Pregnant under Okanagan skies!
By Chantale Hutchinson
Chantale’s story reflects an option that is gaining popularity among women in BC—the decision to opt for midwifery care, while choosing to birth in a hospital. For many women, for Chantale, this will be a stepping-stone toward subsequent births. As Chantale penned this piece, she was due to deliver her second son in five weeks—a birth planned for home!
Pregnant under Okanagan skies!
When my first pregnancy came around, I had never witnessed a homebirth, although I had two friends who had experienced lovely births at home and raved about their experiences. When I became pregnant, I initially visited a doctor. I was unsure of my options. I quickly realized that I was being treated as though I were sick rather than as someone who was in the natural process of giving life, and I decided to “check out” a midwife. The model of care fit me like a glove. That being said, I had reservations about having a birth at home for a couple of reasons. Firstly, my close friend hemorrhaged with her first child and was fortunate to be at the hospital. My mom had several miscarriages, and my younger brother was delivered by C-section, so my early experiences with pregnancies and births involved complications—leading me to believe that that was the norm. Lastly, I myself had been quite premature and needed to remain in the hospital for several weeks.
Because of these factors, I felt most comfortable being at the hospital, while at the same time enjoying my chosen model of care. It is this experience that I share with you now: a hospital birth that took place with the assistance of a midwife and a doula. The experience was so positive and things progressed so smoothly that as I now find myself pregnant with my second child, I will likely choose a homebirth.
It was a quintessential Okanagan spring day, and I had decided to go and watch my husband’s soccer game and enjoy the sunshine. Not being able to play myself was heartbreaking, but I held on to the hope that it would not be long before I kicked a ball again. Interestingly, that wish came earlier than expected, as my soccer team coincidentally had practice on the same field right after Jim’s game ended. I decided to pass the ball with my buds, pretending that I was not a lumbering, ten-days-overdue, preggo mama. “You’re going to have that baby today,” my friend Dom assertively declared as she kicked me the ball. Little did I know that she was absolutely right.
We left soccer and went home to relax and enjoy the rest of our Saturday. On the way, I told Jim what our midwife had speculated was the delay with the baby. “The baby’s head is somewhat turned and it’s not putting even pressure on my cervix. We need to try and get the baby to turn its head.” Jim confidently replied, “OK, let me try something.” And so he did. He got me on all fours, and had me do a bit of a cat stretch while he gently lifted up on my belly in an attempt to slightly shift the position of the baby’s head. I stood up and could already feel a different type of pressure in my pelvis. We decided to take a short hike up the hill behind our house before dinner and the entire time I felt like a swaggering cowboy. When we came back, I decided to take a nap and once I lay down, I felt a strong cramp across my abdomen. It took a minute for me to realize it might be a contraction and then another came, followed by a definite pop. My water broke. As I boogied to the bathroom, I called out to Jim what had happened and so the thrill ride began.
He telephoned our doula and our midwife to let them know that we were heading to the hospital as I had to get antibiotics as a precaution because I tested positive for group B strep. I ran into our friend Todd on the way out and breathed through a contraction while holding the wall as he told me how excited he was. We then drove to the hospital with my contractions about five minutes apart. They felt kind of like two really powerful hands pushing down on my belly. I am now personally acquainted with every pothole on Springfield Road, as it felt like we were ripping through a dirt bike track with each contraction. We quickly arrived at the hospital’s front doors and were quickly ushered to a room. Now, thus far I had been handling the contractions pretty well, but six attempts at placing the IV in my wrist got old really fast. After the pincushioning, I waited for the IV to empty and got some advice from my midwife, Corinne. Because this was my first pregnancy, she speculated that we could still be far from delivery and encouraged me to head back home and labor there. I followed her advice, much to the chagrin of the nursing staff, and we drove home to meet our doula.
Once back in my own digs, I felt lost. Like Goldilocks in the Three Bears’ house, my yoga ball was too bouncy, and my couch smelt like the dog. Hunched over the clean, cool countertop was juuuust right. My husband rubbed my lower back as I rocked back and forth with my head in my arms. I didn’t really notice when my doula Teresa swept in and took over, though I vaguely noticed my husband zooming around lighting candles, dimming lights, and starting music. Idleness was obviously not an option for the new daddy-to-be.
After a while of “counter time,” I felt like I had to go to the washroom, so I waddled in there and sat down. A short time later, I heard my doula asking if I felt “pushy.” My reply was that I felt I had to go to the bathroom and she quickly declared, “Nope. Time to head to the hospital, sweetie. Get on outta there.” I was confused until I was clued in that I was actually trying to push the baby and had been loudly grunting for all to hear.
