A Celebration of Women: My Birth Stories
A leading indicator of health status is a country’s maternal mortality ratio. This is the number of women who die during pregnancy or childbirth per 100,000 births. That ratio in the United States is approximately 21, according to the World Health Organization. This ratio is similar to Chile, Turkey and Lebanon. A sampling of countries ahead of the US is: Australia (7), Canada (12), and Finland (5). I want to take dedicate this month’s post to all the women who were incredibly inspirational and supportive during my two pregnancies. Both my deliveries were not without complications, however, and I fully appreciate how incredibly lucky I am to have been driven in my own car to a world-class hospital, and paid for my hospital stays with insurance.
Ibraheem changed my life . He is my firstborn and gave everyone in our family a new title. During my pregnancy, I took two life -altering courses: the Landmark Forum, and the Bradley Method of Childbirth. Both gave me immeasurable knowledge and insight into my life and the life I would bring into this world. My husband and I began creating new possibilities (Landmark) and developed a mindset that we were ordinary people who could do anything extraordinary. And so we did. During my pregnancy, I organized food drives, went on 5-mile walks, took prenatal yoga classes, traveled, and learned how to snorkel. I ate organic, made my own cleaning supplies, and hired a doula. My birth plan, shared with both my midwife and doula near the end of my pregnancy, was spectacular. I was living an extraordinary life .
Spectacular, until I was in the middle of labor (transition), with the baby at 0 station for four hours. Every midwife from the practice had come to visit me and had me move in every position I had ever learned. He was not in a good position, as I was having ‘back labor’. Alas, after four hours of pushing, I had to have an emergency C-section, and out the door went my birth plan; I was so exhausted, fatigued and frustrated that I failed my pain re-test miserably. My epidural wore off, so I felt the entire surgery. After nineteen hours of labor, Ibraheem was born with a 45-minute surgery. He was alert, quiet and very cute. Yet I was in misery and couldn’t even hold him. Watching the video in the OR, I could see the look of concern on everyone’s face, ‘why is she feeling this?’ ‘Why is she in so much pain?’ My sympathetic yet helpless midwives and doula were pacing, with nothing to contribute to my delivery but concern and emotional support and stayed past their shift was over to make sure I delivered safely. I heard my own voice, moaning, asking the surgeon when would the pain stop, when would it all be over.
My post-surgery recovery was horrible. Getting my stomach pumped for an hour post-delivery is not something they warned me about, nor was it in my birth plan! But there was one woman who made it all better. I will never forget Izume. My amazing, humble nurse picked me up and carried me to the bathroom. She ran to get me pain relievers when I told her I could not move because I could not feel my abdomen. Izume, my midwives and my doula are the women who supported me along the way.
Imraan was born 2 years later, and I was admitted to the same hospital, with the same group of midwives. This time, I arrived at the hospital at an advanced stage of labor with strong contractions. I was going to get the pain test right this time! And, I was determined to have a natural birth this time (slight risk in natural birth after caesarean). The birth plan was going according to schedule, epidural was set, labor was transitioning, but the baby wasn’t moving. And unlike Ibraheem who remained content at zero station for four hours, this baby’s heart rate was dropping. All I feared was another surgery. I had all the midwives in the room again, including my doula and my mom. Everyone was ready but I couldn’t do it. An OB from my practice signed on and took over. She announced we would need to deliver with forceps or have another surgery. Omar quickly read me some waiver and I had signed my name somewhere to use forceps. Imraan was born after only six hours of labor (half of them at home), but because of the forceps, he sustained a collarbone injury. Unlike his brother, he was crying inconsolably when he was born. (Most likely due to the injury, but we had no idea about it until his 2-week checkup. His collarbone completely healed, thankfully). I tried to comfort him but it didn’t help; I felt horrible and defeated. Another failed delivery, in my eyes. Again, I was fortunate to have been supported by my midwives, my doula, and my mom, all who never left my side. (And of course my husband who never left me alone for a minute, but this story is about women.)
The moral of this story is that with God’s grace, I had two healthy (and fun!) pregnancies. And with His mercy, my two complicated, obstructed labors ended with healthy babies in the hospital of my choosing. There will be women who have more complicated stories, no doubt. And unfortunately, some who never live to see the beautiful babies they’ve carried for nine months. Some will die because of obstructed labor, eclampsia, or pre-eclampisa or other complications. I share mine today in honor of Women’s History Month, to celebrate all the women who inspired me and helped me along my journey. Tell your story about a woman who made that difference to you, and celebrate it.
