Evey's Birth Story

Revisiting and writing out Evelyn’s birth story is something I’ve been looking forward to, and I admit that it’s more for me than for the blog... The whole experience has been top of mind the past few days. Evelyn suddenly feels so solid, so substantial (at six weeks she’s 10 lbs!), in contrast to the early hours of labor and the first days with a newborn, which seem almost dreamlike. I can understand why people say that women “forget” the birth experience, and that’s why they agree to go through the pain of it again. It’s not that you forget, but that you enter a unique state of focus, and everything else around you falls away. When I think back on the labor process, I only see fuzzy fringes of the people who attended to me, and the birth itself was almost like having vivid tunnel vision. There was only the labor, there was only the birth. Nothing else really registered.


I knew labor was imminent the morning of Monday, Nov 30th. Something felt different deep down in my belly. I worked from home all day, feeling just a little cramping and some tentative excitement about the event that was working its way toward me. The work was welcomed, because it occupied my mind. As the evening came on, I started feeling what seemed to be very slight contractions. I texted my girlfriends to let them know “things” were starting to get going; the baby was already a week late and they were eager to be posted when the baby was finally on the way. My dear friend Sandy called to check on me, trying her best to be low key (though she insists she was very calm and reserved, her underlying excitement was palpable).

“Whatcha doin’?” she asked me. I told her I was just hanging out, putting in a movie. “Is Tag home?” “No, he’s still at work.”

“Well…did you call him?”

“No. It’s still early; I’m doing fine.”

“Um, okaaaay…So, can I come over and, ah, watch the movie with you?” And she headed over and watched me like a hawk, all business, timing the contractions when she could see that I would start swaying back and forth, asking, “Are you having another one?! Tell me when it’s over so I can time it.” She had me update the bIog status and call Tag to let him know what was going on. I knew that early labor could go on and on for hours and hours, so in an effort to relax, we tried watching a movie and Sandy continued as time keeper (“They’re only like 3 minutes apart!”).



Tag came home with flowers for the baby (how sweet is that?!) and I kept trying to relax and not get too excited, but the contractions started really kicking in, though I could breathe through them just fine. Tag and Sandy decided it was a good idea to call the Midwife and let her know the state of things. The Midwife asked me some questions and coached me to relax (“don’t watch the pot”), take a warm bath, have some tea, and try to go to bed. Sandy says it was then that I started pulling away and going into myself. I don’t even remember saying goodbye to her. As each contraction came it was very surreal and I was intent on relaxing my breath and my mind so that I could be as calm as possible. We started a bath and I lit candles and focused on being restful, but as the contractions continued I was having a hard time imagining how I was going to sleep through them. I shared this with Tag and he called my mom (my Doula) and she started getting organized to come over for the night. Mom recalls the conversation: Tag, “It’s starting.”

Mom, “Do you want me to come over?”

Tag, “Ah, YES please.”

I never did make it to bed. My mom arrived while I was in the bath, and I commented to her that I couldn’t imagine having to pile into a vehicle to drive off to the hospital for delivery; wasn’t it so nice to be able to stay home? As I focused on relaxation in the bath, Tag and Mom started setting up the birth pool in the living room. I didn’t realize how wonderful being in the water was until the water got cold and I needed to get out – I suddenly felt like I weighed 500 lbs! Being weightless in the tub was wonderful and made the contractions much less intense. I was eager to try out the birth pool and was very glad that I had decided to rent one from the Midwives.

Sometime shortly after that, Tag called the Midwives and told them that things were progressing more quickly than they probably anticipated; there would be no sleeping for Heidi – the contractions were steadily getting stronger and I had to consciously breathe through them. That was around 7 o’clock in the evening I think. I spent the remainder of the night, on through the morning and into the following afternoon being lovingly attended to, in and out of the birth pool with dryer-warmed towels, soft music playing, and firm pressure on my lower back to alleviate the back labor I was experiencing.

