It’s been hard for me to go back to the day Silas was born. I’ve started to write things down before but it just didn’t feel like it was time. I felt like I was rushing it.

Even now, I’m not sure. I haven’t fully processed what happened. I don’t look back on it with joy or elation. I don’t look at my pictures with tears of happiness. I haven’t shared much of them until now because they are so fragile, so heart wrenching. I look at them and I want to scream because they were so different from what I had dreamed about.

I remember the pain so vividly.

I remember the thoughts of doubt running in my head so clearly.

I see the pictures of the absolute agony in my face and I see and feel the failure.

And then, when it was finally over, he was taken from me and a whole new type of pain emerged. All that work and for what? To not even be able to catch my baby? To not be able to bring him to my chest like all the pictures I had seen and like I had dreamed about since before I even had the positive test? To lay in bed, legs spread open, blood everywhere, wailing because I couldn’t hear him cry? That was the reality of my birth.

I started laboring on Tuesday morning about 2:30 am. It was December 31st, New Years Eve. Silas was due January 2 so I was pretty excited and definitely ready to meet the little baby I had dreamed my entire life about.

I had been saying I wanted him to come early for weeks. The Sunday before labor started I was so restless I had actually decided to schedule clients in the office and made plans for the week because I figured I’d be pregnant forever. It worked...I went into labor less than 48 hours later.

I’m a doula right? I know how labor works. I know it’s long and hard and unpredictable. I KNEW I should go back to sleep when I started feeling contractions. I KNEW it was only the beginning and that I likely had a long long long time to go. But I was so excited I ignored the advice I would have given my clients and I got up and watched TV. I notified my birth team when they didn’t let up after a couple hours. My midwife and my doula told me what I knew: Go. Back. To. Bed.

I didn’t. But I did take a nap on the couch.

I woke my husband up around 6 and told him what was going on. I let my mom and mother in law know, ate some breakfast, did some laundry, cleaned out the fridge...because you know...that all made sense to me at the time.

I did rest again after that...

The morning wore on and the contractions came went, sometimes easy, sometimes intense. I watched movies and hung out. Food was brought and we waited.

Our midwife, Gloria, and her assistant, Keira, came about 2:30 for an appointment we already had scheduled. Our doula, Destiny, was there already for a pep talk as well. I was checked and was 1 cm with 80% effacement and a soft cervix. I was instructed to go eat and go to bed. Like a child...I finally listened.

Destiny tucked me in nice and good with pillows and a peanut ball and blankets. I took up the whole bed. By this point my contractions had stopped so I was able to get some sleep, almost 2 hours I think before I was jolted awake with an intense contraction. I worked through it, then another, and another, and pretty soon I had to get up and move and I knew there was no going back now.

Destiny came back a little after 6 and made us go for a little walk around our circle. It was cold, I was wearing my big pink robe. I remember hearing our dogs howling and barking wondering where we were going. I guess I ate, I don’t remember.

At some point I got into my small tub while the birth pool was filled. Gloria and Rowan, our photographer were notified. I labored in the bathtub for a while, with candles and a diffuser. I don’t really know how I felt about everything...it hurt, sure, but I was getting through it. Breathing, squatting, all the things I knew to do. I had this, right?

A little after 8 I moved to the birth pool. My mom had set up twinkle lights and it was calm and peaceful in our dining area where the pool was. I had hoped to make birth affirmations but never got around to it. I didn’t have any pictures set up to look at...I kind of regret that actually. Next time I hope to follow through on those plans.

Gloria and Rowan arrived about 9 pm, my mother in law at 9:45. Silas is the first grand baby on both sides of the family and it was important to me that both grandmas be present for his birth. I’m so grateful we all get along and live so close to have allowed that.

I labored in the birth pool for several hours. I didn’t really want counter pressure. All I wanted was to squeeze someone’s hand, usually Braley’s, during each wave while I moaned and groaned and made all the noises associated with labor. I moved around in the tub, but my legs were getting tired from squatting and being bent. At some point Destiny fed me a protein bar. Cools rags were being replaced by various hands. Sips of water were being offered by different faces. Occasionally I’d feel warm water being added to the pool which felt amazing.

Around 11 PM I felt the urge to start pushing and Gloria confirmed there was no more cervix and so it began…

I pushed. And pushed.

Pushed some more. I squatted. I opened my hips, my legs, my breath. Midnight came and we all heard fireworks since it was New Years Eve. I joked that Silas was going to make his grand entrance to fireworks. We laughed. I pushed. I told him the fireworks were for him and that he could go ahead and come out now.

I pushed.

Eventually my legs started to give out and we decided a change of scenery might help. Shakily, I got out the pool and was helped to our bedroom. Gloria helped me with directed pushing for a while.

