If you missed it, you can read Part One of the birth story here.
I think sometimes I forget what an awesome privilege it was to birth on The Farm. After living there for six weeks, it sort of lost some of it's mystique. I had become close with my midwife, I knew the farm property from walking it endlessly each day, and had familiar relationships with the teachers at the farm school along with some others that we came into contact with regularly. The Farm itself is a little mecca in an otherwise... um, how shall I say this... culturally desolate? area of Middle Tennessee. We would have to travel a half hour to get anywhere, and over an hour to get anywhere where there was something more than strip malls. We not only saw the wonderfully farmy aspects of the farm, but we also saw the less appealing aspects of the surrounding area, which could not be avoided due to the necessary evils of groceries and restaurants. (And believe me, hanging out for 5 weeks with nothing to do but wait made the breaks in monotony provided by restaurants a welcome relief - even scary Chinese buffet-type restaurants.)
But then, I look in my Ina May's Guide to Childbirth book to do a little research for a friend, and read through the stats of the births on the Farm from 1970-2000. Emergency transports, 1.3%. Postapartum depression, 1%. Fifteen sets of twins born vaginally. Maternal mortality, 0. Continued breastfeeding among the women of The Farm, 100%!! And these numbers do not 'risk out' any populations of birthing mothers, like hospitals do. I am so unbelievably privileged to have been afforded the stellar care that has provided these outcomes year after year. There is no doubt that my experience would have been very different had I chosen to birth anywhere else.
No hospital would have "allowed" me to go to 43 weeks, and the consensus among the three midwives present was that Jack looked clinically to be a 40-41 week baby. He was not 'late' in appearance, and had he been born two weeks prior, he could have been premature. That would have been a likely outcome had I chosen a hosptial birth, because I would have been watched closely due to my weight and prior diagnosis with Zoe of gestational diabetes. Even with the best of the best natural birth care providers in San Francisco, they were powerless to stop the pressure of the OBs on staff to induce starting at 40 weeks (she was born at 42 weeks + one day because I fought tooth and nail to trust my body and go into labor naturally).
The attitude of my midwife, Pamela Hunt, was supportive but also cautious. I somehow expected to have a super laid back, kind of hippie midwife who just trusted my body to do what it is meant to do. She certainly trusted my body, and from the very beginning would smile at me and say, "This time is going to be so different. It will be so much easier for you, Shelby," when the subject of Zoe's birth came up. But she also recommended I get an ultrasound at 18 weeks when I was having what I suspected to be bad gas cramps (pregnancy is so dignified!) and ligament stretching. She just wanted to be sure it wasn't anything else. She also kept a watchful eye about my sugars and gestational diabetes. At 15 weeks, she had me start testing my sugars and adjusting my diet accordingly. Pamela kept an eye on my weight gain, but didn't really have to as I actually lost weight and eventually only gained about 10 pounds during my pregnancy. She was my biggest cheerleader, and most kind confidante. We felt an instant connection upon meeting, and we now love each other dearly. It is weird that she is not a part of my everyday life with Jack, and I miss her very much.
Even though Pamela and I both thought this birth would be so much different than the last one, some things about it were and some weren't. I had prelabor rupture of membranes with both labors. Both my children got stuck for one reason or another on their way out. And neither of my babies came directly to my chest to hang out for a couple of hours and get used to being in this world.
At some point during the whole placenta extravaganza, they did bring Jack to me to show him to me, all wrapped up in blankets. I remember not really giving a crap, because I knew by then that he was ok and I was working on my own issues at that point. Now, looking back on it, I just feel sad. I am still mourning the loss of being able to have my baby handed up to my chest for that awesome time of falling in love with my newborn. I didn't have that with Zoe, and I didn't have it with Jack, either. It's the single thing that I was most looking forward to with Jack's birth, and it wasn't meant to be. Sure, he ended up being healthy and so did I. I am eternally grateful for that. But that does not negate my feelings of grief over not getting to experience that bliss as so many other women have. I know what that moment can be. Jack is my last baby. I will never have that. And it makes me sad.
