Victoria Midwifery Care - Deanna Wildeman, Registered Midwife

Birth Stories

Anita ~ Astra ~ Beth ~ Elizabeth ~ Heather ~ Jane
Jennifer ~ Jessica ~ Josie ~ Kristine ~ Marlee ~ Marlene

SHANNAN K

Our Birth Story...

November 2006

My husband and I had waited for a number of years and the completion of several degrees before we decided we were ready to undertake parenthood. I’d had a lot of time to think about pregnancy, and there were a few things I knew I didn’t want – I didn’t want to spend ages in a waiting room only to see a doctor for a few minutes, a doctor who wasn’t even guaranteed to attend our delivery. I wanted my pregnancy to be a journey, not a medical condition. So when the little plastic stick indicated I was pregnant, I immediately started researching midwives in Victoria. Deanna was one of the midwives whose experience and philosophy appealed to me, and when I met her at our initial interview, she had a very forthright and friendly demeanor – I felt she was someone my husband and I would be comfortable with during this very intimate and sometimes overwhelming experience.

My pregnancy went very smoothly. I looked forward to my appointments with Deanna – they were a chance to discuss the physical and emotional changes I was experiencing, and I appreciated the information and resource library that Deanna makes available to her clients. I am also happy to report that I never felt rushed or was kept waiting – at least not by Deanna. The little being inside was another matter. He decided life in-utero was pretty good and was very reluctant to emerge. My due date came and went and I became more and more impatient. We tried every technique under the sun to entice the little guy out, including homeopathics, aromatherapy, hiking up and down Mount Doug, spicy foods, sex, membrane sweeps and acupuncture (which was relaxing if nothing else). Deanna’s support and almost daily check-ups during this period were reassuring and helped me keep anxiety and impatience in check.

Logan On a Friday, the 8th day past my due date, we went in for a non-stress test and ultrasound – we were careful to remind the ultrasound technician and nurses that we didn’t want to know the gender – after waiting 41 weeks we didn’t want the surprise revealed prematurely. We had decided to put our name on the induction list the following Monday if nothing had happened. The little one must have eavesdropped on this discussion and realized time was running out. Contractions started suddenly at 11 pm on Friday night (hours after Deanna left the island for a weekend away!). They were about 3 minutes apart, of a moderate intensity. I donned an old red fleece robe I’d made as a Halloween monk costume for my husband (I couldn’t bear the thought of any constrictive clothes) and spent the night walking from one end of the condo to the next, breathing through each contraction. However, they did not increase in intensity or become any closer together. At about 5 am, I phoned Lorna, the midwife covering for Deanna, introducing myself and describing what I’d been feeling for the past 6 hours. Lorna stayed on the phone with me for about ½ an hour, “listening” to the contractions, and we decided she would come over in a couple of hours to check things out. She arrived later that morning – despite all those hours of contractions I was only about 2 cm dilated and the baby was still very high. Lorna suggested that if things did not intensify, I consider using some Gravol to try and get some rest. I sent my husband off to the pharmacy for Gravol, and did manage to sleep a few hours that afternoon. Unfortunately, when I woke up, the contractions were further apart, and it took several hours before they sped up to about 5 minutes apart. By 1 am, I was exhausted and my toes were shriveled from spending so much time in the tub – it had already been 26 hours since contractions began and those 2 hours of sleep were but a memory. Lorna came over at about 3 and did another membrane sweep – by this point I was at about 4-5 cm dilated and we decided to meet at the hospital where she would rupture the membranes and hopefully kick start the final act.

