We found out we were expecting mid-September 2010, just weeks before our October wedding. I'll squash your speculation immediately about a shotgun wedding. We were engaged for a year and a half and we very intentionally and with great hope but casual patience conceived our baby girl. That crap they tell you in high school about "it only takes once to get pregnant." Yeah, it's true. And we were surprised at our fortune and thrilled that she was on her way.
It was a looooong winter and seemed particularly cruel weather-wise, so I did what any smart impregnated woman would do - I ATE whatever I wanted and in whatever quantities I could shovel in for those many months, and I enjoyed the indulgence to the fullest (and now am paying for it and have a lot of work ahead to get the weight off). I became very insular, in a comfy way, and found a new appreciation for our cozy house and our dog Bryan. Relative to what some women go through with nausea, fatigue, etc. I had a very nice pregnancy. My biggest complaint was back pain, but I've had trouble with my back for years since a car accident in my early teens, so this was no surprise. Also no surprise was the loving care and attention paid by my husband, P.J., as he took over household duties, served me fabulous food, rubbed by back every night and put up with my whining and emotional ups and downs. He also worked extremely hard at both his daytime career and night job to build our savings for my maternity leave. He was very involved and engaged in educating himself about the process and our choices - which led us to watch Ricki Lake's documentary, "The Business of Being Born." That's where it all started - our commitment to an unmedicated birth and the preparation and hard work it would require. We were shocked by the risks involved in many routine interventions like Pitocin and epidural. We read as much as possible to get the full picture, and by the time I felt like I had a grasp on the options and their reasonable risks and benefits, I knew that my fear of epidural and other interventions/augmentations far outweighed my fear of temporary pain and suffering in child birth. I also was fascinated by the very deliberate and orchestrated hormonal process that takes place when a baby is born (the "love cocktail" - oh man two of my favorite things combined! I want that!), and I wanted the full experience to be felt without drugs. After all, I only plan to do this twice in my life, tops, so I wanted to be there for it fully present and aware.
Thanks to our friend Jen Trost, I was introduced to Blooma, an amazing center for prenatal and postnatal yoga. I started going to prenatal yoga on average twice a week (sometimes less, usually more) and through the community there, I started to find the information, the focus, the strength and most importantly for me, the COURAGE to give birth. I learned about the power of breathing and how yoga connects us to the infinite love and gratitude that is bigger than all pain and fear, bigger than ourselves - the collective life force that some people call God, Allah, Baby Jesus, etc. I would go into yoga totally stressed out and strung out from work and the impending arrival of our baby, and leave feeling calm, thankful, capable and happy. While we also were lucky enough to take hypnobirthing from Channing McKinley (she also did chiropractic work on me, which was fabulous and I adore her) at Blooma, it was really my experience with prenatal yoga that I drew upon to bring our baby into the world. Don't get me wrong, hypnobirthing was awesome and served as a very informative and fascinating childbirth education class and framework for pain management. I recommend it for many reasons - the powerful affirmations I listened to at bedtime for many months, for instance. However, for me, I couldn't focus on the guided visualizations as my labor became more active. I could only breathe - which unsurprisingly is one of the pivotal aspects of hypnobirthing - and while it sounds simple enough in theory to do so, it can be very difficult when things get "real" during labor.
So after many months of educating ourselves, preparing, contemplating and meditating, we felt as ready as we could possibly be (ha!) for the arrival of our little girl. The only obstacles I seemed to face were my blood pressure and fear. At least the blood pressure part was an illusion - I developed a serious case of "white coat syndrome" during our prenatal visits, and given a good report on our baby's heartbeat and size and a few minutes to be calm, my BP would return to more normal numbers. My fear was a different story. For me, it was very real. It was at once general and specific, "logical" and unreasonable. In fact, I learned that I am a very fearful person and I internalize the painful experiences of others (you know, everybody in the world, in my life, on TV, etc.) and apply them to myself with what can only be loosely referred to as "logic." This emotional predicament became very evident to me during my pregnancy. Additionally, I suspected and confirmed ten times over again that I am not adventurous, and some would say that pregnancy, labor, delivery and parenthood are some of the grandest adventures in life. These are things I'm working on and certainly things I knew I had to conquer when it mattered most.