As I was getting cleaned up and ever-so-slowly making my way over to the bed, Zoe woke up. Melissa happened to go upstairs to use the bathroom and Zoe was up already to pee. She called Scotty up to the bathroom, and he told her that our baby was born! He says that her eyes were like saucers - she was so excited! He brought her downstairs and readied her to do her job, which was to announce whether the baby was a boy or a girl. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped short - she forgot her necklace! You see, when Sherry, my best friend, had arrived at the farm a week after we did, she took Zoe into her room and closed the door. In that same lovely pink room where she stayed during her visit and I held my breathing son for the first time, she gave her a crystal charm and necklace that had been hers since she was a child. She explained that the crystal could give her courage if she believed in it, and that she was giving it to her to wear during the birth of her baby brother or sister. Zoe took this very seriously, and still says to this day that things have magic if you believe in them. I love that Shery taught her this lesson. I live by it, and it has served me well. Anyway, she ran back upstairs and put her necklace on, then ran back down.
As Scott would recount this part of the story later, this was very special time between him and his daughter. My heart goes out to my dear husband. He had just been through watching his son born seemingly lifeless, and his wife possibly bleeding to death. The thought certainly crossed his mind that he might be left behind to raise Zoe himself. What a horrible experience for anyone to have to go through, and he suffered from mild PTSD for a few days after Jack's birth. Upon seeing his daughter's healthy and happy face, he melted a bit and reveled in the normalcy of being with her and the closeness of their bond.
They hung out in the kitchen, and everyone was instructed not to call the baby and "he" or a "boy." Zoe was VERY intent on doing her job, and we didn't want to let her in on the fact that we all knew it was a boy. She knew mommy and daddy knew, but we let her think that no one else did, and that she was making the announcement to everyone else. Stacie let it slip a few times, I think, but Zoe didn't notice. As she was waiting, she decided she wanted to refill her water glass...in the kitchen sink...where my placenta was awaiting inspection and storage. Oh yes. So Scotty heard, "Um...Daddy...?" when Zoe saw what was in the sink. Ha! He calmly explained to her what it was, she took note, and they went on about other things. I'm constantly amazed at how our children take our cues from us. If it's no big deal for us? It's no big deal for her. Whew!
Once I was propped in the bed, cleaned up, and with Jack in my arms, Zoe and Scotty came in (with Scott averting her eyes from the blood-filled tub) to the bedroom. She climbed up and was so completely in awe of her little brother. She had already told Scotty that this was the 'best day of my life' and now got the chance to do her Very Important Job. We pulled the blanket away and she said, "It's a boy!" followed up with a half-whispered question to her dad and me, "But...why is it all stripey?" She had mistaken the umbilical cord for his penis, but we set her straight. She sat on the bed and I set up her up with the Boppy so that she could hold her little brother for the first time. She was so proud.
We had a few quiet moments in that pink room. I tried to nurse, but Jack wasn't interested. And then he started to cry. He had been wide awake since first starting to breathe on his own, but now he was breathing pretty quickly and was crying and agitated with only short breaks in between crying spells.
When Jack had been born not breathing, everyone in the cabin went to his side except me, and eventually Laura came back to sit with me. As it should be! There were two midwives and two midwife assistants there at the time, but we were missing the midwive that usually attends with Pamela, Deborah Flowers. She is a Certified Nurse Midwife as well as a NICU nurse, and had a shift in the NICU at the hospital starting at 6 a.m. So she had declined to attend Jack's birth in favor of sleep. Ah, the best laid plans! Upon realizing that a resuscitation effort was necessary, Laura was set to the task of getting Deborah to our cabin. She called first - no answer. So, she hopped in one of the cars in the driveway, and drove over to her house. Having lived in that home herself at some point, luckily she knew her way around in the dark. She found Deborah in bed (with earplugs in to help her sleep!), and woke her up to bring her back to the cabin. She arrived just four or five minutes after Jack was breathing on his own, and hooked up the O2 to the flow inflating mask to do CPAP, forcing oxygen into his lungs at a steady rate which helped 'fluff' his lungs out further and his breathing became easier. She was a repeated voice of calm for Scotty during this time, and she stayed on hand until she felt Jack was doing ok.
