My 54-hour labor and home birth story: Part 1
I didn’t think it was going to be like this.
I texted my mom at 3:30am Sunday morning, a little over twelve hours after starting contractions, “We are going to have the baby today, you and dad should drive over when you wake up if you want to be here.”
My midwife, Tiffany, had said things tend to speed up in the early morning hours, so “sleep if you can and rest up because you’ll need your energy!”
And speed up they did. I was “sleeping” in 7-10 minute increments between contractions getting more and more intense all night, drowsily typing contraction time and duration on a note on my phone.
I rolled over in bed and whispered to Matt, “We’re having a baby today!”
My contractions had gone from 15 minutes to 7 minutes since we went to bed around 9, so I knew we had a while, but things were getting more and more intense, and I knew that the “normal” pattern of labor meant that soon my contractions would be 5 minutes apart, then 3 minutes, and then it would be “time” to head to the birth center.
According to everything I had listened to, podcasted, read, and visualized in eager preparation for birth said this baby would probably come Sunday afternoon.
I knew first babies tended to take longer. And I was prepared for that.
But That was Sunday morning, November 20. I had been in labor since Saturday, November 19, around 2:30pm.
Monday night, November 21, at 8:14pm, after 54 hours in labor and nearly 3 hours of pushing, my baby was born at my bedside. This is my birth story.
Part 1a: some reflections on birth, my decision to have a natural birth out-of-hospital, and the paradoxes of birth
On November 21, 2022 I gave birth at home to a 9 lb, posterior positioned baby, after 54 hours in labor, including nearly 3 hours of pushing.
I can’t tell you the whole story without saying this first:
It’s felt hard to share my birth story because I am both extremely proud of it
And also wrestling with an unusual form of shame, fearful that it would be read as a cautionary tale
Perpetuating the cultural myth that childbirth is “dangerous” or at the very least inconveniently painful - “why would anyone put yourself through that kind of misery?” or “What’s the point, we have medicine for that now.”
This narrative is reinforced by movies and TV and a medical environment that treats pregnancy as an illness and birth as pathological and deadly, leading to unnecessary interventions that come at the cost of our autonomy, and set off a cascade of further unnecessary interventions that then result in the danger they are meant to prevent.
Rather than reinforcing trust that our feminine bodies were made for this and birth actually goes best for healthy mothers when it is undisturbed.
I have more thoughts and evidence on that that I’m happy to discuss, but that’s not the point of this post.
What I NOW realize I wanted was for my birth to somehow complete the healing process of the physical and emotional pain I’d endured and overcome in the previous 5 years
battling chronic back and pelvic pain and endometriosis
losing my beloved (and namesake) grandmother to COVID suddenly and traumatically
then suffering two losses before becoming pregnant again with this baby
Birth felt like an opportunity to recover my power, my femininity, trust in my body,
trust in God’s perfect design for my story, my body, my motherhood.
I didn’t want anything to hinder that physical, emotional, and spiritual process.
So I decided to have a natural, physiological birth over a medical birth because I saw it as an opportunity to close this chapter of pain and healing and enter, embodied and empowered, into motherhood.
A way to explore and discover the depths of my strength, the intrinsic power of my feminine body
And enter, embodied and empowered, into motherhood.
After learning more about birth, asking questions about the “what ifs” and considering my hopes for birth, it seemed that the best place, and the safest place for me, to have the birth I wanted was outside of the hospital setting.
The truth is that all of the things I wanted came true,
And
My birth was really, really, devastatingly hard.
It broke me open. It crushed me. It was traumatic in several ways.
And simultaneously, it protected me from other forms of trauma that I believe would have happened had I done it any other way.
I have had to process the shame I’ve felt about that because I wanted to love birth. I wanted it to be this gorgeous, flowy, powerful experience
That healed me.
(Yes, that is a lot of pressure!)
And it did bring healing, but not in the way I thought…
It cracked me open, releasing past wounds from my body while unveiling new, deeper layers that couldn’t be healed until now.
