Babe 1 Birth Story-
Warning: The following birth story is…well…a birth story.
It was Sunday morning, May 31 and I woke up in the usual fashion. The geese were honking and Taylor sat across the room with the computer. Sleep was hard to come by the night before, my body just wasn’t settling into rest. As I journeyed across the long room of the bamboo house I wrapped a sarong around my two bodies. As was the norm Taylor was getting his morning fix of news and coffee. Nestling in to the bowl shaped chair beside Taylor we decided pancakes were in order this morning. Downstairs we ate big thick pancakes with honey counting down the seconds the ants would march in and carry the bottle of honey off with them. Back upstairs Skype sounds filled the room and soon Carissa and I were chatting as if we were sitting at a coffee shop together. I remember saying, “I’m deciding whether or not to have this last pancake even though I’m already full.” In a matter of minutes I devoured the last pancake and looking back I’m quite glad that I did.
Movement began in my abdomen and all things unnecessary began to clear out of the way. My mind and my body were typically in sync but several times during this day I would both purposely and unwillingly watch as they separated. In the bathroom I just wanted to sit there and let things happen; it seemed making my way back up to the bed would be just a waste of time. Suddenly I needed to take a shower and spent a long time there relaxing. The shower at the bamboo house has been one of my favorite features and I relished in a nice long warm shower this morning with the morning breeze making its way through all the openings, huge banana leaves dusting across the roof.
Back in bed I lay eyes closed taking long yogic breaths telling myself that if indeed labor was starting it was only the beginning and I purposefully underplayed it in my mind. It was around 10am now and Taylor and I holed up in the bed allowing these rolls of change to pass by. I tried to get some rest but found myself gripping Taylor’s hand as each wave began to increase in intensity. Eyes closed- loooong breath in- visualizing the breath making its way to the place of pain- loooong breath out- leaving with the pain; this was my plan and I was following it well. I had had a bloody show that morning and Taylor was SMSing (texting) all details of the morning to our friend, apparent angel and labor and delivery nurse Maura. After a few hours we weren’t necessarily convinced it was labor. It could have been pre labor in fact or just more changes getting my body ready for labor. Still holding back on calling it labor simply so I wouldn’t wear myself out physically or mentally. From Taylor’s perspective he saw little outward sign of massive pain so he remained calm. We did start to time them just to see if there was any pattern and it was perplexing at best. Timing the waves didn’t clarify anything for us. For the most part they were a minute long and came every three minutes. Pretty quick onset, eh?
Though once I heard Taylor relay the message to Maura over the phone that I was having minor contractions something snapped in my mind and I asked, “who said they were minor?” It was then I knew that I had downplayed them so well, as to remain calm, that even to my partner it didn’t appear to be labor. I began to become confused as to what was really going on and why they were so close, but yet so mild. Our Aussie midwife Catherine was called and I was so happy to see her when she arrived at the bamboo house.
It was 1pm now and after some discussion about what I was feeling as well as Catherine watching me go through a contraction or two she offered to check me and let me know what was happening. Yes, that was a good idea. At this point Catherine wasn’t convinced yet it was labor either. Though I knew it was, as usual I needed reassurance. Taylor was trying to get some food going for the three of us as it was lunchtime and we were all hungry. But, I could tell things weren’t simple and she began to explain that she was feeling a thick membrane and if she were to go through it then indeed I was 6 maybe 7 centimeters dilated. Ah ha! I knew it. I had been laboring through some pretty intense change physically, but was so determined to mentally keep myself back that I had indeed done so. As was my plan I had managed to labor at home for a while before heading to the clinic. Lunch would not be had this Sunday.
We decided it was time to go to the clinic. Taylor finished packing our bag and was scurrying around like an expectant father. It was really adorable to watch his intentness as he was completely enmeshed in helping me with my comfort. I changed my clothes and we headed out through our compound onto the street. I declined the offer of a motorbike ride and instead Taylor and I made this deliberate walk down the street towards the clinic as the locals looked on. One foot in front of the other matched with a breath, we were getting closer.
