Five months ago I switched my prenatal care to Best Start Birth Center because I didn’t want to give birth in a hospital environment. Here’s how it was going to be: Before leaving for the birth center, I would indulge in a beer (my only alcoholic beverage since seeing those two little lines on the pregnancy test). Mike would drive me to the birth center, where I would have a relaxing labor experience. As I progressed through labor, maybe Mike and I would walk around the neighborhood to pass the time. Later, I would burn sage and listen to Enya. When birth was imminent, I would get into the tub for my water birth and, finally, our baby would slip out into Mike’s loving hands. The lighting would be dim, for the baby’s sensitive eyes. After coming home, I would help my uterus contract and avoid the baby blues by making an oxytocin-rich placenta smoothie (yum…). It was a wonderful plan, but I forgot the old adage, “If you want to see God laugh, make a plan.”

What actually happened was this: On Wednesday evening I had a prenatal appointment. At that point, Rebekah was in anterior position (facing my back), as she had been for the past 10+ weeks. I was already a couple of days past my due date and had been having very mild contractions every once in a while. At this point Mike and I were very impatient to meet the little stranger inside of me. Since babies are frequently post-term in my family, I was afraid that the baby would go to week 42 (which would mean that I couldn’t give birth at the birth center). When Roberta (the head midwife) offered to strip my membranes, I eagerly consented. Getting one’s membranes stripped is supposed to bring on labor within a few days if the baby is ready to be born. The procedure isn’t something I’d do for fun, but it was bearable.

While driving home, I noticed that I was starting to have some mild, intermittent contractions, spaced from half an hour to twenty minutes apart. This raised my hopes that the baby would be born soon. Mike and I had dinner that night with his parents. I didn’t mention anything to them about the fact that I suspected I might be in very early labor. I did joke that we’d call them as soon as they got home to Fallbrook and tell them to turn around again. When they left, I told Mike that I was having some contractions and that the next day might be the big day. Since I had been having occasional contractions for more than a week, he was a little unsure that this was real labor.

My mom, Marianna, had told me earlier in the day that I would give birth the next day. She had asked whether the baby had calmed down yet (babies often get to be a little less active towards the end of one’s pregnancy, as their quarters get more and more crampt), but I had told her how the baby was just as active as ever. Nonetheless, Marianna had assured me that the baby would be born the next day.

Before we went to bed, we called our relatives to let them know that labor might be beginning. I had no trouble getting to sleep despite experiencing mild contractions (like menstrual pains) 10 to 15 minutes apart. When I woke up at 3:30 A.M. to go pee, I thought at first that they had stopped altogether. Then I started getting contractions that were much more intense, lasting about 45 seconds long and spaced about five minutes apart.

I woke Mike up then took a bath while he called the mid-wife. While I was in the bath, I felt Rebekah change position. I immediately started experiencing back labor. Since I knew that if the baby is in a posterior position (facing my front) that it can cause back labor, I figured that the baby had rotated on her axis from anterior to posterior position. I didn't have the presence of mind to feel my belly to double check--not that it would have made any difference. By this time the contractions were somewhat irregular. They would be four or five minutes apart and lasting from forty-five seconds to a minute-and-a-half long, but sometimes a less intense contraction would come midway between the more intense ones. Meanwhile, Mike described my contractions to the the on-call midwife (Jessica). She said that she was getting ready and to call her in an hour.

When we left for the birth center, I was just over two centimeters dilated (by Mike's estimate) and my contractions were consistently three minutes apart. By the time we got to the birth center forty minutes later, my contractions were about a minute long and just over two minutes apart. The midwives initially didn't realize how far along I was because I wasn't screaming from the pain. I had to wait until my midwife arrived before being allowed into a birthing room, since she had to check and see how far along I was before I could be admitted. When Jessica checked me, she first thought I was only a centimeter dilated, but she quickly realized that that I was eight centimeters dilated and that our baby was breech. (When told that I was only one centimeter dilated (with nine centimeters left to go), I wondered if I would be able to handle all the hours of labor ahead of me.) The midwives called 911 to transport me to the hospital for an emergency c-section. Having to lie down and the knowledge that it was an emergency situation made my contractions more unpleasant.