Though my contractions were strong, my cervix wasn’t dilating all that quickly; typical for a first pregnancy. So, while the hours went by, I wasn’t aware of just how much time had passed and just continued to manage through the contractions one by one as they came, trying to relax as much as possible between them to maintain my strength. The Midwives routinely monitored the baby’s heartbeat and assured me that she was doing fine. The pain was fairly constant in my back, and intensified during each contraction. I was in a fog and only focused on getting through each individual contraction; I didn’t understand right away that the baby was posterior. I thought it was all very normal and continued to stay calm, determined to manage through until it was time to deliver. I spent a lot of time in the birth pool, and looking back, I don’t know that I could have managed it without that pool – the weightlessness made all the difference. The back labor continued, and while I was following the coaching of the Midwives to change position often in an effort to help the baby turn, continue walking around, lunging, taking the stairs etc, the posterior position of the baby was apparently not changing. My water had broken and even when I was fully dilated the baby was having trouble moving into the proper position to fully descend. During an examination, the Midwives confirmed I was well dilated and I was even able to feel the baby’s head with the tip of my fingers, but there was a problem: the lip of my cervix was swelling on one side due to pressure from the baby’s head. They attempted to stretch and soften the cervix to allow it to slip over the baby’s head (NOT a painless process – I’ll take transitional contractions over that process any day) and allow the labor to progress naturally.

It wasn’t until late evening that I started getting frustrated at the lack of progress. Tag labored with me and we tried more stairs, the Pilates ball, more swaying and more lunges. I was losing strength. I hadn’t slept in a day and a half, and I couldn’t keep food or much liquid down because an exceptionally severe contraction would induce heartburn and vomiting (they had to start an IV to get some fluids in me). When the Midwives examined me again and confirmed that we hadn’t gained any ground; the baby had not descended any further yet due to the swelling of my cervix, I started to feel defeated. I didn’t know it at the time, but Tag and my Mom were at their breaking point, watching things go on and on. When the Midwives attempted the second time to stretch my cervix, with me shrieking in pain, they couldn’t be in the same room. Tag had enough at that point (everyone was frayed from lack of sleep) and confronted the Midwives to understand when we were going to the hospital. I was wiped out and trying desperately to find a way to sleep and fend-off the contractions. I was in bed, which I’d found to be the worst position for enduring the back-pain of the contractions, but I just wanted to lie down. All I wanted was to sink away into oblivion, to find some strength again, but the contractions continued and continued, just as strong as before. It was then that Tag came to me and told me that it was time to call it; that it had been too long and there was going to be a risk to me or the baby if it went on. He assured me that I had done my very best, that he was in awe of my strength and how long I had endured, and that it didn’t mean it was a failure if we couldn’t have a home birth. I didn’t argue with him; I could hardly understand how to continue in that state, so they went off to prepare for the trip to the hospital and I stayed collapsed in the bed and endured the next contraction, and the next, and the next… (they were very close together – I’d been fully dilated for hours by that time). I hadn’t packed for the hospital – that was the one thing still on my list of things to do, but for some reason I stubbornly procrastinated, in denial that I’d actually need to go to the hospital. Murphy’s Law I suppose. Mom ran around collecting items she thought I’d need while Tag piled blankets and pillows into the back of the Expedition so I’d have a soft place to ride on the way to St. Francis Hospital. The Midwives contacted the Obstetrician that they have a partnership with for transfer patients, so the hospital knew we were coming and the doctor would be there to meet us. My mom the nurse was also on the phone to her colleagues at the hospital to prepare everything to admit me to labor and delivery.

My thoughts at that point were bleak. I was convinced that I’d need a C-section, the very dreaded thing I was so desperate to avoid. But I crawled into the back of the truck, into the soft nest that Tag had made up for me, and knew that I would do whatever was necessary to get the baby out safely.

Tag drove and Mom rode shotgun, and one of the Midwives rode in the back with me, helping me through the back-pain of contractions and monitoring the baby’s heartbeat. The funny thing about it was that I had joked with Tag early in my pregnancy that driving around in the Expedition with its horrible suspension would kick-start my labor. I rode in the back of that Expedition on my hands and knees, fully dilated, taking on contractions every couple minutes, while Tag drove the shortest route to the hospital: Berryhill Road, full of potholes and curves and uneven pavement. It was hell, no lie. And we hit every stop light along Stage Road. I watch the lights of familiar stores and restaurants go by, more alert and aware than I’d been for hours. I asked the Midwife what would happen when we got to the hospital and she said that we’d try to get an epidural in hopes that it would relax the muscles enough to let the baby shift position. I had mixed thoughts about that; was I up for more hours of labor? Did I have the strength? The only alternative was surgery, which terrified me, but I was so exhausted I almost didn’t care and was willing to let the doctor at the hospital decide my fate.

