It's official! After months of searching, researching, and corresponding with various organizations, we have decided on a location and organization, and are excited to announce that we will be making a nearly month long trip to Haiti, with the organization Midwives for Haiti.
The desire to learn more and have a greater understanding of all things has always been insatiable within me. For both Glen and I- as a doctor and a midwife, the need for learning is constant. Over the last few months, the desire to learn more and understand more, specifically about the variation of birth practices and birth outcomes, has grown within me. I was able to make the trip this past fall to Bad Wildbad, Germany, to attend the 2012 Midwifery Today conference. I was honored to be surrounded by midwives from countries all around the world, all with such common desires and goals, but still so uniquely varying- both individually and culturally. I left that quaint German town with a deeper understanding of birth from a global perspective. At the very basic level, we are caring for women and babies...but as I got a glimpse of, there is so much more that influences those practices.
Here at home in Alaska, as women's care providers and birth professionals, we strive to practice evidence-based and support normal, physiological birth. Glen and I are just two people in a growing army of birth professionals, advocates, and consumers across the state and across the United States, that see the detriment of the astronomical rate of interventions and technologies that are routinely used, and the complications that arise from such.
What is interesting and perplexing, is the varying outcomes of developed countries compared with other developed countries, as well as developed countries compared with underdeveloped countries. While we are struggling to lower our intervention rate and change our high-tech, routinely interventive ways as a means to improve our maternal and fetal outcomes, there are countries who have the opposite problem- mothers and babies are dying due to not only the lack of technology and intervention, but due to the lack of adequate nourishment, prenatal care, basic supplies needed for birth, and lastly, skilled birth attendants. In other words, women are malnourished, lacking basic prenatal care, and left to deliver their babies alone or with an attendant who is lacking any formal training. As I sit here and type from the Embassy Suites, with my family on a "stay-cation" so that we can have a weekend of movies, snacks, and swimming in the indoor pool, my Cadillac Escalade sits in the parking lot, with a packed birth kit, fully equipped with a fetoscope, doppler, birth instruments, suturing instruments, resuscitation equipment, and (when it's not 5 degrees outside) IV kits and antihemorrhagic meds. And I see the wrongness in that.
I think of the lives that could be saved from that single bag. Or with the knowledge and skill Glen and I have to give. Or even better- the knowledge and skill we can share and pass on in teaching other birth attendants. And so, being do-ers and not talkers, and putting aside the shoulda' coulda' woulda's and excuses, we have jumped in and committed ourselves to supporting Midwives for Haiti. We are so very excited. We have so much to share and teach and give and learn.
And so we ask for your help- because we cannot, nor want, to do this on our own. We need your help. We would like your sponsorship in helping to pay for the expense of the trip and for the supplies that we will be taking on our journey. Instruments, ant-hemorrhagic medications, antibiotics, IV kits, disinfectants...the list goes on. Whatever we can bring, we will. But we need money in order to bring these much needed, life-saving supplies.
We ask you to donate in support of our trip to Haiti, but we would love it if you could take it a step further and consider committing to fundraise on behalf of Midwives For Haiti. If we each spread the word and reach out into our community, we have no doubt that this community can succeed in making this the trip of a lifetime, that will benefit many, many women, babies, and families!
To donate, please go to http://midwivesforhaiti.org/index.php/donate-m4h
So that the organization may know that it is in support of our trip, please put "Team Elrod" in the 'Notes' section.
With Love,
Tara
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
*I* am a midwife
I began my journey into birth work with my own personal journey into
motherhood- the birth of my first baby. I emerged from the experience as a
mother- the repeated cliche of false assurance of a 'healthy mom and healthy baby' that I oh so cringe when I hear- but with little feelings of positivity and empowerment. I took a look
back at the events and my experience as a whole and realized that I had not
been an educated, active participant in the birth of my baby and the birth of myself as a mother. I thought to
myself, “That was not the way it could have been or SHOULD have been. There has
to be a better way!” I vowed that I would do things differently the next time
around.
In seeking my own knowledge and wanting to pass it on to support other
women, I became a Childbirth Educator and Doula. I went on to have my second
baby- an unrestricted, unmedicated, empowering birth within a hospital. Wanting
to have a larger scope of support and care, I went on to complete an intensive 2 1/2 year apprenticeship at a busy freestanding birth center, Mat-Su Midwifery- under the guidance and wisdom of some of the best midwives. During the time of my intensive training, so much life happened...settling into life in Alaska- a place I never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever live, the pregnancy and birth of my 3rd baby- born into the water, in the comfort and safety of my home- and so much knowledge, experience, and insight gained from the countless births I was a part of.
Today I found out that I passed the NARM exam. I am now a midwife. All of the sadness I had felt before about the end of my training has now been replaced by pure excitement and happiness, and some relief that my training is behind me. I know, of course, that my training and learning will never end, for as long as I am working and serving women and families...but it will be different now. Good different.
I have been doing birth work for over 6 years now- either as a Childbirth Educator, Doula, or Apprentice Midwife. I have been a part of so many pregnancies- so many births- so many lives. Most of the births I have been a part of, I can remember with clarity, better than my own births. Cumulatively, they have been just as profound as my own births.
So I want to say thank you for the many families I still have contact with... Thank you for allowing me to play a role in your story. For trusting me and confiding in me, for learning from me but also simultaneously teaching me. With every pregnancy or every birth I have attended, I have walked away as a better teacher, supporter, or midwife. You have claim to the midwife I am and will continue to grow into and I hope you realize the importance of that.
So with that said...
THERE IS SOME CELEBRATING TO BE DONE!!!!!!!
Love to all,
Tara
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Goodbye, Apprentice
I expected my feelings to be different from what they are. I walked away today, and had the feeling as though I was walking away from life as I knew it...I had, and still have, this feeling of unknown and excitement...apprehension...uneasiness...nervousness...gratefulness, and yet more unknown, inside my heart and inside my mind. I began my apprenticeship journey the same way I suppose- tangled inside all of those emotions and not knowing what I was getting myself into and what the future held. For the past two and half years I have been emerged inside two worlds- midwifery and obstetrics- straddling them, juggling them, and taking from each whatever experience and knowledge I could, and trying to put together the pieces to make up a better whole within me. I have seen birth by candlelight, silent except for the soft breath of the laboring woman, and the sight of her reaching down- unscathed, untouched, unbothered and uninterrupted, to birth and catch her baby with her own hands- as well as highly-intervened birth ending in cesarean section. I have seen shoulder dystocias, hemorrhages, and neonatal resuscitations, as well as calm and normalcy, peace and beauty. I have caught first babies and I have caught 10th babies. There was nothing lacking.
