in length about my son’s birth story, here.

I labored for 30 hours from start to finish. Beverly provided phone support via text earlier in the day when I was very functional and then over the phone with Jason later on at night when I had moved from the latent phase of labor to the active phase of labor.

Beverly was also very supportive in the hospital. She staved off interventions such as an epidural, excessive fetal heart monitoring, internals and more. She held me from behind and swayed with me when I was at my worst. She patted my forehead with a damp washcloth. She told stories to distract me from the pain. I was wrong all along. Beverly was in fact extremely maternal.

At 9:00 am on Monday, August 9th, after six hours of blood, sweat, tears and other bodily fluids, Beverly even let me deliver my own baby! How selfless. Here’s a woman who’s job it was to present me with my baby and instead, presented me with my crowning moment in life.

With our midwife Beverly Woodard who is not just magnificent and maternal but modest, too. We had to beg her to pose in this family photo with us.

Later that day, when the endorphins and excitement of the arrival of our son began to settle in, my husband said it best: “If you were going into battle, Beverly is just the kind of person you would want next to you in the trenches.” I could not have agreed more. Beverly is not just the person who delivered our first born. She is a part of our family now, and I cannot wait to go into battle with her again. Let’s just hope it won’t be for a couple of more years. :)

—

What about you, do you have a lot of love for the medical professional who helped bring your children into the world? Why or why not?

Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn May Close

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Saying I was sad today when I read the news that Long Island College Hospital may close, is an understatement. I wrote about my experience giving birth at LICH in an earlier post, here.

I am not just lamenting the loss of the physical place where my son Mylo was born, but the loss of the place where I became a mom and where I first laid eyes on my son. Any time I drive by LICH now, whether from the BQE, Hicks Street or Atlantic Avenue, I feel indescribably moved. I glance up at the building where I gave birth and quickly count four floors up while trying to scan to the window that I labored behind until Mylo was born at 9:00 am. It’s not just any room. It’s a room where a lot of blood, sweat and tears produced precious life on August 9, 2010, and has been churning out babies since the 19th century.

Long Island College Hospital: Where I first laid eyes on my son.

And of course I can’t help but think about Janelle, LICH’s best labor and delivery nurse and Bebeth, the kindest nurse on maternity, and above all, Beverly, our midwife, whose only privileges since St. Vincent’s closed, is at LICH.

I know what this means for Mylo’s future siblings — we were already planning to have home births from now on, but what does this mean for Janelle, Bebeth, Beverly and the 2,500 other employees at LICH? What does this mean for New York City, home to more than eight million people, now that a third area hospital may close? Cabrini Medical Center shut it’s doors in 2008, followed by St. Vincent’s in 2010.

What can I say? I hope Cuomo’s administration forks over the grants. I hope jobs will be saved. I hope babies will continue to be born there. I hope more women will become moms at LICH and have their lives changed, forever.

LICH In Danger Of Closing

My Son’s Birth Story

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Sunday. I went into labor on my due date, August 8, 2010 at 3:15 in the morning while laying in bed with my dog Ella at my parent’s house on Long Island. My husband Jason had to work that night and was at our home in Brooklyn.

Contractions started out short and far apart so I drove with my mom and Ella from Northport to Brooklyn later that morning and woke Jason up to tell him the news as we made our way over the Kosciuszko Bridge with New York City sprawling in view ahead of me. We have lived in the city for more than 10 years and were having our first baby there, so  it seemed a fitting setting in which to tell him the big news. As contractions progressed slowly throughout the day we went food shopping, packed our bags, took a nap and even ate dinner at Chipotle (my all-time favorite), which wound up being an unfortunate mistake.

While I was pregnant, we took a six-week childbirth education class at Birth Day Presence in Park Slope, Brooklyn with nine other couples who were also looking to have natural births. One of the things we talked about in class but never really got a clear answer on was how to know when to leave for the hospital when we go into labor. All I had as a barometer up until that point was what I saw on television and the movies, which is NOT how it happens in real life.

It turns out there is no definitive answer as to what time is the right time to leave for the hospital. For starters, it depends largely on your health care provider. Where a doctor might tell you to go to the hospital soon after the first signs of labor, a midwife will most likely tell you to birth at home for as long as possible.

That’s what our midwife Beverly advised us to do. She didn’t want us to go to the hospital until my contractions were following the 3-1-1 pattern. That’s three minutes apart, lasting one minute, consistently, for an hour. But even then, it might not be time to go to the hospital. As it proved not to be, for me…

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My mom and I determined that my contractions followed the 3-1-1 pattern by 10:00 Sunday night. Jason came home from work around 10:30/11 and we made our way to the hospital. When we arrived at labor and delivery, Beverly was sitting behind the reception desk with the nurses who were on duty. She took one look at me and said “the only thing you’re ready to deliver is the evening news!” Beverly and snarkiness pretty much go hand-in-hand so I had cast the comment aside. We were ushered along with all of our bags into a room leftover from when there used to be a Birthing Center at LICH. They are reserved for women who are low-risk and/or using a midwife, and I was one of them.