Birth didn’t heal me, but it gave me access to deeper healing.
It turns out, the themes I’m still processing from my birth - deep self-sacrifice to bring the one I love to my chest, voluntarily, but with much pain and sometimes with few options (to name just a couple) -
are not so different from the heart-wrenching, unraveling experiences of becoming a mother.
That’s why it feels appropriate, needed, to tell this story now, one year after my birth.
I’m thankful you’re here - and it is an honor to share this story with you.
Part 1b: Pregnancy and choosing the birth center
We moved across states halfway through my pregnancy to a state that has one of the highest rates of maternal mortality rate in the country. As a pelvic floor physical therapist, I had also seen so many women with trauma from having unplanned C sections or just poor treatment during their birth in the hospital. I was curious what was going on for this to happen to SO many women- who held trauma in their bodies LONG after birth, but from my own journey trying to find answers for chronic pain, PCOS and endo, I wasn’t surprised that the obstetric world could be problematic.
This solidified my interest in birthing out of the hospital, and when I toured the Atlanta Birth Center, I thought “this seems like the ideal way to give birth, why don’t more people do this”
When we moved, I discovered quickly that there weren’t many options in New Orleans. One hospital had an “alternative birthing floor” staffed by midwives, but I soon learned (thanks to an honest midwife calling me) that they were not on duty on weekends and they often didn’t have the nursing staff to run it, so most moms would still endup on the regular L&D floor. What?
I asked around on a moms facebook group for recommendations for OBs and midwives, and a doula recommended the Saige Birth Center. After a phone call and initial in-person consultation, my midwife, Tiffany, felt like the right fit for me. And the Birth Center was BEAUTIFUL. (I now actually have office space in there, so that’s fun!)
At that time, I knew the birth center was the right fit but was still hesitant about birthing out-of-hospital because of all the stories I’d heard about “emergency” C sections. Was it really safe? What if ___ happened?
I texted my friend Sarah, a mom of 5, who had been in a business coaching group with me (and I secretly knew all along we were soul sisters). I knew she had had a birth center birth, a home birth, AND a hospital birth and is also a PT for pregnant and postpartum mamas like me. I trusted her perspective.
She graciously shared some resources with me and helped me understand a bit more about the cascade of interventions that tends to lead to these “emergencies” (again, not what this post is about, but I’m happy to discuss more)
I watched the Business of Being Born
I bought a book called the Thinking Woman’s Guide to a Better Birth to understand all the options I had with birth and the research surrounding the interventions that are commonly given.
I listened to podcasts like Down to Birth to better understand physiological birth and how I could really trust my body knows how to do this
I devoured all of it… and I felt like my eyes were opened, feeling confirmed that safest place for me to give birth was outside of the hospital, and I felt very confident I could answer questions about my birth plan.
I had never considered home birth in all of that, but the resources I read and listened to made me more intrigued - thinking, oh maybe one day I’ll think about a home birth the second or third time around.
When my midwife, Tiffany, asked upon our initial meeting “Are you thinking Birth Center or home birth?” I wasn’t even aware that home birth was an option. Still, birth center felt best to me. If for no other reason than we had just moved and our house was like the Room of Requirement (for my Harry Potter fans), I did not think things would feel cozy and “ready” by the time of our birth and I didn’t want to have to worry about cleaning.
Even if I had REALLY allowed myself to consider and desire a home birth, I had no interest in explaining that to people who asked if it’s “safe” or “what if… happens,” and, deep down, part of me bought into the (false) narrative that I had to “prove” I could give birth before choosing a home birth for the next baby.
The funny thing about all of this is that this birth center wasn’t a medical in-between — there was no difference, medically-speaking, in giving birth at the center or at home, and Tiffany was experienced in both settings. In fact, the nearest hospital is actually closer to my house than it is to the birth center.
Part 1c: New Orleans Roadwork
I can’t not mention the road work, although it deserves it’s own epic storytelling event, beginning when we moved to New Orleans in June 2022 and finally being complete in May of 2023, paralleling the beginning of our parenthood journey from pregnancy to birth to the first 6 months postpartum.