I should be happy and relieved that my apprenticeship is over. I look back at the past 2 and a half years and most of it is a blur. With the experience and gained knowledge came huge personal and family sacrifices. But for some reason I am not feeling happiness, nor relief. I'm standing here looking back at a time that was monumental for me, seeing that the door has gradually been closing and the dynamics shifting. I am wondering what comes next...and how and why and when. The flavor of change seems to be bittersweet. Sadness for the termination of what once was, and excitement of what is coming.
I am so, so grateful for the midwife who gave me a chance. She didn't have to, and I have always known that and respected that. I've learned through the eyes of my own training and the training of others that to have an apprentice is no easy feat. With it comes self-limitation, self-sacrifice, and the burden of the weight of true patience. I am grateful for the patience and the service and the dedication that each midwife has given in passing on their knowledge and experiences to me.
And to my husband- the epitome of what an Obstetrician should be- Thank you...for being you, for sharing your knowledge with me, for learning along with me, and for allowing me to share my knowledge with you and actually valuing it and applying it within your own practice and how you care for women and birth. We have so much to learn and share with each other...and so much to give to the world. We are truly Integrated.
The NARM exam awaits me in 6 days. Here's to the future.
I should be happy and relieved that my apprenticeship is over. I look back at the past 2 and a half years and most of it is a blur. With the experience and gained knowledge came huge personal and family sacrifices. But for some reason I am not feeling happiness, nor relief. I'm standing here looking back at a time that was monumental for me, seeing that the door has gradually been closing and the dynamics shifting. I am wondering what comes next...and how and why and when. The flavor of change seems to be bittersweet. Sadness for the termination of what once was, and excitement of what is coming.
I am so, so grateful for the midwife who gave me a chance. She didn't have to, and I have always known that and respected that. I've learned through the eyes of my own training and the training of others that to have an apprentice is no easy feat. With it comes self-limitation, self-sacrifice, and the burden of the weight of true patience. I am grateful for the patience and the service and the dedication that each midwife has given in passing on their knowledge and experiences to me.
And to my husband- the epitome of what an Obstetrician should be- Thank you...for being you, for sharing your knowledge with me, for learning along with me, and for allowing me to share my knowledge with you and actually valuing it and applying it within your own practice and how you care for women and birth. We have so much to learn and share with each other...and so much to give to the world. We are truly Integrated.
The NARM exam awaits me in 6 days. Here's to the future.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Holy Births and Howling Babies
As a mom labored down the hall tonight, I quietly opened up Varney’s Midwifery. For the first time ever, I noticed the poem that discreetly lies at the very beginning of the text. It resonated with me. So very much.
Holy Births and Howling Babies
In my backyard there are nuns who live in a shaded brick building
next to the St. Stanislaus church and elementary school.
Together we rise before the sun is in the sky.
Behind the kitchen curtain, in the damp haze of morning,
I watch them walk in shades of blue robe.
They glide in white sneakers across the parking lot.
They are cool, calm, brisk.
Some day, I’ll go see them
I’ll ask for some lesson on prayer.
Because the thing is…I pray now.
Not Dear God Almighty!
Just low, easy, quiet thoughts.
I pray when my patience is worn.
When my shoulders ache.
When my own voice becomes tiring to my ears.
I pray when my heart sits heavy with stories and faces of women.
A prayer for the 32 week babe.
A prayer for the lady with the skinny, squawking twins.
A prayer for the woman without a mother, or a lover, or a friend.
I pray when my cold hands run across a pregnant belly
and I feel a kick from inside.
I pray for all my babies, Be good to your mama.
I pray for all my mothers, Be strong, be good to this baby.
I pray secretly and I pray slowly.
I pray for us, the midwives and almost-midwives.
I pray that we make the right decisions.
And I pray for those of us who make bad decisions.
Decisions we regret with outcomes we can’t change.
I pray that we learn from our mistakes.
That with age comes wisdom.
I pray deeply and I pray completely.
For all of the hands and all of the bellies.
I pray for holy births and howling babies.
By Dana Quealy, CNM, MSN
Holy Births and Howling Babies
In my backyard there are nuns who live in a shaded brick building
next to the St. Stanislaus church and elementary school.
Together we rise before the sun is in the sky.
Behind the kitchen curtain, in the damp haze of morning,
I watch them walk in shades of blue robe.
They glide in white sneakers across the parking lot.
They are cool, calm, brisk.
Some day, I’ll go see them
I’ll ask for some lesson on prayer.
Because the thing is…I pray now.
Not Dear God Almighty!
Just low, easy, quiet thoughts.
I pray when my patience is worn.
When my shoulders ache.
When my own voice becomes tiring to my ears.
I pray when my heart sits heavy with stories and faces of women.
A prayer for the 32 week babe.
A prayer for the lady with the skinny, squawking twins.
A prayer for the woman without a mother, or a lover, or a friend.
I pray when my cold hands run across a pregnant belly
and I feel a kick from inside.
I pray for all my babies, Be good to your mama.
I pray for all my mothers, Be strong, be good to this baby.
I pray secretly and I pray slowly.
I pray for us, the midwives and almost-midwives.
I pray that we make the right decisions.
And I pray for those of us who make bad decisions.
Decisions we regret with outcomes we can’t change.
I pray that we learn from our mistakes.
That with age comes wisdom.
I pray deeply and I pray completely.
For all of the hands and all of the bellies.
I pray for holy births and howling babies.
