Wil's Birth...A Snowy Night

By Alli Gober

Before I had the firsthand experience of pregnancy and birth, I began working with pregnant and birthing families as an apprenticing midwife.  The decisions I made in my own pregnancy and birth were influenced primarily by my belief in the midwifery model of care and my understanding of the regulations that surround pregnancy and birth in our country.  I chose to birth at home unattended because I wanted my decisions for the well-being of myself and my baby to be free of the protocols to which doctors, hospitals and even midwives are bound.  I also placed a high value on my intuitive instincts, and these instincts were very clear in letting me know where and with whom I needed to birth.  I knew I needed to give birth at one of my spiritual homes in Durango, CO, with two women who I deeply trusted to support my and my baby’s well-being.  I took responsibility for my own prenatal care, consulting occasionally with midwives and doctors, and ensured everyone planning to be involved in the birth was educated and aware of their responsibilities.

My pregnancy was somewhat disappointing, as I was nauseous and suffering from depression until about 24 weeks.  I never felt the “glow” of pregnancy, although I did finally start to enjoy my pregnant body in the last few months of pregnancy through prenatal yoga.  As my due date came and went and weeks passed, I started to feel like I was going to be pregnant forever.  I had quite a bit of uncomfortable uterine activity from 38 weeks on, which felt like I was going to be in early labor forever as well.  I deeply attempted to trust in a vast unknowing over my body and birth, and I allowed myself to accept the fine line we walk between birth and death.  This experience of not-knowing and of trying to trust that the highest good would come to pass connected me strongly to the feelings my ancestors must have experienced in pregnancy and birth thousands of years ago. 

Finally, at exactly 42 weeks, labor started.  That night, Wil had turned posterior (again).  I was feeling pretty discouraged that labor would ever start on its own and that it would be a long and hard labor with a posterior baby when it did.  I took a homeopathic dose of Pulsatilla to encourage Wil to turn anterior and two hours later, at 12:30 a.m., labor started!  I didn’t know at first whether the contractions would ease off like they had in the weeks prior, but I remember that there was more energy within each contraction, meaning the contractions were just a little stronger and more purposeful than they had been before.  Within fifteen minutes or so, I knew that labor had truly begun.

I labored through the night on a futon beside our wood stove on my hands and knees with strong, intense contractions that consumed all of my energy.  I actively engaged each contraction with my spirit and mind, inviting it into my body.  When I became tired, in the long hours before dawn, I struggled to keep my sleepy mind engaged in the hard work at hand.  My sweet husband used his considerable strength to press my iliac crests inward, affording me some comfort during contractions.  As I went through transition, I alternately felt hot and cold as my temperature rose and fell while the blood in my body repeatedly gathered in my uterus, and then dispersed into the rest of me.  I would yell “COLD!” and someone would through a shawl over me, and then I would yell “HOT!” and the shawl would come off.

Just before dawn, as the snow fell outside, little Wil began his descent into the outer world.  Most of that time, I stood in a standing squat, supported by my husband under one shoulder, and my friend's partner under the other.  My water broke about one and a half hours into pushing, when I got up from my hands and knees to labor in a standing position.  I remember thinking, “Thank God--this will be over soon!”  About an hour later, my midwife’s brain started to wonder why the pushing stage was taking so long.  During pregnancy, I had envisioned an easy second stage, where I only pushed a few times and the baby gently slid out.  I asked my friend repeatedly what she could see, and her answer every time was, “The baby is coming, just very, very slowly.”  After about two more hours of pushing, I was exhausted and wondering how much longer I could push.  I knew that the well-being of my baby was dependent of my physical, emotional and spiritual well-being, and that scared me, because I knew I was going downhill physically with exhaustion.  Aside from my well-being, I also intuitively felt it was hard on my baby to be in my birth canal for that long. 

Fears overwhelmed me—that I would become completely exhausted and lose consciousness—that Wil had died in utero and I would still have to push him out—that my poor friends would have to carry me unconscious to the hospital through a massive snow storm and unplowed roads.  For the first time in labor, I began to question the appropriateness of continuing to birth at home and began considering transporting to the hospital.  I asked the others what they thought, and they said “This is your birth, and we’ll support whatever decisions you come to.”  The thought of transporting through that snow storm was daunting, and I realized if we did attempt the hazardous transport, there was a strong possibility that the birth would happen en route to the hospital.  I made the decision to continue at home through the exhausting work of labor. 

Beyond all the practical decisions being made at that point, I remember in my whole being desperately needing labor to end soon.

Finally…at 9:50 in the morning, after four hours of pushing, our baby was born...a slippery little wet boy.  We cut the cord after it had stopped pulsing, and I birthed the placenta soon after.  I was incredibly exhausted, was bleeding pretty heavily, and stayed in bed for the next five days. 

It was very surreal to have a little baby emerge alive and completely healthy after all that hard work and fear.  He nursed right away, and then peed on his dad!  Welcome to the world, little Wil.