I laughed it off, saying “we may be having this baby at home” because of the massive road construction surrounding our house, but it was honestly a shit-show. The closest we could park was about 1.5 blocks away, and at times, full sections of the sidewalk were demolished. On my due date, one of the contractors broke a water main, and I walked outside to a completely flooded street, water spewing from a fire hydrant on the corner and water creeping quickly toward our doorstep. Forget being 9 months pregnant trying to carry groceries from my car to my doorstep, was I going to have to kayak to the birth center?
I call my home birth “semi-unplanned” because I think I knew it’s what I wanted, deep down. I planned to birth outside the hospital at a birth center, and decided 46 hours into labor to stay at home - partly because of roadwork, and partly because it gave me an excuse (that I didn’t really need, of course) to have the home birth I really wanted to have-eventually. Thankfully, I chose a midwife who was able to make the switch seamlessly.
Part 1d: The beginning, for real this time.
It was Saturday morning, November 19.
I was nearly 41 weeks pregnant based on my known conception date, and 41 weeks and 3 days based on my dating ultrasound (that I accepted at the time but henceforth will trust my own calculations… those 4 days make a huge psychological difference at the end, but I digress).
I hopped on the Peloton around 10am to ride with Robin Arzon and get my pelvis bouncing out of the saddle. Then I went to acupuncture with Dr. Quang, my third visit this week.
After 3 weeks of the baby hanging super low, cramping and having other early labor signs, I had a good feeling the baby was finally coming.
I came home and turned on Dan In Real Life, my favorite non-holiday holiday movie, planning to do a mix of relaxing and other labor-promoting activities. ALL of them :)
By 2:30pm, I was having contractions that were actually crampy and somewhat “painful” - different than my normal BH contractions - and they were every 3-4 minutes. They were only 30 seconds or so long, and some of them weren’t super strong. So even though they were close together, I knew if this was labor we had a ways to go. I brushed it off as likely the acupuncture and all the ~ other ~ methods we tried to get labor going were stimulating my uterus.
I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it felt like this might be it!
The contractions did slow down to about every 20 minutes through the afternoon and into the evening, but they came consistently. I texted my midwife to let her know. She said it was too soon to know if it was actually labor, but to rest up because if it was, things would likely pick up in the wee hours of the morning.
Through the night, my contractions ramped up again, coming at least every 10 minutes and lasting over a minute. I woke up every time to write them down (I wish I wouldn’t have… because I got 0 sleep.)
Since about 1:30 am they had been getting closer together, about 7 mins apart. They were definitely disruptive and hard to just “ignore” like I knew I was supposed to do in early labor.
I stopped recording the contraction times so I could attempt some sleep… it wasn’t great, but I was able to sleep from about 5:30-8am. The contractions had slowed down again but never stopped coming.
Part 2: Sunday
I had texted my mom sometime in the middle of the night to say I was pretty sure the baby was going to come sometime on Sunday, so she and my dad drove to New Orleans that morning.
My parents arrived and we went to breakfast. The contractions were definitely becoming increasingly uncomfortable and I felt like I did have to stop what I was doing when they came.
We ate at Bearcat. Thankfully I still had an appetite so I fueled up on breakfast potatoes and bacon. I was having what I considered “true” contractions about every 10 minutes at this point, and then every 5 minutes in between those I was having like a period cramp sensation - like a baby contraction.
When I got back to the house, we went on a short and very slow walk. Contractions continued to get more and more uncomfortable, stopping me in my tracks.
Tiffany, my midwife, was still unsure that I was actually in labor - saying I could just have uterine irritability from the acupuncture, nipple stimulation, and sex. This frustrated me.
I called Amy, my doula, around 12:30pm, feeling a little defeated that things were happening enough to be disruptive and uncomfortable (and exhausting), but not enough to really kick labor into high gear. Although I was definitely uncomfortable, I wasn’t struggling physically so much as emotionally… why weren’t things following the pattern I had read, learned, listened about for the past several months?
