two minutes

two minutes 

Two minutes is nothing - a wait in the drive-thru line, a skim through an email inbox, the tidying of an unkempt living room (my life with two schoolage kids). A phone call with an expectant woman. The time between two contractions in hard labor.

And yet, two minutes can stretch into eternity; when you have to pee, and the person in the stall is (apparently) spending her jolly-good time methodically counting out the toilet paper squares into a prime number equal to or greater than 167. When it's *almost* time to leave work - but not quite. When it's just about bedtime, and someone, for some strange reason, taught your offspring how to tell time (leaving no chance of tricking --- um, convincing --- them that it really, TRULY is 8 p.m.).

Shoulders.

Any midwife, nurse, doula, birthing woman, goddess with a vague idea of the birthing process may have had an involuntary squeeze in the region of their kegels right there (sorry for any men that might have stumbled upon this particular post --- not sure what kind of physical response will be manifested there!). Shoulder dystocia --- or "shoulders" in the lay terms (that is, talk-fast-because-there-is-no-time-for-the-extra-three-syllables-dammit-get-the-stool-and-get-ready-for-suprapubic-pressure-NOW!!!") is one of the most terrifying, unpredictable, ready-or-not-here-I-come complications that may occur during childbirth. Sometimes you can get an inkling that shoulder dystocia may occur --- moms who have had previous deliveries with the complication, babies that are 'known' (* I could argue this "point" on and on, but we'll just leave it!) to be large, whether from serial ultrasounds or hands-on measuring, suspected pelvic anomalies, funky labor patterns --- but in the vast majority of cases, it's not until the bitter "oh meconium!" (midwife joke - hahahaha. sorry...!) moment that you realize just how deep things are going to get.

Backing up a tad, a quick refresher on shoulder dystocia. If you know all of this, go ahead and fast forward through this part. It's a bone-on-bone issue; while the first instinct one may have may be to cut a big ole episiotomy, few shoulder dystocias will be resolved by this. (The only benefit of slicing the vaginal tissue is to allow theoretical "roominess" in an otherwise snug tight area... more on this soon.) So what happens in a shoulder dystocia, for heaven's sake, if it can't be fixed with a big scissors and blood gushing everywhere?!


(Sorry if that sounded overdramatic... I imagined crazed readers, confused with the thought that a 'pis could fix everything, wildly glancing around at each other trying to figure out what the heck was going on here. I may have illusions of grandeur going on here. Also, there are a few people who could attest that though there was no snipping or clipping at any shoulder dystocias I have presided over... they still end up looking like massacres. In fact, all of the births I attend seem to resemble the Battle of 1812 for some reason. Let's pretend it's my own small rebellion at the outdated hospital curtains and furnishings, and little by little, I WILL get them all replaced...)

 Anyway. Woman labors, baby progresses through the cardinal movements (if you aren't familiar with these, I encourage you to do what any sane person would do and google that #&*%! In particular, look for some of the great videos out there, as well as the sites verbally outlining the process. I LOVE the Spinning Babies website - http://spinningbabies.com/about-spinning-babies/390-how-do-babies-rotate?start=1 - both in general and for their nice description of the 7 cardinal movements). So, in a nutshell, the baby has to do some funky dance moves during labor and delivery, and so does mama*. Things tend to go okay if both partners are dancing together and to the same music, but if someone's hearing salsa music and the other is into those love ballads I associate with my junior high dances and sequined, cheesy dresses (think "Stairway to Heaven" with a rapid latino underbeat), things aren't going to work as smoothly as you'd like. In this awful analogy, the love-ballad may be a mom who's not coping with the intensity of contractions, or is *too* relaxed with an epidural on board, or whose uterus is putting out wimpy little contractions for whatever reason (an effort to induce before her due date, or what-have-you). So the dance is on, but it -again, oddly reminiscent of that 8th grade homecoming dance - looks like the short kid with pimples and the gawky, tall girl with braces trying to slow dance to "Mambo No. 5". Then, on top of everything you could have a pair of left feet (does it matter if they're mine? Does it? Does it!?! Oh, wait... Back to the present....) --- or a less-than-ideally-designed-pelvis (did you know there are four basic pelvic types, with each one possibly predisposing babe to "fit" a different way? True story.), and things really get fun. Or not fun, depending on your sense of humor.

So, anyway, the dance is on. If you're rockin' out with a first time mama, the first movement (engagement) could happen days or weeks before labor ever kicks in; with moms who've been to the dance before, it might not happen until somewhere after the punch and crackers are served. Not too big of a deal either way, except Mama will need to find the bathroom more often once it happens, so be ready. From then on out, the dance starts to resemble more of a tuck-and-roll kind of craze; the babe needs to curl up in a snug little baby roly-poly bug (but cuter and covered in amniotic fluid yet), chin to chest - this is known as flexion; next the snug little bug head continues pressing down on the vaginal floor (descent) while rotating into the ideal position to pass through the pelvis (internal rotation). Once through the pelvic arch, the babe's neck extends (appropriately called extension!) and within moments her body rotates - or "restitutes" - to face either maternal side (rather than face down as her face had delivered), allowing first one and then the other shoulder, followed by the rest of her lovely body, to slide under the pubic bone (expulsion). Beautiful! Angels sing! The Macarena plays, everyone dances in unison, arms undulating, baby crying but doing so rhythmically to the music. A successful, textbook birth!

Except when it isn't, of course. Sometimes, for whatever reason (see that bad-dance analogy above...) some of us are tone-deaf in relation to music itself, some of us unfortunately get set up for bad labor/delivery/birth experiences, some of us are blessed to be "lucky" when it comes to baby-birthin' - and (I'm a firm believer in this) some of us are just not quite as lucky. For anyone who gets set up with a bad mix of techno and 1970's country, it can get messy fast in the birthing room. Many times labor will progress veeerrrrrrrrry sllloooowwwwwwwly - but not always. Same thing for pushing - it might take hours and hours and hoooours - but not always. Usually it will be a first time mom - but definitely not always! Sometimes after the delivery of a squashed little eggplant head, it will appear to be sucked back in (the ominous "turtle sign") - but not always.

Once in a while, it seems the baby gets messed up in his dance steps somewhere. Maybe that extra "left" shoe of a pelvis coaxes him into rotating before he descends fully, or somewhere along the line something (toss in whatever you can come up with here ---- history of childhood sexual abuse? chronic low back pain? anesthesiologist who is "on the floor but ready to go home now, so if there's any laboring women who want an epidural, now is the time, and I don't care if she's only 2 cm!"? artificially-strong pitocin-augmented contractions for SROM for 24+hours sans any symptoms of infection? etc) led his mama to get an epidural rather early along the line, leading to weaker-than-expected contractions that needed to be kickstarted again after the anesthesiologist left. Wimpy uterus, lax lower abdominal and pelvic floor muscles = no resistance to encourage flexion.... ? Someone encouraging mama to push too soon ("Oh! You're 10 cm and you don't feel a thing? Let's get you pushing!") or staving off the urge to push ("No no no! Oh no you don't ---- you can't deliver here, not without Dr. so-and-so, what if you had a bay-yuh-bee?!?!") for too long?