Our "guess date" of May 27th came and went, of course. I was, as my mother says, "fit to be tied" at this point and I described the feeling to P.J. as standing at the edge of cliff, waiting to be pushed. A dramatic image indeed, but it's how I really felt. I guess I hadn't quite found the confidence in my ability to accomplish this task. I knew my body was capable, but could my mind step aside (could my fears just pipe down for 12-24 hours) in order to let nature take its course? On the morning of Thursday, June 2nd, I woke up feeling cramps. It was a subtle annoyance at first. I worked at home for a few hours and talked to my best friend Megan, telling her that something was definitely happening, but I wasn't sure what. The crampy feeling picked up intensity as the hours went by and while it was nothing with any regularity that we could time or track, it was definitely the beginning of labor. Of course, we were prepared for it to stall out at any time, but from the beginning, I put myself in a place of surrender and "quiet" in order to let things unfold the way they were meant to.
We had a prenatal appointment that afternoon. Our midwife told us that I was 3 cm (the same I'd been a week before) and 50% effaced. She said "Well, today could be the day, but it's hard to tell sometimes." By this point, I was very uncomfortable, and I knew today (or early tomorrow?) had to the day. I was having trouble talking or even making my way to and from the car at this point, so the intensity was definitely indicating progress. The car was packed before the appointment just in case, but we came home and I labored for a few more hours. I was in the bath for a little bit, but like so many women before me, the toilet turned out the be an awesome place to labor. I know it sounds funny, but simply sitting on the toilet aligns and supports the pelvis in a way that can relieve pressure. I was having painful back labor, which meant nothing to me at the time as I had nothing to compare it to and no idea what to expect. I describe this simply as feeling about 85 percent of the sensations in my lower back. Also, the bathroom is generally nice and cool and I could close myself in there. I felt an overwhelming desire for privacy for some reason. It reminded me of something a doctor had said in one of the documentaries we'd watched about a woman's primal need not to be observed as labor ensues. I definitely felt the need to find a small space, close myself in and stay there for a while. P.J. left water by the door and talked to me through it, which is pretty cute in retrospect. I remember telling him "Here's where you take over. I can't make decisions anymore. I'm checking out." As things progressed, I found myself really falling into a rhythm of breathing deeply and moaning. Moaning rules. It channels all the energy into something soothing and seemingly productive. So instead of barking out horrendous strings of nightmarish profanities, I moaned it out, low and steady, and this coupled with very deep and rhythmic breathing was how I weathered the next few intense hours, the most intense I had ever and hopefully will ever have on the toilet.
P.J. called our doula Angie in the late afternoon/early evening. She arrived and assured me that everything was going the exact way it was supposed to go. One thing I was really having trouble getting my head around was the drive to the hospital. I dreaded this trip throughout my entire pregnancy and logistically, I couldn't figure out how I would tolerate a car ride with the amount of focus and calm I was trying to maintain. I felt the need to get to "the place where we would be," so to speak, so that I could really settle in and do this very intense work knowing that no more travel would be required. Angie encouraged me to eat a little bit (yuck, yuck, yuck so nauseous) and walk around a little bit to help things move along. She also suggested that I stretch and roll my hips through each contraction, which felt great. To top it off, she had these awesome little barf bags that are travel-friendly and convenient. Half the misery of barfing, after all, is anticipating where it will end up when it hits. So, with a car as cool as a meat locker thanks to max a/c with trunk packed, and with giant white Sony headphones pumping Hypnobirthing's "rainbow relaxation" into my consciousness, I laid down in the back seat and we headed to St. Joseph's at about 8 p.m. The ride was fine. I was too deep into my "birth bubble" to point out P.J.'s driving "mistakes" or to be afraid of the idiots on the road, one of my usual favorite hobbies.
