Greatest Fear

Joel and I are taking a birth class to prepare for a normal birth experience in January.  Or December.  I'd like to file my official request for a December 28th baby.  It's a Full Moon that night and I'll be howling anyway.   The classes are 3 1/2 hours, four Sundays in a row.  We've attended two so far.  This week we talked about our greatest fears.  That's the stuff I wanted and needed to delve into, and it was a remarkable experience.  Each of the five moms and our partners shared our single greatest fear about giving birth.  Heavy.  Then the teacher had us close our eyes and vividly imagine that very thing happening.  Heavier.

My first birth, 8 1/2 years ago, was a good experience, though not ideal.  Labor was induced two weeks before my due date because the midwife did not think the baby was growing inside me.  I went to the hospital and received Pitocin and labored to 7 cm dilation.  Then I requested an Epidural, which worked just like I wanted it to, and soon my Stella was born.  She was 5 pounds, 15 ounces, healthy and beautiful.  The labor and delivery went well and even felt sacred, but I don't believe the induction was necessary.

My second birth, 5 years ago, did not go at all how I wanted it to go.  I wanted a natural birth with my midwife in attendance.  But she decided to go on vacation without telling me.  A week after my due date she said to come in Friday or Monday, and maybe she'd break my water to get things started.  I chose Monday.  But she wasn't there.  The back-up OB proclaimed that I needed "a section" and scheduled it for the next day.  He said the baby was too big, and I wasn't showing signs of labor.  My Rosie was 8 pounds, 5 ounces, healthy and beautiful.  The surgery and recovery was not too bad, physically.  But emotionally it left me scarred, big time.  I will never believe that Cesarean was necessary.

Now my greatest fear is seeing that look of doubt in the eyes of a caregiver.  A doctor shaking his head upon examining me or a nurse looking at the clock impatiently--the doubt in my ability, the false belief that the baby is too big or too small, that I'm too small or too weak, that too much time is passing without enough progress.  God, my whole body tenses imagining it.  I begin to doubt myself and feel defeated.

Our birth class teacher guided me to that scene and had me sit with it.  My tears were falling fast.  It was terrible.  Then she guided me to cope with it, to imagine the very same situation but with me coping.  It was different.  We each sketched a symbol of our coping and noted the difference between how we felt before and after coping with our fear.  It comes down to my gaze.  I can look down in defeat and resignation, powerless; or I can look up to my support and use my brain and my voice.

For this birth we chose a midwifery practice that believes in every woman's ability to give birth.  There are 6 midwives and a like-minded back-up OB, so I'm in plenty of good hands.  Every one of them who I have spoken to has been flabbergasted and angry at my past experience.  If they recommend intervention, I will know it is necessary.  At my last appointment, the midwife looked me in the eyes and said, "You know you can do this, right?"  Hell yes.  That is the look I want to see.