Once you have a baby head, and no sign of shoulders emerging --- you have trouble. You call for reinforcements - as many nurses as can roll into the room (something akin to the clowns trying to fit into the tiny car, only with fewer airhorns and absolutely zero humor), your back-up provider, a stool, a pediatric/NICU team if you're lucky - and jump into the HELPERR mode. Believe it or not, this does not mean looks at your helpers and then run like crazy from the room --- but rather calmly and systematically roll through a series of steps meant to (hopefully) dislodge one-to-two sticky little shoulders from one stubborn little pelvic ridge.  After getting that extra help, think about that episiotomy (what the whaaa?), legs waaaaay back, and ask a nurse to nudge babe's shoulder from the outside; if still no-go, you have to take things to the inside (which is where the episiotomy may come in handy - the vaginal opening is only so large, and in order to introduce the bulk of your hands into it, along with sufficient room to work with the fetal body.... you may need a bit of extra space. May.), and/or try to slip the posterior arm out. For some reason, many sources list "reposition" as one of the last "R's" in the handy-HELPERR mnemonic --- even though this can often open the pelvic diameters sufficiently to allow the babe to pass without the use of the  more invasive measures, and even women with epidurals (depending on the depth of the anesthetic block) can many times do this with assistance. Anyway. As an afterthought - and I hope that it rarely, rarely happens - mnemonics usually list "replace"... as in, try to hit the "rewind" button and get the baby's head back through the vagina and cervix, and rush to an emergency (like the ultimate, beyond-emergency-emergency) cesarean.

I've got no good answers, and suppose I've rambled on far too long, and far too far from the original point of this post. Suffice it to say, shoulder dystocia is (a) need-a-bath-and-a-good-stiff-drink (except you'll probably still be on-call, so good luck with that) scary, (b) thank the heavens/god/creator/karma/blogspot/nursing directors for nursing staff trained to jump in like they do it *every* day and be amazing when it happens (as well as to switch out non-scrubbable furnishings like nobody's business), and (c) watch out for those sneaky, rotten little roly-poly babes and their shoulders; they'll get you every time! Thankfully - the majority of shoulder dystocias - when handled appropriately (which includes the provider staying cool and calm -*not* anywhere reminiscent of my prepubscent dances - and great teamwork, communication, and dedication) end with a healthy, albeit crying little pink bug (and midwife). What more could you want?

*warning: bad analogy ahead 

**Genetics, biology/anthropology, diet/exercise, knowledge, mind-over-matter, all of these or none of them, whatever - but I do believe that some of us just are "luckier" when it comes to birthing. That being said, those of us who care for birthing women have the largest responsibility in ensuring that we do all that we can to level the playing field --- avoiding unnecessary inductions, minimizing interventions, providing the education and support that's not there.

Long time gone...

Hey, nice to see ya! Where've you been?!  Oh, wait, I guess maybe it's where I been, eh?

So, needless to say, this post is loooooong overdue.  I think this blog's last posting was somewhere around, oh, six months ago?  Huh.  I guess it's been a busy half-year.  Since our last rendevous, old friend, I've packed up and picked up everything to move half a days drive away, officially gaining entry into the world of a practicing (and paid!!!) nurse-midwife, and gloriously helped a powerful mama pull her newest into her arms, standing alongside her bed... (my first out-of-bed birth - woohoo!). I've said goodbye to so many friends --- and in a heartbreaking moment that doesn't end, to my baby brother, standing alongside each of my family members as we realize the swiftness with which goodbye can be missed; I've lain awake at night and struggled with my own internal guilt, fears, remorse, anxieties - both professional and personal.  I worry about meeting the expectations of my clinic administrators, meeting the needs of my clients, about being thorough yet not over-ordering or falling behind; I fret about when the golden hospital privileges will finally be mine, how stressed my partners are in the meantime while they await that day and how tiring it must be to have to back me up until then.

And, of course - I yawn, I drag, I sleep only halfway 98% of the time, hoping/not hoping my pager will go off... if it does, if that next mama's water finally breaks, it will be one more babe closer to independent privileges and a bit of relief for everyone all around (but if it doesn't, of course, it means a bit more sleep for everyone on the home front.) Officially, I'm on call something like four nights a week - but unofficially I've been sleeping with my pager under my pillow just about 24/7 since starting in April - or at least since getting permission to get near hospital patients a month or two ago. It doesn't beep at me often ... yet I still dream that it does, or that it did and I slept through it, or that the batteries died and someone's been frantically trying to find me, yadda yadda....

Oh, but the catches - the sweet, slippery, lovely babes!  (Really, isn't that what it's all about??) When it's down to that moment, the rest of the stress, the worrying, the anxiety melts away.  Until, that is, the hemorrhaging afterwards... or the placenta sticks... or mama passes out later on.... you know, those sorts of things....  But the catch itself, usually, is a rush!
 
I pledge, from this point forward, to stay more loyal to this blog.And I hope you'll stay here, too.  Like any good things, any journey worth taking, it may be a long road, but hopefully worth the travel....

My "birthingway" necklace ... or "mamalove" necklace... or "I Catch" necklace" ... or ??? 
(I'm open to suggestions!) ... for every babe, a bead <3 

 

Happy Birthday, Memories...

Happpppy Birthday To You........ (or) I just want to eat sweets!!!

It's a time for nostalgia. All the inner turmoil (where to go, what to do...) sometimes causes me to curl into a ball within myself, rather than seeking outward direction. Today, in that mode, I happened to click on AtYourCervix's most recent blog entry, which begged the question (at least to me): How, as a midwife, can I empower women to be true partners in the pregnancy and birth they want?

The more I pondered this, with Judge Judy and a roaring fire in the background, the more I realized I hold this as a cornerstone of my own midwifery philosophy. If women (and their families) don't feel that they are invested and active participants in their own care, how do we - as providers - expect to build a close, trusting rapport that will endure through the long, scary, demanding hours/days/weeks that build up to the actual birth of the precious babe? The emotional, physical, and mental toll that the process can have on a relationship (whether marital, familial, or provider-client) is immense, and only by working together and "sharing the load" - rather than one member of the duo gifting all of the 'power' to the other - can the weight be used to strengthen rather than risk breaking the bonds that tie.

Or something.

And this thought train eventually wandered off the tracks and into some rocky, dirt lanes through the woods.... to early last year. I thought I could blurb a little something like the above, link to a post from sometime late last winter/early spring, and, voila! But, as I dug back - I realized that I had very, very briefly glossed over the birth I had in mind for this post. The one that so perfectly exemplifies how shared decision making and informed consent could have been (or should have been) utilized -- and very blatantly wasn't. In retrospect - still a very beautiful, touching birth. But from the provider perspective, so very painful. The family --- an amazing, strong mother-woman, supportive partner steady at her side, and longed-for babe finally brought into their waiting arms --- could not have been more incredible. (I've been blessed to be able to keep witness here and there - hopefully in a not-creepy sort of way! - and am delighted that not only has the small family blossomed into a gorgeous example of two loving parents doting on a beautiful young'un --- but they also seem like just so much "fun"! And maybe that's the crux of this whole post; seeing someone who I really identified with, who I could see as possibly being very close friends with, had our paths crossed at another time, hurt in this way...)

So, if you'd like to sit back, relax, and listen to a little story about informed consent, shared decision making, and all of that good stuff - let's all take a big step backwards (away from the angst of when-is-the-phone-going-to-ring and blizzards and job worries of my current life, and back to the days of my early clinical rotation...), shall we? Here goes...

(cue dimming of the lights)

(maybe a little mood music... something...)

(Oops, wait - cut the atmosphere. Remember, no real names, no actual pictures of the client, the babe, details changed, etc, etc.... c'mon now, folks! Protecting privacy here :) Okay, rewind back to that warm, cozy story-in-front-of-the-roaring-fire-again... where were we?)

The Story

The patient (we'll just call her "Mama" for the sake of privacy, ease of typing, yadda yadda) and her husband (oh heck, why not call him "Papa", eh?) had transferred care to the midwife I was precepting with sometime towards the end of her pregnancy; not at the end-end, but sometime between the end of her second trimester and final weeks of her pregnancy. The couple had learned there was a nurse-midwife in the area and - being well-informed in the pregnancy and birth process, and knowing they wanted to seek a more natural, low-intervention birth experience - were excited to meet her in the hopes of increasing their chance of finding this sort of birth. The pregnancy had been perfect - Mama had no risk factors, no concerns, no red flags. As of the forty-week prenatal visit, everything was as "textbook" as any pregnancy could be classified.