Brand-new.
Into the truck we went with our doula’s instructions, “Chin up, look at the roof, don’t push—breath through your lips like a horse instead.” OK, like this experience hadn’t been strange enough already, I’ll just “zerbert” my lips all the way to the hospital. It worked, though, and helped me resist the urge to push.
The adventure continued once we arrived again at the hospital because the main doors were locked. We had to go through the Emergency lobby, which was packed. I walked in, turned around, and walked back out. Teresa quickly reminded me that I would have to go in there eventually and it might as well be now, so back we went. As Jim signed us in and we waited for the door to be unlocked, I sat in the corner and rested my head on the payphone. As I breathed as subtly as I could, I heard in the background, “That’s Ms. Hutchinson. She’s gonna have her baby! Cool.” My mortification was now complete as I sat there in the lobby wearing Jim’s oversized jacket and my pajama pants, trying not to push, with one of my students watching.
Finally, back upstairs, I was escorted into the birthing room, hooked up to the belted fetal monitor, and asked to lie on my side. I didn’t like it. I felt awkward and uncomfortable and I really wanted to see my midwife. The nurse then came over and placed an oxygen mask on my face “to increase the oxygen to the baby.” I didn’t like that either and Teresa knew it so she quickly came over and took it off. Thankfully, Corinne walked in at that moment and took full control. The belt was taken off, baby’s heartbeat was checked, and I took off to the shower with Jim.
I sat on the edge of the shower seat and he ran the hose over my back and belly. We were in there for probably forty-five minutes and I was in the zone. My contractions were intense, but I had retreated into my mind and was using all of the tools I had been given from friends’ advice and books I had read. One woman’s account had said she pictured her womb as a lotus flower opening ever so slowly and that came to be the image I retreated into. At times, I also imagined myself climbing a mountain, one contraction at a time.
Corinne would come into the bathroom occasionally to monitor baby and would then retreat, but at one point she suggested I try standing with one foot on the bench. I was so in the moment that I did not want to move, but I valued her opinion and took her advice. Thankfully I listened, as shortly after altering my stance I felt a reprieve and asked Teresa if we could check how dilated I was. Teresa already knew by my talking to her for this long that I was in transition but I was completely unaware. Sure enough, I was nine centimeters dilated and we moved me to the bed.
At last I was able to push! I grabbed on to that squatting bar like the handles of a Harley and was liberated by the instructions: “Push as hard as you can, chin down.” What a feeling of release after having to fight the sensation for several hours. It did not take long, about twenty-five minutes, before Corinne was telling me to hold back and telling Jim to get the gloves on. He snapped on that first glove with the confidence of a surgeon but could not, after multiple tugs and curses, get the other glove on. I was told to nudge and make small pushes and as I did this, Jim was finally ready to catch his son as he was gently cast into his waiting hands.
Chantale and newborn Aidan!
Deeply gazing eye . . .
Collectively tired and cuddled!
What an incredible feeling of release as Aidan was brought into this world. He was quickly swaddled, the cord was cut, and he was placed into my arms with his absolutely huge, clear eyes looking up at me. He was purple but absolutely gorgeous and I knew from that very moment that he was going to be an inquisitive, endearing little handful.
The support I enjoyed after the birth was remarkable. Corinne and Teresa took turns checking on me for a week and I was able to go home approximately twelve hours after we had arrived at the hospital. I had gone to the hospital originally because I was comforted by the level of support available there, but I will admit that I was not prepared for the institutional nature of the environment and the amount of intervention and conformity asked of the women admitted there. I was pleased to return to the comfort and autonomy of home.
My husband later told me that the nurse who attended my birth, due to hospital protocol, went back to the nurse’s station after Aidan was born, flabbergasted by how quiet and controlled the birth was. She said she had never experienced a birth like that before. I am glad she had the opportunity to see how successful a birth can be when a mother feels empowered and utterly supported. Aidan is now a remarkable, active, humorous four year old and I can’t help but feel that the beauty of his delivery has contributed to making him who he is. We are now expecting his younger brother in five weeks and I am equally excited to meet this new little spirit. Our midwife may have changed, but the level of care and professionalism has not. What a wonderful way to welcome new lives!
Aidan’s first week!
Chantale is an instructor in the adult education department of the Okanagan College Kelowna. An active woman, she enjoys soccer, snowboarding, mountain biking, wakeboarding, hiking, and, as she states, “hopefully, next year, kiteboarding”