Once at the clinic we entered a birthing room that Maura was hard at work cleaning up. Our fan was whirling and things were set. Bumi Sehat is like most buildings in Bali: simple, open air and without air conditioning. Mike had been sent to get me a smoothie and in between contractions I had some regal biscuits and fruit juice. Though the contractions were intense at this stage I was still able to smile and chat in between. Now that I knew what was happening and how dilated I was my mind joined my body again.
Very shortly after arriving at the clinic the smiles in between would end and my grip tightened on Taylor’s hand. I lay on my side on top of the rubber sheet eyes clenched, gripping Taylor’s hand tight; I was focusing on directed breathing with each wave. In through the nose I visualized my breath going down through my nasal passages all the way to my uterus. I’d watch it swirl around and on the exhale I’d take the pain back up and out through my nose. When things felt problematic I’d envision the breath to be yellow in color from the sun, a very healing color in my mind. During this time Taylor was intent on helping me through each contraction. “Try and relax your jaw” he’d say, as the jaw is connected to the cervix, not anatomically of course, but in a manner of opening. After each deep breath he would praise me for my strength and focus and once again help me relax in between. From our work with the Pink Kit (www.thepinkkit.com) we had learned about the pelvic clock, a technique in helping women in labor relax the pelvic floor. He would talk me through each time, “can you relax around 3 o’clock?” he would say very gently and ask me to breathe into it. From time to time the contractions would get away from me and my pitch would raise, my mouth would open and I’d lose focus. Taylor would gently remind me to breath until once again I was able to return to the deep focused and directed breathing techniques that we had been taught. Taylor was with me every step of the way, never losing focus of his job of coaching me through and we were all impressed with how well I listened to him!
Big thanks to my yoga studio home at Madia’s Studio in Chattanooga. Years of yoga had impressed upon me the power of the breath and how focusing internally can get you out of or into any situation you choose. So many of the yogic skills taught to me by Madia and her staff were in full swing at Bumi Sehat that day and helped to bring little Shad into my life.
Who knows how much time had passed but I was ready for something new. I was wearing down laboring on the bed in this position. I gingerly moved to a chair, straddling it and leaning my head on the back of the chair.
Taylor sat at my head gripping my hands, gently reminding me of my breath. It was here that in addition to the sound of my breath that the moaning began. A low moan with each contraction made its way into my routine and helped push out the intensity. The contractions are intense and I’m feeling so sick to my stomach. They get the pan ready and eventually, ohhhhh, the biggest and most violent vomit of my life thus far. It keeps coming and coming and coming. Oh my, this is a transition of some sort.
This particular room was the one I was hoping to get as there are only 3 labor rooms to choose from and many times moms are doubled up within. The only downside to this room was the Bali style toilet….well I guess beyond it not having air conditioning and the mosquitoes swarming about. J Each time I had to use the bathroom I would stand over the squat toilet…as I was fairly unable to squat at this point and try to aim into the hole in the ground. A large tub of water sits next to the squat toilet with a scoop and a large scoop of water is dumped into the toilet submerged in the ground to help push the matter down. Each trip to the toilet was almost comical.
After some deliberation it was decided I would get into the tub. Getting up, getting clothes off, ohhhhh…a contraction while standing; I drape my arms around Taylor’s neck and he holds me up. Head down I breathe and try to make it through. Though many of the videos we had watched in preparation women choose to stand and sway through contractions there was something very vulnerable about this position to me and I would quickly want to try something new. I got caught several times standing in transition from one position to another in a contraction and each time Taylor was quick to put my arms around his neck and help me hang into the wave delivering me another supportive position towards the end. Gently easing myself into the tub, water covered in flowers, I was fully uncomfortable at this stage, pretty emotional and ready to get the show on the road. The baby was too, but my cervix had other plans.