Like many babes of first-time Mama's, however, Little One had no particular plan for working its way out. Home -- aka the uterus -- was quite plush and cozy, particularly in the cold Midwestern winter days before spring finally hit. So when that forty-week appointment arrived with no signs of impending labor, my preceptor had already mentioned the possibility of nudging the Little One on its way via an artificial method or two; Mama had politely declined, reminding the midwife I was working with that she and Papa hoped to avoid as many interventions as possible unless there was a true medical intervention. Since Mama felt good (she was doing amazing at this point, from my outsider's point of view; I remember when I passed the 38... then 39 week mark with the Mini-est -- after delivering right at 37 weeks with the Mini-er -- and thinking that e v e r y single day d r a g g e d on l o n g e r than the one before it. As my due date loomed before me, I know I looked nowhere near as calm and simultaneously energetic as Mama did!) and Little One showed no indications of distress - and there was no evidence-based rationale to push induction at this point - an appointment was made (following a reactive non-stress test) to see Mama back the next week. My preceptor hesitantly agreed to allow the pregnancy to continue and re-visit the induction topic at that point, all depending on Mama's cervical status, how Little One "performed" on the upcoming non-stress test and biophysical profile, and, of course, any other surprises in the meantime. (My memory is hazy at some of these details; I seem to remember, however, that my preceptor's plan -- which seemed to me as more of a begrudging negotiation to Mama's continued decline of her offer of induction -- was to induce at 41.5 weeks at the latest. Again, I may be mis-remembering these details... but in the end, it's more or less a moot point.)

Fast forward another long/short Midwestern almost-spring-but-still-the-last-hurrah's-of-winter week. (Excuse me a second while I slip into something a little more comfortable ... present tense now...)

Mama checks in for her scheduled appointment, doing great, no concerns for the assistant who rooms her and checks her blood pressure. A few minutes later, I step into the room and start visiting easily with Mama, who laying back on the exam table resting. I tease that Little One must be a girl; that she's "in there" doing her hair, taking her time to get "all pretty" for the big day, and that must be why things are taking so long. We joke about my freezing cold hands (as always), talk about the usual important questions - any leaking of fluid? funny vision changes? crazy pains? bleeding or baby movement changes? - while I wash my hands and find the tape measure, doppler, gel, and anything else that I usually forget. Little by little, I work my way back to the reclined exam table where Mama is still laying back, resting as comfortably as possible at this stage. Finally, I get my hands on that belly; my inexperienced student hands work to try to determine fetal position and lie (is that a breech? Feels like a back along this side... I think that's a head working its way closer to engagement...), and then go ahead and assess cervical dilation as instructed by my preceptor, who is curious about any changes from the previous week's assessment. Not much of anything. (I don't remember the exact details... Mama was not crowning, anyway.)

Finally, after all this goofing around, I make it to the important stuff --- baby beats! Goop on the doppler, doppler on the tummy, beats in our ears. Initially, we hear a nice steady rate --- 120's. And then... Ba-dump, Ba-dump, baa- duuump, baaa-duuuuuuump, baaaaa-duuuuuuuuump... baaaa- duuuuuuuuuuuump... (Okay. I admit it. I haven't quite figured out the best way to translate an audible, deliberate drop from a happy, normal Little One's cardiac reading from an external fetal monitor to an oh-crap-I-don't-know-if-I-like-that-so-much sound. But, if you've worked labor/delivery - I have a feeling you might know just the sound I'm trying to describe here.) Suddenly, my lovely 120's kiddo is picking up in the 70's-80's range; uck. And, unlike those instances where I've had cause to wonder if I might have started picking up maternal, I was quite certain that it was still Little One's heartbeat; I had been picking up a strong, steady heart rate (discernible from the maternal heart rate by the sound), and had heard it fall beat by beat; a quick pulse check from Mama could easily confirm this as well.

Well, of course - a decel is a decel, and like any deceleration, it makes an OB nurse think a little bit. My first thought was to get Mama moving a bit (and certainly once I had a few seconds to think straight, a head-slap was directly in my future for setting up the whole situation... but that was later), and off of that laying-back position she'd been hanging out in for probably a good 20-30 minutes by this time. Within seconds, as expected, Little One was giddily climbing right back up and cheerfully chugging along around baseline, anywhere from 120's to 130's. I was feeling better. But. (There's that "but" again... we've talked about that before, eh?)

But. My precepting midwife had walked in in the midst of the heart rate, as I was working to help reposition Mama; the decel did not excite her at all (understandably) and she quickly explained to Mama the importance of expediting delivery for the "health of the baby". (By this point, I had not had a chance to explain the circumstances leading up to the deceleration, either to the precepting midwife or even to Mama, who was equally understandably upset by the midwife's reaction to this.) To condense a hectic, emotional office visit, my precepting midwife - after learning of the extended time that Mama was laying fairly flat and likely compressing her vena cava, possibly contributing to the decel (which lasted I would estimate 90 seconds or so) - modified her initial plan of care, which very strongly suggested an ambulance ride to the hospital (about ten minutes away) complete with IV fluids and cesarean prep, to "allowing" Mama to drive herself to the hospital and meet both of us there to begin an immediate induction.

(During the commercial break between "this calls for an emergency c-section NOW!" and the latter decision, Mama had been hooked up for her scheduled non-stress test, which was beautiful. Little One never strayed from the baseline s/he had demonstrated in previous weeks, had gorgeous variability, accelerations up the wazoo, and no further decels.) Outside of Mama's door, my preceptor turned to me and explained that "You never, ever let a patient leave undelivered if you hear a decel like that in the office." On the other hand, Mama was on the phone with Papa, trying to relay all of this sudden rush of news; she was in tears, unsure what any of it meant, frantically worried about the health of their baby. In the middle of it all, I was left to try to assert my newly-forming role; I felt on so many levels that Mama wasn't getting the whole story from my preceptor, yet (based on other things that were already happening in the clinical setting) I wasn't sure how aggressive I dared be. I wanted to tell Mama that everything truly was okay; of course we couldn't be 100% sure that there was nothing going on that contributed to the decel (can we ever be truly 100% about anything?), but the fact that so many things had led up to it - or just the fact that we know variable decels are a part of normal labor and delivery, and if transient/not repetitive/not prolonged/etc, they are usually benign? Or, that if we monitored every pregnant woman continuously from the 24th week of her pregnancy until she delivered - without intervening - we'd probably all pee our pants at the kind of things we'd see that happen on a semi-routine basis (yet that don't actually cause harm). I wanted to tell Mama to question what other options, besides immediate induction, were available; I wanted to offer a biophysical profile to complement her reassuring non-stress test, or, maybe a stay in the antepartum suite overnight with a repeat NST and BPP in the morning for further reassurance. Or a consult with the MFM specialist. Or even simply ask if she and Papa which plan they felt comfortable with.

Sans the "dead baby" card. (For those of you unfamiliar with this ploy, it's basically as straightforward as it sounds... the provider, for fear of liability --- i.e. I am going to tell you that if you don't listen to me and do as I say, your baby could die/have a serious ill effect/etc; this way, if you don't listen, I can say "I told you so!" and my ass is covered... --- , for convenience, or just out of some deep-seated love of power. Or, I suppose, a handful of other reasons. Anyway. Unfortunately, that's what my preceptor did, without using the specific words "dead baby". She tiptoed around the phrase, strongly encouraging (although really, when your doctor/midwife/care provider "encourages" you to do something - particularly if you just had what seemed to be a pretty scary, dramatic few minutes - it's not really encouragement at all... it's an order, a telling, a demand... isn't it?) Mama and Papa that it was time to induce this labor. No, she knew it wasn't what they planned on; but, Mama was now 41 weeks, the placenta was getting old, and the baby was clearly stressed. Opting to wait to induce at this point could be a very bad idea, and unfortunately it's not something you want to look back on with regret when it's your precious baby's life ... do you?

