Whitney's Birth Story
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Whitney and her baby boy Henry during their first skin-to-skin contact moment.
By all accounts I was both an anomaly and a statistic simultaneously. A well-educated healthcare professional who also happened to be positioned as a soon-to-be, all too common single black mom. Knowledgeable enough to research maternity care providers and hospital outcomes in my area. However, vulnerable having just moved to a new city for a new job, with no family nearby and an absent father of my baby. I was fortunate to be employed at the hospital where the midwifery group I would deliver with were located; and had the flexibility to take long breaks to attend prenatal appointments, never missing one. I had a history of anxiety/depression, sexual abuse, and a “touch” of exercise induced asthma, but by all accounts healthy and active. I ran a total of 5 races while pregnant, with the last just a month before delivering my son. I shopped at Whole Foods and the local farmer’s market, so most of my produce, and the little meat that I ate was organic and free range. However, as my pregnancy progressed, and I gained more than the recommended weight, the growth of my little guy, Henry, was more slow paced and stagnant.
Generally, after 20 weeks of pregnancy, the fundal height in centimeters should equal the number of weeks pregnant. My fundal height measurements were trailing on the low end of normal at week 35 and 36, then fell out of range at 37 weeks. The midwives sent me for an additional ultrasound, where it was noted that Henry’s abdominal circumference was measuring at less than the 1st percentile, so quite small. His other measurements mostly fell within the 15th - 20th percentiles, just above the 10th percentile at which there are usually no worries. His estimated weight was 6 lbs 3 oz. and the blood flow through his umbilical cord was normal. Nonetheless, the maternal-fetal OB/GYN who came to talk with me after the ultrasound recommended that I be induced. He was very blunt, and seemed to lack empathy. There was no clear indication as to why Henry wasn’t growing. His recommendation was an immediate induction of labor, at a minimum not carry up to my due date, December 16. It was December 3rd. I was devastated and so confused. I was doing everything “right.” Proper diet, exercise, prenatal vitamins, overall healthy. However, it wasn’t translating into a growing baby.
I had my weekly prenatal appointment scheduled with the midwives on the 7th. The midwife I was seeing for the day, repeated the doctor’s recommendation, be induced. She went over the latest research--- I was currently working as a clinical research nurse, so I understood the data. Induction at 39 weeks wasn’t associated with any increased risks for moms or baby, including no changes in the rate of c section. But see, I had this birth plan-- I would labor at home with my mom, sister, doula, niece, and two friends present, they would all be in the room during my son’s birth also. I wanted to walk around free of IV lines and monitors; get in and out of the tub for comfort. No one would use the word pain. I would forgo the epidural and deliver vaginally. I would sing and listen to my carefully crafted playlist. There would be essential oils and christmas lights. I had a plan; being induced wasn’t part of it. With an induction I would experience faster, stronger contractions than what my body would naturally produce. I’d be connected to an IV pump and pole, while having monitors wrapped around my belly. I would be in the hospital for hours waiting for labor to start and progress. Nevertheless, I picked a date to be induced, December 12, called my family in SC so they could make the drive up to VA. They arrived, and the next morning we reported bright and early to the hospital.
I had two nurses, a preceptor and an orientee (who was not a novice nurse, just new to L&D). They were nice… I made sure to tell them I was a nurse within the health system. My delivery room was huge. It had big windows with lots of natural light. There were christmas lights, essential oils, and a large laboring tub. I brought my bluetooth speaker from home and earbuds. My family (minus my niece), friends, and doula were all there. In walked a midwife… I was STUNNED. I had never seen her before. My doula, who also delivered with the very same team of midwives just months earlier, didn’t recognize her either. We quickly became acquainted. She was kind, with a calming demeanor. The orienting nurse, missed my veins while trying to get my IV started. She and the preceptor called the anesthesia team. A nurse anesthesia student arrived with the ultrasound and a large needle. We discussed using a smaller needle as my veins are small and superficial, he obliged. He got the IV in, but no blood return. I called over to my unit so that they could send one of my nursing coworkers, Jake. He successfully started my IV and drew my labs. It felt empowering to specifically call and request the assistance of someone I knew was skilled and capable.
I had belly monitors on, and was connected to the IV pole. This was not part of my plan. We laughed, chatted, snacked and watched daytime Jeopardy. I rested, walked the halls, and fielded calls and texts wanting to know the status of the baby. A few coworkers came to visit. Eventually the nurses would change shifts. The contractions were strong and constant, but I was managing. My doula was tending to my needs and those of my family and friends. There would be another change in nurses, and a change in midwives. I would labor for 23 hours in and out of the tub, around the halls and in the bed before becoming overwhelmed. My labor seemed to stall. My water hadn’t broken. I had this unrelenting PAIN (oh no, not that word) in my back. I couldn’t get comfortable enough to rest. My midwife reassured me that my body was working in concert with my baby to birth him earthside. Turns out, my son had become transverse. I was encouraged to relax my hips so that he could turn-- we had passed the point of relaxation. The midwife stood in the bed and shook my body with a rebozo. She reached her hands into the depths of my girl parts trying to turn him. I cried, and asked for an epidural. I was worn out. I wanted a baby, and there was no baby.
At hour 24, the anesthesia team came to start my epidural. Again I diverted from my birth plan. The epidural wasn’t working. I would call them back two times before the burning, stabbing, nagging back labor was suppressed. I apologized and reintroduced myself to the nurse who had come on that morning. Apparently, I’m not very nice when uncomfortable and suffering. I napped for an hour and then in came the nurse and midwife (along with a midwifery student). After just over 5 minutes of pushing, which I couldn’t feel, but saw in the mirror at the food of my bed, Henry had made his debut. They laid him on my chest immediately for skin-to-skin. I cried some more. They delayed clamping the cord until it no longer pulsated, and stitched up the small tears I had in my nether regions. My doula and midwife helped me latch him onto my breast for what would turn out to be the first of many nursing sessions. We’d get to spend our golden hour together before the battery of blood work, assessments, and “things” were to be done to him. He was smaller than predicted at just 5 lbs 12 oz, just a few ounces above low birth weight. His blood sugar was normal. His bilirubin was high. They asked if I was ok with them to wash him. I provided them with soap from home.
Thirty hours had elapsed from arriving at the hospital to his arrival. My son, small and mighty, had come into the world with Kes’ Hello playing in the background surrounded by family and friends, my favorite midwife, a wonderful doula, and an exceptional nurse and midwifery student. Although I had an uneventful and more importantly, safe, and well supported labor, I would later feel as if I should have declined the induction.
Welcome to the NATAL Community Blog. If you’d like to contribute a piece (a personal story, an op-ed, or some other form of written work), please email hello@natalstories.com.