The fan was redirected to blow on me but not too hard. I leaned my head back in the tub and stretched out. Suddenly I could feel Taylor struggling with quick movements and it came to my attention that he was battling a militia of ants. He asks Maura for some boiling water, he’s trying to get them out of my hair; I could care less, because ohhhhh….here it is again. Catherine is trying to get me to relax my legs, soften, send your breath down she is telling me. I’m struggling to find my center in this new position in the tub and I move to my knees, rest my head on the tub and refocus here. Taylor is pouring boiling water on to the ant pile and scurrying to clean them up; somehow he kept one hand clutching mine at all times as I seemed to be constantly contracting. Later on the ant situation would be relayed to me; Catherine and Maura squelching their laughter at how intently Taylor fought the war as if it were a throng of deadly snakes trying to attack me. I certainly appreciate the effort, though at the time I could have cared less about the ants. This stage was fully difficult and I could feel my face tensing in both physical and emotional distress.
My mind begins to wonder and separate once again from my body. I go back to that confused place where I’m asking, ‘Am I progressing?’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘Something isn’t moving.’ My mind was telling me that was my body was doing all that it could but yet something just wasn’t responding. I am sharing my concerns with Catherine. She responds with, “generally when a woman feels like something is not working, then it’s time to change something.” I’m growing concerned.
Power down-the electricity goes out, the fan stops whirling, the room goes dark. There is some commotion. We learn that the power on the entire island has gone out, some cable between Java and Bali has been compromised. Without the fan the mosquitoes move in and I begin to get bit all over my belly, which cannot be submerged under the water. My first cuss words of the labor directed at the mosquitoes. Catherine is having to shine a flashlight down into the water. My water still has not broken. ‘Why hasn’t my water broken yet?’ I worry. Something has to change; I’m conveying these thoughts to my crew. Though we all know it’s time for something else I don’t have the energy to decide or to move and so I stay and labor in the tub a while longer. Oh here it is again, I’m vomiting with a force I’ve never felt before. In my head I’m hoping all this force and pressure breaks my water so that we move more quickly. They are emptying the pan because so much is coming out of me and it doesn’t seem to be ending. I can barely hold my head up, they are wiping my face, I’m so well taken care of and Taylor is still, as he did the entire 10 hours gripping my hands. Uh, ok, I slink back resting from the force, no broken water yet.
I knew water birth was an option, but didn’t have any strong pull to it either way. We decided to stay open to whatever happened and if I felt comfortable in the water, well then we would deliver in the tub and if not, then fine. I was not fixated on any particular mode of delivery.
The water is cooling off and they are pouring it over me. Low moans continue, my head hanging onto the side of the tub, I’m on my knees. The next day I would realize that aside from the regular childbirth wounds I had bruised my head hanging it there on the tub, the most minor of my battle scars. These contractions are and have been coming so rapidly I hardly have time to catch my breath and relax in between. There is talk about having to get me out of the tub because a baby cannot be born into cool water. They are unable to warm the tub back up because the power is out. I wasn’t sure if it was an Indonesian thing, a midwife thing, or a Chinese medicine thing, all of which are powerfully represented here at YBS. I wasn’t in a position to ask questions and just continued to focus on my labor.
My mind was whirling wondering how much longer this would go on, distressed that there was no way to pinpoint any answers. Time after time the frustrating answer to all of my questions, the ambiguous response that is the truth: ‘there is no way to know.’ So, if I haven’t mentioned this yet, there are no other options than natural childbirth at Bumi Sehat. If you deliver at YBS you are considered to be a low risk pregnancy and know that you will have no drugs, no nothing but support and experience. If an issue arises that warrants medical intervention you are transported via the YBS van to a hospital. It was certainly my intention not to be transferred. To me this would open up a whole world of chaos and uncertainty. So here I am laboring, laboring, laboring.
Honestly, I never wanted for drugs during labor and delivery. It felt very good in a peace-of-mind sort of way to feel what was going on and to at least be in control of the process in this way. In my mind looking back it would have freaked me out to not have been able to feel what was happening and at least have some idea of the order of things.
