Lyric: My Personal Unplanned Unassisted Home Birth Story
The entire thing was a massive surprise.
The positive pregnancy test,
the fourth baby when I was pretty sure we were good with three,
the niggling feeling I had throughout this pregnancy that something about this birth would be *different* than our previous births.
My ever-trusting, ever-supportive gentle rock.
After three previous uncomplicated births,
I knew we would be planning our third home birth.
I knew where we would set up the birth pool.
I knew we would hire someone to take photos.
I knew who I wanted as my midwife (and she is still one of my very best friends to this day).
“Immediately, as soon as I got off the couch, I had a contraction that let me know that, oh yeah, interesting things were happening today. It wasn’t a strong contraction, but it was definitely a real contraction and not baxton hicks/toning contractions.”
But I couldn't have known that we would come to a place where I would make a deliberate choice to continue the birth process at home without a medical professional present.
Choosing to have a completely medically-unassisted home birth is a valid and legitimate choice that many families choose, but I'd always sworn up and down that it was a choice I'd never make. I'd either have a midwife or I'd deliver in a hospital, end of story. I like having the watchful eye of an experienced midwife keeping an eye on things from the edge of the room so I can turn inward and focus on surrendering to my body's process of birthing my baby.
But, as they say, never say never.
Where to start?
First of all, let me set the scene: at the time of my pregnancy and Lyric’s birth, we lived on a small farmstead in SW ND, 50 miles from the nearest hospital that still delivers babies and 95 miles from my first choice hospital, where our family practice doctor catches babies.
Even though our first baby was born at home in Pennsylvania and home birth is a strong tradition in both my husband and I’s families, I wasn’t always comfortable with the distance to a hospital, hence why our second baby was born in the hospital down in Hettinger. But that’s another story for another day.
Nevertheless, with more research, knowing my personal risk factors, and many conversations with midwives familiar with working in rural settings, I became more comfortable with the distance and decided on home births for our third and fourth births.
So, back to Lyric’s birth. I always plan to be pregnant until at least 41 weeks. I just find it easier to expect a longer pregnancy than it is to hope for a slightly shorter one and then struggle as the days drag by after 40 weeks.
But, surprise, surprise! On the Wednesday before I went into labor, at precisely 39 weeks, I went to the chiropractor and felt gross the whole day. Just, blah. Not really sick to my stomach, but not pleasant. At 39 weeks and 2 days, I lost my mucous plug with some brown bloody show. That was my first indication that labor might be sooner than later!
That night, I slept on the couch because being in bed was SO uncomfortable (our memory foam mattress was super broken down and awful). I slept well, although I vaguely remember feeling some contractions/braxton hicks as I drifted off. Obviously not strong enough to wake me up, because I woke up with the sunlight streaming through the living room windows.
After an ice storm the previous day and night, Saturday morning was bright, clear, and chilly. I remember laying on the couch for awhile, feeling some contractions, maybe texting my doula, and then getting up exactly at 8:00 AM.
Immediately, as soon as I got off the couch, I had a contraction that let me know that, oh yeah, interesting things were happening today. It wasn’t a strong contraction, but it was definitely a real contraction and not baxton hicks/toning contractions.
After getting up, those contractions kept coming regularly, quickly moving to 5-7 minutes apart over the next couple of hours.
Mind you: all three of my previous labors were over 24 hours with 18+ hours of latent/early stage labor that just dragged on and on before getting down to business. Even though these were very regular 45 second contractions, I fully expected this stage to continue throughout the day. Besides, I’d gone into labor on a Saturday with all of my other babies and they’d all been born on Sundays, so obviously this would be the same.
By 10 or 10:30 AM, I’d chatted with R, my doula, told her what was up. Contractions were getting closer together, although kind of sticking around at 30-45 seconds. R listened to me and made some suggestions to help baby into a better position, since she thought that my labor pattern indicated some malpositioning on baby’s part. My doula brain agreed.
At this point, I didn’t know if I wanted to call my birth team to come because both my midwife and my doula lived quite a distance away and I didn’t want them to come if this was still early labor and we had a while to go yet before things got serious. But chatting with R, she said she was packed and ready to go and she would rather get going sooner than later because the roads were still icy and slick from the ice storm.
