A Birth Story: Part 2 - Reverence

Healing in the midst of the 'ultimate' hardship

“That is a contraction? You don’t feel that?” She said as she stepped back. I shook my head in the negative. “Well,” she teased, “all the women in the world are so very happy for you.”

The LORD had heard my cries. There wasn’t going to be a need to measure amniotic fluid or to start any form of induction. My body was going through the motions of welcoming our baby to earth, whether my mind was ready or not

I was dumbfounded that, apparently, I had been in labor the entire day. I explained to Lucie, my midwife, that I thought they were Braxton Hicks because I didn’t have bloody show. She asked if she could do a cervical sweep, to which I said okay (things were already underway, so why not)¹. The sweep was…intense. And that’s when Lucie realized how incredibly high my pain tolerance was. As she finished the sweep, my bloody show appeared.

It turns out that what had probably happened was that because of the car accident, my bag of waters tore at some point. Probably at the top of the sac, so my daughter was naturally plugging the hole. The water would trickle out when she moved her body, and the movement would cause some of the fluid to leak out. It’s why I was having small leaks throughout the day and not a big burst of a bag breaking.

After explaining what had likely happened, the midwife said, “Well, you’re having a baby tonight.”

My husband stood to go and get the bags he had sagely packed in the back of the car while also calling our doula to meet us at the birth center. And the fear that I was not ready. that there was no way I was actually prepared to take care of another human being, began to flood my body. But it was too late — we had crossed that road 39 weeks prior (technically 37 — why did we let men make decisions anything to do with pregnancy and postpartum?), and it was time to welcome the daughter we had been waiting and anticipating.

The time to panic had long since passed, and the hard work was ahead. Our doula arrived several minutes later (she was up the road at a dinner with friends celebrating her own birthday, which was that day). The doula and Lucie explained that, while I had progressed quickly, I still had some progress to make before our baby would be here. It was time to get some rest.

The pains had progressed from Braxton Hicks squeezes to feeling more like period cramping. I figured if this was the worst that the labor could get, I could handle this. The pain wasn’t too severe, and I’m sure it would just kick up later before delivery, but that would mean I was close to the end. With this prideful thought and exhaustion, my husband and I settled into the queen bed in the birth center room to try to get some sleep. Despite the cramping and the sound of another family entering the second room in the birth center, I drifted off to sleep.

Rude Awakenings

I was awoken a couple of hours later with a vice grip on the psoas muscles in my groin. It took me a moment to realize that this was the labor everyone had told me about. I felt another contraction wrack my pelvis and turned to my husband, waking him to let him know it was time.

I queued up my phone, where I had created a worship playlist to direct my mind to seek Holy Help. Simultaneously, I was trying to tap into all the information I had gleaned from the course I had studied by Karen Welton at Pain Free Birth², knowing that if I had been hit my train of pain so suddenly, I couldn’t be that far away.

Except, I was further than I thought. I had awoken at about one ’o’clock in the morning with a type of pain that no one on my labor team could help me with. I’ve heard about the struggles of back labor, that it feels like a woman’s spine is being crushed, and the best way to relieve the discomfort is by counterpressure or water pressure. The way my contractions were hitting, along my psoas, made it feel like the tops of my legs where they joined at my groin were being torn off. There was no relief that pressing on my back or hips could relieve, so my best hope was water.

Thankfully, the birth center I had chosen had a large clawfoot tub. The doula set to work filling the tub, along with a couple of birth assistants. I breathed and groaned through each contraction, trying to relax to help my body open up more. Every time I made a little bit of progress — I had to go to the bathroom.

This is a TMI tidbit about me, so feel free to skip it, but I hate anything to do with fecal matter. It skeeves me out, it disgusts me. I make my husband put the toilet seat down to flush and used to keep my toothbrush in a drawer (when it wasn’t electric) because the thought of any airborne substance getting on my bristles made me nauseous. My worst fear in labor was that I would end up pooping myself when pushing. I had been horrified to learn that this can happen to women when I was 14 years old. I never wanted it to happen to me. When I binged through Call the Midwife, I thought the idea of enemas in the early stages of labor was fantastic. My body apparently took note.

Every time I felt the urge to use the toilet, I would go in and shut the door. No one was allowed in with me — not my doula, not my midwife, not the birth assistants, and especially not my husband. And every time I sat on the toilet to go, the pangs became worse. They don’t call the porcelain throne “the dilation station” for nothing in the birthing world.

Once my body had flushed out everything I thought it could, and the tub was filled, I got in. What I didn’t realize about the tub was that it had to be kept at around body temperature degrees so that if you birthed underwater, the baby wouldn’t be shocked. This typically wouldn’t be a problem for me, because I always struggled with being cold, except that in labor I was burning up. I had the birth assistants turn the room so cold that my furnace of a husband was forced to put on a sweatshirt.

I could only endure the heat of the tub for so long, and it was doing little to stop the crushing of my pelvis. So after a time, I got out, feeling defeated that I wouldn’t be able to have my baby in the tub but wanting to cool off. I returned to walking about the room, trying the toilet once again to encourage contractions to push my baby down. My husband and doula followed helplessly as I sought comfort all about the room. Around this time, I felt the need to use the toilet again and hurried into the bathroom, my stomach rolling.

This is a small glimpse into the room (and bed) I gave birth in. Courtesy of In Due Season’s Facebook

Tough Transitions

It was at this point, sitting on the toilet, that I realized that I was going to puke. I had heard this was a phenomenon that could happen when women went into transition, which is the final stage of labor. At this point, the baby drops into the birth canal and you are minutes — or sometimes hours — away from bringing baby into the world. I tried my best to lose the rest of what was in my stomach into the tiny trash can, but I could barely hold myself up. I had been going through the tough stages of labor for several hours at this point on about two hours of sleep and a week of no rest, so I was exhausted.