By Dana Quealy, CNM, MSN
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Professional Juggler
I recently watched the movie, “I Don't Know How She Does It.” I sat there and, through the emotional tugs at my heart from sadness and sentiment and blended in laughs, with my tears and laughter I nodded my head in pure understanding. Not only could I relate to Kate- the professional mother and her struggles and antics that this movie revolved around, but I WAS, AM, this character. Professional mother? Mother of profession? I am certainly not either, but every day I strive to balance it all- some days I succeed in my balance, and some days fall nothing short of epic failures.
Kate is a motivated, self-driven, sexy vixen of a professional woman. In one of the best scenes, she sits in front of a business big wig, trying to close a huge business deal, and while at a glance she appears to be well put together and the epitome of a professional, every time her business counterpart looks away, she is frantically scratching her severely tossled mane of hair due to an aggressive infestation of head lice that she gotten from her preschooler. He looks up. She immediately stops scratching and gives a smile and a seemingly attentive nod of understanding. He glances back down to his documents. She scratches with fury for relief.
Wow…That sucks…That’s hilarious…That’s totally so many modern-day women, yet it doesn’t get talked about like it should.
Yesterday, running ever so slightly behind schedule (something I cannot honestly say is not my norm), I walk into Ethan’s classroom to drop him off. As we are saying goodbye, one of his classmates- a teeny petite little red-head girl, comes up to me, says, “Hi Ethan’s mom,” and wraps her arms around my leg, burying her face into my leg to give me a big squeeze. I smile and then hurriedly rush off. Minutes later, as I walk into work, Adria in her infant carrier slung on one arm and my iPad and iPhone in the other hand, I happen to glance down and notice a green, quarter-sized glob of snot on my brand new, gray dress pants. I flash back to that cute little ginger, burying her face into my leg to give me love, and I cringe knowing that some kid’s snot is dangling from my pants. Bleh. Gag. Yucky, Honey. And so, not wanting to walk into the office with such bedazzlement, not having any tissue or extra hands to properly clean myself up, I bend down and flick the ginormous gooey booger onto the ground. Mental note to self: go wash hands. I walk to the sink, wash my hands and scurry about my day.
Fast forward through the day: paperwork, phone calls, client/patient appointments, midwifery schoolwork, picking kids up from school, and being the ultimate ring master- I am, once again, running late for a very important dinner meeting. I’m driving, attempting to put on my lip gloss, and I’m wondering to myself, “What the HELL is that smell? I seriously have the permanent smell of baby crap on me.” I park, check my teeth in the mirror, adjust my boobs, and jump out of the car, all but running into the restaurant. As I’m approaching the door I look down to my pants and see that while I did indeed get the glob of booger from earlier, I seemed to have missed cleaning up the trailing snot smear that was left behind. Crap. Dammit. I lick my fingers to get them wet and try to rub it off as I walk through the door. I get a waft of air and simultaneously think to myself again, “What IS that smell?!!” I look down into my Louis Vuitton and see the answer. A dirty cloth diaper that I tied in a grocery bag and stuck in my purse the previous day. Oh nice. I am on a roll. I am a sensuous, aromatic wave of Flora by Gucci a la baby crap. But I don’t skip a beat. I smile and introduce myself to the OB recruiter we are dining with. As I shake his hand I contemplate vocalizing the words in my head, “Oh hello, nice to meet you. Don’t mind the breastmilk on my shirt, the mucous on my dress pants, and the aroma of baby poop that I brought in with me. It’s just the dirty diaper I’m carrying around in my purse. No worries. This is normal. All normal. I promise.”
My point? I’m honestly not sure. Maybe just to tell all you women- stay at home or working- that perhaps “I Don't Know How She Does It” is right…
…are we just women? Just mothers? Midwives? Teachers? Students? Whatever titles or roles you may hold. No, perhaps the description most fitting is ‘Juggler.’ I am a juggler. Not the most skilled, and certainly not perfect, but I do try. And, if anything, it is usually quite entertaining.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Made at Home, Born at Home: The Birth of Adria
If I could give you a glimpse into our life- specifically, where we’ve been, what we’ve come from, and what our life is on a daily basis- I think you might be incredibly surprised. There are occasions when I think of it and the sheer craziness of it all leaves me in awe. It will never cease to amaze me the twists and turns of life and that in which we are capable of arising from…and, how when things are truly meant to be, they will be…even when it seems the world is rotating in another direction, trying to catapult you opposite of where you’re trying to go.
I look back on the past couple of years, perhaps more specifically this last year- not just in MY independent life, but rather OUR life as ‘Tara and Glen’- as the couple, as a family, as birth professionals and business owners- in every sense of ‘US,’ this has been an incredible year…filled with ups and downs, overwhelming highs and gut-wrenching lows. A marriage in September, not of just a man and a woman but the joining of five lives and the making of a blended, true “his, hers, and ours,” getting pregnant in October, miscarrying in November, and getting pregnant again in December. Whew! With January 2011 came a new calendar year and immediate trials in our professional life- a warped, blindsided, solitary confinement of sorts. A true testament of Glen either bowing his head just to make life easier, or standing up and hunkering down in what he believed in and the kind of care he wanted to provide, and in turn, wearing the Scarlet Letter as punishment. And so he wears it proudly.
Gain and loss, shunnment and perseverance, love and growth and lessons learned, and the underlying theme to our life- Birth- prevailed. The birth of change. The birth of new things. The birth of growth. Personally and professionally and all of it intertwined. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary together on September 4th 2011 , and the very next week (as I write this, just 5 days ago) we would welcome a new baby girl, Adria, into our family.
As is most things in life, my pregnancy with Adria was nothing like what I had already experienced or expected it would be. Her birth was fittingly true to this as well, and so I want to share it… It might just be another birth story to some, but it is our story, and HER story, and it means more than I could ever express with words…
On Tuesday, September 13th, I was attending a Childbirth Educator training. I had been cramping in the morning but went anyway. Over the course of an hour it got progressively more uncomfortable and I found myself not able to get comfortable in my seat or even concentrate on what the educator was saying. It might as well have been in Chinese…the words coming out of the lady’s mouth and topics being discussed were just blurbs of nothingingness floating into my ears. I texted Glen to see what he was doing and to tell him that I thought I should probably head home- that all of a sudden contractions had come out of nowhere and my back was THROBBING. He texted back and said he was just about to start a 90 minute surgery. Great.