Nada.

Finally, around 2 am on January 1, Gloria informed me she felt cervix.

Now, I don’t know if my position was wrong and she missed it the hours earlier or if I indeed started to close back up...I can’t answer that. I trusted her and still do so I don’t believe she was wrong, or my urges weren’t there...but the reality was...I needed to stop pushing and rest.

So that’s what we all did. Everyone left the room and Braley and I laid in bed for 1-2 hours resting.

Again, I was awakened with an intense contraction around 4 am. I worked through a couple and then called everyone in again.

I felt like I needed to push and was checked and found to be fully effaced, 10cm, with little Silas at 2+ station.

I mustered all I could. I hadn’t eaten much and I had thrown up what I had managed to swallow. Water was even hard to drink. I was low on fluids and even lower in calories. I was so hungry I felt my stomach growling. But the thought of food sounded awful.

My team was amazing and tried so hard to get me little bits of energy. Honey, Gatorade, yogurt, maybe crackers, can’t quite remember. But every time a contraction would hit and I’d want to push I’d feel like I needed to burp and I wouldn’t be able to push effectively.

I started to lose hope. I don’t think I voiced it yet but inside I was definitely beginning to wonder if I could do this.

I told myself I had to. I gathered my strength and I roared. I roared loud. I yelled. I swore. I moaned. I made every sound I could think of making. I moved, I swayed, I squatted every direction possible. I felt his head many times, just barely but I felt him. And every time he just stayed put behind that damn pubic bone.

I was spent. I cried. I sobbed. Every contraction was unbearable at this point. I felt like my body was being broken in half. It was no longer hard, but rather excruciating. Every time a contraction came I wanted to die it hurt so bad. I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t think of anything but the pain.

We decided to try the Walcher’s Position where I basically lay on my back with a towel or foam roller under my hips through a couple contractions to try to help him under the pubic bone. I was so scared to try it because I knew it would be painful. But we did it anyway. It was as awful as you’d think it would be. I could only last a couple and still...nothing. Little turd was still right where I had felt him before. About 6:30 am I finally made the decision to head to the hospital. I couldn’t do it anymore.

Everyone comforted me and told me it would be OK, that I was making the best decision for myself and for our baby. I wasn’t failing but that my plans were changing and that was OK.

I hadn’t even packed a bag so that was fun.

One of the reasons I had chosen to do a home birth was because he was due in the winter and I didn’t want to drive to the. hospital in labor during a snowstorm.

Well guess what? It was snowing that morning, hard, and there were a couple inches on the roads as we drove slowly to IMC. Thankfully it was a holiday so there were no cars on the roads and no accidents to slow us down but the drive was miserable, absolutely miserable. Another reason I had planned a home birth.

Eventually we made it, our whole team which consisted of myself (duh), husband, mom, mother in law, midwife, midwife assistant, doula, and photographer. I had quite the entourage. I kept thinking how exhausted they all must be and I hoped they all had been able to rest some and eat. I had been to long births and I know they all knew what birth was like but my people-pleaser mind kept thinking: damn It Melissa...you’re keeping these people from their families and homes.

Checked in, the whole procedure started.

IV? A billion questions? Check check.

Where. Was. My. Epidural??

Ok, let me say: Every laboring woman needs to make the choices that are best for her. I had really wanted to an unmedicated delivery. I believed I could. I knew I could. So admitting defeat (yes, defeat for me, not for others) was a hard pill to swallow. But once that sweet sweet relief flooded my body I thought, “what the hell was I trying to prove??”

I went from “kill me now” to “hey! Let’s have a party and everyone is invited!”

I was checked again and found to only be 7 cm dilated. So, I guess I closed up again? I don’t know...it’s weird to me. I haven’t had the energy to research it either so I have no answers for it.

Epidural placed, anger gone, I ate some breakfast and went to sleep.

I had seen this before though. Mom, totally exhausted, gets epidural, dilates in 15 minutes, pushes baby out, party over.

But it was still hours until I was fully dilated again. There was talk of pitocin because I was still taking a long time but Silas was doing great so I asked to wait. We did some gentle pushing with each contraction to help push a little bit of cervix out of the way and by 4:30, I was FINALLY complete...again.

I pushed. And pushed. And pushed some more. I had already pushed hours at home and my nether regions were swollen and sore. I was so exhausted. We tried several “positions” while I was in the bed, finally settling on the CNM holding a sheet while I pulled and roared some more.