Upon my pleas of needing something…some kind of information, some kind of change, they decide to move me out of the tub, and with the added issue of downed power I had to move anyway. At some point the generator kicks on and we have power back, which was nice because I dislike mosquito bites when I’m not in labor. J Catherine suggests that I try and squat as it is a very efficient way to progress labor. She shows me the bamboo ladder and some cloth that I can hang on to. I’m in serious pain at this point and just getting from point A to point B is a challenge. The ladder was closer than the bed, so I position myself into a squat. One foot on the floor, one foot up on toe…contraction…uhhhhh…my low moans are now controlled low yells. I’m trying to get my hands up higher because I feel like collapsing onto the floor. I barely make it through the contraction without screaming like a wild pig. I’m exhausted and getting my mind back into a positive focused place is becoming more difficult because I am still in that place of confusion and I would soon find out why. I move to my knees because I just can’t sustain the position. Back to the bed then. Western women just don’t squat much; it’s a very difficult position to sustain unless you’ve been doing it all your life. It’s a perfect position for laboring and it works extremely well for many Asian women who still carry out many daily activities in this position, but I am full on American so it was back to the bed for me.
I’m hearing comments about getting this baby moving and so they once again encourage the squat. I comply and squat again, this time on the bed. Taylor faces me and I grip his sides and it is getting harder and harder to maintain focus and direct my breathing. Taylor was like a rock-in front of me, behind me, to the side of me at all times, holding me up, encouraging me, praising me. At this point they are continually putting the Doppler to my belly to check the baby’s heart rate, I hear, “beautiful” consistently, he is doing well.
I start saying that the baby needs to come out and so Catherine pointedly tells me she can check me if I’d like, but only if I’d like. Yes, I’d like. Back on the bed she checks me and begins explaining that there is about half an inch of cervix caught on some sort of lip. I’m fully dilated, except for this piece that is caught. Good lord. She explains that she is going to have to manually move it and to do that she is going to apply pressure through the contractions for 3 solid contractions. I have no choice, here it is again…AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH my first real screams, my left hand hits the wall and I am not afraid of waking the neighbors. Taylor is holding me up and I am gripping his hands like if I let go I’m falling 20 stories down. Another…AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH and one more contraction to go before I can get my sanity back. Oh here it is…screammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!! “There it goes,” Catherine reports, “now we’re talking, now your water is breaking, here we go.” A little mental relief with this movement. Later we would realize that I had more than likely been fully dilated for some time, with this one bit caught, thus the confusion and vomiting.
Catherine is not directing me to push, her philosophy is to let the patient feel when and how she needs to push…my body starts rolling, it’s pushing. Whoa, I had no idea pushing was so involuntary. My head tucks down, my belly rolls and suddenly I’m in full push mode; Taylor still behind me holding me up. They just keep coming and pushhhhhhhhhhhh. This goes on for what seems like an hour. I am tiring quickly, barely able to keep my eyes open. I hear that I’m not progressing, the baby just isn’t moving. Somewhere in here there is possibly a low heart rate read on the Doppler, some question as to if this were really a low heart rate or just a read at the end of a contraction. In come the bidans (Indonesian midwives) who are in charge of the clinic. All the western volunteers have to follow their order when it comes to anything tricky.
I hear, “Jeannette, we have to get this baby out.” Yes, I agree. She explains that I need to be upright to get some movement, but squatting may be too exhausting, so let’s try something else. OK. I’m just in agreement that the baby needs to come out.