I headed to the car. I was in there about a minute, got another contraction, and this time, vomited with it. As soon as I gained my composure, I called Tonya to ask her if she could meet me at the house. I didn’t want to be alone for the next couple of hours until Glen was able to get home. With each contraction I would vomit. “Why don’t you just pull over to the side of the road,” she asked? I had been vomiting in the console of the car, and did not want to stop. “No, I just want to get home.” Every contraction was a triple whammy- the actual contraction, the intense back pain, and the violent vomiting that accompanied.
I got home and immediately drew a bath and got in. The water helped, but only ever so slightly. Tonya got there within 5 minutes. I don’t remember the entire ordeal very crisply, but I do remember, in no chronological order I am sure, alternating between hands and knees, back and forth between the bath and the shower, attempting to find some relief. The hot water did feel so good, but would eventually cause more problems than it helped to alleviate. Lesson learned? Don’t let me run my own bath or shower. Or Doppler myself.
“WHERE is Glen? Is he almost here? Can’t he get someone to fill in for him and come home now?” These are questions I kept asking Tonya. She called Glen and no, he was right in the middle of the case and had to finish.
“Maybe we should call someone. Do you want me to call someone? Who should I call?” Tonya would ask.
“No, no, no, I’m fine.” Or, “I don’t think so.” Or, “I don’t know…what do you think?” I’m not sure which is worse- my stubbornness or my indecisiveness.
“Yes, we should call someone. Who would you like me to call?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a preference?” I asked her as if it were her birth. I didn’t want to be bothered with thinking.
I was half-oblivious, wishy-washy, and indecisive. Me in labor.
About this time I started to shake like a leaf, in addition to the puking which had continued. Likely a combination of a few things- the intensity of it all, dehydration from the vomiting and the toll it was taking on my body, and probably the biggest factor of all- my temperature rising from the hot bath and shower I had essentially been camped out in.
A midwife colleague got there and Glen got there not very long afterward. My temp was elevated and the baby’s heartrate was elevated as well. I got out of the bath, IV fluids were started, and I got into any position I could that would help the baby turn from the posterior position she was in.
To make a long story short, that day or night was not the labor or birth of Adria. Things would putz out. And then start again. And putz out. Perhaps slightly frustrating, but the good news was the rest and the position change that the baby would make…which made a world in difference in how and where I felt the discomfort. So we took what we were given and we were thankful.
True labor would come Thursday.
Around 5pm on Thursday I started contracting. Although they were strong enough to notice and fairly regular, they were certainly not anything to write home about. I very often tell the expectant moms who attend my childbirth class to ignore contractions…put them in the back of your mind and carry on with your business as usual…until you come to a place where you find that they have gotten so intense that it is simply impossible to ignore them any longer. They are DEMANDING your attention. I laugh at this, with hindsight being 20/20… At 7pm I yelled down to Glen, who had been watching TV with Candice, “Glen?!”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Could you come here?” I was slightly irritated.
He gets up from the sofa and comes upstairs to our bedroom, where I was.
“WHAT have you been doing?” I asked him. I knew full-well where he had been and what he had been doing. He had been within my sight the entire time.
Innocently he says, “I’ve been on the couch watching TV with Candice.”
“Well, WHY haven’t you even checked on me?!,” I asked, as though it were completely normal for me to expect to be ‘checked on’ for no apparent reason. My eyes started to well up with tears. I looked away so he wouldn’t see. I was slightly irked and being emotional for no apparent reason, and I wanted him close.
I knew then that I was going to be having a baby soon.
Candice left to go home for the night and to do homework, and from that point on, Glen stayed with me. He quickly realized that I was contracting every 2-3 minutes. I was completely fine, completely normal, and very excited in between contractions. At this point though, the intenseness was now noticeable. With every contraction, I would rush back over to lean on the bed from wherever I had wandered to, and beckon Glen to caress my back. It would be over and I would go back to what I had been doing- in between contractions, putting on my make-up. I couldn’t fathom being unpresentable for meeting Adria and looking a mess in our birth pictures. So a little eyeshadow here, a contraction. Finish up that eye. A contraction. On to the next eye. A contraction. Ok, mascara. A contraction. I got it done in bits and pieces. The beauty of contractions is that each one goes away. I was actually enjoying this.
After a half hour of Glen watching me do this and have contractions every 2-3 minutes like clockwork, Glen started to say to me that he thought we should call someone ( one of the midwives), that the contractions were really close. I think he was getting nervous. I still felt fine. And further, I’m stubborn. I was fine and I didn’t need an audience.
“We can call someone when I’m in transition,” I told him.
“TRANSITION!?! No! If we wait that long, they’ll miss it!”
In my mind- I had everyone there that truly NEEDED to be there. Him and I. It was all I needed anyway- Me to birth this baby and him to support me in doing so and making sure things were safe. No place to go, no rushing about. Quite simple really.
Then, in the matter of this 5 minute conversation of him insisting we should call someone, I had a couple contractions and noticed the intensity had increased a bit and I now I felt the need to get some relief by doing something other than what I had been doing. I knew it would be a good time to get in the water. Knowing what I was feeling and that I was progressing, the next time Glen mentioned calling the midwife, I reluctantly said, “Fine. Alright. Ok. Go ahead and draw me a bath and call.”
At 7:45pm he called Jennifer, one of the midwives I work with, and I got into the tub. I still felt great. Just uncomfortable for the brief duration of the contraction, and great in between. I would end up only getting out of the water twice, briefly to pee, and would give birth to Adria 3 hours and 43 minutes later.
A few weeks prior to labor, I had told Glen that I did not want to be “checked” during labor. I didn’t want anyone asking me if I wanted my cervix to be checked or be bothered with it. Dilation meant nothing to me. I didn’t want to be working hard and then be told I was 3 cm. I didn’t want to have to think or worry or obsess about a number that really didn’t mean a whole lot and subject myself to having the intrusion.
