Here it is in all its "glory" (or GORY): When I began my pregnancy, I had no insurance. So, upon finding out the results (surprise!) of the pregnancy test, then having it confirmed by Planned Parenthood (who
kept asking me over and over if I was sure of my decision to keep it….), I called some homebirth midwives. Once I found out I could get insurance through my employer – without any preexisting conditions – I left that option without a thought. One of my first entries in my pregnancy journal is “Who cares if I have an epidural? I don’t have to be one of those silly people who go natural. In fact, a cesarean section might be a better option if I can avoid labor altogether.”  mm…..denial,
denial, denial. It hurts now to read that. My due date by Naegle’s rule (the general due date calculator) was July 26, 1994. I knew the day I conceived, and did a forty week count from there. July 30. I went with July 30, although my doctor didn’t even think that it should have been
changed in my records. Needless to say, my pregnancy rolled out pretty uneventfully. I had changed my mind about the epidural after reading many things – and decided that if I had a Birth Plan, things would go the way I wanted them to. I saw a group of three doctors (I’m shocked they
can call themselves doctors, actually) and left nearly every prenatal appointment crying or furious. When I asked one doc about breastfeeding, he simply told me that the hospital I was
delivering at “promoted breastfeeding almost to a fault” and that “breastfeeding will make your breasts look like the women pictured in National Geographic”. Nice, huh? Another doctor said this to me when I told him I really wanted a natural birth: “Oh, honey, you have no idea what you want. This is your first baby – you’ve never been through this before, so how can you say this? Having a baby really hurts, and you are setting yourself up to be disappointed with yourself. You
just don’t know. I’ll make a deal with you: you start having contractions, you come to the hospital and we’ll take care of the rest for you.” I was then sent off with a paternalistic type pat on the back and sat in my car for nearly an hour crying afterwards. Why did I stay with these Neandrathals? Who knows. I really thought that if I wrote out a Birth Plan, it would dictate how my birth went. So I did write out this long, intense birth plan – no epidural, no episiotomy, baby stays with me all the time, immediate breastfeeding after birth to help expel the placenta. When I showed it to my doctors at the next prenatal, one of them joked to my husband and me, “What’s this? Got a new computer you ’re trying out?” They wouldn’t sign it. Still, in my state of denial, I
assumed it would work to my advantage. I went into work for a while on Friday, July 29. Was feeling as if I was coming down with the flu – kind of weak and headachey. We had a graduation party to go to for some friends that evening, and I remember being ravenously hungry…just insatiable. I sat in the kitchen of this house, eating right out of a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket while everyone else was inside. We had friends over, and some were smoking pot. I truly
wanted to – I was so revved up and couldn’t get to sleep. (I never smoked at all during my pregnancy) Finally, at midnite I went to sleep. Some friends left around 5am Saturday morning and that’s when I noticed the first contraction. Stay in bed? Ha ha….I leaped out, went down to do laundry and called my mom. “I should be in transition by Noon”. Does this give you any clue about how my labor was going to progress? I would’ve been better off having a hit of that pot and at least relaxing!! So, contractions were coming every five to seven minutes apart. My devoted husband was writing down each one and the length, etc. I couldn’t sleep at all. By 5pm that evening, I was so worried something was wrong – with me or with the baby because it was
taking so long. We went to the hospital. They of course, checked me in, hooked me up to the monitor, etc. The first nurse to check me knew my husband from high school and had these long, pink acrylic fingernails. She did my first dilation check. Great, her long nails and her rambling to my husband over my legs…what an experience. I was 3 centimeters – maybe 4. My doc was called, and told the nurses to hook up the Pitocin. Well, I thought, at least the baby will come quicker! This was one part of my readings on birth that I didn’t learn about…..ugh. Immediately, the nurse had it up too high, so I had immense amounts of Pit being pumped into my body. My husband said he stared at the monitor for nearly 10 minutes as I had this long contraction that
would peak, decline slightly, then peak again. I remember nothing about this contraction. He said I looked like a deer trapped in headlights. We were doing Lamaze breathing – and doing it well. A bit of overkill at times, but it helped me. So, the nurse was called in and with a “oh my god!” she turned down the Pitocin. So, not long after that, I was begging for something – anything. An epidural was offered, but I didn’t want that. So, I got Stadol. Wow. Equivalent to drinking about
4 or 5 glasses of wine. What a great relief! I dozed off between the contractions – finally! After while, I wanted more. When the two hour time limit had passed, the nurse gave me more. Did
hardly anything. Back to the breathing again! We were working very hard – my poor husband had no breaks. I never was told to get up and pee – never. By 6am the next morning (Sunday), I was ready to push. The contractions were spacing out and that urge to push was overtaking my body. The nurse kept saying “don’t push until I can get the doctor to check you!!” – but, of course, it wasn’t me. It was my body doing it’s job correctly. I was on my back at this time, feeling that the
