Kalea's Birth Story
“…she came in the morning. She was
light after dark
she was the dawn we had all been waiting for.”"
There was nothing wrong with Kalea's birth.
It was easy, peaceful, anticlimactic almost.
And yet, it's taken me a long time to process. It didn't go as planned.
I have been laboring for MONTHS trying to figure out how to write her birth story without bruising the hospital birth world-- which isn’t my intention-- I simply want to share my birth experience. I sincerely hope that my perspective doesn't offend or marginalize anyone else’s birth experience. It's just *my* experience.
Everyone always says that no one‘s birth story will be like yours, and I've found that to be absolutely true. But what I didn't expect was that not even MY OWN birth experience would be like my second birth experience.
I got pregnant with Kalea when Payson was seven months old. I had wanted my first two kids to be close in age my whole life because my sister and I are fourteen months apart and BEST FRIENDS. I’m so grateful that my parents gave me a close sister. It's the best gift I've ever had. So David and I looked forward to adding another baby to our family since almost the day Payson was born. Initially, we were over the moon happy to find we were expecting again--- and then Payson had a sharp increase in seizure activity.
Over the next few weeks as Payson weathered seizure after seizure, my joy crumbled into anxiety and nervousness. I had a pit in my stomach. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so smart to have another baby while our first baby's future was so uncertain. I didn’t want to tell anyone that we were expecting again because I was so afraid that family and friends would think us unwise, or question our judgement. It's sad how critical people can be-- especially when it comes to having babies.
Anyways, my pregnancy was difficult. We moved from Alaska to Texas just weeks into my pregnancy, David started a new (and demanding) job, Payson's seizures continued to escalate, and towards the end of my pregnancy, I experienced a uterine prolapse and pelvic separation that made even walking extremely difficult and painful.
There were other factors that played into my birth experience-- for one, I was DEVASTATED about giving birth in a hospital this time around. Payson was born at a birth center (read his story here) and it was--- I KID YOU NOT-- the highlight of my life. Unfortunately, for financial reasons, we made the decision to deliver at a hospital with a hospital midwife... (I could write a long post about CNM vs CPM's... But since we were delivering at the hospital, we had to deliever with a CNM, certified nurse midwife.)
Adding to the already unfavorable circumstances, my son was diagnosed four weeks to the day before my due date with a rare type of epilepsy, Dravet syndrome (read about his diagnosis here)
…and I sank hard and fast into emotional turmoil just weeks before I was supposed to bring another child into the world.
My husband and I were struggling to adjust to Payson's diagnosis and handling the shock very differently. Our marriage was often strained-- David was adjusting to a new job in a difficult field and I was adjusting to life with a difficult toddler. At this point, Payson was having almost tonic conic daily seizures, and between 5-30 atonic "drop seizures" a day. The season of life was just difficult.
Every visit with my hospital midwives left me more and more depressed. I was disappointed with the policies, viewpoints, and care I received with them. They were frankly OBGYNS in midwife clothing-- there would have been no difference between the care they offered and the care offered by a traditional OBGYN. I had so much uncertainty about delivering in a hospital leading up to my due date that cervical checks revealed reverse dilation. Instead of opening up-- my body was closing back down. My body was screaming "NOPE! NOT SAFE! WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS BABY!"
I got to a point of literally trying to find a home-birth midwife to take me on at 41 weeks pregnant, but decided to just "go with the free" and deliver at the hospital.
With all these factors, is it any wonder that I went 10 full days past my due date?
Day Ten
On the tenth day past my due date, I woke up wanting to smash my fist through our bedroom wall. I was super angry. Unbelievably angry. Hulk angry. Like “how-am-I-still-pregnant?!” angry and “this-is-beyond-ridiculous” angry and “I-hate-everything angry”. I was so over the anxiety, the waiting, the agony of an end-of-summer pregnancy. I felt like I had been standing on the edge of a high dive for months. It was time to jump.
So I stormed into Walmart, bought some castor oil ignoring the "FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY" label, and recklessly glugged down a greasy dollop.
Like a charm, as soon as Payson went to bed, I felt small, crampy sensations and major low pelvic pressure. Labor was finally starting.
I asked my dad to give me a blessing. He did so and I felt comforted. I finalized my hospital bag and David and I went right to bed to rest up before labor hit. We were totally exhausted and frankly felt more irritation than excitement... Why does labor always start at night?? I tried to sleep, but the adrenaline and contractions made it impossible. This time around, David didn’t stay up with me. I fought the contractions on my own running and back and forth between the bathroom and our bed because that darn low pelvic pressure is something else, let me tell you.