At this point, I was brought to the point of humility. I had to call for my husband, who quickly came in with an emesis bag. I utilized it with everything I had left and had to clean up the rest of myself from using the toilet. I was so tired; I was completely naked by this point (because I was so hot), and I wanted this ride to be over. My original birth plan included declining cervical checks during labor, but I knew I needed some good news while I struggled with the crushing pelvic labor. Having more information, and a desperate need to be encouraged, I consented to lying down and having a check performed. Lucie was sure before she performed it that I was 10 cm just by my symptoms and the way I was acting, but I needed that assurance. After an uncomfortable moment, she could confirm it was go time.

Except one problem: I could tell from knowing my body that baby had not descended. I was 10 cm, but she was in no way showing that she was ready to make an appearance.

Another pelvic crushing contraction gripped me, and I began to panic.

I decided I wanted to try the tub again. I laid back in the hot water, assaulted once more by the feeling of being consumed by a fire. Amid this pain and frustration, I tried to process all that I had learned through my study and prayer about birth.

A Unique Walk With Christ

As I lay in that tub, I thought back to the very first woman. Eve. She had no experience on which to base any of this. She only had Adam for help, but she somehow survived. How could Eve do this; did she have some presence of God that I didn’t feel like I had at that moment? Was she given some relief because she was the first one to give birth? Certainly, God did not abandon the woman He had created so uniquely and given the prophecy of bringing redemption to mankind through in such a confusing and great time of need?

And then there was Mary. She did this on her own— no midwife, no other women — in a dirty stable. She didn’t have a bed to lie back on or water to try to relieve the birthing pains. Yet she delivered the man that would bring us life after so many generations of death.

At that moment, I knew that I needed help. So I began to pray aloud, “Jesus, help me! I can’t do this.”

He brought to mind the beauty of this unique journey we go on as women, one that gives us a better understanding of who He is and what He did for us.

Much like birth, Jesus knew that there would come a time when He would go through physical pain. He was going to be beaten, whipped, spat on, kicked, and forced to drag along a huge wooden cross. He did not enter the ordeal with fear and begging for a little sedative for it all to be over. He embraced that in order to bring life to another, it would require pain. And that pain would lead to the end of Himself. It would lead to death before it would lead to Resurrection that would bring life to us.

As Isaiah 53 prophesies — Jesus did not bring us to life without suffering on our behalf.

Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:4-5, ESV)

The birthing process mirrors this in such a beautiful way, if we can take a moment to appreciate the experience instead of allowing the world to fill us with dread and fear toward God’s design. We women, while most will not physically die, are brought to the death of self after an arduous physical task. When we give birth to that baby, the old self dies. We are no longer the woman we used to be before bringing this new life to fruition; no matter how hard we try to chase our former selves, that girl is dead and gone. Yet we are resurrected to a new sense of self; to motherhood, a new way of looking at the world (the amount of television shows and movies I can’t watch anymore without bawling because I now so painfully relate to grieving or injured parents is embarrassing to admit).³ If we can turn this new existence over to Christ, He is going to redeem it in the most beautiful of ways. And He will show us the beauty of what it is to provide life to another.

When we die to our old selves and resurrect as new women, we also provide life to another. It’s an amazing, sacred process that I don’t think we in the church have enough reverence for. And if we recognized it for the sanctifying act it can be, we would realize that God and His Way yet again elevate women to a place of respect and adoration. We are the crowning jewel of His creation yet again, intimately understanding the path Christ took.

And how sanctifying the act truly is. We do not mentor or train our women well in tis fashion either; at least, I had been neglected in any mentoring or shaping in positive ways in this story. I felt desperately alone, unable at this moment to connect with Christ and his suffering. Here I was, in the midst of my pain, wishing it would go away. Wanting to get some relief. Crying out in my own way “Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?”

But God had not forsaken me at this moment, and He knew what suffering I was enduring in order to bring life and hope to another. I wish I could say this was the cure that brought peace and calm leading to a quiet, reserved labor. Unlike Christ, I am human and my death brings along with it my suitcase of trauma and pain and suffering. She becomes the imperfect embodiment of the new creation we should become when we accept Christ:

2 Corinthians 5:17: Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. (ESV)

I was at the end of myself, ready to walk into new life, but I wasn’t through the most arduous part of bringing new life. I had a final crucible to be molded in. And I would come to realize I was so thankful for the midwife and the people that God sent me to. I was going to need them more than I could have ever anticipated.

To be finished next installment.

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1. By the way — you should ALWAYS consent to a cervical sweep. It is not something your provider should just do for you while they are “down there” (it’s a big reason the birth community discourages cervical checks before labor is detected in medicalized births). That is a violation of your body and your rights, and is not something your doctor should or can do. I know too many women who said their OBs just did it for them, not consent asked.

2. This is a fantastic resource; I highly recommend all mamas preparing to have babies to go through Karen’s courses, whether it’s your first baby or your 5th. She has such a positive and biblical way of working through the birthing process and getting rid of the layers of fear that have been baked in once birth became medicalized and not just a part of life. I’m also not an affiliate; I just followed her on Instagram and invested in her educational materials that were life changing and I truly think helped me through most of this birth.

3. I wish I was kidding but quite recently I cried over the scene of Zosima the elder comforting the grieving mother in the novel The Brothers Karamazov. You can read the interaction here: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/dostoevsky/karamozov/files/book02/chapter03.html