Sacha's Birth: Part 1
Thank you for the calls, emails, and texts.
Thank you for the love and support.
I’m sorry I rarely (if ever) respond.
I am having immense difficulty communicating.
It entails explaining the story. Answering questions. Giving information. Updating. I don't have it in me. My energy is needed elsewhere.
I apologize. But this is all I have right now.
I've decided to take the time to write it all out to you (as I pump). Since some of you have asked for the story. Here are the details. I don't want to talk about it, so I’ll write about it.
It might not be what you want to read. You don't have to. But if you do, this is my way of communicating for now and a way to tell our story.
I can't pretend to be somewhere I am not.
Pre-birth
We were so excited for Sacha's arrival. We were ready. I had spent months preparing the house. Organizing our files so we would have easy access to things when our hands were busy with Sacha and we were sleepless. We had everything we needed for his arrival. We had prepared healthy meals and froze them so that we could take care of ourselves so we could take care of him. We had hired two doulas to support the birth and postpartum period. Taken classes. I had practiced yoga, received acupuncture, worked with an osteopath, and massage therapist, all to help prepare my body for the transition. I wanted to bring my newborn into the world with love and hope. I could not wait to see his little face, feet, and hands. Smell him. Touch him. Our little Sacha. I was so excited to meet him. What would he look like? I felt beyond grateful to be given the opportunity to be pregnant and have this child of ours.
Our due date was Oct 20, 2017. Max and I had an amazing ‘due date’ date. Went on a long walk, to a movie, and had lunch. We were ready and excited to meet our little man.
Labour + Delivery
My first contractions started Saturday night, the 21st. They felt like cramps. I didn't sleep well that night, but it was manageable. Just signs that things were changing. The next morning I lost the rest of my mucus plug (I had lost most of it 2 weeks prior). And had contractions all day. Went on walks, prepped some things, knew that things would start moving along. I remember with each contraction thinking: Sacha you are coming home to us!
What I would call more active contractions started Sunday night, the 22nd. These were more intense. And they were back to back. We tried to time them but they were very inconsistent. They would come back to back under 5mins, and take my breath away. But between them I was myself. So I just used my breathing, positioning, bath, shower, and kept working through them. And working through, and working through.
Somewhere around 6am on Monday, the 23rd, they began to ease. By the evening they picked up again with intensity. I couldn't talk during them and was less able to interact between them. I kept working through them. Using my tools like the night before. More than ever the pain was in my back. I used the heating pad to ease the pain in my spine. This pain didn't feel productive, it felt like the wrong type of pain, but I kept working with it.
By 5am Tuesday, the 24th, my water broke. We called our doula, she came to the house. We laboured two more hours at home, but she could see that the contractions were very close and very intense. It was time to go to the hospital. It was around 7am.
By the time we arrived at the hospital I was not in this world. I had been labouring for over 30 hours. At this point it was clear it was back labor. The pain was numbing. When I was admitted I was told I was only 60% effaced and 1.5 cm dilated. Still in "pre-labor" they said. But this was not pre-labor pain. I pushed myself for another two hours, tried the hydrotherapy bath, but there was no relief. I was in agony. I championed the pain until it was no longer productive. We were getting nowhere. I was suffering. I was crumbling, It was time to call it. I asked for epidural.
Somewhere around 9am on Tuesday, the 24th. I got the sweet and utter relief of the drugs. This was a moment of bliss. I was back. I could feel the contractions, but it no longer felt like my spine was shattering. I rested. I put music on. Aromatherapy. Dimmed the lights. And tried to regain some of the intentions we had in our birth plan. I felt like it was going to be okay.
Unfortunately, 12hours later, I was only at 3.5 cm. They wanted to start to introduce drugs to move things along. I was brought back into my head and had to make some decisions. I was very uneasy about this move. I felt like it would start an avalanche of interventions and lead to complications. I wasn't sure how my body would react to the drugs, or how Sacha would do. I was hesitant. But it was true, I wasn't progressing and had been on the epidural for awhile. I consented to the drugs.
