When Labor (or Life) Doesn’t Go as Expected

Like a good scout . . .

I was prepared. In the weeks leading up to my due date I did all I could to be equipped for bringing my son into the world au naturel. Bradley Method? Check. Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth? Check. Husband trained for coaching? Check. Doula friend on call? Check. Breath work? I literally teach people how to breathe for a living. Check. While I knew natural childbirth would be challenging and that many complications could arise, I felt confident and empowered in my body’s ability to birth my firstborn. I knew the research on the benefits of natural labor, and I was committed. Being vulnerably honest, there was likely a sense of pride that is hard to admit — my ego believed natural birth might prove my strength and power as a person. So I prepped, read, kegel’ed, and yoga’ed. I was ready.

My due date came and went.

The temptation to induce was strong, but we decided to wait it out. Labor finally began one night after loud laughter with friends over a dinner of steak and conecuh sausage. I knew the weird pulsing back pain was not just the sausage talking. The next 24 hours both crept and flew by in a strange time tunnel. Short walks on the stairs, an in-home massage from a friend, periodic dance parties, and frequent laughter offered helpful distractions. It was a lovely and not-too-abnormal day, apart from the contractions every ten minutes or less. Finally, the time came to head to the hospital.

I had an amazing team supporting me and keeping me positive through the night. My husband and doula friend were instrumental at helping me breath. But after 33 hours of contractions and no sleep, my determination began to erode. My primary doctor’s voice echoed in my mind that I did not have to suffer through my birth experience. I relented and asked for an epidural at 9.5 cm. dilated, and all feeling was lost. This afforded me a brief nap but made pushing more challenging.

The next four hours were full of a blend of exhaustion and excitement, yet each visit from the doctor-on-call carried with it news that our son was no closer to arrival. She eventually informed me of her concern that either my son or I could die if we continued. As angry as I was (and still am) at the way this news was delivered, my husband and I ultimately made the call to have an emergency c-section to ensure our son’s safety. At 10:35 a.m., 37 hours after the first contractions, our 9-lb. son with his head full of hair was pulled from my belly.  

Today I carry a scar.

My scar will always be a reminder of the battle my body fought to protect my son. But it is also a reminder of the sense of failure and disappointment in myself I felt after his birth. My physical healing took weeks, but my emotional healing took much longer. Logically, I knew I did the best I could. But my feelings said otherwise (Anyone know what that’s like?!). I trusted my body’s ability to birth my son, and I felt like either it let me down, or I let my body down. While I’d trusted the doctor and my team to lead me, I later questioned every decision made for the longest time. My pride in the inner strength I felt seemed crushed. The truth that my son was at least healthy seemed like a silver lining in a dark cloud. 

Today my perspective is different, but this took work. My hope for sharing my story is not to influence or judge anyone’s decisions regarding their own birthing process, but rather to support women dealing with pain from motherhood’s complications. Whether from difficulties with fertility, labor, breastfeeding, health struggles, etc., there are a million ways from Day One we can feel incompetent, broken, or lacking as mothers. Inward criticism and resentment never serve us well. But if you’re like me, they’re familiar companions in the journey of motherhood. 

I’m learning to carry myself gently.

Much of my work since my birth experience has been learning to extend a greater amount of compassion toward myself. I’m more convinced than ever that my strength and value is not determined by any measuring stick that society has tried to hand me, especially when it comes to birthing a child. I’m discovering there really are no right answers for most of motherhood, no matter how much I wish there were. Perfect parenting does not exist. There is simply doing the best we can with what we have, from the time kids are conceived. Harsh judgments toward myself, or any other mommas for that matter, offer no benefits in my life.

If I ever have the gift of carrying another child, I have no idea how I will approach childbirth. I have a lot of fear about that, honestly. But I do know that I will carry myself gently. And if there is any word of advice I can offer, it would simply be to carry yourselves gently as well.