“What I remember about that morning was feeling all of the good, warm vibes of the sunshine. The big kids were around, Nathan was home, and I was enjoying the shower, using it as a space to mentally prepare for this labor time. ”
I said that was fine with me, while still doubting, but also texted my midwife, J, and let her know she should probably get headed our way because things were moving. Also, J lived 160 miles away, nearly 3 hours’ drive around a very inconveniently situated Lake Sakakawea. A lot can happen in 3 hours of labor with a multip.
After I got off the phone, I got in the shower to relax and do some lunges to help get Lyric better situated. In the shower, I started vocalizing through the peak of contractions- not because they were super intense, but it felt good and powerful, so I went along with it.
Nathan stuck his head in the bathroom and asked, “Uh, you called everyone, right?” Ha! After three labors and births, he has a pretty good idea of what I sound like in labor. I told him he could go ahead and start getting the birth pool set up.
What I remember about that morning was feeling all of the good, warm vibes of the sunshine. The big kids were around, Nathan was home, and I was enjoying the shower, using it as a space to mentally prepare for this labor time.
R got to our farm around 12:00 PM, having driven 55 MPH the whole 85 miles (normal speed limit is 65) due to the icy conditions.
I was out of the shower by that time and had changed into my labor clothes (just a lace bralette and a comfy knit mini skirt). R and I chit-chatted and she suggested we do a forward-leaning inversion to help with the wonky positioning that we still suspected. I agreed, but said I wanted to wait until the birth pool was ready and until J was here (we were expecting her in the next half hour or so).
And then came The Text.
It was The Text that changed the plan, but then again, didn’t. The Text said, “Hi, I’m J’s sister-in-law. She had an accident and is in the Minot ER.”
Whoa. WHAT?! What did that even mean? I didn’t know J super well at the time, but I knew her well enough to know that she’s a certified badass and she wouldn’t go to the ER unless it was really warranted. But Minot was literally exactly in the OPPOSITE direction.
Oh well, my very rational labor brain thought to myself, I can totally just mind-over-matter this and not cross over into active labor until J is all good and on the road to us again. It can’t be that bad, she’ll be out of the ER in a few hours. What did she mean by, “accident?”
Hahahaha.
Literally this is what I was thinking. In that moment, my mind could not wrap itself around J not being at this birth.
At this point, times and what other people were doing around me start to get fuzzy, but I think Nathan called J’s phone just to check in and see how bad things were. Her sister-in-law answered and didn’t tell us what happened, just said that they were prepping J for surgery.
Oh dear. That sounds really bad.
So now I realized we had a choice to make. R helped us go over our options.
We could drive 50 miles over icy roads to the nearest hospital with an OB unit, but where I hadn’t established care and really didn’t want to go (no nice labor tubs, lol).
We could drive 95 miles over icy roads to Bismarck where our family practice doctor delivers babies.
“All of the times I’d declared that I would never have an unassisted birth came back to haunt me as I weighed our options, Nathan and R waiting patiently for me to decide (although I think they already knew). ”
Or we could stay home and do this with just the three of us, R, Nathan, and I. Oh, and the big kids could just stay in the basement watching movies (we didn’t have a backup plan for them to go anywhere during the birth- oops).
As I looked around at our cozy, sunny living room, the steam rising off of the hot water filling the birth pool, and the birth supplies stacked neatly on the table, it seemed really dumb to leave the house, running the very real risk of having a baby on the side of a remote and icy North Dakota highway, with mid-day temps in the 20’s. All of the times I’d declared that I would never have an unassisted birth came back to haunt me as I weighed our options, Nathan and R waiting patiently for me to decide (although I think they already knew).
But in a moment of calm clarity, I realized that everything would be ok. We were going to stay home and do this. I did a mental tally of what I would do if a variety of complications happened. A peace, the peace that passeth understanding came over me and after a few more contractions, I decided to get in the birth pool.
Of course, being the kind of person that likes to cover her bases, Nathan agreed to call a couple of local people that we thought might be able to help us out.