And so, perhaps one of the best things about my labor and birth with Adria is that my cervix was never once checked. It didn’t need to be. I had said to Glen as I got in the tub, “I’m about 5cm.” Then later I would say to him and Jennifer, the midwife, “I’m about 6-7.” I had no TRUE knowledge of that. I was telling them what I thought, based on how I felt. What a concept!
And so I floated and swayed and rocked in the water through labor. Glen would hang alongside the tub and provide me his pinky…not his hand, but just his pinky. I didn’t like the firmness of holding his entire hand, but preferred just hanging on to his little finger while I floated through a contraction. One finger afforded me the ability to float and rock and sway through the currents however I wanted, maneuvering however I wanted, without the constraint of being tethered to his hand. I would begin to feel another one coming on and ask for his pinky. Even through labor, I could see the comedy in this.
And so I labored by candlelight, in the water, with him by my side, my Pandora station playing various favorite songs in the background. Candice and Tonya and Jennifer remained in the background- there as support in their presence but not intrusive. This scene rang very much true to my personality- my independence intact but yet appreciative of the optional support that surrounded me. Glen may have been barricaded from me by the bathtub, but in my mind I very much needed him there and just by his presence alongside me, he soothed me.
Labor for me was only intense for about 45 minutes. And even though it was intense for but a brief moment in time, I still looked to my support people for support.
“Say something nice to me,” or “Say something positive,” I would say.
“You’re getting so close.” “You’re almost done,” both Glen and Jennifer said at one point during a contraction.
I opened my eyes and glaringly looked at them and very adamantly said, “Don’t tell me I’m getting ‘so close’ or that I’m almost done. You have no idea. I could be 4cm for all you know!” And so they laughed at me. Glen muttered something about how between the two of them they had ONLY probably witnessed a few thousand births. What did they know anyway?
It was important to me to deliver and ‘catch’ the baby on my own, with minimal interference, so long as everything was well. I didn’t want anyone else’s hands down there, doing unnecessary things and distracting me. Glen and I had talked about it and I had told him that I wanted to deliver the baby’s head and then have him help me with her shoulders and body. Funny enough, it ended up being the opposite- he helped me with her head, and I brought her up from there. I remember feeling her head for the first time, as she started to crown. Glen felt as well. I looked at him and said, in an almost giving-him-permission sort of way, “You can do whatever you have to do.” So he reached down and supported my perineum and helped me ease her head out. Then with my hands guiding her, I pushed the rest of Adria out into my hands and brought her up from the water, straight to my chest.
In that instant, life seemed surreal. Not just from enduring labor and experiencing the birth of our baby, but the culmination of our life and the transformative rollercoaster of a year that we had lived through. WOW. Did we really just have a baby? YES! We just had a baby. We had wanted this baby from day one. Her birth meant so much- represents so much- in so many ways. Adria Kinley Elrod had arrived- brought into this world by our own hands, the way we wanted, and the way we believed to be the best and the safest.
Made at home, born at home. Beautifully and safely.
I look back on the past couple of years, perhaps more specifically this last year- not just in MY independent life, but rather OUR life as ‘Tara and Glen’- as the couple, as a family, as birth professionals and business owners- in every sense of ‘US,’ this has been an incredible year…filled with ups and downs, overwhelming highs and gut-wrenching lows. A marriage in September, not of just a man and a woman but the joining of five lives and the making of a blended, true “his, hers, and ours,” getting pregnant in October, miscarrying in November, and getting pregnant again in December. Whew! With January 2011 came a new calendar year and immediate trials in our professional life- a warped, blindsided, solitary confinement of sorts. A true testament of Glen either bowing his head just to make life easier, or standing up and hunkering down in what he believed in and the kind of care he wanted to provide, and in turn, wearing the Scarlet Letter as punishment. And so he wears it proudly.
Gain and loss, shunnment and perseverance, love and growth and lessons learned, and the underlying theme to our life- Birth- prevailed. The birth of change. The birth of new things. The birth of growth. Personally and professionally and all of it intertwined. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary together on September 4th 2011 , and the very next week (as I write this, just 5 days ago) we would welcome a new baby girl, Adria, into our family.
As is most things in life, my pregnancy with Adria was nothing like what I had already experienced or expected it would be. Her birth was fittingly true to this as well, and so I want to share it… It might just be another birth story to some, but it is our story, and HER story, and it means more than I could ever express with words…
On Tuesday, September 13th, I was attending a Childbirth Educator training. I had been cramping in the morning but went anyway. Over the course of an hour it got progressively more uncomfortable and I found myself not able to get comfortable in my seat or even concentrate on what the educator was saying. It might as well have been in Chinese…the words coming out of the lady’s mouth and topics being discussed were just blurbs of nothingingness floating into my ears. I texted Glen to see what he was doing and to tell him that I thought I should probably head home- that all of a sudden contractions had come out of nowhere and my back was THROBBING. He texted back and said he was just about to start a 90 minute surgery. Great.
I headed to the car. I was in there about a minute, got another contraction, and this time, vomited with it. As soon as I gained my composure, I called Tonya to ask her if she could meet me at the house. I didn’t want to be alone for the next couple of hours until Glen was able to get home. With each contraction I would vomit. “Why don’t you just pull over to the side of the road,” she asked? I had been vomiting in the console of the car, and did not want to stop. “No, I just want to get home.” Every contraction was a triple whammy- the actual contraction, the intense back pain, and the violent vomiting that accompanied.
I got home and immediately drew a bath and got in. The water helped, but only ever so slightly. Tonya got there within 5 minutes. I don’t remember the entire ordeal very crisply, but I do remember, in no chronological order I am sure, alternating between hands and knees, back and forth between the bath and the shower, attempting to find some relief. The hot water did feel so good, but would eventually cause more problems than it helped to alleviate. Lesson learned? Don’t let me run my own bath or shower. Or Doppler myself.
“WHERE is Glen? Is he almost here? Can’t he get someone to fill in for him and come home now?” These are questions I kept asking Tonya. She called Glen and no, he was right in the middle of the case and had to finish.
“Maybe we should call someone. Do you want me to call someone? Who should I call?” Tonya would ask.
“No, no, no, I’m fine.” Or, “I don’t think so.” Or, “I don’t know…what do you think?” I’m not sure which is worse- my stubbornness or my indecisiveness.