We arrived at St. Joe's and got all checked in, which I'm sure was a seamless process but it felt very complicated. Talking and in fact seeing clearly were challenging at this point. Sweet Nurse Vicky wheeled me gently up one floor (despite my weighing a full two times as much as her and with three stops along the way to get up and lean on the wall) to the maternity care area. We got to the room and I immediately wanted to go to my happy place, the commode, to continue laboring. Some sort of housekeeping or perhaps plumbing disaster had occurred because the toilet was absolutely not in working order. That's all I will say in terms of the details (is that vomit or diarrhea? gosh they really do look similar sometimes). Surprisingly, I took it in such stride, saying simply as I waddled out of the bathroom "That's not ready for me." Angie said, "Really?" and I said "Yeah, "not ready" is an understatement."
We made our way to a new room where I settled onto a balance ball and the required monitoring took place. This was awkward and the intermittent noise of the monitor was unnerving, but chose not to actively acknowledge these things (a trick that comes in handy throughout) and stayed calm and focused. A midwife checked me and deemed me a great candidate for the birthing tub. Thankfully, when it came to go-time, my blood pressure was perfect, much to my gratification after having to explain myself to my midwife week after week. In our birth plan and in line with the philosophy of many midwives, we had requested that we not be told the number associated with my dilation. I'm so grateful for this. At this point, I was 5 to 6 cm, and hearing that could have really discouraged me or taken me out of my deep focus. Yes, I'd progressed, but I might have done the "math," thinking about how long it took to get from 3 to 5 cm (technically, a full week) and then how long it might take to get to 10. Again, the logistical "nightmare" of moving from our room to the water birth suite seemed insurmountable. Logistics were a continuing theme throughout my labor. "How far away is it?" The answer: "It's down the hall." "Well, how do I get there?" The answer: "You will walk." My conscious 'brain' was so turned off that I couldn't even fathom a quick walk to another room. Also, when given options, I was absolutely incapable of choosing. "Do you want to go now or wait a little bit, Kate?" My answer: "I don't know. I'm not even sure what you're talking about. You tell me exactly what to do and I'll do it."
We got to the water birth room and P.J. went to work setting things up like wonderful, soothing music, most of which I fell in love with during yoga, and tons of flameless candles to keep things so dark, cool and cozy. The tub felt amazing. I am a big bath taker and the temp, depth of water and available positions were just right. This is where I'm told I really found my groove. Weightlessness is a welcome sensation in active labor and I just floated and breathed and moaned my way through the next few hours. I'm also told that my eyes were closed for 95% of this entire process, from the onset of active labor to delivery. Apparently, I only opened my eyes maybe 3 or 4 times while in the tub. Music, loving encouragement, breathing, moaning, lots of ice water and cold compresses got me through this phase until my water broke with a festive "pop" and wonderful Nurse Betty discovered a lot of meconium in the amniotic fluid. I'll never forget her examining the water with a flashlight up by her face, kind of like a cop peering into steamy car windows at Make Out Point. I wouldn't be able to deliver in the tub as a result of the presence of meconium, but I could continue to labor there. I was totally ok with this. My time at Blooma and with Hypnobirthing had taught me about the necessity of staying open to any turn my labor might take. I accepted this fact without hesitation and was surprised that fear and doubt never made their way into my place of focused calm. I actually felt incapable of fear or panic. There wasn't any room for it, any energy, any time. I was where I was, in this moment, and then the next, and things just became very simple. Breathe. Stay on top of it. Breathe some more. Moan low. Let it go. Repeat.