sensation of pushing was far worse than the contractions of transition. I didn’t want to push. But, I knew how close I was to having my baby, so I did participate with my uterus and gave little pushes at the peak of each contraction. I was scolded for pushing before I was ready. (They
hadn’t even checked me yet!) A new OB nurse was ordered to sit at the foot of my bed and help me push. She sat on a chair and watched. Every once in awhile, she would say “oh, that was a good push”, but I think she didn’t know very much. I was still flat on my back, trying to push this baby out. My husband just didn’t have the brain power left to suggest a new position. Plus, I think he thought that the nurse would know. After about 3 hours, her head started being visible. The
doctor came in – face shield, hair protection, full body scrubs. He immediately “cleaned” my vaginal area (as if it would infect my baby!) with warm betadine iodine solution. The warmth felt great….I got a mirror, but was still on my back and I now know I had a FULL bladder, which probably didn’t help the descent of my baby. I slept (along with my husband) between contractions, then tried my best to push my baby uphill. It hurt. Pushing really hurt. I wonder if the pain was caused by my full bladder or – and – the position I was in. I could see her head – it would emerge at the peak of the contraction, then go back afterwards. I was so disappointed. I was doing it all wrong!! Nobody bothered to tell me that it’s one step forward, two steps back. I just knew that my body wasn’t doing it right. Finally, her head was bulging right on my
perieneum. I had been pushing for little over 4 hours now. My doc was sighing a lot – really heavy, impatient sighs. He was a little man – if he had sat in a chair I couldn’t have seen him. He grabbed for the scissors and I heard the nurse say “She said she would rather tear – no
episiotomy”. His reply: “This baby’s not coming without one”. I was still on my back, still looking in the mirror as he cut me. Blood went everywhere. I took my glasses off, started to cry and then the mirror was bumped and my husband got a huge view of what was just done. He was horrified. Sure enough, she popped out with the next contraction – caught the doc off guard and he dropped her on the instrument tray. He proceeded to suction her (unnecessarily – no meconium!) and before he gave her to me, clamped the cord. Her intrauterine life source was cut off prematurely. She was then placed on my belly. I remember just saying “oh, baby, oh, baby” over and over and having this intense crying – but no tears. Just wailing. The doc was rough with delivering the placenta. He kept tugging on the cord, and pushing on my belly. Of course, I started to bleed a lot because of this. “Turn up the Pit” he ordered. They did. Boom. My placenta was
out and he began suturing me immediately. I felt nearly every single stitch. The anesthetic didn’t work all the way, and I question how much he gave me. I think he was really angry at me with all my fuss – and my birth plan – and the wailing I was doing. I don’t know why I was crying out – it wasn’t because of the sutures, but I think it was this huge release of emotion that I needed to expel. Needless to say, he did a crappy job of suturing me. Nobody bothered to tell me that I tore beyond his cut into my rectum. So, at four weeks postpartum, I was worried that I had tore the stitches – it hurt so bad. Using the words of a Breast & Belly mama, it felt like every time I went poop, metal shrapnel came out of my ass. To sit was like sitting on thorns. This feeling remained
for the first four months. Why couldn’t I have sex like all my friends? It hurt so bad. After a year and a half, it still hurt too much to have sex. I had so much pain, I went to see another doctor. She said the episiotomy would need to be done again and repaired correctly. But, she said she didn’t want to do it unless I was sure I didn’t want to have anymore kids. After all, if she repaired it, and I had another kid, it would probably split again (which I now know is not true!). So, I said,
let’s do it – and give me a tubal ligation. My perineum was repaired – a bit of a vaginal face lift. I had a tubal. I am very depressed that I did that. Although I’ve come to terms with not having any more children, I feel like what that doctor did to me was more than ruin my vagina. He took my fertility. I began doing doula work – assisting couples during labor. I would see him sometimes at the hospital and just shake. He didn’t know who I was – that made it worse. I had revenge
fantasies of tying him down and inserting a urinary catheter, blowing up the balloon, and withdrawing it slowly……I was left with a lot of anger towards him. The doctor that told me that I had no idea what I wanted in labor recently died. While I felt bad for his family, I rejoiced at the idea that he will no longer be there to inflict fear and anger towards expectant Mamas. I started midwifery school nearly two years ago. I am attending homebirths. Each birth heals my heart wounds more and more. I feel like in some ways, compared to others, that my story isn’t that traumatic. But, the impact it had on my life says otherwise. But, I will say without that trauma, I would’nt be where I am today. I wouldn’t be attending beautiful, gentle homebirths and
seeing how birth should be.  Pam Powell