“Yes, we should call someone. Who would you like me to call?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a preference?” I asked her as if it were her birth. I didn’t want to be bothered with thinking.
I was half-oblivious, wishy-washy, and indecisive. Me in labor.
About this time I started to shake like a leaf, in addition to the puking which had continued. Likely a combination of a few things- the intensity of it all, dehydration from the vomiting and the toll it was taking on my body, and probably the biggest factor of all- my temperature rising from the hot bath and shower I had essentially been camped out in.
A midwife colleague got there and Glen got there not very long afterward. My temp was elevated and the baby’s heartrate was elevated as well. I got out of the bath, IV fluids were started, and I got into any position I could that would help the baby turn from the posterior position she was in.
To make a long story short, that day or night was not the labor or birth of Adria. Things would putz out. And then start again. And putz out. Perhaps slightly frustrating, but the good news was the rest and the position change that the baby would make…which made a world in difference in how and where I felt the discomfort. So we took what we were given and we were thankful.
True labor would come Thursday.
Around 5pm on Thursday I started contracting. Although they were strong enough to notice and fairly regular, they were certainly not anything to write home about. I very often tell the expectant moms who attend my childbirth class to ignore contractions…put them in the back of your mind and carry on with your business as usual…until you come to a place where you find that they have gotten so intense that it is simply impossible to ignore them any longer. They are DEMANDING your attention. I laugh at this, with hindsight being 20/20… At 7pm I yelled down to Glen, who had been watching TV with Candice, “Glen?!”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Could you come here?” I was slightly irritated.
He gets up from the sofa and comes upstairs to our bedroom, where I was.
“WHAT have you been doing?” I asked him. I knew full-well where he had been and what he had been doing. He had been within my sight the entire time.
Innocently he says, “I’ve been on the couch watching TV with Candice.”
“Well, WHY haven’t you even checked on me?!,” I asked, as though it were completely normal for me to expect to be ‘checked on’ for no apparent reason. My eyes started to well up with tears. I looked away so he wouldn’t see. I was slightly irked and being emotional for no apparent reason, and I wanted him close.
I knew then that I was going to be having a baby soon.
Candice left to go home for the night and to do homework, and from that point on, Glen stayed with me. He quickly realized that I was contracting every 2-3 minutes. I was completely fine, completely normal, and very excited in between contractions. At this point though, the intenseness was now noticeable. With every contraction, I would rush back over to lean on the bed from wherever I had wandered to, and beckon Glen to caress my back. It would be over and I would go back to what I had been doing- in between contractions, putting on my make-up. I couldn’t fathom being unpresentable for meeting Adria and looking a mess in our birth pictures. So a little eyeshadow here, a contraction. Finish up that eye. A contraction. On to the next eye. A contraction. Ok, mascara. A contraction. I got it done in bits and pieces. The beauty of contractions is that each one goes away. I was actually enjoying this.
After a half hour of Glen watching me do this and have contractions every 2-3 minutes like clockwork, Glen started to say to me that he thought we should call someone ( one of the midwives), that the contractions were really close. I think he was getting nervous. I still felt fine. And further, I’m stubborn. I was fine and I didn’t need an audience.
“We can call someone when I’m in transition,” I told him.
“TRANSITION!?! No! If we wait that long, they’ll miss it!”
In my mind- I had everyone there that truly NEEDED to be there. Him and I. It was all I needed anyway- Me to birth this baby and him to support me in doing so and making sure things were safe. No place to go, no rushing about. Quite simple really.
Then, in the matter of this 5 minute conversation of him insisting we should call someone, I had a couple contractions and noticed the intensity had increased a bit and I now I felt the need to get some relief by doing something other than what I had been doing. I knew it would be a good time to get in the water. Knowing what I was feeling and that I was progressing, the next time Glen mentioned calling the midwife, I reluctantly said, “Fine. Alright. Ok. Go ahead and draw me a bath and call.”
At 7:45pm he called Jennifer, one of the midwives I work with, and I got into the tub. I still felt great. Just uncomfortable for the brief duration of the contraction, and great in between. I would end up only getting out of the water twice, briefly to pee, and would give birth to Adria 3 hours and 43 minutes later.
A few weeks prior to labor, I had told Glen that I did not want to be “checked” during labor. I didn’t want anyone asking me if I wanted my cervix to be checked or be bothered with it. Dilation meant nothing to me. I didn’t want to be working hard and then be told I was 3 cm. I didn’t want to have to think or worry or obsess about a number that really didn’t mean a whole lot and subject myself to having the intrusion.
And so, perhaps one of the best things about my labor and birth with Adria is that my cervix was never once checked. It didn’t need to be. I had said to Glen as I got in the tub, “I’m about 5cm.” Then later I would say to him and Jennifer, the midwife, “I’m about 6-7.” I had no TRUE knowledge of that. I was telling them what I thought, based on how I felt. What a concept!
And so I floated and swayed and rocked in the water through labor. Glen would hang alongside the tub and provide me his pinky…not his hand, but just his pinky. I didn’t like the firmness of holding his entire hand, but preferred just hanging on to his little finger while I floated through a contraction. One finger afforded me the ability to float and rock and sway through the currents however I wanted, maneuvering however I wanted, without the constraint of being tethered to his hand. I would begin to feel another one coming on and ask for his pinky. Even through labor, I could see the comedy in this.
And so I labored by candlelight, in the water, with him by my side, my Pandora station playing various favorite songs in the background. Candice and Tonya and Jennifer remained in the background- there as support in their presence but not intrusive. This scene rang very much true to my personality- my independence intact but yet appreciative of the optional support that surrounded me. Glen may have been barricaded from me by the bathtub, but in my mind I very much needed him there and just by his presence alongside me, he soothed me.
Labor for me was only intense for about 45 minutes. And even though it was intense for but a brief moment in time, I still looked to my support people for support.
“Say something nice to me,” or “Say something positive,” I would say.
“You’re getting so close.” “You’re almost done,” both Glen and Jennifer said at one point during a contraction.