While I was still in the tub, I started to feel the most peculiar sensation. Angie had told me that things would start to change and different sensations would arise and sure enough, they did. At the "bottom" of the contraction wave, I felt a great and rhythmic pulling. It would repeatedly pull the breath out of my lungs and I felt like my whole lower half was being pulled forward with quick yet powerful nudging. This was accompanied with a subtle desire to push, and Angie and Nurse Betty told me to simply notice it - not do anything with it, just notice it and stay on top of it. Contractions really are like waves and you "surf" them. You paddle out and get ready, give yourself little lead (deep cleansing breath and then another big inhale) and then you ride that sucker into the shore. I felt like if I didn't stay on top of them, I would start to acknowledge the discomfort, which I knew was not an option if I was to keep going this way. There was no fear, no pain, only breathing and moaning. I had been afraid and cried so much during my whole pregnancy - I worked hard to manage this, but when the time came, I can't stress this enough, things were so simple. This wasn't easy, but it was very basic. I was the most "in the moment" I've ever been, and there's a freedom and a simplicity to that which I will remember and try to apply to my life after the fact.
I did end up pushing a little bit in the tub, by no decision of my own as my body seemed to insist on my pushing when the time was right. Like they say, pushing feels good. It is active relief after hours of what feels like mere management of discomfort. I'll never forget the amazing encouragement of my husband and Angie while I was in the tub. They would congratulate me sweetly at the end of every contraction. "Nice work, Kate. That one's gone forever. Let it go." My mom had also arrived hours earlier and was a sweet little mouse in the corner, observing and giving me quiet love and support, bless her heart. And three words from Angie will forever stick in my mind and still fill my heart to the point of tears. "Bring her down." She said it a few times and the simplicity and decisiveness of this guidance is absolutely embedded in my heart forever. "Bring her down." All I wanted in the world was to bring her down, and like Angie also said, each finished contraction was a step closer to bringing my baby to my arms. Thank God for doulas. Everyone should have one in pregnancy and labor. They are a critical support component when you most need information, expertise and compassion.
Again, logistics came into play and I wanted to get to the place where I would deliver. The epic journey from the tub to the bed loomed large in the part of my mind that was still thinking. I moved to the toilet (so much water consumed yet I never peed for many hours - a cute little detail) and I started to sweat. And sweat. A lot. Again, I was unaware of my "status" in labor but was in transition, the most delightful of all labor phases. As the "team" gathered around me on the throne, I was kept comfortable once again by very cold wash cloths being placed on my neck and forehead. At this point there was a lot of bloody show, about which I was told after the fact - another detail that I didn't register at the time. The baby was doing well as Nurse Betty monitored her closely.
From the toilet, I moved to the bed and started to push in earnest. I positioned myself on my knees with my shoulders and arms supported by the elevated back of the bed. Don't ask me why this seemed like the most comfortable position, other than the fact that I knew I wanted gravity to help and I also knew from Blooma that there are few limits to the range of positions a woman can successfully assume during the pushing phase, short of any silly old hospital policies about not wanting moms to deliver into a cabinet or while squatting in the corner. This position felt good and powerful to me and it also satisfied that aforementioned desire to not be observed since my back (aka giant, pregnant rear) was facing the "audience." Angie said "This is where all the work you've done, all the preparation, comes together." So I took the deepest breath I've ever taken, always aware of the need to give my baby a lot of oxygen to work with for when I might not breathe for stints while pushing, and I pushed like hell. I pushed so hard I thought my head would explode. I pushed so hard, I thought the windows might shatter. I pushed so hard, I thought the walls might crumble. Ok, yeah, so I'm not a superhero or anything, but I gathered up every bit of fear, pain, desire and love for this child and channeled it down through my body and out onto that hospital bed. I talked to my daughter and told her "It's time to come down now. It's your turn. Don't be afraid, just come down and we'll be here for you." After just about 5 minutes of pushing, she emerged. I'm told there was no crowning. No pause and turn of the baby before the body was birthed. I'm told I fired her right out, and that the midwife caught her with one gloved hand and one bare hand, as she had no idea how quickly the baby was coming since there was no visual cue as to her progress. This is only slightly confusing since just minutes before, the midwife told me that I'd moved the baby down 2 full inches and was delivering some powerful and productive pushes. Perhaps she should have gloved up at that point? Who knows, but in my mind, there was meconium and the baby needed to come out immediately. Some women push for hours. It never occurred to me that I had hours to push. My ignorance worked in my favor as I put all the energy I'd stored up from staying soft and riding those waves over the hours into just a few pushes. I thought "I'm here, on the table, on my knees, and this is where it happens, so let's do this thing now. Let's be done with this and meet our baby girl."
