Birth of Marina Grace King

Thank you Alicia for sending your story. Your bumper sticker is in the mail!

Birth of Marina Grace King

Alicia King
www.wellroundedmoms.com www.wellroundedbirthcenter.com

After 10 months of processing, I feel as though I have gained perspective
on my birth last July. I have searched deep within my soul. Something to
explain why, with all of my experience, with all of my confidence in VBAC
and unassisted birth, with all of my knowledge…how could I have ended up
with a cesarean? I have had so many thoughts go through my mind. So many
questions. I went into pregnancy believing that I would have a VBAC. Why
am I so happy that I didn’t? Am I overcompensating, trying to repress
some sadness that I have not gotten in touch with? I have actually tried
to make myself sad just because I feel as though I should be. But I am
overcome with happiness. I have 6 daughters to love! My days are filled
with beautiful, amazing children. My heart is content. I am so proud of
these girls that I can barely stand myself sometimes! But shouldn’t I be
sad?

I was no victim. My choices were my own. I have come to realize that in
this journey of life, it’s not always about making perfect decisions but
how loved you are along the way. Though I began my pregnancy with
confidence, there was a shadow of uncertainty. While I fully support
unassisted birth, I personally wanted an understanding, experienced woman
to lean on. It’s amazing how much insecurities, self doubt and fears can
affect something that seems so simple to those who are not experiencing
it. My birth and my entire life’s story is colored by the fear of not
being loved. My extreme confidence in the ability of a woman’s body was
undermined by raging fears of being alone. Of not being good enough for
anyone to truly care about. In the end, whether or not it was a fake
gesture didn’t matter. I knew that by choosing a cesarean, I had a staff
of nurses who respected my wishes and a physician who seemed to be
supportive. That choice appeared so much safer than the unknown
possibilities that formed themselves as questions in my mind daily.

My circle of friends is filled with birth professionals. What if my
friends end up being more concerned about validating their knowledge than
being there for me? What if I am overlooked, confirming my belief that I
am not worthy of being cared about? While her intentions were good, one
friend told me that she would be there for me "if" I didn’t have a group
of people there or "if" I gave her a specific job to do. Other midwives
have stated that "if" you follow this diet, or take these vitamins. "If"
you have this blood work done or read that book. Or "if" you fill out
these papers or take this class or if, if, if, if you do what I say…I
will love you. If you meet my needs first, I will love you. I will not
simply love you. Those people want me to sign a contract so they can be
there for me at the most vulnerable point in my life. So that I can trust
them to go with me to the ends of the earth to have the birth experience
that I want. They want me to do what they want and then I am worthy to be
cared for.

There's a saying that I love... "That which nourishes me, destroys me".
The people that I love are my lifeline and yet any of them could break my
heart in the blink of an eye and crush me. My defenses growing tighter
and against my better judgment, I thought perhaps a hospital birth would
be the answer.

I could have a VBAC by standing my ground against people
that I didn’t know, therefore not risking relationships with my friends.
Though I knew it would be more difficult to birth in the hospital, I
considered not allowing vaginal exams and locking myself in the bathroom.

I had no idea the mental torture that would come along with even
considering a hospital birth, much less following through. From one
physician interview to the next, I continued to hear horror stories about
women like me. Never mind the horror stories that might explain why our
state has so many hospital birth injuries that there is actually a birth
injury fund for families affected by their negligence and abuse. Never
mind the soaring rate of cesareans or the number of infants and mothers
who are injured and/or die due to hospital interventions.

Their misinformed version was simplified into a compact package that it was all
due to women like me. I even had one physician tell me that if I had ever
seen a dead baby, I would rethink my choices. I informed him that I had,
in fact seen a dead baby. My own. My son who was born in a hospital and
may have lived had I chosen a midwife. Nevertheless, though I knew they
were statistically and morally wrong, their powerful view weighed heavily
on my mind and created yet a new fear. What if I'm wrong?

I continued my search for a supportive system, even going through a
hospital staff meeting where they informed me that they would not respect
my wishes if I showed up on their doorsteps. They even gave it to me in
writing! I am still considering legal action but am somewhat at a loss at
the lack of concern from lawyers and their inability to care. I continued
the quest for a VBAC but wavered and somewhat lost hope.

In retrospect,
it was somewhere in that midpoint of pregnancy that my diet went out of
control. On a subconscious level, I was upping the sugar intake in an
attempt to grow a big baby so that I would have an excuse to have a
cesarean. I was very successful. She came out 10 pounds 7 ounces! Now I
am questioning whether my current weight is due to some underlying fear
of acceptance.

There were many occasions that I considered just scheduling a cesarean
and being done with the entire torture of being pregnant. Yet, there were
so many things that I loved about being pregnant. The wonder of the
little person kicking me from inside. The mystery of the bond that was so
great without ever having so much as exchanged a glance. The amazing way
my body adjusted and provided what my baby needed, so similar to the way
that a woman's body provides what she needs during labor. But it
magnified my need for security. My emotional scars felt as though they
were freshly cut and I had no physical way to heal them. The fear of a
cesarean felt so mild in comparison.