I opened my eyes and glaringly looked at them and very adamantly said, “Don’t tell me I’m getting ‘so close’ or that I’m almost done. You have no idea. I could be 4cm for all you know!” And so they laughed at me. Glen muttered something about how between the two of them they had ONLY probably witnessed a few thousand births. What did they know anyway?
It was important to me to deliver and ‘catch’ the baby on my own, with minimal interference, so long as everything was well. I didn’t want anyone else’s hands down there, doing unnecessary things and distracting me. Glen and I had talked about it and I had told him that I wanted to deliver the baby’s head and then have him help me with her shoulders and body. Funny enough, it ended up being the opposite- he helped me with her head, and I brought her up from there. I remember feeling her head for the first time, as she started to crown. Glen felt as well. I looked at him and said, in an almost giving-him-permission sort of way, “You can do whatever you have to do.” So he reached down and supported my perineum and helped me ease her head out. Then with my hands guiding her, I pushed the rest of Adria out into my hands and brought her up from the water, straight to my chest.
In that instant, life seemed surreal. Not just from enduring labor and experiencing the birth of our baby, but the culmination of our life and the transformative rollercoaster of a year that we had lived through. WOW. Did we really just have a baby? YES! We just had a baby. We had wanted this baby from day one. Her birth meant so much- represents so much- in so many ways. Adria Kinley Elrod had arrived- brought into this world by our own hands, the way we wanted, and the way we believed to be the best and the safest.
Made at home, born at home. Beautifully and safely.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
I Hardly Knew Her Name
Not very long ago, I was asked to provide doula support to a mom who was planning a VBAC. Perhaps not so very unusual of an event in my life, but what was most interesting about this situation was that the idea of receiving doula support seemed to be much an afterthought for this client. Most of my clients tend to hire me in the first or second trimester, or at least know they are considering a doula. This particular client was by sheer happenstance.
In our practice, women who have had a prior c-section and desire to deliver vaginally are required to take our childbirth class. Why? For a plethora of reasons. They might learn new information or honestly, they might not. Maybe they know it all already. Cliché or not, hindsight tends to be crisply and painfully 20/20. Most women, in my experience, who have had a ‘bad’ birth experience or a c-section they feel was unnecessary, tend to re-look at it in the aftermath and see the “shoulda’ coulda’ woulda’” of it all. In turn, they become even more educated, even more prepared, even stronger, and even more determined the next time around. So the REAL point to the required childbirth class is to get minds thinking and open the doors of communication and trust. WE learn what to expect from THEM and THEY learn what to expect from US…and sometimes, how to meet in the middle, how to work together so that the goal is reached…not just a “Healthy mom and healthy baby” (because Lord knows I despise that saying…), but a healthy mom, a healthy baby, AND a woman and family which feel that their needs were met, they were supported, listened to, and given the reigns in their own care.
But anyhow, I digress…
So there she was- 37 weeks pregnant and sitting in my childbirth class- our very first time meeting. She sat there quietly and didn’t say much. But at the end of class, after only having “known” me for 3 hours and hardly a handful of words exchanged between us, she asked if it was too late to hire me as her doula. And as I would find out, it would be just her and I. No husband, no family, no other support.
That was the last time I saw her before the day she gave birth, just about a week later. The difference between her and other clients is that I never really got to know her and she never really got to know me. We were essentially just mere strangers, who happened to cross paths, and (hopefully) share the same thoughts and beliefs about birth. I may not have known her from Eve, but I knew she wanted- more than anything- a healthy, normal, vaginal delivery, in which she felt supported. That was good enough for me. She may not have known me from Eve, but she had seen enough to know I was passionate in what I taught, that the words that came from my mouth were genuine, and that I believed she could do it. And so that was good enough for her.
On the day she went into labor, we corresponded back and forth, all throughout the day. As the natural progression usually goes, she increasingly sounded more and more uncomfortable, and more hesitant in carrying out my suggestions of warm showers, rest, tea- the array of positions and relaxation techniques that tend to be suggested in early labor. Exhausted I’m sure, and mentally worn, weary, and wondering if any of her work had made a damn bit of difference after working hard all day, she decided to head to the hospital. We got there and she was 8cm. : )
Many things about that birth stick out in my mind, but perhaps what is the most interesting aspect (and you might find this to be horrible and look badly upon me as a doula, but afterall, it is part of the point I am trying to make), is that I literally could not remember her name. Perhaps because of the intensity of the atmosphere, but more likely due to that I simply did not know much about her, her name would not come to me. I would open my mouth to give her words of encouragement and praise, and yet I had to catch myself from using her name because it simply was not there. I remember every time I wanted to address her, having to look over at the computer monitor so that I could see her name. An abstract piece of technology with patient details and irrelevant information displayed, and there I was relying on it to remind me of my client’s name. The first time in my career as a doula that I had ever found myself doing such a thing.
But it didn’t really matter. She was working hard and focused on everything that really mattered- working with her body, physically and mentally, and working to bring her baby into the world. I was there as support- verbally encouraging her, explaining what needed to be explained and how close she was getting, verbalizing how great she was doing and how strong she was, and how she was going to have her baby in her arms soon. It is always amazing to me how strong and captive one’s words are. She may not have truly known me outside the walls of a Dr.’s office or a labor and delivery room, but she believed in my words and trusted their meaning, and what I said held weight and made a difference.
“I can’t do it, I can’t do it, oh GOD, I can’t do it!” she said exasperated, discouraged, defeated. And I felt for her, as a woman who witnesses birth but also as a woman who has been there before and who has experienced it. I could feel that overwhelming emotion of encountering a 60 foot brick wall in front of you, when scaling it seems nothing short of impossible. Whether it’s you first baby or your third or tenth or your attempted VBAC, you get to that place of mental or physical exhaustion and you’re not entirely sure how it’s possible to carry on. There is no end in sight.
And so my response to her, ‘I can’t do it’?
“Yes, you can do it. You ARE doing it. This is it…You’re in the midst of it. It’s happening and you are doing great. You are making a conscious effort to have your baby the way that YOU wanted, and to give him the best birth that you can give him. You asked for this, and wanted it, and have worked so hard for this. You are DOING IT and you are giving him a beautiful birth.”
