Perhaps. Perhaps I am a birth anthropologist. At least, that’s what the doctor who delivered my 7th baby called me. Why? Because each of my births has been unique…not all of them were fabulous, but they were all unique. Today, I’m writing about my first birthing experience – the one that sent me searching to find out what a midwife was and whether or not it was legal to use one!
My first birth was pretty normal by today’s “hideous hospital birth” standards. I was 19. I was married and eagerly looking forward to becoming a mother for the first time. My “care” providers were a group of 9 OB/GYNs who I rotated through for each appointment – rarely seeing each one more than once or twice. I had all of the tests and was very healthy and normal – easy when your 19. Of course, the day I went into labor, the one physician I really didn’t like was the one I got. Even though I had attended childbirth classes and had gotten a tour of the new-fangled birthing facilities at the hospital (where they were supposedly so into natural childbirth), I had no idea what to expect. After walking around for a few hours, I was told to lay down and be put on a monitor. I graciously complied. I was flat on my back and starting to get really uncomfortable. I had been pretty committed to a natural birth until this point, but pretty much thought that if it was going to get worse than I was feeling right now (I was starting to writhe around and whine quite a bit) then I would, quite simply, die.
I asked for the drugs. Oops! Too late – I was 10 cm. My writhing around was transition, but no one told me that of course, they were all too busy rushing in and out of the room.
I begged the nurses to let me sit up – my back was in excruciating pain. No, better to lay down they said. No, I’m pretty sure, I said, that I would feel better if I was sitting up. Nope. Lay down. Wanting to be the perfect patient – I complacently agreed, writhed around some more, and then learned how to push an 8lb. baby out complete with awful episiotomy and the woman doctor from hell poking her finger – well places I’d really rather not have people poke their finger.
After his birth I was left in the stirrups – no blanket, no nothing…bleeding and gross – joyous about my screaming baby and shaking and shivering uncontrollably. Not that anyone cared. They couldn’t find the right needle to sew me up. So after not warning me about the whole pushing me in the belly thing. Ick!
Fortunately, I was so in love with my new baby boy (Matthew) that I was able to endure the next two weeks of excruciating pain – having to sit on pillows, hardly able to walk and trying to figure out breastfeeding on my own…because the lactation consultant charged $70 an hour!
Not the best experience…but I knew better now and the birth of #2 was so different that I almost cried from the peacefulness of it all.
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