When Jack started crying and wouldn't stop, the midwives became concerned. I tried to calm him, but people were in and out of the bedroom trying to clean up the INCREDIBLE mess that had been made the prior few hours. (The floor of the bedroom was awash in water, the rug soaked, among other things.) Pamela came in to discuss with me the possibility of taking him in to the hospital to get him checked out.
The thought of this was horrifying to me. I mean, absolutely horrifying. It was snowing outside now, the car seat wasn't installed yet (and when Scotty told Pamela that, her response was, "Oh that's right! We'll have to put him in a damn car seat!" wishing that he could just be held and snuggled during the car ride as they used to do back in the day), but most of all I discovered I would have to stay behind until morning because I was in no shape to make the ride. I used my lesson from my childbirth prep class with Michelle of B.R.A.N. I asked Pamela - What are the Benefits to taking him to the hospital, what will happen there? What are the Risks of not taking him to the hospital? Was there another Alternative to taking him to the hospital? Could we do Nothing, or wait a little while? My answers were that she thought he might have an infection. I said that he didn't have a fever, and she said that is actually a late onset sign of infection, but that high respirations were an early sign. The risk of not taking him was obvious, that he had an infection that could be dangerous if we waited to get him to the hospital. The alternative was to wait a little while, and I asked if we could please do that. She relented, but I later found out that the only reason she did that was because Deborah was there and agreed that waiting a little bit would be ok.
During his crying bouts, I had noticed a growling in his tummy. Intuitively, I felt that his crying was about gas of all things. What newborn has gas within an hour of birth?? But this intuition is what allowed me to feel comfortable with keeping him at the cabin with me instead of sending him to the hospital. I mentioned this concern about gas, but it was brushed off at the time. I remember this time with tears in my eyes. Jack was wide-eyed, and had the look of a terrified wild animal on his face. His eyes were darting all around the room, and he just looked so helpless and fearful. I could not cry about it at the time, as I was being Strong Mommy. But man. Just writing it about it now brings tears to my eyes. I wanted so badly to make it better for him, but couldn't.
Jack and I were finally left alone for long enough then for me to have a 'Come to Jesus' talk with his little spirit. I said, "Hey little man. You need to calm down, baby. If you do not calm down, you will be taken away from me, and I know that you and I need each other right now. So please, calm down a little." At that point, he was a good little baby and did as his mommy asked. Pamela was able to get some normal respiration rates, and Deborah stayed until she felt comfortable that Jack was doing well and didn't need to go to the hospital. That was until 4 a.m. And she got up an hour later to work her 12 hour shift at the hospital. She was our angel, and I am forever grateful that she stuck around to see us through this rough spot. In between when the suggestion was made to go to the hospital and Deborah gave the green light to stay home, Scotty and Zoe went up to bed to get some rest.
Somewhere in there, Pamela let me know she was going to be staying the night, and that she had called a postpartum doula that lived on The Farm to come and help us. And now enters another angel onto the scene at the Swan Center Cabin. This woman, Marilyn, was so incredibly lovely. With her long, long gray hair in two braids down her back, she sat in the bedroom with me and Jack to be with me, and to help hold him if I needed. She held him while I got up to use the port-a-let, and just so that I could change positions and give my tailbone a rest from being propped up, first on the floor, and now on the bed. We chatted a bit, and then I rested while she sang the most beautiful blues and bluegrass to Jack. She had a low and gravely voice that was a balm for my soul, and I know for Jack's, too. He just cried and cried, and she and I took turns holding him and loving him while Pamela got some rest on the couch.
Eventually, Pamela came in and asked if they could take Jack into the living room so that I could try to sleep a little bit. Not wanting to be separated from him, but desperately needing some rest, I relented and they took him into the next room. I fell asleep at 5 a.m. listening to him cry, and Marilyn singing to him. She lay on the couch with Jack, eye to eye with him, singing to him and loving him, until 8 a.m.
Then, he pooped.
As any of you with children know, the subject of newborn poop is not only acceptable adult conversation material, but it is often regarded with great excitement and detail. Jack's first poop was dark brown, and very soft. You're thinking, "That's not normal." And you would be correct. A newborn's first poops are usually black and very sticky, not brown and sort of soft. The conclusion is that he must have swallowed water - either amniotic fluid or tub water - at some point during his birth, which made its way through his digestive tract - slowly and painfully - for the first eight hours of his life. In addition to that, he probably swallowed some air from the resuscitation efforts. Poor baby. Once he pooped? He was a completely different baby.