While Lorna went off ahead of us to check us into the hospital, Daniel and I gathered together our hospital bag, a couple of pillows, my exercise ball, fruit juice, mineral water and popsicles. With a last look around our home (and a couple of “on the way to the hospital” pictures), we were off. We arrived at the hospital in that gray 5 am light – by then the contractions were stronger and the walk from the parking lot up to the labour room seemed really long. We took a wrong turn, and a friendly nurse escorted us to the correct wing, with me stopping every now and then to breathe, wondering how the hallways had gotten longer since our prenatal class tour. We made it to our room (lucky #7), and I wrestled my way into a couple of gowns – it’s great not to have to worry about laundering birthing apparel, but I’m sure there must be a garment out there better designed for this job. I spent a while balancing on the exercise ball while Lorna gave Daniel lessons in counter pressure and showed him where to stash the popsicles. At about 6 we decided it was time to rupture the membranes. Lorna reminded me this would intensify the contractions significantly. Since they already felt fairly intense to me, I asked her to review pain control measures before she went ahead. She went over the benefits of things like the shower, changing positions, massage and counter pressure, heat/cold, nitrous oxide gas and oxygen gas. I was waiting for the reassurance that serious narcotics would be available, but she never mentioned them! And then, with a gush of thankfully clear fluid (I was surprised how warm it felt), the waters were broken. The contractions were immediately much stronger (was it too late to change my mind about rupturing those membranes?) and I had to concentrate on breathing.

Breathe in, breathe out. Slow breaths, shallow breaths. Whatever felt right. And all the while I was sending messages to the baby. It’s time to come out. We’ve been waiting so long, it’s time to come and meet us. It’s not so bad out here. The baby remained skeptical – it took another 2 hours before it was time to push. By this time, I’d been in and out of the shower, on and off the toilet, on the ball, on the bed, kneeling, crouching, on my side. And even then, the light at the end of the tunnel remained stubbornly far away. After 2 hours of pushing, Lorna advised it was time to call in the obstetrician for a consultation. He came in, did an exam (it’s amazing how you stop caring who’s probing the intimate areas of your body – you just want the baby OUT). Because the baby was doing well (the nurse assisting Lorna kept remarking how steady the baby’s heart rate was, indicating he/she was happy right where they were) I had the option of continuing to push, or deciding whether it was time to discuss whether to use forceps or the vacuum. Although I recall dangling over the squat bar thinking I was completely exhausted, the word “forceps” conjured up new strength from a source I didn’t know existed, and I kept pushing. And pushing. At one point, my husband cheered me on, saying “I can see the head, the ultrasound was right, it’s really small”. An absolute lie – the head was huge!

Logan

Finally, finally, 37 hours after contractions began, after three and a half hours of pushing, at 11:59 am, our baby was born. Our son. His tiny cries were the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. In the instant that I heard his voice, even before I saw him, he was real to me - real in a way that he had never seemed when I felt him moving within me. In that instant, the exhaustion, the long hours, the discomfort blurred into the past. Lorna placed our baby on my tummy and this tiny warm complete person squiggled up, looking for a breast. He was perfect.

Three hours later, everyone had been checked over, cleaned and stitched up (there’s where the nitrous oxide came in handy – I remember remarking it felt like champagne in my veins) and we’d tried breastfeeding. Since we were all in good health, we packed up our stuff and Lorna buckled our baby into his car seat. At 5 am that morning, 2 people drove to the hospital. 10 hours later, a family drove home.

Looking back, my husband and I agree that our birth story would not have been the positive experience it was without midwives. We were able to labour in the familiarity of our home until it was time to go to the hospital, and then Lorna spent 7 hours helping us change positions and coaxing our reluctant son into the world. And with her direction, my husband (who had been very anxious about attending the birth) became the perfect labour support. I am certain that at the very least, forceps or a vacuum would have been used if we had not had a midwife, simply because labour was so long.

But the story doesn’t stop with the delivery. I found I had the most questions in those first weeks after the birth. What does normal newborn poop look like? Do my stitches look okay? Should his umbilical cord smell like that? Can he hurt himself if he cries for that many hours? (At 3.5 weeks colic appeared, but that’s a story in itself.) Deanna was there for all of these questions, visiting us at home, offering reassurance and information, and easing some of the bewilderment of those first weeks of new parenthood. Now, 5 months later, our little family knows each other better and we recognize our baby’s cues faster and know that eventually the crying will stop. And until it does, we hold each other close and rock a little faster. Parenthood is a journey that never ends, a gift I am so glad I get to experience. I treasure each day, even the difficult ones, because they go by so quickly.

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