potrero view

Ellen Dunne and family.

February 2009

Potrero Hillians Tell Their Birthing Stories

By Sarah Marloff

Eight Potrero Hill moms and one dad tell their birthing stories.

We’d planned for me to labor at home for as long as possible and to get to the hospital four or five hours before delivery. As this was my first child we expected a long labor.  A few hours after we watched Obama give his acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention my labor began. By 9 a.m. the contractions were getting pretty difficult, and in between the waves of pain we watched John McCain announce Sarah Palin as his running mate and her subsequent speech. By 10 a.m. we told our doula she’d better come over. By noon it was clear that things were starting to move quickly, and by 1 p.m. contractions were a minute apart or less and we were frantically gathering up our things to go.

It was one of the excruciatingly hot days in the long heat wave we had at the end of last summer. I got down the stairs and out the front door, and on came another contraction. I dropped on the stoop, my husband Blair and Felicia (our doula) by my side.  I remember the stoop’s green painted wood, hot from the sun, burning my skin. Clutching my pillow and wailing at the top of my lungs, I saw out of the corner of my eye a neighbor walking their dog. Somehow I managed to get out of myself for a moment to think that we must have been a shocking sight.

The car ride was harrowing, with almost no breaks between contractions.  The roads were congested with Labor Day weekend traffic, and the hospital was clear across town.  Halfway there I had an overwhelming and uncontrollable urge to push. Despite Felicia’s expert coaching I couldn’t stop pushing. My wails of pain were now magnified by sheer terror as I had visions of pulling over on Fell Street and delivering in the Panhandle. I heard Blair say to Felicia in as calm a voice as he could muster “just tell me when I should start running these red lights.”   We arrived at California Pacific Medical Center around 1:30 p.m., and I stumbled out of the car and into the emergency entrance, barely able to walk.  All delivery rooms were full, so they prepared to have me deliver in the triage room, fumbling to get an IV in me and to get the fetal heart monitor going.  A few minutes later a room freed up and I was rushed upstairs. Again I had a self-conscious moment as my screams echoed through the hallways.

     Attending now was the midwife, an obstetrician/gynecologist (OB/GYN), several nurses, our doula, a doula in training, and Blair. The midwife gave me instructions in the brief moments between contractions, when I would quiet down.  At one point he raised his voice alarmingly and I felt scolded by an angry father as he told everyone to stop talking; for me to only listen to him. I wasn’t pushing correctly; the baby’s heartbeat was dangerously slow.  I needed to follow his instructions and push the baby out as fast as possible. He had me pushing during and between contractions.  I was delirious with panic and pain.

Twenty five minutes after arriving at the hospital, a perfect baby boy with a full head of blond hair lay peacefully on my belly.

- Ellen Dunne

I delivered at the University of California, San Francisco (UCSF) on the recommendation of my friend and doula, Amy Buzick.  My son was born 10 days early and my water never broke, so even after a day of contractions I was unsure if his birth was imminent.  I labored at home until I was overwhelmed, called Amy, and we went to the hospital as soon as she got to our house.  We arrived at UCSF at 3:30 a.m., and my son Charlie Reno was born at 6 a.m.  My husband Craig barely made it in time for the birth after parking the car and lugging in the birthing ball, the yoga mat, the candles, everything I’d packed thinking I was going to be laboring there for days.

I remember not really understanding that my son was about to be born even though I was being told that he was almost there, and the room breaking into cheers and claps when he was born.  I’d had no idea, but the room was full of nurses and students who came in to see the “natural birth”.  This sounds terrible – I was convinced beforehand that I would want no one in the room except Craig and Amy and the midwife – but I had no idea that there were that many people in the room until after Reno was born.  After he was born I was so high and happy that it seemed appropriate that all these people were cheering for us, and it never occurred to me to be embarrassed or self-conscious.  

We loved the hospital stay:  the nurses, the lactation consultants, the visiting pediatricians.  Nobody minded our friends and family bringing in champagne.  We got to visit while having round the clock tech support.  We had a great birth, I am so grateful!

- Annabrooke Temple.

My partner is a former registered nurse, so we wanted a hospital birth from the start.  I had no dreams of a perfect birth, just a wish for myself and my baby to end up healthy, especially as I was of advanced maternal age.  My daughter ended up being huge; a week overdue with no sign of dropping, so my OB/GYN decided to induce.  We had conceived via donor sperm, so we knew exactly when conception happened and there was no question about the due date. Unfortunately, induced labors are last priority, so we had to call in periodically and see if there was a bed.  We ended up checking in at 7:30 p.m. for a 9 p.m. induction.  Nobody was too thrilled about me being in labor all night, but it was a busy weekend!  So the pitocin went in, and at some point I got a yummy shot of something that made me dreamy and giggly.  

