My husband, Kevin, and I were expecting our second child, our first daughter, on March 23 of 1996. We had had our son Thyge in 1992 at a hospital with midwives, and it was a great let down. Intervention was the keyword and I think I had every process known to man performed on me and my baby. So much for the natural birth plan! I was induced, had back labor, an epidural, some demerol, a fourth degree episiotomy, the baby was vacuum extracted but it kept slipping off, he was then pulled out with forceps which punctured his forehead and compressed a nerve in his face which caused paralysis of the right side of his face for days, his collarbone was broken, and as the grand finale I was sent flying with morphine while they stitched me back together for 1 hour and 15 minutes. All this because I was "late" and my blood pressure was high so they had to "take" the baby. Like he was some Civil War hill or fort. After he was born the midwives said, "You were right. He is just now full gestational age." They had me as being 11 days overdue; no one would believe me when I said I knew when I had gotten pregnant. A lot of good that did my baby and I at that point.

So, that tragedy--and I do consider such a horrible birth experience as a tragedy--behind me, I vowed to stay away from hospitals altogether the second time. I felt very strongly that if I had to have another baby in a hospital, I would not have any more children. I have read a lot of other birth stories about depression following a bad birth, or a c-section, and I can assure others that I too suffered emotionally and physically after Thyge's birth.

When I became pregnant with Olivia 3 years later, I called a midwife here in Las Vegas, Margie, and before we had even met, we spent an hour on the phone together. Each of my visits was at least an hour and she made me feel so comfortable with being able to deliver my baby myself. Once I made the decision, I never once looked back or second guessed that it was the right choice. Kevin was supportive as he too did not want a repeat performance of Thyge's birth.

I was teaching college English when I was due with Olivia and I was hoping she would be one week late in order to coincide with Spring Break. Why else would anyone want to be late? I taught only one class but had lots of grading to do so I really wanted to have it all out of the way. I taught my last class on Thursday and went into labor that same night! I had watched for signs for weeks--and found tons of them. I had diarrhea for a week, I had low back pain, I had menstrual-like cramps, I had cleaning frenzies. Finally I assumed an absence of all signs would signal imminent labor! I was due on March 23 and on the morning of March 28 I awoke, putzed around the house and HAD to nap at 9 am. I did not understand this but dismissed it as I had taken everything else as a sign. I taught, went to my mom's and there fell asleep momentarily sitting in the chair at her kitchen table. Once home I called my best friend Terri and she said,"Did the baby have her usual party last night?" Every night like clockwork in the last month, Olivia had a little dance party at around 8pm. I could never fall asleep until she was finished. As soon as she asked me this, I realized she hadn't. She had been as still as a bean. I called my husband at work to tell him of this newest 'sign' and he said, "I've already cleared off my desk. I didn't figure I'd been in tomorrow."

Kevin and I didn't really talk any more about it, watched our usual Thursday night TV shows and then went to bed. At 10:23pm the first contraction hit and it felt like someone kicked me with a cowboy boot. None of this easing into labor, nothing gradual about it. I laughed to think that I had previously thought some of the Braxton-Hicks could have been labor; well, I didn't actually laugh. Instead of waking Kevin and Thyge (who slept with us), I slipped out and called my friend Terri and we timed contractions for awhile on the phone. It was fun and it is still a cherished memory of mine. About 30 minutes into it I had to pee and had the bloody show, looking in the mirror I noticed I was white as an aspirin. It was time to hang up the phone and wake up Kevin.

It was really nice laboring at home. Kevin dragged a blanket out to the living room and sprawled on the floor with a pillow. The golden Tiffany lamp was on the lowest setting, and I sat and layed on the couch. I called Margie at about 2 and she got here at 3am and let me know I was dilated to 6cm. Kevin called my mother and she and my brother showed up a few minutes later. I was definitely in a lot of pain and from time to time Margie would ask me to calm down and focus on breathing. She also told me to say "yes" or "open" instead of "no". This was quite a good suggestion as I was slipping into victim mentality like bad things were happening to me. Once I took over and commanded my body to open, the pain became something that I controlled, sort of like removing one's own splinter. During this time I could not stand it if anyone spoke. It was as if I was able to go far away from the pain, but as soon as someone spoke, even whispered, I came zooming back in the room and right back into the thick of the pain. I later read about this in an article by Michel Odent. Everyone finally got it after I yelled "Shut up!" at the top of my lungs.