I was so sure with all the ways I had prepared my body for this that as soon as labor started, things would happen quickly and smoothly.
Amy also said it was possible this wasn’t labor… but I kept thinking, how would this not be labor? If this isn’t labor, this is a cruel prank from Satan himself. I was confused - from what I understood of early labor, you should just be able to go about your day and “ignore” the contractions, but I was already really feeling them and very uncomfortable. Was this not labor?
I cried and rested in bed. My parents left.
I laid down and tried to nap and rest per Amy’s recommendation. I don’t remember much of the next few hours - I tried to walk the line of doing labor progressing things like walking, bouncing on my ball, and moving around the house, while also resting up for what was panning out to be a long road ahead (even though I had no idea how long that road would be).
I texted Amy around 4:30PM to give an update.
Since our last phone call, my contractions were all about 60 seconds long, and were 6-8 minutes apart, then after 4pm, they got closer together to 3 minutes apart, and lasting 70 seconds. A few of these were more cramp-y but most of them were definite contractions, and they were getting more and more painful and intense. I was tired.
Amy came over to check on me around 5. We sat on the couch and chatted as my contractions kept coming. My mom brought me chicken and rice soup from Whole Foods. I ate all of it. I got on the floor and laid my arms and head over my ball. My dad very sweetly rubbed my back.
At 7pm Tiffany (my midwife) came. She said “The fact that you are still talking to me in complete sentences makes me think you still have a ways to go.” My heart sunk.
I consented to a cervical check. I had only had maybe one or two before, which I asked for late in pregnancy. I’m not a fan, but nearly 30 hours in, and feeling things had intensified significantly, I was curious where things stood.
I was only 3 centimeters dilated.
I cried.
I cried because it was really painful, my cervix was still a bit posterior. Amy held my hand.
But I really cried because I felt…embarrassed? Ashamed? Like I had done something wrong? Like somehow I’d had contractions for 30 hours and I actually WASN’T in labor?
I felt stupid for thinking I’d be having this baby today. My body wasn’t making progress but I had already endured 30 hours of contractions and I’d barely slept.
Maybe I was a wimp and these contractions weren’t that bad, but I just wasn’t handling them well.
Maybe I had overstimulated my uterus trying to get labor going.
This wasn’t going how I wanted it to and it was my fault, my wrong.
I felt shame. I felt frustrated. And I felt disappointed.
I also felt confused and tricked - Hadn’t I done ALL the right things to prepare my body for labor? I’d done the official childbirth education AND all my own research. I had tricked myself into believing that after weeks of feeling and seeing the signs of impending labor, when he WAS ready, birth would go according to plan.
I’d been able to feel the hard top of my baby’s head two knuckles in to my vagina for weeks - he was low, he was ready. I ate my dates, I took the Evening Primrose Oil. I exercised to strengthen my body and build my endurance for labor. My chiropractor had just three days ago told me the baby was in perfect position, so when he was ready, things should progress smoothly.
I’d learned that pattern of labor was your contractions get closer and closer, then when they are 3 minutes apart for at least 60 seconds for at least 60 minutes, it’s time to head to the birth center.
And though earlier this afternoon I’d had contractions 3 minutes apart for over 60 seconds each, they slowed back down again. But never enough to feel like I got a real break. This didn’t fit the puzzle. This wasn’t what I’d expected.
Seeing my distress, Tiffany said “Take a bath, drink a beer, and take a Benadryl. Let’s try to take the edge off and then you’ve got to try to get some sleep.” I’m not sure if this is conventional practice, but I consented.
Amy got the bath ready. Matt fixed me a shot of something because I don’t drink beer. And I had some Benadryl I keep around for my dog when his allergies are bad (that I’d actually taken over the last few weeks at times because I was waking up EVERY HOUR of the night) so I took one to help me get drowsy.
Amy got me settled in bed around 8:30 and left to go get some sleep herself.
That was when things got really, really hard.
To be continued…
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