In comes a chair. Taylor is instructed to sit in the chair. Catherine tells me that I will sit on his legs, facing him. All I can do is comply and nod. I get up, sit on his legs, he holds my back. A bidan gets behind Taylor and helps me get my arms out straight. When a contraction comes I’m to let my butt sink down between his legs, without effort and bear down through my butt. UHHHHH my arms stretch out my head goes back. “Tuck your head, push down through your butt Jeannette,” I hear Catherine instructing me. I sink, tuck my head, stretch out my arms and push through my butt, a cheer from the now 3 bidans, Maura and Catherine. Another….UHHHHH, trying to get back to low moans, deep focused breath, here it is again, the wave. UHHHHH. The contractions are coming so quickly; I’m allowing the bidan behind Taylor to fully support the weight from my arms through the contraction so that I can bear down with strength. OK, I hear, “now this baby is moving.” This position is essentially just like the squat but with far less effort in terms of holding oneself upright. It allows gravity to do what it needs to do while allowing mama to put all energy into the push. We stay in this position for some time and then I hear, “we can’t deliver in this position, we need to get her back to the bed.”
Seriously? I need to move again? I essentially roll from Taylor’s lap to the bed. Taylor gets back into position behind me and I feel near unconscious. They put some oxygen on me. All I can do is stare right into Catherine’s eyes. She’s talking to me, smiling, telling me to stay with her. I can’t really respond, just stare to let her know I’m there. My hands are going numb, another wave, pushhhhhhhhhhhhh. I hear the bidans in their sing-songy way, “Yaaaay, Mooooooom!!” They are excitedly cheering with each push. No one really instructing me how long or when to push so I’m going with the chants in the room. It’s getting intense, the baby is moving. Now the intense burning starts. I tell them it’s burning, they tell me the baby is crowning. I ask, “I have to just sit through this burning in between contractions, now?” It was almost comical. As if the contractions weren’t enough, the stretching of the tissue was now a competing pain factor. Catherine decides that I sit a couple of contractions out because I’m so exhausted. Anything that was somewhat scarey at this point went right by me. I believe I had ‘disassociated’ as they call it. I just pulled away and out of my body because things had gotten so intense. Catherine instructs me not to push through the next contraction, the wave comes and it seems impossible my body going through the motions and a low grunt noise coming out of me anyway. Sit the next one out too. The damn oxygen tubing is driving me crazy, my hair is all over the place, stuck to my face, Taylor and I are drenched in sweat, stuck together, I’m trying to keep the tubing in my nose, somehow knowing it was helping me and helping the baby.
I sit out one more contraction and then we buckle down for the home stretch, no pun intended. “YAAAAY MOOOOOOOM!” the cheering starts again, I’m pushing longer and harder. Bearing down through my butt, through my butt, through my butt, they keep reminding me. Breathe all the way into your butt Jeannette. I think they were actually using the word, bottom, but it’s my butt, so butt. The bidans are saying things to me, I can’t understand. They have me touch the head to inspire me, but gripping Taylor’s hands seems far more important. They ask if Taylor wants to catch the baby. I think I need him behind me and he doesn’t seem to mind. UHHHHHHHHH-“YAYYYYY MOOOOOOOM,” I’m bearing down trying to get this baby out and with each push I’m thinking, ‘this is it,’ and his head just peeks a little bit more. Taylor is emotional, telling me how strong I am. UHHHHHH, these contractions are coming so close and wave after wave is crashing down. My pitch gets higher and my breathing through the roof, UHHHHH I’m grunting, low gutterall noises…contractions back to back….one after the other….as soon as my body retracts from one it bucks back again….UHHHHH…and suddenly here it comes. There is cheering. The head is out; they quickly unleash the cord from around his neck. Another quick contraction and out comes the body. Rapid-fire questions from me, “Is the baby ok?” “Is the baby good?”
They put him on my chest and I’m just so damn relieved that the baby is out. I can’t think of anything better at this point. I don’t remember the commotion and what was happening, but later I would learn that they felt he was stunned when he came out. Wouldn’t you be after that? They suctioned him and gave him some oxygen. I just remember hearing that yes he was ok and that’s all I cared about. Was it that the bidans took one look at this bule (white) child and thought, ‘wow, he’s white as a ghost, something must be wrong’ and went ahead taking care of him as if he was stunned? Who knows, I’m just happy that he was being looked after and that he is healthy.