Photos by Whithey Williams, East Layne Photography
I don’t know if labor was more intense this time because my body had already done this before and wasn’t messing around, or if it was a result of the caster oil, but IT WAS FIERCE. The contractions were intense and painful. I tossed and turned and squatted and bounced for three hours trying to refocus and find the labor zen I’d achieved with Payson’s labor.
I never found it.
My secret daydream through my whole pregnancy was the comforting thought of a long, peaceful labor at home, until I absolutely HAD to go to the hospital, and then quickly delivering within an hour or two of arrival. That was my plan. A big part of me was hoping my second labor would progress so quickly that baby would be born at home unattended, or in the car as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. I know, I’m weird, but those were the things I daydreamed about.
The thought of having my baby in the hospital was completely demoralizing and filled me with anxiety and stress. It just wasn't the birth experience that I wanted. Anyways, after a few hours of contractions at home, I woke David around midnight and we ended up heading to the hospital because I had started bleeding (which hadn't happened with Payson) and I hadn't felt any fetal movement for above an hour. So we decided to play it safe and go check in.
The Hospital
I felt absolutely ridiculous talking to the front desk receptionist at the hospital explaining that I was in early labor. I had hoped to not have been able to talk by the time I get got to the hospital. To be able to carry on a conversation made it abundantly clear to everyone that I was nowhere near having this baby. I hated looking like a total noob showing up the hospital in early labor, but I still hadn't felt any fetal movements and there was still bleeding so better safe than sorry, even if it wrecked my birth plan.
The cold hospital room was the least welcoming place on the planet as they wheeled me to the bed. There was no birthing tub, no "home-like" environment, no caring midwife waiting to help me through the long hours of labor, just gleaming machines, colorful wires, harsh artificial lighting, and nothing but a bare room, hospital bed, and a random nurse. I remember thinking, "How on earth am I supposed to give birth in a room that is so completely unconducive to labor?"
Of course, Random Nurse immediately got to work strapping me down with blue and pink stretchy things tethered across on belly to run a stress test to see how baby was doing. My bleeding was examined and determined to be bloody show, which surprised me because I had no idea bloody show was well, that bloody.
Random Nurse said I had to stay hooked up to the machine for an ungodly amount of time. I think it was maybe 20 minutes? Or an hour? I don’t remember but by this point, I was quite uncomfortable. Around this time, my birth photographer showed up.
I was so happy to see her! She had come immediately from another birth and her presence was immediately comforting. “Whitney,” I blurted the second she stepped into the room “Was your last birth a natural birth?“
“Yes.“ She said.
“Tell me I can do this.” I begged.
“You can do this!“ She said cheerfully and confidently.
I believed her.
My contractions were intense, a lot more intense than I remembered my contractions with Payson.
Curse the fetal monitoring machine!
I kept wriggling, writhing, and trying to find a position on the bed that made my contractions more bearable. It was impossible hooked to the machine. I kept telling David that I just need to get up and walk around or go to the bathroom. (I knew I didn’t really have to go to the bathroom, but that low pelvic pressure really gets to me every time!)
David and the nurse told me I had to stay hooked to the machine. The nurse left the room for a moment, and I seized the opportunity. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ripped the stretchy bands and wires off and headed to the bathroom to labor clutching the sink.
When the nurse came back in, she was annoyed with me for taking the liberty of unhooking myself. I was equally annoyed with her for telling me I had to stay hooked up! She escorted me back to the bed, and we had to do the whole thing again. Finally, I was able to stay strapped in long enough to determine that baby was doing fine, was probably just sleeping and not moving much.
I was feeling pretty miserable. I was nauseous now and I had started shaking. (I shake violently when I’m in labor. I look like a Chihuahua, It’s exhausting, not a good use of energy, and completely involuntary.) What's worse is that unlike my labor with Payson, every time David touched me it just made me more nauseous and agitated.
I just wanted to get in the shower! The shower offered amazing pain relief for approximately six minutes until I started projectile vomiting. Typically, I do throw up in labor, but this was extremely violent, and part of me wondered if it wasn’t the castor oil wracking havoc on my innards and demanding to be released.