By the wee hours I was having violent contractions.  I eventually lost control of the labor, which seems to happen with pitocin, and all I remember is feeling like I was being thrown at a barn wall over and over, until a nurse came in and dragged me to the shower to break the pain cycle, and they gave me my epidural.   By that evening I had dilated only three centimeters, and when the chief of residents came in to gently suggest that a Cesarean (C)-section was in order, I was vastly relieved.  My daughter Caroline was born at 9:05 p.m. at eight pounds 14 ounces after 24 hours of hard and useless labor.  Her cord was wrapped around her neck twice, so it’s just as well she didn’t come the usual way.  Her birth was high-tech and not exactly a Hallmark moment, but she’s perfect.

- Beth Freeman.

We have two children, born in 2006 and 2008 at UCSF.  With Rosa, I labored at home with my doula and my husband for most of the preceding night and day. My waters broke at around 4 p.m., and at about 5 p.m. we decided to go to the hospital. I ended up going through the most intense, transition phase of labor in the back seat of our Subaru!  When I got to the hospital I was thrilled to find that I was nine centimeters dilated, though I had become quite dehydrated. They gave me intravenous (IV) fluids, and I asked for gas and air [nitrous oxide] for pain relief.  This treatment is used routinely in the United Kingdom, where I am from, but rarely applied in the United States.  I used a birthing stool for the pushing part of labor, taking breaks to eat mango sorbet for energy.  It took about 40 minutes for Rosa to crown, at which point they asked me to get up onto the bed for the delivery. Out she flew, six pounds, 12 ounces, tiny and perfect in every way.  

Bjorn was 10 days late.  But when he was ready to come out he was emphatic about it.  When my water broke we headed straight to the hospital, to avoid the frantic ‘We’re about to have a baby in the car’ experience.  When I arrived at UCSF I was able to focus on the panoramic views from the 15th floor, and use their jacuzzi tub to manage the contractions. I had another wonderful doula, and with her support I was able to forego even the gas and air this time.  She kept me hydrated with energy beverages, so I didn’t need to have an IV. Our calm and experienced nurse brought out the birthing stool, and gave the medical residents attending the delivery the confidence to get down on the floor and assist me in delivering him right there on the stool. Bjorn arrived after about 10 minutes of pushing, all eight pounds, six ounces of him.

– Maria Wilson.

My story begins with the birth of my son, Max, now a five-year-old ray of sunshine.  After a glorious pregnancy with no illness and many delightful firsts, I was induced at 18 days past due.  Thirty-two hours, seven nurses, four OB/GYNs, a pack of interns, a birth plan out the window and a C-section later, Max was born.  I was able to lay eyes on him nine hours later, dying to get home after three long days.  He was big, beautiful and the best first baby anyone could ask for.  Admittedly, navigating the highs and lows of first-time parenthood was at times tough because that birth experience left me with the question, “How did we end up with that?”, what felt like a heavy boulder I quietly carried in my chest.

When I got pregnant the second time, nauseous through the first trimester, I decided I wanted to try for a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC).  After several interviews with OB/GYNs, doulas, hospitals, birth centers and finally a midwife, all signs pointed to a homebirth.  I researched and delved deep, willing to try anything that would up my chances of a successful VBAC, including prenatal yoga, chiropractic, acupuncture, massage therapy, psychotherapy, hypnotherapy, well-guided nutrition, exercise, and meditation/visualization.  

My daughter Eva was born early on a wet, Spring day in April, two years and eight months after my son.  Waters broke the afternoon before.  We went out, ate dinner, came home, bathed and put to bed my son, labored calmly in our room until active labor, when the “team” arrived.  A sitter took my son to her home so he wouldn’t be anxious nor I unfocused.  I labored the rest of the evening, relaxing in a birthtub with my husband, a doula, two midwives and an apprentice guiding, supporting and caring for me that whole time, and even weeks later.

What happened, that was so remarkable wasn’t only that I accomplished what I set out to do.  Somewhere along the way, from pregnancy to birth, with a lot of love and counsel, I overcame some dark disillusionment and disappointment. I was so completely ready and prepared and surrounded by believers that I was at peace with whatever outcome, homebirth, homebirth with transfer, another cesarean.  I came out of that birth perhaps reborn myself.  I lost that boulder. 

- Elain Sprague Stuebe

When we decided to have our first homebirth, it wasn’t something we knew much about.  The more we learned about midwives, the more we believed it was possible.  And then we experienced it ourselves and can’t stop talking about it.  We have amazing memories, living proof, and a new fondness for our tiny 900 square foot Dogpatch loft.

Our daughter, Pica, was born at home in December 2005.  It was three drizzly winter days of slow labor. I walked around the house, and sat on the potty, a lot. In the final moments my husband, Jason, was the one who caught Pica as she fell from me; born into her daddy’s hands. We’ll never forget the moment that our midwives and families left that day.   We snuggled our new baby in our own warm bed and couldn’t stop smiling.   