They were repositioning me, I still had to birth the placenta. I had heard some reports of this not being pleasant, but oh, UGGGGG, here it is, no problem. Child’s play.
Oh, wait, what is it, is it a boy or a girl? We hadn’t even thought to look or ask. It’s a boy. “Oh, you’re a boy,” I say. I think Taylor and I would both say that we kind of always knew it was a boy but we were just patiently waiting to find out.
“Damn,” I hear Catherine say. “What?” I reply a bit worried. She tells me I have a tear, a small tear and will need 2 or 3 stitches. No time to think about it as I feel the first sharp pain from the needle, I grip the baby, close my eyes and try to hold still. Catherine is telling me the bidans are the best at sutures and not to worry. I’m bummed for a second and then I see those blonde locks again and the pain fades.
Here at Bumi Sehat they leave the placenta attached to the baby for a minimum of three hours. Some families leave the placenta attached to the baby until the cord itself falls off the belly button, taking several days (called a lotus birth).
They put our placenta in a bowl, cover it with flowers, I hardly notice it there. The belief is that the baby has been supported by the placenta for ten months and to leave the cord in place allows a more smooth transition into its new environment. This way if the baby is struggling in any way it still has its ‘support system’ in tact. Each family who births at YBS is also responsible for taking their placenta with them upon departure. Many families then bury the placenta with a new tree to mark the baby’s birth; some placentas are ‘buried’ in the ocean. Being from Tennessee we handled our placenta as any redneck would, we brought a gallon size freezer Ziploc bag with us to YBS and left with the placenta in the bag. Currently my placenta is in our freezer, next to the ice cubes and oreo cookies.
We stare at our little one, so happy to have this moment finally arrive. The baby never leaves my chest much less the room. There is no nursery, there are no foot pricks, there is no separation of this little guy from his mom and dad. We lounge together for hours.
There is much excitement over this little boy’s blonde locks. Not something they see around here too often. The Indonesians are delighted to take a peek at his glowing head of blonde hair and so are we, we think it’s pretty cute. I find myself unable to stop combing it over, styling it into little man hair.
A dinner call is made, we are all famished. Catherine helps me nurse for the first time and we begin making our calls home. Adrenalin was pumping through me and I was feeling good. I’m holding baby and my cell phone, so happy that I can finally call home with our good news. A memory I won’t soon forget, sharing news of our new little boy with our families. “I have a baby,” I say to my mom as she says hello.
Dinner arrives and we devour our food, I slurp down a chocolate milkshake, it is so good. We stay at YBS for the evening. Taylor is asleep quickly; I’m awake all night staring at my boy. We still haven’t named him. The baby sleeps beside me all night, very peaceful, very tired.
We hang around for a bit the next day. Lots of breastfeeding support is given and much appreciated. A bean and rice mixture with two hardboiled eggs is brought in for breakfast, I devour it. This would be the first time Taylor would comment about the role reversal- me finishing his leftovers as opposed to him always finishing mine. My appetite was on. I also devour some of the leftovers from last night’s dinner. Ooh, another milkshake is leftover, I’ll have that too. The only shot that is given to YBS babies is the vitamin K shot, Shad barely lets out a peep. He was pooped.
Late afternoon Taylor gets our trusty sopir (driver) Kadek Erik to drive us back to the bamboo house even though we are literally two blocks away. I note this is baby’s first car ride. We had planned to stay with Catherine that night, but after a shower we three just collapse in our bed. We are so tired; so content, so happy to finally have this little one with us. We are all healthy, happy and home for now.
Shad Sebes Wayan McDonald born Sunday, May 31, 2009 at Yayasan Bumi Sehat in Nyuh Kuning, Bali, Indonesia
Shad: a tidal river in Savannah, Georgia that Taylor fondly spent his childhood becoming a coastal boy
Sebes: Jeannette’s maiden name
Wayan: pronounced ‘Why-anne’; name given to all first born Balinese regardless of gender
McDonald: last name that will build character
7 lbs. 11 oz., 21 inches