Oh dear. Of course you don't...

So - Mama and Papa agree hesitantly, but with great love and worry for Little One, to be induced that afternoon. A medication is given to help begin the process (intervention number one), continuous monitoring is done (intervention number two), and a few hours later, Mama's water is broken to help things continue progressing.

Throughout these hours, Mama and Papa - with the help of a wonderful support team - are unbelievable. Like few other couples I've seen, they bravely open themselves to each new change in their birth plan as if it is not an unwelcome intervention but rather like it is a glad gift to ease the coming of their babe. Contractions made stronger by the inevitable pitocin (intervention number three or four, I lose count eventually of course) are greeted with smiles of enduring strength rather than requests for pain medication, and hours and hours of long labor - meant to be spent quietly at home, their prepared soundtrack playing them along - pass instead in the fluorescent hospital room, with staff coming and going. Antibiotics, internal fetal monitors - nothing sways this team.

Finally, the time has come to meet Little One. The babe greets the world as some do, a little surprised and needing just a bit of help getting going - but otherwise beautiful, strong, and looking for Mama. Yet, instead, without skin-to-skin or a chance to feed - it's off to the NICU for "fluids" since the birth must have left a wee one somehow low on fluids, maybe a bit too "blue" for the NICU NP's liking. (I have to butt in here - sorry - but as an OB nurse at a critical access hospital... I was appalled at the number of babies taken to the NICU for "fluids" or because they weren't "pinking up" as quickly as the NICU staff - called often if the staff expected a possible issue at birth - liked... babies would be crying and have great tone, color, and respiratory effort after the initial 1-minute apgar, yet they would end up separated from their mothers for 24 hours for these reasons. Hmmm.... It seemed like - and I heard rumors to this effect - a case of "we have NICU in house, so we have to use them or lose them.") Mama and Papa had worked soooo hard, for soooo long to birth this Little One - only to watch the NICU team wheel the bassinet upstairs, for an unknown length of time. (This, of course - the biggest and most obscene intervention of all; the cascade of the others, from the very induction that should have been discussed as an option along with all other possible alternatives, led to Mama being kept from her Little One for an incredible, infuriating amount of time. She could not see or touch her baby in the NICU until she had eaten, been up to the bathroom, and showered; the nursing staff refused - per policy - to simply assist her to a wheelchair and allow her to go to see her infant.)

In the end, like with so many other instances of less-than-true-informed-consent, it worked out: everyone is fine, and lovely. Little one is gorgeous, Mama is happy, and Papa is, well, a proud Papa. My preceptor ended with a healthy mama and baby, and no fear of litigation or a peer review from her collaborating physicians. I, though, ended with a family that still haunts me; I am grateful for the beauty of their birth story - beyond all that was done to them, they remained strong - yet am saddened for the lack of informed consent that took place (and that, truly, exists in most facilities regarding pregnancy, labor, delivery - and inductions in particular).

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Happy Birthday, Memories!

The Power of a Mother

“We have a secret in our culture, and it’s not that birth is painful. It’s that women are strong.” – Laura Stavoe Harm

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In the past weeks, I've had the opportunity to see a beautiful display of the strength the we, as mothers, hold within ourselves. I have seen two first-time mothers carry twins to term and birth them vaginally (a rarity in today's obstetric world), and I've been blessed to be a part of several beautiful water births. I've supported women as they shed the pain and negativity of their prior births - whether vacuum-assisted, episiotomied, or cesarean - and worked their way to fulfilling, heartwarming experiences this time around. I've coached women through difficult labors, instructing them to push - or not push - at the hardest times, when it was the thing they most didn't want to do (but needed to, for the sake of their baby - whether due to a stuck shoulder, nuchal cord, or other concerning issue). I have seen mothers labor and push for hours, with no analgesia; I've seen mothers who plan to get "everything [they] can get" - but still have intense discomfort... regardless, the strength, and the determination to make it through, is amazing. I've visited women in the hours and days after their births and been awed at the love that's obvious as they snuggle their newborns; the way they hold their nurslings to their chest, cooing and adoring, proudly showing off their babes to older siblings, grandmas and nurses.

*~*~*

Strong thunderstorms and tornados moved through this region - and much of the country - last weekend. The similarity between Mother Nature's power and that of a laboring mother is not lost on me. Surveying the damage of what has officially been deemed a tornado - which moved right alongside of the

hospital - brings to mind the rapid internal changes that occur with labor... Mama feels as though her insides are being ripped apart, ravished by the incredibly intense waves of contractions moving through her. Until labor began, she may not have even realized the strength within herself; and yet, like the buildings and trees damaged from this storm, her body will begin working its way back to normal within hours after baby's birth. (And, in fact, just as a beautiful, brilliant, calm sunset emerged from the storm - mama will almost always emerge from birth with a tired but peaceful sense of wonder as well, with the most beautiful prize to be had.)

Thank God for Midwives

(And mama's, and babies, and supportive dads/aunties/grandmas/friends, and doulas...)

But, at least for me and at least for this week --- thank God for Midwives! If you've followed along at all, you might remember how intense (is that a good word??) things became at my last clinical site. I won't go into all of the details again - because frankly, it makes me feel pretty lousy and I also start to feel a little badly for the women who really want a midwife and don't realize (until it might be too late) when they've actually found a medwife - but it was rough.

Rough on me a student, as a person, and even as an OB nurse. That site caused me to question a lot of things both about myself and the way I have been prepared to practice as a CNM; the Midwife was motivated, she was popular, and she was good. But - she was also (either by choice or by necessity) very much a medwife. As a learning experience, it was good; the four months I spent with her allowed me to begin the hands-on learning I needed to grow as a new midwife, and the last few weeks (along with many, many weeks thereafter) gave me pause to reflect on ways that I myself need to grow my personality to better perform in that role, as well as on the pieces of the Midwife's practice that I did and did not want to take with me into my own practice.

It wasn't until today, though, that I realized how deeply I felt wronged in my previous site. My faculty advisor has been working hard to help me find a new clinical site; this process, which originally seemed as though it would be fairly quick (I had another preceptor in mind, who was happy to work with me) ended taking 2 and a half months. Obstacles with policy, administration changes, and just enough little roadblocks to keep things from progressing have kept my hands from officially (as a student nurse-midwife, that is) welcoming a baby into the world since March 1st. (And it has been kiiillllllllling me!) As things continued to stall, my advisor suggested I come to a site that has welcomed several of my classmates in the past; while at first I was hesitant (as this site is a 3.5 hr drive from home) eventually it got to the point where any site was perfect, and I jumped at the chance. The midwifery group agreed to work with me, the paperwork was approved, and plans were made for my arrival early this week.

And, it has been amazing. Amazing for the births I have attended - 9 so far since Tuesday (and I missed several others one day when I finally had to admit that my body and mind needed rest), including two glorious waterbirths, two VBAC's, and a handful of other triumphant displays of mama-power. Amazing in the fact that the midwives and nurses have welcomed me with open arms, eager to help me blossom as I work my way towards becoming a beginning-level midwife. I've had "scary" moments - a decel that wouldn't come up (while my precepting CNM and the OB on-call were in the midst of a c-section and completely unavailable), a shoulder dystocia that didn't resolve easily with McRobert's maneuver and suprapubic pressure - but made it through them. I've been allowed to be more independent in four days, with four different midwives, than I was in four long months with the Midwife: when our dystocia baby's shoulders didn't ease out shortly after his head, the CNM I was working with that day didn't push me aside to take over... instead, she stayed back (as hard as it must have been) and allowed me to identify the situation as a shoulder dystocia and to work to resolve it. When my efforts weren't quite doing it, and I looked to her for help - she was there. The trust that I've found from these midwives - each of whom I have met for the first time the morning that the call shift begins - literally brought me to tears as I finally took some time today to reflect on this first week. It takes a momentous amount of trust to stand back and allow a student to be in control of a situation - especially one that is as intense as a shoulder dystocia or prolonged decel. I can't even begin to fathom how difficult it is to stay back and just "be", while a student works to resolve something that can so quickly develop into disaster. And yet - the true mark of a good teacher is to understand that without allowing a student to take the next step towards independence, the student will ultimately never succeed, and both teacher and pupil end as failures. In labor and delivery, with the life and well-being of a longed-for baby on the line (as well as the mother's safety), the amount of trust and courage in takes to do this is multiplied ten-fold... with the rewards equally as impressive.