I would occasionally dabble a little, to see who was there for me and who
was not. There was one midwife, who I deeply love and knew that she would
be there for me but our relationship was as though she was my daughter.
The thought of leaning on her made me uncomfortable. (Which is an
entirely new discovery that deserves processing). I had another close
friend who was willing to be there for me as long as it was not during
the small window of time that she had a mandatory meeting every week at
work. While that was beyond her control, I panicked at the thought of
being vulnerable and needing her but not being able to reach her.

I went into early, early labor on a Friday. I could sleep through most of
the contractions at night, only awakening every now and again but they
were consistently coming every 5-10 minutes. I knew that I was in labor
but somewhere in the depths of my heart, knew that I wasn’t going to
allow it to go anywhere. I enjoyed the next couple of days and held onto
the experience for as long as I could before my blood pressure began to
rise. I had mild fear about the possibility of transition being intense
but more than the fear, I wanted to experience and be a part of it. Many
people don’t believe that you can emotionally control your body with your
mind but I fully believe that I held my baby into a bad position. I toyed
with the idea of letting myself go but even as I was doing positional
exercises to get her to move, I knew that I wasn’t truly letting go. How
could I?

The last time that I let go, my baby died.

The last time that I
let go, I had one of the worst losses of my life and no one was there for
me. My baby was sick, having test after test, day after day to detect any
possible brain activity. Any glimmer of hope at life. But day after day,
no one was there to comfort me. No one was there to hold my hand. I was a
child myself and no one seemed to care but rather, took advantage of my
vulnerability.

So I continued to labor. I was waiting for a hero. Someone to look me in
the eye and say I am here for you unconditionally. Regardless of your
choices, I will not fail you. Regardless of your actions, I will not
leave you. I will be by your side for as long as it takes. Whether that
is 2 hours, 2 days or 2 weeks. Someone to love me without judgment or
condition. An irrational expectation, especially since I had built walls
so high that it would have been difficult for anyone to recognize that
need from the other side. And in the end, with all of the health risks
involved, the physical cut from a knife seemed so much safer than making
myself vulnerable to the possibility of deepening old wounds.

After 5 days of labor, including one trip to a local hospital for a
vaginal exam, where I was happy to walk out when they threatened me with
a cesarean (which was under their terms), I decided to go in to my
hospital of choice. The hospital where my dear friend worked. The
hospital where a physician that I have known for years was respectful. He
told me early in pregnancy that he could not verbally support VBAC due to
malpractice insurance and while I don’t support his willingness to accept
a dysfunctional health-care system, I appreciated his openness. When he
came to my room in the hospital, he even asked if I was sure that I
wanted a cesarean. Instead of taking the usual wheelchair route, I walked
to the OR and be-bopped onto the operating table. As off the wall as that
may seem, it felt like I was in control. I was respected. My husband
by my side.

My friend came through.
As the epidural was being placed, she
stood in front of me and looked me in the eyes, supporting me physically
and emotionally, showing true concern for how I was feeling. She was
there for me even though I was not having the home birth that so many were
looking forward to. She was there for me, even though she had worked a
long day and her family was at home waiting for her. She was there for me
unconditionally. No strings attached.

Another fear that taunted me day and night was the fear of having my baby
taken from me and being helpless to protect her. I’m certain a lingering
element from my first birth where I awakened from surgery to find that my
baby was sick and in a hospital an hour away. I was thrilled that without
resistance from staff, my beautiful baby girl stayed in my arms from the
OR until I went home 36 hours later (aside from a few brief moments in
her bassinet for diaper changes and an occasional peek from the doctor).
My wishes were completely respected. She did not have eye ointment or any
poking and prodding. As much as is possible, I had what felt like a
home-cesarean birth. The staff seemed to be truly invested in taking care
of us. They were so kind and attentive, always happily willing to go the
extra mile.

Life’s experiences make us stronger. Now that I have a clearer
understanding, I wonder would I have changed anything? All of those fears
have lingered under the surface for years but I may have never understood
them had they not been brought forth through Marina’s birth. On an
intuitive level, I have understood the need to be there for women
unconditionally. But without the soul searching, would it have carried
through long term in a system that promotes fear of lawsuits, control and
"professional boundaries" to a point of not being able to truly love
their clients?

Would I have been able to really get in there and see the
raw beauty of birth, even in a hospital? To see that so much of a
fulfilling birth comes from love and support. Yes, I think that a vaginal
birth is safer and creates an environment that is better for bonding,
breastfeeding, emotional wellbeing and so forth. Yes, if I get pregnant
again I am going to be clear with myself and my birth attendants/friends
about what I need. But no, I would not trade my experience with Marina’s
birth. The depth of understanding that I have gained is invaluable. It
was never a question of whether or not I could safely have a vaginal
birth after 4 cesareans. It was fear of being abandoned. A fear that
while I still own, I now recognize.

We have choices in how we respond to
what we are dealt. My fear has made me stronger. It is my choice that I
will not allow it to destroy me but rather, my fears will push me to
greater depths of love and understanding. To a greater passion for
understanding the pain that permeates our world. My fear will remind me
the importance of pulling off the mask and to always speak, feel and love
from the bottom of my heart.