I don’t know why, but it just seemed like too much. I felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t find a place of calmness between contractions and rounds of vomiting. David was tired, I was tired, the hospital room was formidable. My midwife hadn’t even given me the courtesy of a call back to let me know that she was aware that I was in labor at the hospital after we’d left her a voicemail as instructed. I felt abandoned. I felt like I didn't have the support team I needed, and most of all, I was just totally exhausted-- physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I knew where I was at in labor. I knew how much worse it was going to get. And at 2 AM, I really started to doubt my ability to get through it. I started saying that I wanted an epidural. David was tired and probably frustrated because nothing he said or did seemed to help me at this point. Whitney my photographer was like a doula. She did her best to comfort and console me and pat my back and hold my hand. She was such a strength in my weakest moments. But I felt the battle in my mind was already lost. Then I threw up so hard that I literally peed myself all over the hospital bed. I didn't even know that could happen.
I was trembling, sitting in pee, writhing with each contraction, and trying to wipe the throw up off my face.
I had been trying to relax on the bed and listen to my Hypnobabies birth tracks (which was deathbed repentance) because I hadn’t practiced hypnosis for labor at all and was clinging to the hope that maybe it would be like muscle memory from Payson‘s birth and it would all come back to me.
It didn’t.
What did connect with me were the Hypnobabies affirmations “I deserve an easier and more comfortable childbirth” and “I willingly accept any changes in my birthing journey.” since I couldn’t reach hypnosis at this point, the idea of an epidural looked more and more friendly. HECK YES an epidural was the "easier and more comfortable" means of childbirth!
Then it happened again. I vomited so hard I peed myself. AGAIN. And... I hit my breaking point. The chatter of my mind sounded something like this:
“I can't do this for another six plus hours.”
“I HATE THROWING UP!”
“I'm not prepared for this. I don’t even care anymore, I’ve suffered enough, this is too hard, I’m done. I’ve gone through too much in the last few months with Payson’s seizures and diagnosis, and this pregnancy, and the turbulence of moving (and adjusting) to Texas and I PLAIN AND SIMPLE don’t want to feel anything anymore!”
“I’ve felt more than enough in the last few months. I deserve an easier childbirth!”
“WHERES THAT DANG EPIDURAL?!”
I had made my mind up at this point and told everyone in the room— several times and emphatically— that I wanted an epidural. I could see in David‘s eyes that he was a little defeated by my request. But he turned to the nurse and said, “She wanted a natural birth, but if she saying that she wants an epidural now, we have to listen to her.“ he turned back to me, “If you get an epidural, you won’t feel anything at all. Is that what you want?“
“Yep. I’m over this. I can’t do this tonight.”
And then I threw up again.
I knew everything there was to know about epidurals; I know the risks, I know how an epidural can impact labor both positively and negatively. I was fully aware of what I was asking for.
There was a part of me that felt sad, but the other part of me just wanted relief, and that side was stronger.
The nurse left to go call the anesthesiologist. The anesthesiologist entered the room as I threw up again. “Is she going to be able to hold still to get the epidural in?“ The anesthesiologist asked the nurse peering at me dubiously. Since the answer was probably no, they gave me an anti-nausea medication. I had no idea what it was, but it made me so dizzy I was swaying like a palm tree and clutching onto Random Nurse to keep myself from falling off the bed.
As they prepped me for the epidural, David excused himself from the room, citing a need for "some air". In my dizzy state, I slurred to the nurse that my poor husband was probably feeling a bit queasy as I’d been throwing up near him all night.
On the bright side, the medicine worked quickly and I stopped throwing up. They inserted the epidural, which felt like a sharp bee sting. I jumped, even though they told me NOT to do that... At first the epidural was patchy. Which I KNEW is a common side effect of epidurals. I was like, "Heck no! There’s no way I got an epidural for it to be patchy!" I was not pleased. Luckily, within 15 minutes and adjusting my positioning, the epidural evened out. It was incredible. Suddenly I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t nauseous, I wasn’t shaking, I wasn’t throwing up. I couldn’t feel a single contraction. At this point I got super giggly! I couldn’t believe how amazing the relief was! I kept saying how wonderful it was that I couldn’t feel a dang thing! My poor photographer looked like she was about to fall asleep, but I kept jabbering her ear off because I was so thrilled to be (essentially) paralyzed from the waist down. I couldn’t even move my legs. The epidural had worked wonderfully on me.
An hour passed and David still wasn’t back. At this point I was a little bit bugged that he wasn’t here to share in my euphoria. I felt like having a party in my drugged out, 50% paralyzed, numbed-out body. Where was he? Who leaves their wife in labor? What if something would’ve gone wrong with the epidural?