I changed into my Pretty Pusher and Beverly hooked me up to a portable doppler to listen to the baby’s heart rate. She gave me an internal and much to my shock and disappointment, I was only four centimeters dilated. I still had a ways to progress. I’ll spare you all the back and forth, (which was pretty frustrating at the time), but Beverly’s point was that while we “could” stay in the hospital, we “shouldn’t” stay because there was only so much intervention she could stave off from the hospital staff.

We had jumped the gun and arrived at the hospital too early. I felt all sorts of things at that point: pain, shame, exhaustion, frustration, fright. I had been in labor 20 hours and was certain I was going to have a baby on my due date but it appeared not. We hung our heads with defeat and drove the half mile home.

Monday. We returned back to our apartment just after midnight. My mom retired to get some much-needed shut eye while Jason drew me a bath. (If only he had scrubbed the tub in preparation for it like I asked earlier in the week!) While Jason was on his hands and knees in the bathroom making the tub spotless for my laboring ass to sit in, I lay in bed working through excruciating contractions. When the contraction would leave, I would vomit into a pail on the ground below. I feared the future did not bode well for Chipotle.

I never got to feel the calming affects that warm water is said to have on painful contractions because two minutes after I sat in the tub my water broke. In fact it didn’t just break, it burst! It was so alarming that I stood up stark naked and looked at Jason in a panic (our menagerie was lined up outside the bathroom door by now) and he frantically called Beverly to tell her the news. Within seconds of his hanging up the phone, my mucus plug dropped next. I wasn’t just panicked this time, but I was also a bit embarrassed. Little did I know that that would be the first of many things to come out of me during labor and childbirth.

The tub broke my water and gave me a bloody show. I was scared the baby would fly out of me next and yet Beverly still did not order us to go back to the hospital.

A term that was tossed around a lot in childbirth education class was “labor land.” Our instructor, Jada Shapiro, explained it as a state that a woman goes into during labor that is both euphoric and trance-like.

We went back to the hospital for the second time after I had reached “labor land” and could no longer talk through my contractions. And THAT is what I would say should serve as a measure for going to the hospital. It was 3:00 in the morning or a full 24 hours later when I had finally moved from the latent phase of labor to the active phase of labor. This time when we arrived at the hospital and Beverly saw me she said, “now you look like you’re ready to deliver a baby!” The intake nurse, Janelle, thought my Pretty Pusher was too pretty to wear for childbirth even though Jason tried to explain to her that that was exactly what it was for. I didn’t have it in me to fight with her though, and so nurse Janelle won what would be the only intervention battle: a dreary hospital gown.

One of the main reasons we switched to a midwife from a doctor was because I knew our wishes to go at it drug-free would be more respected and embraced, and because I wanted the liberty to move around in between contractions. I was about seven centimeters dilated when I arrived at LICH the second time and it would take a grueling four more hours to get to 10. In those four hours, Jason, Beverly and my mom did a superb job of keeping out further intervention. An anesthesiologist did a lot of lurking outside my room and even made her way in to talk to me about “managing” my pain until Beverly showed her the door.

We practiced many different birthing positions in childbirth education class because one of the beauties of not having an epidural is that you can move around, implementing positions that feel most comfortable to you. After weeks of visualizing myself on all four’s, on a birthing ball or in a jacuzzi, I wound up being able to sustain just two positions while laboring in the hospital: leaning over the bed with my head down (this was particularly handy when I was hurling), and lying down on my back. So much for freedom of movement!

I remember feeling many things while I waited to dilate those last few centimeters. I was flat out scared for one. The pain was so extreme from behind that I thought I was going to deliver the baby from my rear. I also thought at one point that I was going to deliver an alien. I remember thinking that if you told me that cutting off all my hair would help with the pain, I would have done it. I swore off having more children with my husband, stressing that we would only adopt going forward. I grounded the child who was inside of me until he was five. I even threatened to leave, saying I would jump out the window and into the Hudson River which was right outside. At my weakest, I begged for drugs but was told it was too late. I even pleaded for a doctor to cut me open, which was what I had been striving to avoid all along. It was the pain talking and I am so grateful my labor team understood that.

When I was told I had finally reached 10 centimeters I blurted out “HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH,” which set everyone in the room into a fit of laughter. But I can tell you that making anyone laugh at that moment was the furthest thing from my mind.

I wish I had known that the pain endured while waiting to dilate to 10 centimeters was an entirely different type of pain than pushing. Pushing, while tough and at times embarrassing, was at least productive and made me realize there was indeed going to be light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. No pun intended.