And so we danced that danced. She would start to doubt or start to fear and I would simply reinforce what she already knew. And 30 minutes into that, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy… Vaginally, unmedicated, fully-aware, fully-feeling, fully conscious, surrounded by nothing but positivity and support.
Part of why VBAC’s hold a special place in my heart has to do with the aftermath- those particular feelings of triumph and empowerment that happen afterward. It’s present with all births, but yet even more potently present with moms who have succeeded and triumphed in their vaginal birth after cesarean. And it was all over her face. I remember saying, “I can only imagine how gloriously victorious you must feel right now. You did it!”
And in the end I may hardly have known her name and really not have known her at all. But all she wanted, all she really NEEDED, was someone to listen to her and respect her desires, her body, and the process…to encourage her, and therefore give her a fighting chance at being successful. Isn’t that what we all want and need?
And so I think of her and it seems so simple. But yet it’s not. Just like so many other things.
In our practice, women who have had a prior c-section and desire to deliver vaginally are required to take our childbirth class. Why? For a plethora of reasons. They might learn new information or honestly, they might not. Maybe they know it all already. Cliché or not, hindsight tends to be crisply and painfully 20/20. Most women, in my experience, who have had a ‘bad’ birth experience or a c-section they feel was unnecessary, tend to re-look at it in the aftermath and see the “shoulda’ coulda’ woulda’” of it all. In turn, they become even more educated, even more prepared, even stronger, and even more determined the next time around. So the REAL point to the required childbirth class is to get minds thinking and open the doors of communication and trust. WE learn what to expect from THEM and THEY learn what to expect from US…and sometimes, how to meet in the middle, how to work together so that the goal is reached…not just a “Healthy mom and healthy baby” (because Lord knows I despise that saying…), but a healthy mom, a healthy baby, AND a woman and family which feel that their needs were met, they were supported, listened to, and given the reigns in their own care.
But anyhow, I digress…
So there she was- 37 weeks pregnant and sitting in my childbirth class- our very first time meeting. She sat there quietly and didn’t say much. But at the end of class, after only having “known” me for 3 hours and hardly a handful of words exchanged between us, she asked if it was too late to hire me as her doula. And as I would find out, it would be just her and I. No husband, no family, no other support.
That was the last time I saw her before the day she gave birth, just about a week later. The difference between her and other clients is that I never really got to know her and she never really got to know me. We were essentially just mere strangers, who happened to cross paths, and (hopefully) share the same thoughts and beliefs about birth. I may not have known her from Eve, but I knew she wanted- more than anything- a healthy, normal, vaginal delivery, in which she felt supported. That was good enough for me. She may not have known me from Eve, but she had seen enough to know I was passionate in what I taught, that the words that came from my mouth were genuine, and that I believed she could do it. And so that was good enough for her.
On the day she went into labor, we corresponded back and forth, all throughout the day. As the natural progression usually goes, she increasingly sounded more and more uncomfortable, and more hesitant in carrying out my suggestions of warm showers, rest, tea- the array of positions and relaxation techniques that tend to be suggested in early labor. Exhausted I’m sure, and mentally worn, weary, and wondering if any of her work had made a damn bit of difference after working hard all day, she decided to head to the hospital. We got there and she was 8cm. : )
Many things about that birth stick out in my mind, but perhaps what is the most interesting aspect (and you might find this to be horrible and look badly upon me as a doula, but afterall, it is part of the point I am trying to make), is that I literally could not remember her name. Perhaps because of the intensity of the atmosphere, but more likely due to that I simply did not know much about her, her name would not come to me. I would open my mouth to give her words of encouragement and praise, and yet I had to catch myself from using her name because it simply was not there. I remember every time I wanted to address her, having to look over at the computer monitor so that I could see her name. An abstract piece of technology with patient details and irrelevant information displayed, and there I was relying on it to remind me of my client’s name. The first time in my career as a doula that I had ever found myself doing such a thing.
But it didn’t really matter. She was working hard and focused on everything that really mattered- working with her body, physically and mentally, and working to bring her baby into the world. I was there as support- verbally encouraging her, explaining what needed to be explained and how close she was getting, verbalizing how great she was doing and how strong she was, and how she was going to have her baby in her arms soon. It is always amazing to me how strong and captive one’s words are. She may not have truly known me outside the walls of a Dr.’s office or a labor and delivery room, but she believed in my words and trusted their meaning, and what I said held weight and made a difference.
“I can’t do it, I can’t do it, oh GOD, I can’t do it!” she said exasperated, discouraged, defeated. And I felt for her, as a woman who witnesses birth but also as a woman who has been there before and who has experienced it. I could feel that overwhelming emotion of encountering a 60 foot brick wall in front of you, when scaling it seems nothing short of impossible. Whether it’s you first baby or your third or tenth or your attempted VBAC, you get to that place of mental or physical exhaustion and you’re not entirely sure how it’s possible to carry on. There is no end in sight.
And so my response to her, ‘I can’t do it’?
“Yes, you can do it. You ARE doing it. This is it…You’re in the midst of it. It’s happening and you are doing great. You are making a conscious effort to have your baby the way that YOU wanted, and to give him the best birth that you can give him. You asked for this, and wanted it, and have worked so hard for this. You are DOING IT and you are giving him a beautiful birth.”
And so we danced that danced. She would start to doubt or start to fear and I would simply reinforce what she already knew. And 30 minutes into that, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy… Vaginally, unmedicated, fully-aware, fully-feeling, fully conscious, surrounded by nothing but positivity and support.
Part of why VBAC’s hold a special place in my heart has to do with the aftermath- those particular feelings of triumph and empowerment that happen afterward. It’s present with all births, but yet even more potently present with moms who have succeeded and triumphed in their vaginal birth after cesarean. And it was all over her face. I remember saying, “I can only imagine how gloriously victorious you must feel right now. You did it!”
And in the end I may hardly have known her name and really not have known her at all. But all she wanted, all she really NEEDED, was someone to listen to her and respect her desires, her body, and the process…to encourage her, and therefore give her a fighting chance at being successful. Isn’t that what we all want and need?
And so I think of her and it seems so simple. But yet it’s not. Just like so many other things.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)