I'm not there yet - a part of me froze up in those tense situations, and it took longer than it should have for the little voice in me to say, "this is what you do... remember?". But the gift of being allowed to wake that little voice up, to do my best, and to know that I had a supportive preceptor right behind me --- rather than pushing me to the side immediately --- was worth more than anything else. Then, the bonus of constructive feedback and open communication - rather than quiet, tired frustration - after each incident: What should I have done? What might have been a better way to do that? And - what did I do right?

As I wrote what was supposed to be a quick update to my advisor, letting her know how incredible of a learning experience this has been so far, I found myself reflecting back to the days with the Midwife and comparing the feelings I had at the end of that rotation (inadequacy, doubt, fear, shame) and the ones that have emerged in just a few days here (confidence, readiness, calmness). Sitting on the back porch of the midwife who so graciously invited me into her home, smelling the lilacs with songbirds for a soundtrack, tears rolled down my cheeks as I typed on and on. Where my hands were rarely able to catch without the Midwife's covering them before, they now have eased 9 new lives into the world with very little guidance; when I reluctantly began to perform certain skills in the way that I had been taught from the Midwife (but had never been comfortable with), I was reassured that there was another way, and that the way I learned was not necessarily the best practice; what had been frustrating in the past (lack of expectations, absence of any real rapport) was nowhere to be found among these midwives.

So, thank God for midwives... the midwives I've worked with this week, who took my hesitant, injured confidence and allowed it to begin to heal; the midwife who opened her home to me, with its peaceful quietness (no television, no cell phone reception) and country beauty; the midwife (my advisor) who spent so much time working with me to find this happy place again. And even the Midwife, who started me on this journey and puts this all into perspective.

My Town

My town is (relatively) rural, "under-served", and ... beautiful. There are days that I find myself awestruck at the innocence of the people here, the young families working so hard to bring about the change that we need, the grandparents so active in the younger generations, and the community programs that are so involved in so many areas of our growth. Two Native American reservations adjoin the region, sharing a wealth of rich tradition and cultural diversity.

Even after nearly thirty years of living within thirty miles of the same spot, I still have moments of wonder at the physical world around me as well. My home is a mixture of fertile, strong farmland - capable of bearing grains most months of the year - and rolling hills and thick, tall stands of trees. Rusty tractors and beat-up cars dot the highways and country roads; anything shiny and speedy is less likely to be seen. Deer are everywhere (driving home from my mother's today, I had to hit the brakes twice to avoid last fall's scrawny doe-fawns), with wild turkeys just as present and pesky. A bear loping across a country road is a much more sacred experience; bald eagles are a daily, humbling, occurrence.

(Now, of course - don't get me wrong. There are so many areas that could be improved on; there's the same old political drama as any other area - the community is older than the average town, with a very conservative tilt - as well as tension from a so-called "religious cult" that has had ongoing legal claims against the city government over the past five years or so. Racism/ethnicism between "whites" and Native Americans (as well as members of the religious group mentioned above) does exist in the area despite commitment by many organizations to work towards common goals of unity. Business is always business: our small, not-for-profit, community-run hospital recently "merged" with a larger health care system, and competition continues with other clinic systems in town and with the "bigger, better, newer" facilities located slightly further away. My town may not be perfect - but it may be perfect for me, anyway.)

And yet, with all our imperfections, all our arguments and all our petty squabbles - we really do have it good. On our small, four LDRP obsetretics unit - in which each room has banged up doors, peeling wallpaper, and so many aesthetic no-no's that it's becoming painful to give tours during my childbirth classes - we've celebrated the birth of not one, but two sets of vaginally birth twins in the past few months. In the years that I've been a part of 'my' team, we have had several more sets, both to primiparous and multiparous mamas. (I have not be lucky enough to be present at any of these births yet --- can you tell I'm a bit peeved?! --- but am still so excited/proud/any-number-of-adjectives-fits-here that the diagnosis of "twin pregnancy" hasn't automatically equaled "cesarean section" for our mama's; generally, as long as Twin A is vertex and the pregnancy is otherwise healthy without factors contraindicating vaginal birth, trial of labor has been offered/attempted, and as far as I know - all have been successful with wonderful outcomes.)

As a nurse, I've had the joy of holding patients' hands, helping them breathe through contractions and ease their way to the births of their sweetest creations; I've been blessed enough to have to catch babies (when the doctor didn't quite make it to the room, or even to the hospital in time), and instead of being reprimanded or frowned upon, I've been thank

ed and even praised because of how well things were handled. One mama had a vacuum assisted delivery with her first babe, and a massive laceration with repair; she was terrified of pushing and delivery. With the doctor down the hall, ready for the call, she tried her first push - and with just a little encouragement, gentle support, and the right words... she delivered her beautiful daughter by herself, into my hands, before the doctor could make it down the hall to us. No lacerations, no need for any assistance - only her own strength.

Much of this truly comes down to my own inner calmness. As a new nurse - starting directly into OB/L&D nursing, I was terrified of having a mama "precip" on me. And, of course, two of my first handful of mamas did just that. (At that time, I was new enough that I still had a precepting nurse with me, and I basically froze, leaving her to jump in and catch.) From that point, I had such o

f phobia of having that happen again that I became hyper-vigilant of when a mom might suddenly progress to delivery rapidly - and so I began calling the doctors to come in very, very early in second stage. (Now, if they were midwives they would probably already be there... but that's another story...) La la la da.... fast forward a couple years, I became more relaxed and understanding, intuitive, and comfortable with idea of catching if need be - and, I was entering midwifery school, so the idea of catching was a little more addictive at this point! - I had no precips, because I had finally gotten it down pat of when to call the MD's in so they would get there *just* in time. (Drats!) But, finally, I realized, if and when a baby delivers - I'm all right with that. I no longer frantically instruct a mother to "Stop pushing!" or "Pant! Breathe through this one!" ... if she is going to push because the baby is right there, I am not going to stop her. I don't plan to catch any babies in babyland - but, if they come to my mamas and there's no one else around to catch 'em ... mama and I are going to do it!

I live in a town without high rise buildings, with no Starbucks or malls to call my own; "my" unit has only four labor beds, with peeling wallpaper and drab furnishings, and no OB/GYN's to be found. My countryside is, well, just that - fields, tractors, and farms. To be blunt, summertime smells like cow-shit... but also the sweet smell of lilacs, alfalfa, and fresh-cut grass.

And - I like it this way.

Going back a few steps... to a birth story

One blog I love to follow is "My OB Said What?!" (If you haven't checked it out, and are a fan of birthing/pregnancy/empowerment & advocacy, etc --- I strongly encourage you too! :)

Anyway, the site allows readers to share off-the-wall, rude, demeaning, jaw-dropping, and sometimes just plain ridiculous comments that their OB's/midwives/nurses have made while caring for them. It can sting to read some of the stories shared - but is also eyeopening. As a provider, caring for women and families... it is hard to realize how much impact a few words can have on a woman looking towards you for reassurance, guidance, and information. (I hope that I never end up on MOSW --- unless of course it's on "Thoughtful Thursday" --- but as sometimes we all have those moments when we find our foot in our mouths... *gulp*)

Back to the point, here. Recently, one of the posts revolved around a woman who asked her nurse-midwife why she decided to become a midwife. Rather than sharing her love of women's health, the normalcy of pregnancy, or helping bring new life into the world, the midwife explained something about not wanting to take the time to pursue a degree in medical school.