I wanted to see everything and had a mirror brought it. When I eventually saw the dark of his hair I felt more power coming to me. It felt like an eternity but here he was, squeezing his way into my life. At some point I asked if he was actually going to fit. Claudia, the hospital midwife, told me I was past the point of no return and he was definitely coming out this way. I roared. I mustered everything I had and still everyone told me to give more. I remember thinking, “If they tell me to push harder one more time I’m going to kill someone.”

His heart rate was perfect the entire time. There was never one indication of a problem. No meconium. No decels. Nothing.

But when he was finally starting to come out, and Claudia told me to reach down and catch him, tears in my eyes, he slipped out and suddenly, to my horror, there was no cry.

No noise. Just a lifeless limp baby. The cord was cut and he was immediately passed to the NICU team.

Unless that has ever happened to you, there is no possible way to ever explain the feeling. It must be experienced to be believed, but I would pray no one ever has to live through it, although I know that’s not possible.

I’ve had it happen to clients and looking back, I feel that I handled it so inadequately.

Up until now, I couldn’t really talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. But now, 4 months later...maybe I can? At least write about it...but the words can’t come out of my mouth yet. And if they do, it has to be very matter of fact style. The emotions are blocked.

I can’t describe it. I know I was sobbing. I know everyone was trying to tell me it would be ok. I know I was trying to look up to see him. I know I asked someone to take pictures of him. I remember hearing Rowan telling my mom she could step out and giving her a hug. Voices were telling me he was ok, he aspirated meconium, he was going to need to go to the nicu, he would be ok, he wasn’t without oxygen bla bla bla.

There I was, bleeding, crying, not holding my baby, I didn’t know where Braley was, and for as much noise and confusion that permeated the room, alls I heard was deafening silence.

I asked to see him before they wheeled him out. It haunts me. The pain absolutely haunts me.

I am going to get messages from my birth team and others reminding me I didn’t fail. Reminding me I worked so hard and did everything right. They are going to tell me how strong and how powerful I was to make the decisions I needed to make. How I was so brave and handled it so well while Silas recovered in the nicu for 11 days.

Sometimes I believe all those things. Sometimes I think what a badass I am because I birthed a baby. Other times I feel like a failure. And that’s OK, my feelings are my feelings and I sit with them when they come and say goodby when they leave.

Nothing turned out the way I had imagined. Even breastfeeding has taken a crazy turn, with Silas refusing to nurse for 2 months solid and then randomly picking it up at 4 months like it’s nothing.

I couldn’t have done anything without all the people by my side that day. Every single one of them played a huge role. We snuck a couple extra people in because I couldn’t have imagined any of them missing it after having spent 24 hours together getting to that point.

I went through times early on where I couldn’t look at photos of mamas catching their babies. I still can’t. It makes me angry, jealous, heartbroken. I had to stop looking at nursing pictures because it wasn’t happening for us.

He’s healthy and strong now, it’s true. And I love him with all my heart. But I felt robbed. I still do; and devastated. I wish I could look back on my birth story with joy, but I look back on it with sadness. There were happy moments, like when I thought he might be born to fireworks. But the reality is: I thought he was going to die in the end. I remember laying back on the bed while the NICU team brought him back and I remember thinking: “Brace yourself Melissa. You weren’t meant to have a baby.”

Not only was it traumatic, but then I legitimately faced losing my son. So, all his crying and poopy diapers now...I guess I’ll take it because he almost wasn’t.

I didn’t get to see him for several hours and I didn’t get to hold him for several days. The NICU doctor came in a few hours after his birth, while I sat stuffing my face with In-n-out, and informed me how sick he truly was. Claudia had given us some updates but they weren’t as thorough as the Dr so we all naively thought he’d be just fine. He was in the end, but there was a lot of uncertainty for several days. I felt sick to my stomach all over again, exhausted, broken.

As he sits here sleeping on my lap while I type this out, his heavy breath, his little belly poking out, his hand resting on my chest, head face down in the crook of my arm because that’s how he likes to sleep, I have to remind myself to slow down and soak it in. He only wants me, he insists on being held to nap, he is demanding, but he is here. He is strong. He is beautiful. He loves his mama. We stare at each other all day, sometimes with tears in our eyes. I wish his birth had been different, but I’m thankful he is just as he’s supposed to be.

Even though my pictures bring pain, I’d like to thank Rowen Steiner of Salt City Birth and Newborn for capturing the images. I know one day I’ll be able to look at them with different healed eyes. I’d also like to thank Gloria Moore of Bearth for her amazing support as my midwife and her assistant Kera Lyman for her steady presence. Our doula, Destiny Olsen from Shauntea, a long time friend, has been there for me through my miscarriages, this pregnancy, and this crazy postpartum time and I’m so grateful to her for her humor, knowledge, insight, and listening ear.

P.S. Try as I might, I could not get my photos in order. Apologies.