Collectively in awe!
by Marsha Moreau
I had my first baby in a hospital. It wasn’t what I really wanted, deep down. Most of my friends were having their babies at home, with midwives. That seemed to fit what I wanted my birth experience to be. But I was afraid. Midwives weren’t regulated in BC in the summer when I became pregnant. I was terrified that if something went wrong, my midwife would not be able to accompany me to the hospital. Well, she could accompany me, but would no longer be “in charge,” not having hospital privileges. Also, a midwife would cost something—something that I was certain my husband and I could not afford. I knew homebirth was a safe option, but there were too many reasons that made me afraid to choose it.
My daughter Morgaine was born on January 27 at Victoria General. As far as first births go, it wasn’t so bad. I felt as though I spent more time with the nurses, who were wonderful, than with my doctor. I felt as though I had been clear with my no-drugs/no-interventions plan and yet was offered many of both. I think things would have moved along much faster if somebody had suggested that I get up and walk around, or that I change laboring positions—flat on your back is not the way to have a baby. Nothing went “wrong,” and yet it was the least natural, most clinical of all my birth experiences.
I ended up with a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and I was elated, until the rush of lovely post-birth feelings wore off. The very worst part of giving birth in a hospital was what happened afterward. Morgaine was born at 5:17 p.m., and after twelve hours of labor, I and my family support were tired and hungry. So they went to get something to eat, and I was left alone. I got the hospital food dinner “special,” my family came back to say goodbye, and then they left. Unfortunately, hospital policy is that once it’s “nighttime,” your visitors have to leave and you need to sleep.
After having other children, I realized that it is very normal for me to have excruciating afterbirth pains. It isn’t something that women normally experience with their first; it usually comes later—with their second or third child. But for me, it hit hard, and I didn’t know why I was in pain. So, it’s the middle of the night, the hospital wing is relatively dark, I am still hungry, I am in pain, I am WIDE awake, and I am all alone. Finally I rang one of the nurses, who explained what the pains were and gave me some Tylenol. I told her I couldn’t sleep, and she gave me one of the best pieces of advice that anyone has ever given me. She told me to take my baby out of that plastic fishbowl they put her in and to sleep with her. She told me that we would both sleep better for it. She was right. Finally, at about three in the morning, I fell asleep.
That night should have been one of the most joyful nights of my life, but instead it was one of the most miserable. After giving birth, a woman has stories to tell—she wants to relive it, she wants to share, she wants to be cuddled, she wants to be loved. She does not want to be left alone in the dark. All I wanted was to go home, to be home. I wish I’d had the courage to listen to my heart and chosen to have my baby at home, in spite of my fears.
When I became pregnant with my second child, we were living in Powell River. I was so happy to finally have the choice of a midwife and a homebirth. Alas, it was not to be. Because of the smaller population, there were no registered midwives practicing in Powell River. After speaking to someone at the local health food store, I discovered two registered midwives who worked together in the Comox/Courtenay area, which was just a short ferry ride (one hour and twenty minutes) away from Powell River. I was very committed to having a midwife, so I traveled back and forth on the ferry with a toddler, as often as I needed to, so that I could attend my appointments. We had some very good friends who lived in the area and they graciously offered up their home so that I could have a homebirth experience, even though technically it wouldn’t be in my home. Three weeks before my due date, I got some bad news. The son of the family with whom I was to stay had been exposed to chickenpox. If he had caught it, he would have been contagious at the very time when I would be staying with them. According to my midwives, my baby would be fine, but there was every likelihood that my toddler would get sick. Did I want to have a homebirth at the risk of having to deal with a newborn and a two-year-old with chickenpox? No, I didn’t think so. On to plan B.
There was a beautiful bed and breakfast a mere ten minute walk from the hospital in Comox. I would await my birth there. In many ways, it was a perfect experience. We had a beautiful flat, with our own kitchenette and bathroom, and the property was surrounded by an apple orchard. We could walk to the park, to restaurants, and to the grocery store. My husband took time off work and the three of us had a two-week holiday, while we waited for the little one to make his appearance.