When we pulled up to the hospital emergency room doors, there was a wheelchair waiting outside thanks to my mom pulling favors from hospital staff. Mom wheeled me through the emergency room, up the elevator and down the hall of Labor and Delivery to a waiting hospital room; I had to hold my legs up the whole way because the wheelchair didn’t have any foot rests (that actually hurt more than I expected it to. It must have been quite a site, me moaning in my nightgown and my mom, panicked, wheeling me as fast as she dared past the gurneys of emergency room patients. My poor Mom; she was such a trooper). From there it was a flurry of activity, including answering a barrage of questions for the initial paperwork, checking vitals and getting blood samples taken. I was lying on my back again, now in a hospital gown, moaning through contractions, while Mom paced the floor waiting for the blood test results to come back so they could start the epidural.

A young looking man came in, dressed in green scrubs, chatting with the Midwives about the nature of natural birth and how did women out in the fields ever deliver babies anyway, and for labors such as mine wasn’t it inevitable that they’d have to use the knife? I was appalled and tuned him out – he never did address me directly – I assumed it was the anesthesiologist, waiting for the blood test so he could start the IV in my back. Turned out this was the heralded Dr. Caruthers, the very one that another home birth mom had told me was a God-Send, the man she would trust with her life (and in fact, she had, when her home birth turned into a C-section and the birth of her healthy baby boy).

This was my obstetrician? It wasn’t clear to me until he said to the group in the room (two or three nurses, I think, my mom, Tag, and both Midwives), “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” He had been observing me through the contractions to see how I was managing, and now he examined me to see what my cervix and the baby’s position looked like. His prognosis? She was still posterior, but the baby had dropped (!) and he thought my cervix was loose enough to fit over the baby’s head (the Midwives had been dousing it with primrose oil at home to help soften it and reduce the swelling and that had apparently worked very well).

He broke the membrane of my forebag, which was still intact, and announced, “Let’s go for it!” It was then that my focus sharpened and I jerked my eyes open to look directly at him. “You mean we’re going to push the baby out?” I said, unbelieving. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as other nurses came in and started prepping me for delivery. I was in a state of shock – I was going to birth my baby?! Right here, right now?! Dr. Caruthers then instructed me to push through the next contraction and everyone pressed in around the hospital bed to encourage me through it.

I wasn’t sure how to push, and didn’t really feel anything happening at first – I did my best and had to sort out just how to go about it, searching for the muscles that I was supposed to be pushing with. One of the nurses, truly an angel who helped me more than she probably knows (Tauna was her name), was at my right ear, coaching me and cheering me on “That’s it, PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH now Breathe! OK – PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH now Breathe!” I got a little better at it for the next contraction, but needed the Midwife’s help to feel when a contraction was happening (I was in a lot of pain and had to push on my belly to feel when the muscles tightened to tell me when I was having an actual contraction). I wasn’t sure how long I could go at this, so I asked the Doctor what sort of progress I was making. He held up his fingers and indicated I’d moved the baby about an inch downward. I asked, “So are we close?” and he sort of chuckled and gave me a non-answer.

He then suggested that it would go faster if we used a vacuum extraction to help move the baby down; did I want to try that? I was so desperate to help the baby and didn’t believe I had the strength to push for an hour, so I immediately agreed. The vacuum extraction tool is a small round pad, about 2-1/2 inches in diameter that they placed on the baby’s head. During the next contraction, as I pushed, Dr. Caruthers pulled and immediately I felt intense pressure and could finally push against something that seemed to matter. She was moving!! I was suddenly encouraged and was overwhelmed with determination to push her out. I pushed while Dr. Caruthers pulled for a couple more contractions until she was fully crowned, and then on I think the fifth contraction I pushed with all my intention and a wave of strength that I pulled from the crowd around me (Tauna cheering, “Yes! You’re doing it! Push, Girl, PUSH!”) and with a sudden burst of pressure, my baby girl entered the world.

They placed her on my abdomen and it was like the air had been sucked from the room – I couldn’t hear anything, I was just in awe at this being in front of my eyes. She was so long, so big, and her poor head was this terrible shape from the vacuum pulling at her fragile scull. How did this child ever FIT inside me?? It didn’t make any sense at all! She wasn’t crying yet, and they were rubbing her down, but I guess she didn’t look right – everyone was very intense and they whisked her off to the warming station to attend to her. She was born at 9:31 pm; I’d been in the hospital for only about an hour and a half and it was over. I’d birthed my baby and was no longer pregnant.