By the time the paramedics arrived and had me in the ambulance, I was at 10 centimeters and already experiencing the pushing reflex. In some ways, the pushing felt like throwing up--there was a complete loss of control over what my body was doing. In between contractions, I felt just fine and smiled so my family wouldn’t worry. The medics put a needle in my arm for an IV and I commented (since my birth plan had just gone out the window), “Whatever you’re giving me, you could give me more.” Of course, they hadn’t given me anything yet--it was just for a saline solution anyway. In the ambulance, the medics had me do the Lamaz hee-hee-ha-ha breathing, which was completely alien to me since I’m more of a Bradley method woman. The most difficult thing about contractions was when I had to cough during the middle of one.

The c-section went well. I couldn’t resist saying, “Oh sweet Apothecary! Thy drugs are quick,” after they gave me the spinal anesthesia. It was actually the on-call surgeon who operated on me, since the surgeon who worked with my backup doctor was off. Mike got to be in the operating room, while Marianna stared through the window. I couldn’t see anything, since there was a big, blue sheet in the way. When the surgeons said, “It’s a girl!” I shouted for joy. I was a mother! After the doctors cleaned Rebekah up, they put her in her daddy’s arms and he brought her over to me.

Rebekah had inhaled a little fluid while being born and had a bit of a gurgle. She had to go to NICU to be further suctioned and monitored since there had been meconium present. Fortunately, she never left Mike’s arms the whole time she was gone. Meanwhile, the doctors sewed me up. Mike heard them commenting on how they could tell that I was very healthy since I didn’t have any fat deposits on my intestines. It’s nice to know that I have good guts. After surgery, I was transported to recovery, where I waited by myself for a couple hours. Eventually, Marianna got in to see me and proceeded to sneak others in to see me. (The staff had said that nobody else could come in.) Shortly after I was transported to my hospital room all our relatives came in. Finally, Rebekah was released from NICU. Her temperature had been a little low-which is normal in my family, as my Grandma pointed out. A little after eleven, Mike put our daughter in my arms and I immediately nursed her. She had been hungry all that time Mike been holding her.

At any rate, we had family, friends, and even my co-workers to keep us company in the hospital. The room looked like a florist shop, there were so many flowers. After the anesthesia wore off, the nurses kept trying to get me to take Vicadin, telling me that even the women who had vaginal births were taking it, but the most I’d take was Midol. My abdomen hurt, but it wasn’t as intense as a contraction (except when I coughed).

The nurses and Marianna alike expressed amazement at my high pain tolerance. I think the secret to suffering is completely psychological. I had this mental image that I thought of occasionally: When I was a kid at the beach, I used to love boogie boarding. Sometimes, going out into the water, the waves would be pretty strong. You could dive under them, or try to jump over them, or just jump into them head on. I had this last attitude about my contractions and just met them. I guess I was in a sort of trance (until the words “911” and “emergency C-section” were spoken). My mom said that I had more grace and composure than she has ever seen in that kind of situation, which makes me proud. It is kind of cool that I was so low key that neither midwife could tell by looking at me how far along I was. Even Mike had a hard time reading me at home since I kept my cool. After calling the midwife, instead of getting things ready to go, he went back to bed (thinking we had more time than we did).

It turns out that my surgeon had a hard time believing that Rebekah could have done a somersault during labor. I guess Rebekah's a statistical anomaly. Statistically, it is a lot more likely that Jessica and Roberta were mistaken about Rebekah’s position and that she was breech the whole time, but I don’t think that’s what happened in this case. I felt her change position in the middle of a contraction, while I was in the bath. In hindsight, if I had things to do over again, I wouldn't get my membranes stripped. I don't think Rebekah was really ready to be born yet. If she had been able to "cook" for a week or two longer (and I think she would have), she would have gotten bigger so she wouldn't have had enough room to turn around and go breech. Best Start Birth Center only allows women to give birth there if they're not more than two weeks late, and babies can be a couple of weeks to a month overdue in my family. My fear of going past the deadline led me to get my membranes stripped, inducing labor before its proper time. It's just ironic that my eagerness to have an all-natural childbirth indirectly led to its opposite.

Now we’re home again with our baby. Mike has been the most wonderful husband throughout this entire experience. As cliché as it sounds, I don’t know what I would have done without him. Both of us have completely fallen in love with Rebekah. She is doing marvelously--as of her first doctor’s visit, she already weighed more than she had at birth. I’m recovering well, with Mike’s help. We count ourselves fortunate that everything worked out all right. Things might not have gone as planned, but the important thing is that we brought home a healthy baby.

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