When he did come back a little while later, I could tell he was mad. It swept over the room like a dark storm cloud. I wondered if my photographer and nurse could tell too. I couldn’t possibly think of why he might be mad. Was he hungry? Overtired? Whatever the reason was, it could wait. I decided I wasn’t going to let his attitude ruin our daughter’s birth. He didn’t say much, and we all decided it was time to go to bed and get some sleep while we could. It was close to 4 AM, and (gratefully) the battle was over. We all dozed, and then in what seemed like minutes later, my midwife busted in the room ten minutes to 7 AM, announcing that it was time to have a baby! She briskly suited up for delivery and didn't waste any time rupturing my amniotic sac.
It was all so weird. It was almost like an out of body experience. Here I was, laying on the bed like a goofy, drugged out, totally incapacitated person. I couldn’t move my legs an inch in either direction or up or down. I couldn’t feel a thing. The whole thing was bordering on the hilarious to me for sheer absurdity of it all-- David’s brooding mood, the brisk OBGYN-like manner of my midwife, the nurses is going about their duties hefting my legs into stirrups like cheerful henchmen with clockwork perfection. They'd all done this a million times. I couldn’t get the image of my brisk midwife busting into other hospital rooms with her rupturing stick, announcing it was time for delivery, and rupturing membranes. It was all so contrary to the nature of birth.
The whole experience was just another day, just another procedure, just another shift change, just another birth.
The three of them were telling me to push. And I was laughing because I was like “I can’t even tell if I’m pushing! Am I pushing? You have to tell me if I’m pushing—- I can’t feel a thing!” And after just five pushes (or my best attempt at pushing), I was absolutely shocked to see my midwife hold up a baby! AND IT WAS MY BABY! I was totally unprepared. I couldn’t even process how it had happened so fast! I had pushed for an hour and half with Payson!
And here she was! Covered in waxy vernix, with thick dark hair, 8 pounds 4 ounces of chubby rolls, so much bigger and darker than I had expected, and looking so terribly squished and purple in the early morning light.
I couldn’t even process that she was really here. I hadn’t even felt her leave my body. For some reason, I still thought I would be able to feel the moment her body left mine despite the epidural. But there was nothing. Just some nurses telling me to push, and then a midwife holding up a baby.
At 7:01 AM, as the midwife held her up, I remember looking at the window behind her, and seeing the first line of golden sunlight spill across the horizon. The realization hit me. The long night was over. It was DAY. The waiting was over. A new chapter of our lives had begun.
How symbolic and how perfectly fitting that she came in the morning.
She was light after dark.
She was the dawn we had all been waiting for.
It was so strange, sudden, and beautiful all at the same time. She was placed on my chest, and I didn’t know what to do! I still hadn’t processed that she was actually outside of me. I was smiling and happy, but I didn’t feel anything. I mean just minutes ago, I had been pregnant. Now I wasn’t. And there was no transition in between those two events. It was strange and disorienting.
I didn’t have the euphoria and all the incredible, empowering, intense feelings of bonding that I'd after Payson was born. She didn’t feel like my baby. It was nice, and she was warm and goodness, FINALLY HERE— but I couldn't reconcile how she could come into the world so peacefully, beautifully, and (blessedly) painlessly— and yet be laying here not feeling a thing for her. All I had was a keen, empty awareness of what natural feelings were absent.
David was still sitting stiffly and (almost apathetically) by my side. I could not for the life of me understand why he would be having this reaction when I had just birthed our baby. Turns out, he was having a hard time processing everything too. He was so confused about why I chose to have an epidural, and feeling like I didn’t need him because I had the epidural. What was his role now? Where was my commitment? How could I change my mind so easily when I knew what kind of a birth I wanted? It’s true, I didn’t need him the same way I had needed him during Payson’s labor. Having the epidural somewhat marred the opportunity for our relationship to grow. The trust, connection, and love between spouses during natural birth is unreal. It deepens the relationship, expands the walls of your love, and ultimately, welcomes new life. We didn’t get to have that experience together. So we were both struggling to process everything. It had all happened so differently from what we’d expected.
I was grateful for a healthy baby girl—we both were. It was so like her nature to come peacefully. After a period of so much angst and pain, she was a joy. We had been pretty set on naming her Cali (for David’s mission in Cali, Colombia), but when we saw her, we both knew she was a Kalea (pronounced kuh-lay-ah). Kalea is Hawaiian for “joy, happiness.” We couldn’t have picked a more perfect name for our beautiful dawn baby.
So... Would I Do it Again?
So would I have an epidural again? No.
But I also wouldn’t have a baby in the hospital again.