I think the cheering and ooh-ing and ahh-ing - and the lack of Jack's crying - was what woke me up. Pamela brought Jack in to me. He was still wide-eyed, but now he was calm. We managed a pretty good nursing session, and he pooped one more time. That little boy stayed awake for many more hours, not succombing to sleep until 2 p.m. He was awake for the first 14 hours of his life. Once he fell asleep, he slept a good long time. The great thing about working with midwives as opposed to OBs? I was not asked to wake him to nurse. I did check in with Pamela about that, but she assured me that it was fine to let him sleep and that he would wake when he was hungry. I think we nursed again sometime later that evening, a few times the next day, and then by Sunday we were up to about every 3 hours . This was all following his cues, and not forcing anything. How awesome is that?
(Jack thinks it's pretty awesome. This, by the way, was also the smile that he gave Marilyn when she made her visit to us five days after he was born, as soon as she spoke to him.)
That first week postpartum, I did not want to let Jack go. He was in arms for that first week and more, only being put down to be changed. It just seemed wrong to put him down, and I couldn't imagine sticking him in a swing or a bouncy chair, as I knew we had done often with Zoe, and indeed do with Jack now, too. Each day brought visitors - Pamela came twice on Saturday to check on us, and then once a day after that. Stacie, Melissa, Laura, and Marilyn all stopped by in the subsequent days as well.
We recounted the birth story each time, picking up pieces that we didn't remember or hadn't known about along the way, like Stacie taking her socks off, or letting it slip that Jack was a boy after Zoe was in the room. We also ruminated over why Jack was not breathing, and I believe the consensus was two things: he was stunned from being yanked out of me, and/or the cord had been wrapped around his torso and shoulder and may have been compressed when he got stuck. Pamela was very sure to inform me of the appreciation I owed Deborah, because Pamela was ready to take Jack to the hospital. If Deborah had not stayed, Jack would have been a transfer, and my recovery - and feelings about my birth at The Farm - would have been very different. Oh Lord, to have had to fight the fights I would've been faced with had the hospital gotten their hands on Jack. I shudder to think it.
My postartum recovery was a little rocky because I had lost so much blood and was pretty anemic. For the first few days, I was happiest staying on the main floor and not using the stairs at all. If I did go upstairs, it was very slowly and I still was out of breath by the time I made it to the top. The anemia continued to slow me down considerably and also make me weepy for about four weeks. I'm glad that I had my placenta encapsulated and took it during that time. I cannot imagine what my recovery would have been like without it. Oh, and the easy part of recovery? My perineum. I never had to use a sitz bath or a peri bottle. I had one small, 1-cm tear. A 'skid mark' as the midwives call it. Compared to the last time, where I was coming out of the bathroom crying almost every day for weeks due to a partial 4th degree tear and eventual granulation tissue, this was heaven.
As it stands, I am so happy with my experience at The Farm. Does that seem weird? I hope not. Even though we had some of the same stuff happen this time around as last, I do not have to wonder if things might have been different had I chosen more supportive care providers. I had the best in the world for me, and that I know for sure. The way that things played out was the way it was meant to be, for whatever reason. And I do believe there is a reason behind the ways that we birth our babies, for everyone involved - for mama, for baby, for partner, and even for the midwives attending.
Who knows what would've happened had I not chosen The Farm, and Pamela as my midwife. We will never know, and I don't care to speculate. But I do know that it was one of the best experiences of my life. Who gets to take a six week chunk out of life with their family to live in the beautiful country and be surrounded by a like-minded, loving, and kind community of people? Not many. But we were this fortunate. And I want to take a minute here to thank everyone who helped that to happen.
I want to thank...
My midwives, midwife apprentices, and doula - Pamela, Stacie, Deborah, Melissa, Laura, and Marilyn. Oh for so many things. There aren't words.
Zoe's teachers and The Farm School, for entertaining and TEACHING my daughter! She loved going to school there, and still talks about Peter Principal out of the blue every now and then.