Doh.

Of course, the comments to this post were varied, some defending the midwife and the current, exhausting med school process, while others were shocked and appalled that this midwife was clearly a doctor in midwife's clothing (if you will). A few were just grateful that she was "honest" about her path to midwifery, which would lead them to quickly switch providers.

But to me, mostly, it led me to ponder... why did I become a midwife? What led me here?

I think, to answer these questions, I have to start with my own birthing experiences... (I'll start with my youngest, as I wrote it shortly after her birth; as I re-read it, some things jump out at me and I think, "my, how things have changed!") More on that, as well as my older Mini's story, soon...

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Birth of the Mini-est

It was early June, and I was miserably pregnant - but still far from my due date! Since my first daughter came right at 37 weeks, I had this faint hope (although I knew so much better) that #2 would also come early. So, once that 37 week mark came and went, I started going insane and feeling ridiculously overdue. Like every pregnant woman, I started examining my toilet paper, panties, poo, and anything and everything watching for the "signs" that labor was imminent. Of course, I had them all... and they didn't mean a damned thing.

I really wasn't THAT miserable, except my pelvis felt as though it was going to crack in half (and made a noise that reminded me of being a kid, and pulling the legs of my Barbie's apart - and then having them 'pop' out of the little plastic sockets, with that white plastic stuff... remember that? Eww) and I couldn't sleep for crap. I was achey, and kind of sick of having to hold my uterus up off my bladder to pee, and puffy - but could have been a lot worse. Still, though, I decided it was time to start working on Operation Baby OUT.

I walked, walked, walked, made my poor dh do things he probably did not care to do with a cranky, swollen whale (sorry about that, dear...), ate jalepeno poppers by the handful, climbed my wobbly self up onto a bike... anything and everything! Finally dh reminded me that the night before #1 was born, we had pulled weeds in the little flower garden out in front of our house. I rolled my eyes several times but decided what the hell... so A and I went out there and yanked half-heartedly at some weeds. Definitely made a dent, but the flowerbed still looked horrible. Had some dinner (don't remember what...!), went to bed (and again made my poor dh make a, um, prostaglandin deposit...?!), and thought about my big to-do list that I had made to keep myself busy and not looking for those aforementioned 'signs'. (The list included a pedicure the next day, calling to take 'call time' the next day at work, picking up some quilts at the dry cleaners, etc, etc)

Around 3 o'clock I woke up... with wet panties. Ewww! But, just like the first time around, I knew that it was amniotic fluid and not just a leaky bladder. To be sure, though, I snuck to the bathroom and fished out the nitrazine swab I had "accidently" liberated from work, and swabbed my gooky underwear - and saw a bright blue response immediately. Of course my heart was racing, and I got all shaky and excited (I had been dreaming of this and playing it in my mind for months, mind you!), but decided to shower before doing anything else... a girl's gotta be properly shaved for these kind of things, you know! So, I took a shower, then got online to kill a little bit of time and logged onto contractionmaster.com to see where my contractions (or lack of) were at. I also turned on the TV, and apparently at 3:30 a.m. there isn't a whole lot on - the old "Roseann" rerun where she's pushing free samples at the grocery store was all I got. Finally, around 4 I woke up dh, got his butt in the shower, and then after informing Jana of the change and rewriting my to-do list (so much for my pedi) we gathered the bags and walked over to the hospital. (I had called to let them know we were coming while dh was showering)

Go there, registered, got up to room 233 - and had the nitrazine now come out negative. Still not having much for contractions, and wondering if we'd even be staying. I was 2 cm at this point and pretty posterior (from my own guesses, I had been thinking I was around 2 for a while already) . But, nurse Angie decided to just put the IV in "just in case" (I was GBS positive this time), and wait and see - this was around 5 a.m. Assumed that Dr. Q would be coming in around 7 during rounds, so dh napped on the couch and I read my book ("No Country For Old Men") to pass the time... eventually reading only between contractions. By 7, I was definitely feeling them, but doing all right - I think it was around then that I put down the book, though; with the bustle of the day shift coming on around 7:30, dh woke up and turned on the TV, and kept asking me what I wanted to watch (not getting that I couldn't care less at this point!). My nurse manager - i.e. boss - came in around this point as well, and I remember talking through a contraction or two while she was in there, and afterwards thinking, "Huh, so far so good - I can still talk through them!". After that, though, they kept getting stronger, and I had to focus pretty intently on my focal point (the upper left drawer pull on the entertainment bureau) and breathe through them; I was also battling an achey back which I blamed on the bed... I started piling pillows on the bedside table and trying to hunch over it during contractions. Once or twice dh and I 'slow danced' through them. Around 8, since there was still no sign of the doc, I decided to hop in the shower both for the relief from the back pain and contractions, and also just for something to do to stay awake. Things got pretty intense in there, and I remember a few times thinking that if I pushed a little it might help... (it didn't). Still no doctor, so I stayed in there and alternated the hot water from my belly, to my back (or as best I could), to right at my perineum. I worked at visualizing that little head stretching my cervix and moving down... until finally at about 8:45 Dr. Q poked her head in to see how I was doing, and told me I didn't have to get out to see her if I was doing ok. By this point, I was thinking that I might be ready for something for pain, if things were moving - maybe nubain?? And I just wanted to know if things were progressing; if I was still only 3-4 cm's dilated I think I would have died, or begged for a c/s. I still felt like I was doing great... just tired!

So, I popped into bed, and she offers to break my water if I want; she also says that she has the nurses mixing up my second dose of ampicillin so we could get it in "just in case". I tell her it just depended on where we were dilation-wise if I wanted my water broke, and that I was maybe getting to the point for pain meds... so she grabs the amnihook and does the check. And pronounces me 9 cm! Since I had this great fear that I was only still 3 cm, I was pretty pumped... especially since I still had this mindset that things still had to get A LOT worse before getting to pushing. She decided against breaking my water, and the flurry of activities started (warmer and table coming in, that last dose of antibiotics being run in over 10 mins, etc) ... once the antibiotics were done, around 9:10 a.m., she broke the rest of my water (strange feeling!) and we started pushing. Pushing was awful! Last time I loved it... this time it killed me. Part of it was due to baby --- which also explains some of the back pain, which apparently was back labor! --- being posterior and rotating during pushing. At one point Dr. Q offered me some lidocaine gel to help with the burning, and I replied "it's not going to help at this point!" and everyone laughed at me... and then with the next contraction and push, I was ready to beg for it (except the head was coming out, and I couldn't get the words out... a little late, I guess!). Again, the best feeling in the world was when the shoulders slipped out and my second daughter was born at 9:15 a.m.

Due to a short cord, it was clamped right away (although I don't think I had even told the doc that I wanted to hold off on clamping/cutting until after it stopped pulsating) and cut by dh, and then she was placed on my tummy. I fumbled with the snaps on the gown, trying to get her to breast, until nurse Terrie said "it's easier this way" and just pulled the gown up from the bottom. Smart girl! She latched on easily and went to town... but I was still in awe of how HUGE she was!

Long story short, it was a very fast, relatively 'easy' natural labor - no pain meds, no unnecessary interventions. We did almost immediate skin-to-skin following birth, and my perineum remained intact with just a tiny skidmark. Recovery was fine, although the cramping was much, much stronger than with my first daughter - it was really worse than the labor was. My back was sore for a few weeks afterwards, but all in all - not too bad!

Olena Marie was born on 6/11/08 at 9:15 a.m., weighing in at 8# 7 oz, 19", and a whopping 35.5 cm head of dark hair.

Birth Story: Nella Cordelia

Have you read Nella Cordelia's birth story? If not, please do (have a box of kleenex handy - fair warning!) http://www.kellehampton.com/2010/01/nella-cordelia-birth-story.html

(thanks to At Your Cervix for sharing this link)

Birth photography...