I went into labor right on my due date. I spent the day laboring in our suite. It wasn’t my home, but it felt right. I went for a walk. I moved around. I ate when I felt hungry. My midwife was there for most of that time, as well as my husband and daughter. It made me happy to see her watching Sesame Street as I went through my contractions. When they were very close together, my midwife drove me to the hospital, while my family walked. I was wheeled through the door, with my face buried in my pillow, breathing through the now very strong contractions. I didn’t look up again until I was in my hospital room. Throughout my entire birth experience, I didn’t have to see a single hospital employee—just my midwives and my family. That made it feel more private, which was what I wanted. I had a shower—the water always seemed to make things come on faster. The midwives had me squat on the bed to encourage my water to break. I really didn’t want to, as it felt so uncomfortable, but they were right, it worked, and the water flowed out of me. Now things were really happening. Finally my mother arrived (she’d taken the first ferry out from Powell River that morning) and took my daughter down to the cafeteria. My husband needed to give most of his attention to Morgaine up until that point, so it was nice to have him back! I only pushed for about ten minutes, and just as my son was crowning, my mother and Morgaine entered the room. My mom lifted her up so she could see and all I remember is focusing on her little face saying, “I see the baby, the baby is coming.” Suddenly he was out. That slippery wet feeling is the most welcome feeling in the world after all that burning pressure. They passed him to me, and I nursed him. They told me he was a boy, and I was so certain they were wrong that I unwrapped him just to make sure. He was perfect. I was still nursing Morgaine who wanted her turn, and the midwives assured me it would help to make my uterus contract. I ate, and showered, and my midwife helped to dry me off. I will always remember how sweet that gesture was—I felt well taken care of. Unlike my last hospital experience, my baby did not leave the room. He was weighed, measured, and tended to right in front of me. At almost eight pounds, he was close to a pound bigger than his sister had been. Then we headed back to the B&B. I think, all told, I was in the hospital for only three hours.
Felix Julius was born on March 15 and was named the following day, just before we took a ferry home. This experience turned out to be so wonderful, it’s hard to believe that we hadn’t planned it that way all along. It was a happy medium between my ideals of a homebirth with midwives, and my hospital birth with a doctor. I strongly feel that it was the addition of my midwives that made this birth so much of what I wanted—that and the fact that I was able to spend most of my time laboring somewhere else. There is so much happening to your body that you need to stay positive and to be able to focus clearly, and that is a difficult thing to do in an unfamiliar, clinical environment. I think I had the best of both worlds.
By the time I became pregnant with my third child, I was in a new relationship. We hadn’t been together very long but had known each other for almost ten years. This was Jay’s first baby and so for me too, it almost felt like I was doing it for the first time. I was living in Victoria again and was finally able to have my cake and eat it too. I planned a homebirth with a midwife, and was so very excited to finally have the experience I was hoping for. Jay was born at home too so he was 100 percent supportive of my desire to do so. Life is very busy when you have two small children and are expecting your third, but I was loving my pregnancy. I planned so many things that I hadn’t done with the others. We spent hours making a labor and birth mix CD. I had candles and all my snacks planned. I had all my homebirth supplies, etc. I suppose that when you are that prepared, you should just expect that a curveball is coming your way!
I was almost a week overdue when I woke up feeling unmistakable contractions. I had been warned by my midwives that your third can be a bit of a wild card, so I had to be careful not to assume that things would follow along the same path as my previous births. It was 4:20 in the morning and I woke Jay up to tell him it was starting. He was all in a panic, but I laughed and assured him we had plenty of time. Every night we had been cleaning the house and doing up all the dishes, never knowing which night would be the big event and always wanting to have a clean space. Of course, as luck would have it, the previous evening we had been exhausted and just left things messy. Jay felt sure that he now needed to get those dishes done. Once again I insisted that we would have time to do that later. My labor was just beginning and we would have hours to kill. I suggested he have a shower to wake himself up. I called my brother and sister-in-law to give them the heads up that labor was commencing so that they could make their way over. They were to help with watching our other two, but once again I insisted that they had time so not to rush.
I then began to walk around our suite in circles. I walked and as I looped around I felt the contractions getting very strong. I felt a dampness between my legs and a sudden urge to rush to the toilet. I ran to the bathroom and barely made it there in time. I saw bloody show and found it difficult to get up off the toilet as the contractions were so strong. At this point Jay insisted we call the midwife. I am not sure why but I still felt that it was far too early to call her. Jay did anyway and when she wanted to talk to me I could barely speak. She told Jay she was on her way. I really wanted to get in the shower, so Jay helped me in and started to make up our bed in preparation for the birth. He was ripping open packages of plastic to cover the mattress with and stripping the sheets off when Janet the midwife arrived. Our bathroom was in our bedroom and the door was open and as she came in she said, “Marsha, are those pushing sounds I hear?” I hadn’t even realized it but yes, I was pushing. She said, “Out of there now, unless you want to have your baby in the shower!” Jay helped me out and onto the bed, which was of course in complete disarray, as there wasn’t time to make it up properly. Luckily, my sister-in-law had the feeling that they shouldn’t be waiting any time at all to come over and they practically ran the entire forty minutes that it took them to get to our house. There was no time for candles or my carefully chosen music. Jay just pressed play on the stereo, and by the end of the album, David Gray’s White Ladder, I had given birth to a very large baby girl!