By around 9am on Wednesday, the 25th, I was at 10cm. This was good. It meant we could push. But the interventions had increased, and I was on a lot of drugs, for longer than I should have been. Overnight the complications had started. My heart and the baby's heart were being affected. They had to up the fluids, up the epidural. Play the game of trying to balance everything they put into our system. The epidural started to pool, so my legs were now completely numb. The excess fluids meant that everything started to swell. I was having an increasingly hard time breathing and speaking. They suspected some of the fluid was now in my lungs. They gave me lasix. But it didn't work. Sacha's heart was now under strain and it was time to get him out. I had to push with limited lung capacity and no feeling from the waist down.
The doctor from hell was on call. She first came to tell me there was no way I could do this because I couldn't breathe, my pelvic bones were too small and therefore there was no way he could get through. She said I needed a Caesarian. I hadn't even tried to push. I had been at this for 60+ hours and I was finally dilated enough to try and this is what I hear? I remember her reaching inside me, grabbing my bones, shaking me, screaming, ‘you’re too small’. I felt like I was drowning. She left annoyed and said she’d be back for our final decision. I was panicked.
Our angel nurse tried to soothe me. She worked with me while the doctor was gone to try and test my push. She said somehow (without feeling and breath) I was moving him down. When the doctor came back we convinced her I could deliver vaginally. She agreed but said she would have to use a suction and as she put it ‘it would rip my vagina apart’.
These are things not to tell a woman who is preparing to push a baby out.
Every word out of her mouth was pumping fear into my system. Once it started it was a madhouse. I was being yelled at to push even when I didn't have contractions. So many people running around. Two people on each side pulling my legs apart. So much noise. Sacha's heart was not happy. By this time I couldn't speak, my breathing was at its worst. I had no feeling in my body. It was chaos. Complete chaos. This is not how you bring a child into the world.
And so I did the only thing I could do. I escaped. Metaphorically, that is.
I closed my eyes with my fingers, plugged my ears with my thumb, and went as deep inside myself as I could. I entered an altered state. I escaped from everyone and everything. I found a place where there was only me, and only Sacha. I pushed with my mind (since I had no physical sensation to work with or lungs to breathe with) -- and I brought my baby into the world.
I pushed him out on Wednesday October 25 at 12:33pm. I pushed for less than an hour. Everyone cried. They couldn't believe I did it. No one believed I would. But I did. I gave birth from a deep inner power, amidst the chaos and disbelief I showed up for us.
But he wasn't breathing. This had all gone on too long. They had to resuscitate him, he was a 1, then a 5 at 5mins, then a 8 at 10mins. I kept asking Max what was happening. I couldn't hear him. Then, finally I did. My sweet baby’s cry lit my soul.
They brought him to me for only 15mins. While they stitched me up. Then they took him away for observation. I told Max to go with him and never leave his side. I was taken away to get chest x-rays. We were separated for over 9 hours.
(believe it or not there are even more details to this birth story, more interventions, more stuff said and done, but this is already too long...)
Postpartum
I felt like the hard part was over. And now we were going to be alright. I felt like I climbed my Everest and now we could be a family. I forgave the whole birth experience, the difficulty, the mistreatment, let go of it all. I quickly put it behind me and was excited about this part. The part of us being together as a family. But I was wrong, it got so much worse.
It started with being left in the room alone for 9 hours, without my family. Nurses that came in an out and offered no support. I couldn't walk, breathe, go to the bathroom. I asked for help and was dismissed like I was making a fuss for no reason. They would come to painfully express milk from my breast that we would put into cups for Sacha. My body was in dire pain. It felt like being left for dead. After a million hands had been in and out of my vagina, now a million others would come and squeeze my breast. My body was not mine. I detached completely. I was numb in pain. This is not what I envisioned. I felt so distant from it all. Where was my baby?
I finally texted Max to come get me to see Sacha. I needed my family. Where was my baby?
We had him with us that first night. But things in the postpartum wing were awful. I realize now this is the time we were supposed to establish connection to support breastfeeding. But there was no support. I could go through every detail, every comment made, every fear induced interaction. But I won't. All I will say is the days in postpartum were worse than the delivery and labour. I just wanted out. I wanted to go home and heal.
When it was time to leave and the nurse told us we weren't ready. More fear put on us. She said Sacha couldn't feed and we had to stay another night. This was not okay. We needed our home. A shower. Food that was healing. We needed to heal as a family. Away from the hospital. In our home, that was ready for us. Not in this cold space, with colder people, it all felt like death.
I got us out of there.