I felt the "ring of fire," and indeed it was fiery. But knowing that relief was imminent helped so much and I pushed right through it. I remember thinking "Oh man, I can't wait for this to be over so that I can tell them all how much it hurt!" The first indication that she had been born after I felt the ring of fire was P.J. saying "Oh, baby girl!" Then I really left my body as they quickly moved her to the corner of the room to vacuum suction her lungs. She had inhaled a lot of meconium and was grunting, trying to breathe. I can't offer a lot of detail here, because again, I went to yet another spiritual place, where I was relieved and calm and almost a void as I simply waited to be told that she was ok. I was not afraid, I did not panic, I just "was." I also had a substantial tear to my undercarriage and needed about a half hour's worth of fixing up, an experience which deserves its very own blog post to come in the future. So I was pretty much just laying there with my husband, mother and doula next to me, sweet, sweet fentanol coursing through my veins (drugs for the repair - I opted for the most mellow pain reliever, though I was offered general anesthesia or epidural) waiting to be told that the baby was fine. They wrapped her up and brought her over to me, and I don't think I really registered that she was mine and had finally arrived. I was on a different planet, I think. My mother's concern about her breathing continued and she swiped the baby from P.J. and insisted that they continue to suction her because she was still grunting a lot. A grandma's protective love and instincts kick in immediately and she felt that the baby was still really struggling. They finished suctioning her, finished poking at me and helped her latch on to nurse, which she did immediately and with ease. She was very alert, very calm and very sweet. Her expression seemed to say "Yeah, I'm here. Did you think I wasn't coming?" It would be hours before I'd come back to earth and realize what a lovely baby daughter we'd been given.
Luciana Megan Besinger was born at 1:34 a.m. on June 3rd.
Sweet little soul, how amazing you are, and how overwhelmed with gratitude are we! How broken is my heart, in the very best way - it cannot contain my love for you or my surprise in your choosing me. I am forever changed because now, I am your mother.
We were settled back in our room where they continued to monitor her closely and take care to adjust her blood sugar (which was low due to her working so hard to clear her lungs out) and ensure that she was stable. Her first bath was in the tub with me and then we started the wonderfully hazy, confusing, challenging and joyful weekend stay at the hospital, experiencing a 36 hour high that was like nothing I'd ever felt, and trying to figure out this whole breastfeeding business. That is one thing that I wished I'd done in my preparation - take a breastfeeding class! But mostly, the many hours in the hospital were spent in complete rapture of her realness and presence, thanking God and thanking God and thanking God for this incredible gift and thanking the universe for the strength to see this journey through to the surreal and moving end ... the end of life before her, the beginning of her life, the beginning of our new life as a family. Sarah Longacre, beloved owner of Blooma and incredible woman all-around, told us in yoga that labor and childbirth bring about not only the birth of a new baby, but it can also provide a rebirth for us as mothers. This made me cry. For me, this could mean a healing balance to the difficulty and heartbreak that life inevitably delivers. When the time came, the birth of my daughter for me marked a rebirth into a new identity where fear, pain and death have less power and are less final - and love really does endure and transcend the darkness. Luciana is an Italian name meaning "light," and now at 6 weeks old, she has brought us nothing but!
Thank you to my husband, mother, friends, family, doula Angie, Sarah Longacre, Channing McKinley and all of the women of Blooma for the community of love, courage and support that made all the difference to my new little family!