I pushed with all my might for two hours. For the final two pushes I was on my side with my mom holding my left knee back and my husband pushing against my right heel. Beverly advised me at that point to do a small, half push and to roll onto my back. She then told me to reach down and grab hold of my child. I told her I couldn’t. She repeated the order once more so I leaned forward and put my hands under the baby’s arms. They were slippery and I was shaking as I literally felt my baby leave my body. I saw a butt and underneath that, a perfect set of balls dangling in mid-air before I brought him to my chest and screamed, “IT’S A BOY!” Wow. Wow. I had just delivered my own baby. It was the single, greatest and most selfless gift someone had ever given me.

It was a profound moment, meeting my newborn baby for the very first time. I was elated yet also fraught with emotion. I went into the hospital a daughter, sister and wife and in one fell swoop became a mother. Nothing could have prepared me for this life-defining moment, but I am so grateful it came, and that I did it.

And I would do it all over again...

 

Giving Birth at Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn

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I gave birth to my first baby, a boy, at Long Island College hospital on August 9, 2010 under the care of midwife Beverly Woodard and I can say that the hospital and Beverly’s services, were excellent.

I write about our decision to switch from using an OB/GYN to a midwife halfway through my pregnancy in an earlier post, here. So I thought it was important to follow it up with my experience at LICH, seeing how I went into it with negative and mixed reviews. Not to mention an article in the NY Times about Brooklyn mothers choosing Manhattan hospitals to give birth, that came out six weeks before I went into labor.

First off, it all comes down to your health care provider. In the case of my long, 30 hour labor (24 of which was spent at home), I believe I would have had a c-section had I been under the care of an OB/GYN whether at LICH or any other hospital.

LICH wasn’t perfect. There was a cleanliness factor that turned my stomach and the postpartum breastfeeding support was disappointing. But for the most part my experience at LICH was a very pleasant one. From the nurses to the pediatric residents and even the orderlies — everyone at LICH was polite, helpful and nurturing.

The labor & delivery floor at LICH.

My husband Jason, who was in and out of the hospital many times throughout the two days we were there so he could tend to our menagerie at home, even found the security  guards and the cashier he paid to room-in on the maternity ward, extremely helpful and polite. By the way, the price for partners to room-in at LICH is $210, which is a fraction of what it costs at most Manhattan hospitals!

It took us some time to write it, but we wanted the supervisor of the maternity ward at LICH, Wanda Hernandez, to know about the people who helped make our experience a positive one.

—

October 21, 2010

Dear Ms. Hernandez:

My husband and I welcomed our first child into the world, a boy, on August 9, 2010 under the wonderful care of Midwife, Beverly Woodard at Long Island College Hospital. In short, our experience at LICH was an exceptional one.

On our list of things to do since we’ve been adjusting to new life with a baby is to write to let you know that being under the care of a few specific people made our experience at LICH that much more memorable. Paulette and Janelle on the labor and delivery floor, Bebeth in the maternity ward and Myra in the nursery went above and beyond to treat myself, my husband, my mother and of course my son, with a great deal of warmth and compassion.

Giving birth, while not easy, was at least pleasant thanks to your staff. Thank you for making our experience such a positive one.

Yours,

Reedu Taha Wood

It’s A Boy!!

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The cracks in my skin are like cracks in the floor
Been waiting all year, I’ll be waiting some more
I sit here and think of the summer we had
The winter is cold, the winter is black

And I, I’m haunted
And I, I want you
Hundreds of miles of falling apart

I’d give anything to go back to the start
Hundreds of miles but less than a day
To just hear your voice, to just see your face…

After 30 hours of a grueling, albeit drug-free labor (24 of which were spent at home), on Monday, 8/9/10 at 8:55am Jason and I welcomed our son, Mylo Taha Wood, into the world. We are absolutely elated!

Birth story to come…

Meeting Mylo…

Firing Our OB/GYN

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Almost immediately after we watched The Business of Being Born, a documentary by Ricki Lake about how giving birth has become big business in America, we decided we wanted to switch from an OB/GYN to a midwife. (I write about this decision in an earlier post.)

We severed our relationship with Dr. Scott Postell at Long Island College Hospital when I was 20 weeks pregnant, despite the fact that we had not yet found a midwife, which we learned was no easy feat.

I told Jason that I was nervous about severing our relationship with Dr. Postell. Not because I wasn’t sure of the decision, but because I liked the man and did not want to hurt his feelings. My husband Jason was shocked by this. Not that I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but that I was too timid to tell him it was over. So after I was examined and I was hesitating, Jason interjected and told Dr. Postell that we were going to continue our prenatal care with a midwife.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, but the doctor was a bit perturbed. (At which point I wanted to crawl and hide under a table.) But then he began to say things to us that I found troubling. For starters he asked if we thought I’d have a less chance having a c-section with a midwife. We told him yes. That in fact we could NOT have a c-section with a midwife since she was not licensed to perform such a surgery. He then said he could tell what neighborhood we lived in based on our decision to use a midwife.