We were so happy that day leaving the hospital. I felt like we could put everything behind us and finally start fresh. The cab home was filled with hope.
Home
The first 24hours we were home his stool transitioned and he was ready to eat. But my milk had not come in. He cried of desperate hunger. He still could not latch. And I had nothing to give him. We cried all night of fear. He dropped more weight. Now at 12.9% loss and the hospital wanted him to come back. More fear. I couldn't stand the idea of more interventions, more poking and prodding, more separation. We decided to stay home and establish a feeding protocol for every two hours. I would pump whatever I could and we would supplement with formula.
I had to feed my baby, that was the priority, not the ideals of yesterday.
I looked around our home and felt so foolish. All the things. Set perfectly in place. Yet nothing was even close to perfect. All the joy and excitement seemed impossibly far and impractical even. I was suffering immensely from 'birth trauma' and our troubles were just about to get worse.
I had so much pain and hurt in my heart.
We were just starting a new set of challenges. I hadn't slept in over a week. My legs were so swollen I couldn't bend them. I had immense trouble walking, sitting, standing. I still had fluid in my lungs so I couldn't lie down without feeling like I was being waterboarded. I had to go to the bathroom standing up. If I talked too long I would gasp and wheeze. I had pain everywhere. My ribs, my spine, my back, my hips. I had over pushed my body for too long. And it was screaming. I would have cold sweats and the shakes. My body was failing me at a time I needed it to take care of my newborn. Produce milk. Bond. I was having a mental and physical breakdown.
Breastfeeding
Breastfeeding has been the perfect storm. From Sacha having some oral aversion from being resuscitated and suctioned, to us being separated for 9 hours and not establishing breastfeeding early on or in postpartum. Then there is the fact that he has been fed with everything but the breast (cups, tubes, bottles, fingers, syringes, etc). To the fact that I have flat nipples, and he is tongue tied. The list goes on…
Since Sacha is not latching, my milk supply goes up and down depending on how he interacts with the breast. We have had a lactation consultant, I'm taking all the supplements, I'm on a 2hour pumping protocol to stimulate production, we are constantly skin to skin, we are working with a chiropractor and breastfeeding clinic. We are looking to get the tongue tie corrected and get some more extra support. We are doing all the things. Feedings are filled with fear, lots of spit up, and tears (from all of us). My breast aches from the incessant pumping. He won't latch. We’ve tried all the positions. Watched all the videos. We’ve tried rebirthing baths. We’ve tried anything we can think of. And we keep trying.
Our days revolve around trying to feed. Pumping. Clean the bottles, do it all again. And again, and again. We’ve had to supplement with formula to make sure he is fed and full. Feeding has become our whole day. Our whole life. This is not a sustainable way of living. Soon we will have to decide what direction we will take.
The ‘easy’ answer is to give up on breastfeeding. But I’m not there yet.
Now
I feel like this path has been all false peaks. I am told to push myself to overcome a certain challenge. So I do. I gather all my mental and physical reserves and say I can do this, and climb. Once I get there I see that it's not even close to the peak. And I have to do it again. And again.
And again.
The struggle is ongoing.
Max and I are being challenged on levels that were never thought possible.
We never expected perfection. We never expected this to be easy. But this is a lot harder than anything I have witnessed around me.
We are not doing great.
We search for moments of joy to hold on to. We support each other in each of our darkest hours. We don't know what to do most of the time except hold on to each other.
What I know is that Max is my hero. The love and bond we have has grown deeper than ever and I thank god everyday for him. What I know is that there are moments where angels help us, like our birth nurse, like a woman that I randomly met in the building that has gone through almost exactly the same thing that wrote me a letter and baked a chocolate loaf telling me her story and offering any support she can.
What I know is that between the hard moments we have small pockets of bliss, like Sacha's first bath, where we went in the tub together and he slept on me as we washed the birth from this hair, like a single heavenly moment when he fed from my left breast and it didn't hurt and he fell asleep full.
For every step forward there seems to be 5 back. So for now, this is where we are. This is why I have no resources to text or talk. We take it hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute. We get all the help we can. Use our resources to assist us through.
We have no answers. Just a lot of grit and perseverance. And a lot of tears.
xo
i am ayla
born in the east, raised in the west
daughter of two academics, both artists
masters in human rights, committed to social justice
love affair with travel, art, and food
speaks four languages, laughs in all