... is something that I've always loved the idea of. As an OB nurse and now student nurse-midwife, I always find my mind taking these mental snapshots during labor, birth, and those first few days of each new family. I find myself saddened by the intimate moments lost, the sweet "firsts" that are missed, and the beauty of a partner's touch or a newborn's soft skin slipping by unnoticed. "Where is your camera?!" I scream, noiselessly, to the new parents, or the grandparents, or anyone else nearby. "Don't you realize how precious these moments are? You'll never get them back..."

Part of this melancholy stems back to Mini #2. As I was preparing to host the luncheon for her baptismal party, I was throwing together a photo album/scrapbook of her first days. (Of course, this happened to be only a day or two before the party... but that's another story.) It was only then that I realized - I only had a few pictures that were taken during labor and delivery. But... what about... I don't remember... How come....

Suddenly, it wasn't about the photo album (Heaven knows we had plenty of pictures for that), but the fact that I wanted to remember more. Now, granted, I feel like I remember our labor very, very vividly; my water "sprung a leak at home", I knew it was definitely my water (because, first of all, as an OB nurse, you just know amniotic fluid... and second of all, I had somehow accidentally managed to procure an amnioswab...), went in to the hospital and was deemed to not be ruptured - but still given IV antibiotics "just in case" since I was GBS +... continued to labor, eventually beginning to have "real" contractions and delivering within a matter of about four hours. I remember reading No Country For Old Men early on, I remember the Warm One laying out on the cot next to me and snoring away through much of my labor, I remember my boss coming in about two hours into labor to visit for a few minutes; I remember realizing in amazement that I was using a focal point (a focal point! something I have always discussed in Childbirth Classes, but never actually thought of using myself...) on the chest of drawers, and I remember visualizing my cervix melting away as I waited, and waited, and waited, in the shower. Anyway --- the point of this post wasn't to share my birth story (that's another day) but to mourn the lack of pictures.

But, now the Warm One came in and ruined my train of thought. I'll leave you, instead, with an invitation to visit these friendly blogs that I've come across - gorgeous examples of a touching, sweet birth story, told in pictures:

http://www.jackspratphotography.com/category/birth/

http://capturingdayone.com/gallery?pid=173 (click through the 16 images)

http://creativelookimagery.com/blog/?p=2441&cpage=1#comment-207 (my favorite - make sure you view the full-screen version, with your sound on...)

http://imaginatephotography.com/blog/2010/03/19/baby-ms-birth-illinois-birth-photographer/ (another video)

Enjoy!

Who's on Your Celebrity List?

Come on... you know you have one... your list of guilty pleasures. Those five celebs, that you would like to have a chance with - no holds barred. Kind of "freebies", right? I know you know what I'm talking about here, right?!

Wait, wait! I don't mean, oh, Gerard Butler (drool!) or Brad Pitt. Not that list. I'm not going that far off topic (not that I wouldn't mind wandering off topic that way, but... wait, where was I?). Ok, anyway, back on track.

Right. The Five. (I think, to be honest, you can have as many on your "list" as you like, according to the popular version of this list - but for my blogging purposes --- I'm going with five. Thanks.) Five celebrities/well-known folks* that I would love to attend to during pregnancy and birth...

*Just to clarify, this is meant to be light-hearted... I don't hold celebrities to any higher regar

d than you or I, or my neighbors, or any woman I meet on a daily basis. I don't idolize Hollywood faces by any means - but, I figure they probably have their own demons to fight just as we have ours. I suppose they are just people, like anyone else... so the purpose of this post is just that, 'hey, for some random reason, this person [ insert name ] seems like my kind of person --- I'd love to have her/them for a client!'. That's all :)

So. Finally. On with the List.

5. Jennifer Aniston. Honestly, I don't know if she's dating anyone, if she's preggo, whatever --- I don't have time to grocery shop, or get my hair done, so haven't caught up on Star or People (not even the covers!) in forever. *Sigh* But... can't you imagine her as a pregnant mama? I'm totally stereotyping her based on most of the characters she's played over the years, I will shamelessy admit it ... but - based on that - I see her as the sweetest, could-be-my-new-best-friend-who-is-over-the-moon-excited-about-every-single-part-of-pregnancy client. She'd buy every single pregnancy relat

ed book out there, have What To Expect... (groan) dogeared, and have scores of questions that I would love to answer at each appointment. She would just be an all-around warm-fuzzy, brighten-your-day kinda girl.

(I think she would have a realistic outlook, too - she wouldn't go into it with a mile-long birth plan spelling out "delivery by candle light and whispers only" and "absolutely no pain medication", rather, a perfectly normal, non-diva delivery with a requested epidural, rest, and probably a small perineal laceration. Ideal, from a "birth as a normal, non-pathologic" process? Nah. Still perfectly fine? You bet!)

4. Ellen DeGeneres. Again, I don't know much about Ellen's love life these days. (See explanation above.) I believe she is madly in love with Portia de Rossi - yay for them - and if I'm not mistaking, they have a baby... babies? (Really, I am about ten years behind, here...) I am so disgusted with myself that I can't keep up with anything, but when I do catch the Ellen show, I love it! Even when I can't - I am blessed to get snippets and links from friends who have caught segments or shared with me; ever since I was a young'un - not gonna date myself here and give you specifics, I'll just say it was before the Y2K fears came about - Ellen has been a great fave. How fun would she be in labor? (And, not to mention the whole beautiful - in my opinion, of course, and this is a tangent/different post topic - blossoming of the unique family. Not that ev

ery family isn't unique and beautiful ---- here I go again, with the mouth/mind quicksand... I hope you know what I mean. Ugh!)

3. Miranda Kerr. Okay, Orlanda Bloom's (hello, hotness - pardon my distraction back to the "other" list for a moment again...) wife grabbed my attention - and the attention of many - when she posted a gorgeous picture of herself and her newborn son shortly after little Flynn was born. The beauty of it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Miranda is a Victoria's Secret model, or that the babe was a mix of her lingerie-wearing genes and those of Orlando Bloom (*drool*) but that the picture that spread like wildfire over te Web showed her nursing the sweet babe in a sidelying position, aside a statement promoting natural birth and the importance of strong, loving support during labor.

So, Mrs. Kerr-Bloom* - in honor of your handsome son and public service announcement for natural birth and breastfeeding, I will wipe my chin and move on. Thank you.

* I really want to be childish here and make a joke that this sounds a lot like "Care Bear". That seems kind of, well, childish though, so....

2. Oprah Winfrey. Okay. I have to be straight with you here. I don't think Oprah's havin' a baby any time soon. I am totally selling out here because I want a 2012 VW Beetle. I like to think, maybe, if I was her midwife, she'd give me one of her favorite things.

I know, bad midwife. Bad midwife!!

(And yet -- doesn't every midwife need a Beetle?!)

1. P!nk. I relate to every single P!nk (aka Alecia Beth Moore) song out there - don't you? ("Slam, slam, oh hot damn - what part of party don't you understand? ... "But we try to hard, it's a waste of my time, done lookin' for critics cuz they're everywhere - they don't like my genes, they don't like my hair"...) Who doesn't hear a P!nk song and feel instantly cheered up, at least a little?

I think, a P!nk pregnancy, labor, and delivery would be a blast. I think it would be fast, wild, and crazy. Yeah, yeah, there might be some, um, interesting parts --- but what fun is anyth

ing in life if there aren't times when you just have to take a deep breath, hang on tight, and hope for the best? Would P!nk's baby come out with sweet hair? Damn right! I'm predicting - fast, fast labor - one of those intense ones, probably a fair amount of swearing (ah, hell, who doesn't do that in labor though, right?) but a fair amount of tender moments, too... followed by a swift and gentle birth of a little mohawked mini-P!n

k. And, of course, soon-to-be-snuggled in a mini panda hat just like mama's...