Despite the fact that he just stereotyped us, I tried to save face by telling him if by chance something did go wrong during my birth, I hoped he would be the doctor on call that day. Kind of dumb, right? Here I am firing the guy because I was scared he would give me an unnecessary c-section while at the same time saying that if I did need one, I’d hope he’d do it. Ugh!

However since we’ve found a midwife – by the near-skin of our teeth – I’ve wavered some about our decision to fire Dr. Postell. Especially when Beverly recently told me she’d heard that Dr. Postell had a patient who delivered using a squat bar! I am a month away from my due date now and only time will tell if we made the right decision.

Making a Birth Bundle

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Last night marked the completion of a six-week childbirth education class that my husband Jason and I took along with nine other couples at Birth Day Presence in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

The class attracted the same sect of people: couples who were looking to avoid having a cesarean birth, and who were in large part, earthy people who would like to bring their children into the world naturally. For the most part, the classes were beneficial — especially for my husband, who learned a lot and had an opportunity to connect with other dads-to-be about his hopes and fears.

Each week after class we’d get an email assignment from the instructor, Jada Shapiro, which typically entailed reading that we would then speak about in length in the following class. But in preparation for the last class moms-to-be received an email from Jada titled, “Final Assignment–Secret.”

The assignment was to create a “Birth Bundle” which had three objects in it. The first item should speak to the mother – a symbol that would signify the women in her family or community. The second item was to represent the energies of the father, either physically or spiritually, and the third item was one that would remind the mother of her love for her unborn child. And finally, we were to wrap the items in a piece of cloth or sack that had some significance and share the bundles with our partners and the other couples at the end of class. I knew when I was combing our apartment for the items that it was an emotional assignment, but nothing prepared me for just how emotional it would be until it came time to share my bundle last night.

I went second, following in the footsteps of a woman who shared three really beautiful and personal items from her bundle, but also managed not to cry. My first object in my birth bundle that was meaningful to me was my grandmother’s gold bracelet. She was a woman that owned jewelry from all over the world, and during her nine-month battle with pancreatic cancer I watched as she shed piece after piece, not having the heart or energy to wear it all anymore. But the one that remained until she died was this thick, gold, chain bracelet. I explained with shaky hands and a quivering voice that moments after she passed away in the living room of our home 10 years ago, my mom took the bracelet off her arm and put it on mine.

The second item was the stainless steel hardware that kept our dog’s bones in place for 10 months after undergoing her third major surgery. (I totally cracked right about here by the way). I tried with watery eyes to explain about our background in animal rescue, but then turned to my husband, holding this small but heavy piece of hardware that I stole off his desk and told him, “this is a testament to you and how incredibly steadfast and patient you were through her care: the weekly doctor appointments, the multiple surgeries, the infections…” and I wanted to say, but I’m not sure that I did, that I believe that those same qualities will shine through in his journey as a father.

The third object wasn’t so easy for me to come up with as I do not know this little human who is living inside me yet, but I chose the “tiny gPant” from gDiapers. I explained how the diaper represented our desire to be green and kind to the earth by not using disposable diapers. It was a cute note to end on as the tiny gPant, which will sit on the rumpus of our newborn until he/she grows into a “small,” is about the size of a small orange.

And finally, I explained the significance behind the cloth I wrapped all the items in: a piece from a section of an organic cotton, bone-colored scarf that I never wear. The cloth represents the organic and neutral color of the baby’s bedding, washcloths, burping cloths and cover-ups.

Well if the waterworks didn’t completely spill while I presented, they certainly did as we continued to go around the room! The brave woman sitting next to me shared a piece of rock from her bundle which she found on a writing retreat she went to in New Mexico. She said the rock, which had many facets, represented her and her partner’s long and very difficult journey to conceive.

Another woman, who lives one block away from us in our neighborhood and who I first met in prenatal yoga class at the YMCA, also added to the emotional night. She and her husband have been renovating their apartment and have spent the last trimester of her pregnancy displaced from their home and sleeping on an Aero Bed. She wasn’t able to create a bundle as a result of not being in her home, but she did take us through the items that would be in it had she been able to make one. It wasn’t so much the significance of the items but the fact that she is displaced, and missing out on this deep-seated need to nest while pregnant, that did it for me.

However personal, it was a nice exercise to share with our partners. And it turned out to be equally as nice to share something so personal with the other women and moms I have something in common with, and who are on their own unique and special journey through pregnancy.