THE JOURNEY SO FAR

In order to make up for the lack of posts during my pregnancy, today, the day before my due date, I've taken the time to sort of sum up what has been going on. It's long...and beware, there's an image of a pregnant woman (painted by Klimt) and she's absolutely, completely naked. Just so you know before hand.

As a doula, I know a lot about birth. I love the miraculous process of labour and love the strength that God has put in women to bring their children into the world. Women who are birthing are electric, charged with the power to bring a human into the world. I love being around them. Birth is a miracle, every single time. I am 100% confident in my ability to give birth. I know that birth is difficult and hard work, but it is also beautiful and rewarding and bringing my baby into the world is something I am made to do. I believe that we women have bodies that are hardwired to bring forth babies. I am not afraid of the pain or the effort or the process. I am excited to give birth.

Due to some pre-existing complications*, my pregnancy has been an extremely medical one. When we found out I was pregnant, we were excited, but also concerned. My pre-existing conditions had potential to put me at risk for pre-term delivery, gave me a higher chance of having a breech baby, I was told I probably had a "smaller-than-normal uterus" and other complications. Because of my experience as a doula, I really wanted a midwife to manage my care during my pregnancy, but because we were concerned about our baby, we felt that we would receive the most appropriate care from an obstetrician, and chose to go to an excellent OB/GYN that I have been going to for several years. At the beginning of my pregnancy, this choice made sense to us and made us feel the most secure.

As my pregnancy progressed, the extremely medical management of it began to cause me a great deal of anxiety. At 12 weeks gestation, I had surgery to have a stitch placed around my cervix to ensure that I did not go into pre-term labour due to a potential "incompetent cervix" (I think this is a horrible term) After having the stitch placed, I developed a complication with the spinal aneasthetic used and had to go back to the hospital. At 28 weeks I had unexplained bleeding and was hospitalized and tested for all sorts of things to make sure the baby was okay. (he was). I had unexplained bleeding again at 32 weeks, and again everything was fine. At this point, the baby was breech and my doctor was fairly certain that he could not or would not turn into the head down position because of the position and size of my uterus. Also, because of my medical conditions, I was not a candidate for an external version - something I wasn't really comfortable with anyways, due to the risk to the baby. However, I refused to believe that my baby couldn't turn and just sign up for a cesarean. I began doing everything possible to get him to turn. He didn't turn. I knew that the deadline was my 35 week appointment - this was the final appointment before my OB would schedule me for a C-section at 39 weeks. I knew that if the baby turned between 35 and 39 weeks the section would be canceled, but I didn't even want one booked. In conversation with my chiropractor, I decided to go to another chiropractor who specializes in a non-invasive technique (The Webster Technique) that has a high success rate in turning breech babies.

I had the chiropractic adjustment done and left the office. It is truly a non-invasive technique - it hardly felt like she did anything and I left the office feeling discouraged, thinking that gentleness of her adjustments, combined with my wacky physiology, there was no way that my baby would turn. And then, he started to move, and move and move. After 5 hours of activity (very unusual for him) he did a mighty flip.

The next day (December 20th) I had an appointment with my OB. She didn't believe that the baby had flipped, but thought that he was perhaps in the frank breech position. She got the portable ultrasound and checked. Shock. He was head down and descending into my pelvis. She said he had a bony bum that felt very much like a head. I cried. She said "Well, I guess you just get to wait for labour then." End of appointment.

When I got home, Chris and I had a big conversation....by the grace of God, all our "high risk" concerns were behind us. We had met with our wonderful doula and as she reviewed our birth "plan" with us she said, "it is quite obvious from this plan that you don't trust your care provider. You need to work on how you word this and how you feel about your care provider, or you're going to have a hard time getting the hospital staff on your side when you go to the hospital." These were heavy words for us and we had spent a great deal of time talking about what we should do. The truth is, it wasn't my OB that we didn't trust. We really liked my OB, but she works in a call group of 8. Two of those 8 doctors I really, really don't like and would not be comfortable with them as care providers at my birth. The other 5 doctors I didn't know. I had heard good things about some of them, and bad things about others. To top it off, my doctor was going away on holidays, so she wouldn't even be around when I would probably have my baby. Even if she was, I only had a 13% chance of her being on call that particular day. Not good odds. This combination of factors stressed me out to the point that felt defensive, anxious and tearful when thinking about what it would be like when I was birthing at the hospital.

So, gulp, we decided to see if we could find a midwife that would take me, this late in the game, with my crazy medical history. December 21st, the day before the Christmas weekend, I began calling every midwifery practice in the city. There aren't really that many. And being just before Christmas, they were all closed. Roll out Plan B: I emailed every single midwifery practice in the city. Slowly, over the course of the day, emails and return phone calls start coming in. No, no, no, no, maybe, no, no and then late in the afternoon...One yes. This was all we needed.

Our first appointment with the midwife was such a relief. It was three times as long as my typical appointment with my OB and the focus wasn't just checking my BP, fetal heart tones and measuring my belly, protein in my urine and getting me out of there. The focus was ME. As a person. As a mother. As someone who was involved in this process. As someone who had options and choices and deserved to be informed. I cried.

I would like to take a moment to clarify something. My OB is an excellent doctor, a caring and compassionate person and an excellent technician. At first, when I thought about switching I felt terrible, as though I would be "firing" her. But I realized, that my problem was not with her as my care-provider, but with the model of care by which she is restricted. It's not that she wouldn't want to spend longer appointments with me, it's that due to the model of care that she practices in, she can't. When I told her I was switching my care provider and the reason why, she gave her blessing and said "For you, the most important part of this process is pushing your baby out. For me, the most important part of this process has been getting you to that point safely. I don't "own" catching your baby. I'd love to, but even if you didn't switch, it might not be me, so I understand." She agreed that all the "high-risk" concerns we had were behind us and that being under the care of midwives was just fine for me. I left her office feeling more relieved and understood than I had my entire pregnancy. It was a good closing.

Now, I sit here, exactly 40 weeks pregnant - still no baby. For us, this is a miracle. We were just hoping that baby would stay inside until his lungs developed at 37 weeks. The fact that I have safely carried him full term is a blessing that I am so grateful for (even as I can't sleep because I am so uncomfortable with my large belly!)

When I was in Ottawa this summer, I visited the National Gallery of Canada. I walked into one room and was arrested by the painting below. It is large, probably seven feet high and stands in the middle of the room, facing you as you walk in.

I sat and stared at it for a very long time. Later that afternoon, I purchased the poster from the gallery shop. I connected with this image in a way that I have never connected with a piece of art before. She has death staring over her shoulder and yet she is calm and serene and confident in her ability to grow life inside of her. She is not affected by the darkness that looms around her. She is not anxious. I've looked at her daily and used her as a reminder to myself as I have struggled to trust God in this pregnancy. In the midst of all that has been difficult, I can hold onto the fact that God has placed a miracle in my womb. Really, nothing else matters. The darkness around me cannot go there. God has faithfully answered every one our prayers during this pregnancy. I have carried my boy full term. The impossible happened when he turned head down. We found a midwife at the last minute. My doctor supported my decision to change care providers. I am healthy, my baby is healthy…God is good.

I’m excited for the next chapter of our lives to begin. As I sit here and write this, I can feel the little feet of my son moving in my belly. I’m enjoying this feeling while it lasts because I know these days are numbered…soon we get to meet him!

*I was born with two uteruses....one being non-functional and problem-causing. It was eventually removed when I was 14 years old.