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Well, I've successfully avoided (a) housework and (b) schoolwork for the evening... mission accomplished! So who's on your "list"??

Home is where the heart is...

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple. ~Dr Seuss

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A few days ago I posted about my wandering mind, and doing home births (or avoiding them and instead cowering in the "safety" of the hospital/birth center setting... however backward that may be). A reader commented on this - the irony that for many women, birthing in the hospital setting is scarier than in the privacy and protection of their homes, away from the germs and interventions housed in the walls of most care facilities. On the flip side, many other women would be terrified of delivering without the comfort they feel is provided by having doctors, nurses, and technology close at hand.

Personally, as an OB nurse and almost-nurse midwife - I LOVE homebirths, and think that for the majority of women (basically, meaning a healthy mom and healthy baby), attended by an

experienced, qualified attendant (whether a nurse-midwife or certified/licensed midwife, etc), they are as safe 0r - in many cases - possibly safer than hospital births. As any midwife (or woman who has birthed at home or attended a homebirth) would attest, for couples who are 100% on-board with home birth - preparing throughout the pregnancy with that mindset, remaining relaxed and positive, as well as hanging out in that mythical "low risk" category - the energy present as a baby meets his or her loved ones for the first time, uninterrupted by routine medical tasks, is indescribable. Relationships are strengthened, bonds are cemented, and a deep sense of family is forever rooted by the experience.

But.... on the other hand.

I am not an experienced nurse-midwife. Yet. The fear that I carry comes from that little detail. I worry that I don't have quite enough critical thinking; nearly enough attention to the little things; the right amount of intuition. The catch-22 of working on the L&D unit is that a person gains an unhealthy sort of dependence on fetal monitors, lab tests, and the proximity of "just in case" scenarios; while it's great to have the collective knowledge of scores of other nurses and

providers (many of whom revere the sacredness of natural birth), it becomes increasingly more difficult to see the clarity of birth

through the fog that is the medical model's view of pregnancy and birth as an accident waiting to go wrong.

This fog is still pretty thick throughout my mind, body, and being. Wisp by wisp, it seems to be clearing - but it will certainly be a gradual process. With each normal, natural birth - devoid of "routine" (read: unnecessary, "provider convenience" or "just-because-because-we-always-do-it") interventions, I feel closer to the births that nature creates.

Will I ever perform home births? I think so... I hope so... When this fog clears, I think that question may be a much less complicated one than it seems right now.

-.-.-.-

I recently met a first-time mother; she was young, and labor started spontaneously right around 37 or 38 weeks. She had great support from her female family members, although the father of the baby wasn't involved. She progressed wonderfully throughout labor, working with her body and changing positions without directions or suggestions from anyone else; sitting, side-to-side, up to the toilet - she did everything, as her body told her. Other than the minimal monitoring necessitated by protocol (ugh), she was free from monitor belts and IV's (though she did receive 30 minutes of IV antibiotics for a positive antipartum GBS screen). Per her choice she did receive a bit of IV narcotic, but - and this is just my opinion, so please take it with a grain of salt :) ! - I think had she been a little more prepared and a wee bit less scared of the process, she would have sailed through labor just as easily without anything. (Either way, it was, of course, her choice.) Soon she ruptured her bag of waters, rapidly progressed to complete dilation, and spontaneously began pushing in a hands-and-knees position - and delivered a beautiful, radiant baby girl in that same position. No one told her to flip over to her back and yank her legs back (not even the male physician who happened to be nearby and called into the room as she precipitously delivered); no one counted to '10' and directed her to push hard to the point that blood vessels would burst; instead, she was encouraged with cool washcloths, soft words between pushes and cheering during them.

It wasn't a home birth; not by any means. After birth, the cord was clamped fairly quickly, and baby was taken to the warmer to be "dried off" - which led to at least a 30 minute delay in mom/baby snuggling. (The reason? Besides the obvious inconvenience of mom being in the hands/knees position - something that could be remedied rather quickly! - the amniotic fluid had shown itself to be mixed with a fair amount of thin meconium, and baby was mec stained.) So - although babe was quite vigorous - screaming her little head off! - she was across the room getting toasty while mom was birthing the placenta, receiving a few stitches, and being cleaned up. While mama didn't mind - I did (once I had a chance to realize how much time had passed).

But, on the other hand, it was a very, very sweet birth. Home birthers may read this story and think, "My god! How awful that the baby wasn't in that mom's arms!" or wonder about the fact that mama got Nubain... or antibiotics... Other women might wonder why in the world she didn't get an epidural right away. Some women are more than happy to have their babies "cleaned up" (just my opinion again, of course -- but how dirty are they, really?!) before they get that first really good snuggle in... and some are in no rush for a bath.

The important thing was that mama was happy with her birth experience - in that beautiful post-birth euphoria, she glowed when she talked about her day. She had a gorgeous, healthy daughter, and she felt wonderful.

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... and the fog just cleared a little more.

Mmmm... the deliciousness of it. (Birth, not tortellini - or at least not so much tortellini...)

So, I promised I would explain the blog title. It really is multifaceted, if you will. The first meaning of a "delicious delivery" is one that only a select group of readers might understand: the midwives, the mamas, maybe some of the fathers, an occasional doctor or two, the OB nurses. I began to feel the hunger for this particular taste when my first daughter was born, and have only realized in the past few months that I can satiate it as a nurse-midwife as well as when I am the birthing one.

The first time I felt the deliciousness of birth, I was 24. I had woken up with a leaking bag of waters at exactly 37 weeks pregnant, self-swabbed it with a nitrazine stick (the perk of being an OB nurse), and - thinking it was negative and not actually my BOW - went about my early labor "on the clock", recovering a newly postpartum mother. Only when I was promising to help her up to the shower did my water break for real. (For future reference, any time I think of the big, theatrical Niagara-Falls-style rupture of membranes occurrences, this is how I will refer to them - "for real") . A quick walk home to get my husband, a short recess while he showered - and while things intensified rapidly - and we were back at the hospital, back in business. Within two hours or so, I had a dose of Nubain, a lovely shower, and a gorgeous baby girl. I also had a new thirst for the feeling of the birth of the shoulders, the sudden transition from baby in utero to baby on my chest, and the simple decadence of shifting the warmth of her presence through my own body. I know there are those who can describe these feelings more beautifully than I can; I wonder if (if anyone is reading along) you have felt this primal hunger.

I felt this same intense fulfillment with the birth of my second. The gentle pushing and easing of her shoulders and body through the birth canal, the act of bringing my slippery babe up to my chest and gazing into those eyes... cannot be described, only felt.

As a nurse-midwife, it's incredible to be able to recreate that feeling and to be share it with those who are experiencing it. The precious gifts that midwifery allows: glimpses of swatches of wet scalp, peeking through a bulging perineum... chubby cheeks gracing the world for the first time... the grasp of slippery, plump upper arms to gently guide new life into the world. Then - the pinnacle - a sudden sleek, sweet heft, caught and swiftly passed to joyous parents. That is a truly delicious delivery.

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The second meaning of "A Delicious Delivery" is less poignant, and truthfully - I feel almost silly explaining it after going through the first meaning. Suffice it to say, I like to order out (a lot) when I'm working, and one of my all-time faves is tortellini alfredo from a nearby Italian pizza/pasta place. Well, recently, I ordered the "usual" and all of a sudden (about halfway through my bowl) that my tortellini bore a strong resemblance to rather atrophic, pale and discharge-laden cervices... perhaps yeasty? The only thing that would have completed the mental picture was if my fork was a duck-bill speculum...

Anyway, suffice it to say - I was done eating at that point (luckily - I had tiramasu to make up for it...) and haven't really felt any urge for tortellini since.

(I'd say that one was not quite as delicious of a delivery...)