I honestly wasn’t worried about giving birth without a professional in the room. This was my fourth body-led birth. I knew what to do. Really, I was more concerned about how making this choice would reflect on me professionally. And have I mentioned that were live-streaming this birth in a Facebook group called BirthTube, with potentially thousands of viewers. Anxious, people-pleasing me was worried about what other people would think.
Of course, this was In-Between Saturday (Holy Saturday to those of a more high church persuasion) and both of the people we called were busy with family gatherings.
Looking back, I wished I’d remembered to do that forward-leaning inversion before I got in the pool. It probably would have helped later.
Only two contractions in the pool and I felt an internal snapping or pinging sensation. I couldn’t be sure because the water in the pool was swirling around me as the hot water poured from the hose into the pool, so I hadn’t felt a gush, but I told R I was pretty sure my water had just broken.
I think that was around 1:30 or 2. I was definitely in active labor.
Laboring in the tub was divine. As soon as I got in, I had goosebumps because it felt so good. The water was hot, the sun was shining, being in the pool helped me move easily with my contractions, dipping and swaying my hips. That’s the beauty of a deep birth pool in labor- mobility is so easy with the added buoyancy of the water. Being in water doesn’t really dull the contractions, but it helps relieve so much pressure.
At this point, I was truly in labor land. I had committed to this birth and was busy trying to focus and relax through each contraction. I felt Lyric moving inside of me, letting me know that she was safe and well. In between contractions, I rested, soaking in that brief period without the intensity of a contraction, staying in the moment, grateful to be done with the previous contraction, refusing to focus on the contractions I had yet to work through.
I asked to have my playlist put on. That was the best. I’ve prepared a labor for each of my births, but this was the only time it’s actually been played. It was so good. In my soft and mushy labor brain, every song felt so beautiful that they made me cry.
“There was nothing in my world but water, movement, and strong, intense, painful pressure and sharp pinching. ”
Now looking back, it all seems so calm and lovely, but let me tell you, I was working SO hard. The contractions were getting more and more intense, taking me into that deep, dark place where the sensation filled my entire being.
My vocalizations became deeper and deeper, lower and lower, until I was almost growling. With the start of each contraction, I would remind myself audibly, “It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. Release, release, release.”
There was nothing in my world but water, movement, and strong, intense, painful pressure and sharp pinching.
I began to suspect that pinching was evidence of an anterior cervical lip and decided to try to check my own cervix- which is decidedly easier said than done when you’re a tall woman with a tall woman’s cervix (ie, way up there) and there’s a big ol’ pregnant belly. I couldn’t feel anything but soft, wet, slippery tissue. Didn’t find a baby head, but also couldn’t feel any cervix either.
Transition was upon me and after several hours of incredibly intense contractions, I wanted to be done. I wanted to complain, to scream, to let the intensity overwhelm and drown me. But I knew from experience that it would do no good to fight against it and lose control. It would make it so much harder. As I lay back in the pool, resting against my husband’s arms and floating between contractions, I stared straight up the spider plant hanging from the ceiling over the birth pool and silently processed that there was no one coming to save me. Nothing would take me away from intensity raging in my body. There was no easy access to an epidural. There was nothing to do but put my head down and get the job done.
I knew that I had to be close to pushing and had been grunting through contractions for a little while, but hadn’t yet felt that satisfying, overwhelming urge to bear down and PUSH. In that break, as I looked up the spider plant, I decided that with the next contraction I would just try a good hard push and see what happened. If the pinching feeling intensified, I would know that there was still a substantial lip and not to push against it.
But when that next contraction came, I bore down hard and felt her head slide under my pubic bone- although “slide” is really an understatement. Once you’ve seen a few heads come “around the bend,” as they move around the pubic bone, you’ll know that it’s more like a squish? And maybe a bit of an ooze? as the plates of the skull move and mold to fit through the tight squeeze. It’s hard to explain, but I felt it. Instantly I knew that I was going to push this baby out soon. If there had been an anterior lip, it must have melted away when I pushed.
Pushing has always been my favorite part of labor. It’s still incredibly intense, but you finally feel like you’re doing something, like you can finally put some oomph into your work, instead of simply relaxing, surrendering, and staying out of your body’s way.