Once at 8cm I had that bonding with Kevin that we read about. I was positively flooded with love and I felt like I was really small and far away. I kept pulling his face to me, as I knelt on the floor in front of the couch, and kissing him and telling him how much I loved him. He was okay with this but it was certainly not my normal behavior in front of others! But I did, I felt so close to him. And then it was time to push. I had a lip on my cervix and Margie moved it though I protested loudly--man did that hurt--and then I was set free. Mind you when the water broke when I was around 8cm and at 5am, Margie had told me there was some meconium in it and that I should be sure not to push once the head was out so that she could suction the baby real good.

I pushed for 25 minutes total, maybe 5 pushes, and on the last few pushes I was screaming for the baby to stop moving: she was squirming and kicking in the birth canal! Once the head was out (I tore slightly) Margie told me to go ahead and push her out. "I thought you wanted me to wait." I said, confused. "Push your baby out, Cheryl." There was something in her tone....But alas, I will never understand the concept of contractions being voluntary. My body did them, I did not decide a thing, I helped along, maybe. Telling me to push my baby out was as absurd as asking me to make my heart stop beating. So we waited. And we waited, maybe 3-5 minutes for another contraction. Little did I know that Olivia had compressed her cord somewhere and had a blue head and was unconscious. My mother and brother and husband could all see, but I had my head buried in the couch.

When the final contraction came and Ollie slid out, she flopped lifeless to the pads on the floor, her head purple, her body the color of chicken skin. I whipped off my shirt to nurse but immediately realized my folly. I left it off. I had just read an article in some homebirth magazine about a baby who wasn't breathing so I said to Kevin in a slightly hysterical tone, "Talk to your baby Kevin!" And we began rubbing her body and calling her name. Margie did CPR, administered oxygen and rubbed her too. Not until she was bending her double in the air, like some bizarre baby accordion, did she finally splutter and make a mewling sound. This was seven minutes later. My brother had turned the video camera off 4 minutes earlier. He had read no articles on this possibility. My mother had kneaded a hole in his thigh trying to figure out how I was going to cope with the loss of the baby. Later I realized that all that jerking and kicking as she was coming down the birth canal was from her asphyxiating.

And me? I didn't see what they saw. My mind didn't really register it, and I say this because looking at photos later was shocking. Olivia looked bonafide dead. But she was 'there'. I could feel her the whole time. I never once doubted a completely positive outcome. At least not consciously. I really could tell that she, her little soul, was in there--somewhere. And I feel it was very important to be able to touch her and to call her name. I think babies in her in-between state can make choices, they can either come back or not. If we had been in a hospital (and this is purely hypothetical simply for argument's sake)she would have been whisked away from us, her parents, from the voices she had come to know. Maybe then she wouldn't have wanted to come back. This, at least, is my thinking.

Olivia cried and my brother Dave turned the camera back on and my mom stopped pinching his leg and I finally had a reason to be sitting there with no shirt on. Ollie didn't want to nurse right away, nor could she really open her eyes. The blood vessels surrounding her irises were burst and they hurt. She would peek them open, then close them again. But it was enough to make me cry as she had my father's eyes and he had died just a few years before. Olivia cashed in at ten pounds even, 22 inches long with a 14 1/2 inch head and chest. She had what can only be described as a pelt of dark hair, as you could not see scalp through it it was so thick, and she looked like the AP file photo of the Indian, Geronimo. Our son was bald and blonde so she was a bit of a surprise. She also had a small ridge running down the center of her nose to the tip which caught the light. Margie made the observation that she looked like a Kardassian, then corrected it by pronouncing it a "Klingon rigde". I'm not a Trekkie but I did get her gist--and she was right!

Well, the ridge has faded and only shows up occasionally caught by a flash in a photo, Ollie is now three and shows no adverse effects from her birth. She is now smallish for her age and her hair has turned blonde like Thyge's. And I am due soon, on May 8, 1999. This time I am carrying a boy and once again Margie and my mother and Kevin are all on alert. My brother has moved to Dallas but he and his wife are hoping to come for the weekend and catch the birth. Kevin's parents are driving in from Arizona in hopes of being here when the baby is born. I am hopeless--as usual I am looking daily for 'signs' that the baby is coming! My sister-in-law flew in this weekend hoping he'd be early and she saw a shooting star--that didn't help. We had the full moon on Friday, but even the lunar pull cannot affect this little fellow. Mother's Day is Sunday. The list is endless, so I suppose I'll have to do what women have done forever: wait. And that is easy, because this anticipation is so lovely, and Thyge and Olivia are so excited. It is like getting ready for a big dance or date or vacation or visit; every day might be the day and that makes every day a great day.

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