Maggie and Rosie, for SO many playdates and - holy cow! - for all the newborn diapers! I didn't get a chance to look through them well while we were still at The Farm, but Imse Vimse's and Little Beetles - wow. Too kind. We've thought of you every time we've used them. Also, thank you for letting us camp out in your basement to watch the NFL playoffs. Who knew it would be so hard to find someone on The Farm with cable?!
Bri, for vacuuming my house while I ran around in my nightgown trying to pack up our lives!
Kimberly, Brandon & Harper, for staying in our house and taking care of the doggie while we were gone. What a blessing to have a family that was happy to be so flexible and available to help us for all six weeks!
Scott's employer, for their patience and flexibility during our time at The Farm. It was near impossible for Scott to continue to do any work, with our spotty internet and his horrible cell reception.
My employer, SweetRush, for more than I can say.
Nic and ABH for so many things - for fetching Sherry from the airport, for bringing flowers, for hosting us when we made a prenatal visit, and for just being willing to help out whenever I asked. Unbelievable.
Nic, Nancy, and Marijune for being on deck to come out to The Farm to be Zoe's doula during the birth should Sherry have to leave. We ended up deciding against bringing anyone new into the cabin after Sherry left, but these folks - especially Nancy - stood waiting in the wings, ready to drop everything and come to our aid.
My sister, Sharon, for coming out to visit us twice. I was happy to have someone else know what our experience looked like in person, and thrilled that you were able to come out and meet Jack in his first week of life.
My mom for making it possible for us to stay as long as we did without having to cut and run, and also for dusting my house and mopping my floors after we arrived home. (Go, Mom!)
My mother-in-law, Jean, for coming out with her van to help us pack and haul all our crap home. And man, after six weeks of living there? We had a lot of crap.
My neighbors, for bringing us food every other night for the first two weeks that we were home, and for the friends who did the same in the following week. (Bri, Kira, Kelley, Sally, Adele, Maria, Sarah, Marva, Melissa, Marijune - thank you so much!)
Lori del Mar, for our work together. Throughout the years, it has fundamentally changed the way I move through this world for the better.
Star, for both giving me the distraction of helping you out with some of the stuff that was going on for you at the time, and for listening to me cry and vent a few days before Jack was born. Even though we don't manage to talk all that often, I am so thankful that you are my friend. And I know you always will be.
Michelle, my SF midwife, for so many things. For all the pep talks, for all the stats and information, for all the sparkles and magic sent from across the country, and just for being you, Michelle. You were often the only one I wanted to talk to about anything that I was going through, and you were always there for me and happy to support me. I am sad that you couldn't be there with us, but you were still an integral part of my experience with this birth, as you were with Zoe also.
Everyone who sent us labor juju, prayers, lit candles, thoughts, and/or energy work. I found it infinitely helpful to know that so many of you were rooting for us.
Sherry and the Hedstrom clan. Sherry changed flights too many times to count in order to try to be there for Jack's birth, and still it was not meant to be. She did countless loads of dishes, and provided company on numerous walks and was on one occasion the only person able to drag me out of a very, very dark hole. She provided unwavering support to all of us, including Zoe, and the time that we all spent together is a slice out of life that I will always cherish. Her family - Zelda, Andrei, and my little Fisher girl - kept the home fires burning, taking over all of her many responsibilities for the entire month that she was gone. What an unbelievable gift. I cannot wait for you all to meet Jack.
And finally...My husband. Nothing I could write here could adequately express the deep gratitude I feel for having married someone who so whole-heartedly supports me, understands me, and believes in me. Without your UNWAVERING love and support, even as I was doubting myself, this experience on The Farm would not have been possible. Thank you, thank you, thank you for dreaming this dream with me.
I may have more thoughts about The Farm as days go on. It was such a special experience, and I don't want to forget a bit of it. Jack is here now, and he is a happy, smiley, giggly little three month-old. I fall in love with him all over again ever time I look into his little smushy face. We can look back fondly on the 5 weeks of waiting that we spent there now, even though at the time it could be tedious, and challenging, and at times quite incredibly boring. We tried very hard to stay in the present, knowing that this was an experience of a lifetime. I think we achieved that, and I will forever be grateful to the woods of Middle Tennessee and the Farmy folks that live there, for holding the space for me and my family to bring our last child in from the womb world to this one.