But this pushing stage was HARD. That would be thanks to her little crooked head. Even though I probably only pushed for 5? 10? minutes, it’s definitely the hardest I’ve ever had to push to have a baby. I never did feel that satisfying urge to push. But I knew my body and I knew what I had to do.
And here’s where the birth pool really shines as a tool for birth. With all of that pushing, I was instinctively moving into some very strange positions, which was made so much more, well, fluid with the support of the water. I was floating and I could move so easily, without so much as a conscious thought. Had I not been in the birth pool for pushing and birth, pushing that little asynclitic baby out would have been even more difficult.
After what felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye, she finally crowned. One push more for her head and another one for her chunky little shoulders and I pulled her up onto my chest.
Thank heavens, I was DONE! Covered in vernix, she cried immediately, pinking up quickly. She was fat, soft and squishy, slippery, with a little crooked nose and a head FULL of dark hair. I thought she was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
And I was so, so thankful it was OVER.
In the months before her birth, we’d decided that we definitely wanted the older kids at home when we had this baby. At 10, 8, and 4, they’d seen more birth videos than most grown men have seen. It was up to them whether they would be in the actual birth space, but I wanted them home.
As it so happened, the movie they’d been watching had just ended and our 10 year-old son came up and peeked over the side of the birth pool just in time to see his baby sister emerge. His two younger sisters were right behind him and got to see and touch Lyric within seconds of her birth. They were all in excited awe.
One of my main concerns about not having a midwife present was the chance of postpartum hemorrhage. Now, I don’t have history of postpartum hemorrhage and my hemoglobin levels were very, very good (almost too good, in fact), so I was at low risk of a hemorrhage, but it’s one of those things that can become catastrophic quickly. Just in case, I quickly put Lyric to breast (to stimulate post-labor contractions) and took a dose of anti-hemorrhagic herbal tincture soon after birth, but it was probably unnecessary. The water in the birth pool was so clear that the kids could have jumped in and gone swimming after the birth.
Within 20 minutes of birth, I was ready to get out of the tub and hopeful that my placenta would come out soon. Sure enough, all it took was lifting my leg to get out of the pool and give a little flex and the placenta plopped into the bowl R was holding under me. Delightful! With that taken care of, I could truly take a deep breath and enjoy my baby.
Before she left, R helped me dress in clean, comfy clothes (after no one had helped me get cleaned up after my last birth, it was one very specific request I had for her with this birth).
Chilling on the couch in clean clothes, with my baby on my chest, I felt so freshly human again. The sun was beginning to set and the rays of golden light shone through the kitchen windows and I could hardly believe we’d had a baby that day. In eight hours, in fact. Substantially shorter than any of our previous births. And we’d done it all by ourselves!
I remember looking around like, “What now? I guess we can post it on Facebook now.” It was so much sooner and faster than I’d expected, so chill and almost anti-climactic (ya know, except for the baby part), and just so lovely.
In the days that followed, I got the full story of the accident that had befallen J, our midwife. When she’d gone out of her house to start her truck, she noticed she had a flat tire and went to change it. Everything was icy, the truck slipped off the jack and crushed her finger.
And one more note here at the end, in the majority of situations, my doula would have called 911 if birth was imminent and there were no medical professionals on site. However, in this instance, I did not want her to call EMS. No offense to the Mott and Elgin/New Leipzig ambulance crews, but between the two of us, we had a lot more experience with birth than most volunteer EMS crews do. Besides, I didn’t want to go to the hospital anyways, and that’s basically what happens when you call 911. We would have called if there’d been a true emergency, but when you leave a low-risk pregnant woman alone, birth is usually not an emergency.
I also forgot to add that we had called another midwife 5 hours away several times, just to get insight and reassurance (she was watching the live feed on Facebook).
And that’s the story of our sweet Lyric Monet. She’s been out to surprise us ever since.
All of these photos are courtesy of my doula R, who was also a birth photographer at the time. We’d originally hired her to mainly take photos, but when she ended up needing to be more hands on than expected, she wasn’t able to take many photos until after the birth.