The world was still out of focus for me, and all I registered was Dr. Caruthers working to deliver the placenta (which I got to see – it was incredibly huge) and Tag’s hand gripping mine. The baby was crying now, and I could just see her if I craned my head to the right. They were giving her oxygen and my mom reassured me that she was okay, but it had been a tough delivery and she needed some help. Tag and Mom became the paparazzi and captured those first moments as she was examined, treated, cleaned, weighed, and diapered. The nurses swaddled her and I was able to hold her briefly while they finished stitching me up. Her face was so swollen and red, and the ointment made her puffy eyes look greasy. They put a hat on her so I couldn’t see the awful ring around her head from the vacuum, but it seemed to me that she was in shock and not at all enjoying meeting me for the first time – in fact, though her eyes were open, she didn’t seem to register anything at all and it was very surreal to me that this was my baby, my own. She seemed to belong more to the doctors and nurses at that point, and sure enough, she was quickly taken away to the NICU for monitoring, blood testing and more oxygen treatment.

Mom told me how the baby had done basically a double twist while passing through the birth canal; she was face up (posterior, which is upside down from how you want to deliver a baby) and then she twisted and flipped around as she passed through, finally free to get her shoulders into the right position for exit. I wish I could have seen her do that; how amazing that nature, given the opportunity, will execute the ideal process. Shoulder dystotia was another one of my birth fears, but thanks to the baby’s instinctive ability to maneuver through the birth canal, she was able to twist her way free of my pelvis. The delivery was too quick to properly compress her lungs and clear them of fluid, which is why they had to give her oxygen afterwards. Mom told me later that it was fortunate the baby’s face wasn’t more swollen or even bruised up; posterior babies are often born looking like they’ve been in a TKO fight due to being smashed up against the pubic bone. Thank God it was just the crown of her head that looked beaten up (and, to be honest, it rounded back to a more normal shape almost immediately, but still had that angry red tell-tale ring around her skull).

After they took her away, things happened very quickly. Everyone in the room was a buzz in the aftermath of the delivery. I was asked if I wanted something for pain (though I don’t remember being in pain at that point) and the moment I said “Oh, yes, please” the nurse pushed the plunger on my IV and the room started dimming. I called out my goodbyes and frantically asked for Tag so I could kiss him goodnight – I was fading fast! And then it was lights out for Heidi (I have always responded well to even the lightest dose of medication – I think they must have drugged me like a horse).

Next thing I remember is waking up to Tiffany’s wonderful nursing care as she checked my vitals during the early morning hours. Apparently I’d had a pretty bad fever in the night and they’d had to dose me up with IV antibiotics. My white blood cell count was sky high when I arrived at the hospital (my mom was glad they didn’t try for the epidural; that would have been risky in my condition), probably due to the long labor. I felt pretty good, considering I’d just delivered a baby a few hours before. I guess I thought I would feel worse. I was eager to see my baby and when Tiffany asked if we wanted to go visit her, I shuffled down to the nursery with Tag.

When we first saw her she was laying in a warming crib in the NICU, under all these bright fluorescent lights, wires coming off her chest and belly and her right hand wrapped up with a big IV. It was so intimidating – all we could do was gently stroke her head and take in her beautiful pink skin and plump cheeks, her long limbs, the bizarre translucent orange pacifier the NICU nurses had popped in her mouth (she sucked that thing like it was her life-source). I didn’t think to ask if we could hold her – it seemed inappropriate, like the baby was meant to rest there, in recovery, all alone, monitored by these machines. In hindsight, I wish I would have requested to hold her – to connect with her – to let her know we were real and present. But I wasn’t sure how to give her what she needed; didn’t feel confident that I could comfort her, this tiny being that was recovering from the long labor that I put her through. So we stood by her side and stroked her until it seemed that we were overstaying our welcome in the very lab-esque NICU. It was then that Tag put his arm around me and asked didn’t she look like an Evelyn, and I broke into tears and agreed that she most certainly did. And that’s how she became Evelyn Sylvia Graham.

I heard all the warnings about planning to deviate from your birth plan based on whatever circumstances arise, and knew that I needed to be flexible, but it still seems crazy that I became a “transfer” for a hospital birth. In the end, it turned out very well. Evelyn is healthy and so very perfect. I recovered well and had excellent care in the hospital. If I had followed my original plan, which was to try and control the outcome of a hospital birth under the care of an Ob-GYN from my women’s group clinic, I most certainly would have had a C-section (that hospital has a staggering 30% cesarean rate). No way would the OB have let my labor progress the way it needed to with a posterior baby. So, I am extremely grateful for the care of the Midwives, the confidence that Dr. Caruthers had in me, and the support of the nurses at St. Francis, and of course the incredible love and support of my husband and my mom (though it really put them through a unique torture that they will never agree to endure again!).