Priya Lily was born at 6:05 a.m. on April 28, a mere hour and forty-five minutes from my first contraction. The backup midwife, Collette, didn’t even make it there. My kids were woken up in time to see me deliver the placenta. I had wanted them to see the birth; however, it all happened too fast. By 8 a.m., we were all sitting on the bed, eating bagels, while the midwives drank tea at the kitchen table, filling out their paperwork. It was perfect. It was beautiful. Priya weighed 9lbs 2oz and I still announced that I couldn’t wait to have another and do it all again. I think if that had been my first time, I would have been frightened by the speed and intensity of the birth, but because I knew what was happening, it was almost better to not have it go on for too long. My midwife teased me that I would have been having a homebirth that day, whether I had planned it or not! I feel truly blessed to have had the experience of giving birth to Priya.
By the following May, I was pregnant again. We knew we wanted one more and wanted to do it fast, so they would be close in age. My midwife had booked her holidays for around the time I was due and after some consultation with her partners agreed that she would still take me on as a client, even though there was a possibility she would miss the actual birth. As my due date came and went, I was having a great deal of anxiety that she would have to leave before my baby was ready to come. My father-in-law came to stay with us to help out with the other kids after the baby was born. One night while the three of us were watching a movie, I began to feel some slight contractions. They were slow but steady, and considering how quickly Priya had come, this time we weren’t going to take any chances. We called the midwife Phoebe and our support people and by the time everyone arrived I had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t going to happen after all. That thing that I had read so much about was happening to me—with my fourth! The pressure of all eyes being on me early in my labor caused my contractions to slow down, and then to stop. I walked up and down flights of stairs, I tried to stay upright and busy, but it just wasn’t to be. I felt horribly embarrassed and sad.
The next day—nothing. This was Phoebe’s last day to be my primary midwife. She had a flight out of Victoria and had already postponed her trip once for my sake. There wouldn’t be a second chance. I spent the day out and about, and tried to keep busy, but had a sinking feeling the baby wasn’t coming. Phoebe had been out doing her last-minute errands before her holiday and decided to stop by the house to check on me one last time. I was having very slow, random contractions. She did an internal and kept her hand in there to get a sense of a contraction. It hurt and felt awkward. We laughed about it as I stood up, when suddenly there was an audible pop and a stream of fluid ran down my leg. Janet tested it, and sure enough it was amniotic. Within a minute, I was having an excruciating contraction. A few minutes later, another one, and it was even more painful. Before I knew it, I was in full-on labor and had barely had time to catch my breath. I started to cry. I felt scared . . . It was happening too fast. It was so intense that I could no longer stand up. It was so hard. I was in so much pain that I had no grip on my emotions. I couldn’t focus. Everything was a blur. I remember saying that I couldn’t do it, wouldn't do it. The room was full of my support people and the two midwives and I couldn’t look at anybody. I just kept my eyes closed, and cried. Everybody was encouraging me, rubbing my back, supporting me. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted it to stop.
What a very different experience from all my other births. It was brutally hard and frightening. When it was time to push, the baby’s cord was wrapped around her neck. I had to stop pushing and wait while Jill put her whole hand inside to untangle the cord. As I had a contraction I screamed. Finally, I was told I could push again, and as I pushed I had the most painful birth. Later, my midwife explained that usually when babies are born their chins are tucked in so that the very tops (and smallest parts) of their heads are what comes out first. My baby had engaged in a funny way, possibly because of how tightly the cord was wrapped around the neck, so that she came out in “military position.” Her chin was not tucked in one bit and she entered the world with the entire circumference of her head. I let out an earth-shattering scream. I thought that I had split in two. My baby was born and I just sobbed. She was blue, very blue—a very scary blue. Jay later told me that he hadn’t wanted to scare me but he was very frightened for her. But it was over very quickly. Her color was normal fast. Whew.
The entire labor was only a few hours long, but seemed like an eternity. When I look at photos of myself, I can’t believe how calm and collected I look. I was exhausted. I was so glad Phoebe had been able to be there for me after all. I will always remember her voice encouraging me through such a difficult experience. Anjali Nora Simone was born on January 13. After the initial fright, she turned out to be healthy and perfectly beautiful. I was so glad to have had such a traumatic birth at home. I didn’t leave the upstairs floor of my house for a week. I stayed in bed, used the bathroom, and other than that, slept and nursed and had my other kids come up to visit me for talks and cuddles. My father-in-law and Jay held down the fort. I didn’t tear, but I could barely walk because I was so sore and drained. I needed that time in my house, and to be in my own bed. After that, I was able to truly say that I was finished having kids. Luckily my Anji was an angel baby, the easiest of all four of them, and that made a world of difference.
I feel lucky to have lived in BC at a time when I could make the birth choices that I made. I loved having my babies at home, whether they were easy births or not, and I can’t wait to encourage my children to do the same when they are ready to have their families.
Collectively in awe!
Morgaine peering at new baby Priya.
Felix holding baby Priya.
Marsha, her partner Jay, and her four amazing kids have recently moved from the Kootenays and now live on Salt Spring Island Marsha reviews books, volunteers at the library, co-runs a candle business, writes, and bakes something from scratch nearly every day. Before becoming a mother, Marsha worked as an actor in movies, and on television and radio.