I’ve struggled to write her birth story for so long, because it isn’t without lingering disappointment or a twinge of regret. I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m elitist in thinking that natural birth outside of a hospital is the best way for eeeevverryyoonnee to have a baby. I don’t think it’s the best way for everyone. Yet, having experienced both sides, I know now that it’s the best way for *me* to have a baby. It's a like a marathon-- not everyone can (or should) run a marathon-- but for those who do, it can be an incredibly empowering and life-changing accomplishment. After six months of processing and thinking about it, the best I can say is that I think it was an experience that I needed to have, and an experience that I needed to learn from. Epidurals are a teeter totter of pros and cons. There’s a time and a place for them & God knows we need them every once in a while, but it wasn't something I'd want again.
I didn’t feel reborn like I did after Payson’s birth. When Payson entered the world, I felt as thoughI could’ve jumped off the bed in the middle of the jungle and fought off a tiger for him. His every cry, his every whimper, his every movement I knew exactly what he needed. My instincts came in powerfully and immediately along with the euphoria. It was the ultimate kickstart to motherhood. With Kalea's birth, I felt tired. I felt the weight of motherhood, a bit of new mother insecurity, and I was so numb. I was left with the feeling that I didn’t deliver my daughter, my midwife did. I was experience that left me feeling like a bystander. A useless, numb-from-the-waist-down, bystander who couldn’t even figure out how to use my muscles to push. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel robbed of the experience somehow. But I knew what I was doing when I requested the epidural, it was a trade willingly made, and I was grateful for the relief in the moment. The epidural experience was like eating something that has a good taste when it's in your mouth, but a bitter aftertaste. I spent the next several months trying to wash away the bitter and process what happened. I wish I could’ve felt that instant bond with my daughter. It frankly didn’t happen the day she was born, which I was distraught over. I felt like a terrible mother. I wondered if something was wrong with me.
But just like the sunrise that brought her here, the feelings came little by little in the weeks and months following her birth. It was gradual and soft, mirroring the way she entered the world.
I get epidurals. I get why people have them, I get why people love them, I get why people say "Get the epidural" as their first piece of advice to expecting friends. I don’t fault anyone for having one, though I do think it's more of a "cultural norm" than a carefully made choice for most. If anything, my experience has made me more empathetic and understanding of epidurals. But through this experience, I've learned the importance of FEELING. I need to feel.
I need to feel that unforgettable, life-altering moment between two worlds when a little body leaves mine. I need to feel the strength and empowerment of going through that experience with my husband. I need to KNOW that no one will ever feel what I have felt for this child.
I feel deeply in my soul that this is an experience that I came to mortality to experience, and that it is life changing.
It is human to feel. There is a purpose in pain. Pain management is a life skill. There’s value in going through the birth experience unmediated and free to feel things your body was divinely designed to feel. There’s value in knowing you can do hard things, and value in your husband seeing you do hard things, and playing an active role in supporting you through it. It is soul and marriage renewing. There was something lost when I lost the pain.
Nothing was wrong with Kalea's birth, it just wasn't much of an experience. Hospital birth is bound by policies, shift changes, and efficiency for the staff. It was a pleasant experience. We were treated well and treated efficiently. But it was someone choosing when to rupture my water, telling me when to push, placing the baby on my chest, and then telling me I could leave after a customary 24 hour stay. It was like a choreographed dance around policies and procedures that I wasn’t a part of. In contrast, the woman-centered care I received with midwives at the birth center Payson was born at was unreal. It was compassionate, patient, supportive, and it placed me and my baby at the center of the birth experience. There was no dancing around policies or procedures-- it was an unscripted dance of me choosing when to open, how to relax, where to stand, where to sit, how to breathe, and allowed me to bring my baby into the world. I was in control, my body was in control, and everyone else was dancing around that.
Next time I hope to dance— to feel— and to know that it was worth the dance.
And we danced. We held her, loved her, and as quickly and peacefully as she came in to world, she left again.
7 months and seven days is all the time she had. Still, the number alone was a tender mercy from God letting me know that her life had reached completion, perfection. Seven is the the most sacred Hebrew number symbolizing completeness, perfection, and heaven.
And so we learned a new dance— one we never wanted to learn. A dance of grief, a dance of sorrow, a dance of loss. We felt things we wished we had never felt.
& oh my precious baby
Losing you will always be sad. I will miss you as long as I breathe. But on the morning of the resurrection when I hold you in my arms again, I will tell you about your birth and about the days of life, light, and joy that you brought to us.
… and once again
You are the dawn we wait for.