Two years later we couldn’t wait to do it again when our son, Henry, was born.  This time the labor went quick.  Henry was born in the warm water of the birthing tub we had setup in our living room.  Surrounded by the entire family, Henry was born right into my own hand.  I will never forget the way his tiny little head felt; all soft, warm and fuzzy as it slowly filled my palm and he emerged.

We are so proud to have welcomed our offspring into our cozy, loving family in the comfort of our own home.  No anesthetic and no inducement, just mental concentration on the sheer animal joy of the experience.  It’s hard for us to imagine it any other way.  And we’re here to tell others that it is possible.  It’s what our bodies were born to do.  And what better place, what better community, to welcome new life than Potrero Hill.

- Dina Herring.

Dear Baby Caleb,

I want to tell you the short version of your birth at home.  Your Mom and I were up at your grandparent’s in Healdsburg when you decided it was time. We jumped in the car and headed home.  We called Maria, our midwife, and she was totally calm and said she would meet us at home.

Your mom’s water broke as we were driving across the City.  We rushed upstairs, and I was so happy to see Maria and her assistant and the second midwife, Nancy.  Turns-out your mom was already seven centimeters dilated!

We had a birth tub for you in our bedroom.  Your mom got in and so did I. She was starting to make a lot of noise, which seemed to help her deal with the contractions.  We were in the tub for a couple of hours.  Then Maria wanted her to walk around a bit. Eventually, we walked back to the bedroom, and she started pushing.

You have no idea how hard your mom was working for you.  She was shivering and sweating. She thought she was at her wits end but actually she looked so strong.  While she was pushing she would pick her chin up and press her face into my side and stomach.   The midwives told her over and over how strong and amazing she was.

After about an hour of serious pushing and some screaming, your head came all the way out, and then on the next push your shoulders.  Maria asked me to grab you, and I reached down between your mother’s legs and wrapped my hands around your tiny chest underneath your arms and put you on your mother’s chest!  Your eyes were open and I just wept; wept with joy.  It’s hard to describe.

The midwives cleaned you and the house up and left us together, the three of us, to bond and rest.  We curled up in bed and had our first night together at home.  The midwives came back in the morning, and each day after that to check on all of us.  We stayed snuggled-up in our home, learning what it meant to be a family.

– Niko and Caleb (dad)

My son Jasper is three and a half years old now.  He’s a little ray of sunshine, and my greatest teacher.  Jasper brought grace to my life before he was born.  It’s as if his spirit was hovering around, waiting to be conceived.  After years of being “on the fence” about whether or not we wanted to have a child, my husband and I decided to relax and see what happened.  I got pregnant right away, in my late-30s.  What excitement and joy.  We fell in love with this little soul and named him “Sprout.”

Sprout’s gender, we decided, would remain a mystery to us until he was born.  I remember a friend saying “otherwise it’s like opening a Christmas present in July!”  July was the month of our due date, and we had planned for a homebirth with midwife Maria Iorillo and doula Renee Verduin.  On the 4th of July, after camping out the night before – I really wanted to go camping before Sprout was born – I woke up from a nap and found my water had broken.  Eighteen days before my due date.  Shocked, I called my birthing team and we scrambled to get ready.  We (finally) opened our homebirth kit, stocked-up on newborn diapers, ate a spicy dinner (on the advice of Maria) and settled into the fireworks.

Contractions were happening five minutes apart.  I tried to rest, but I was very excited and feeling confident; these weren’t bad at all!  Was I in for a surprise.  Not even our wise childbirth educator, Zann Erick, had prepared me for the indescribable pain and power of labor, though Marisa Toriggino, my amazing prenatal yoga instructor, had a homebirth and experienced more pain than she could believe.  As things intensified, I spent hours in the birthing tub, hoping for relief in the warm water.

Before labor, I wanted to have a waterbirth.  As Sprout and I progressed, I wanted out of the tub and onto my bed.  So up we (all) went, between hard contractions, the 15 steps to the bedroom.  The urge to push was very strong, but I was not fully dilated.  Maria instructed me to resist pushing.  This felt impossible; it seemed beyond my control.  After a long time, I was - at last - cleared to push.  And push I did.  Sprout was born an hour later.  And I felt reborn in the process.  What an amazing, powerful, transformative journey.  Was there nothing I couldn’t do after giving birth?

-Kathleen Sampel Morris

“Honey, I don’t think you’re going surfing today.”

That was what I whispered to my husband, Tom, that morning in November 2007, after I woke to use the bathroom in the early hours and discovered that my water was breaking. I didn’t have to explain what I meant:  he took less than a blink to rise and start preparing our house for a day we’d been planning for months.

Our decision to have a homebirth stemmed from my desire to have as few medical interventions as possible during labor.  Having learned that being in the hospital all but guarantees, statistically, that a woman will experience some form of intervention, I wanted no such interventions if they were avoidable, and I wanted to give full trust to my body and its amazing abilities by birthing at home.

A few hours into the labor, when the sun came up, things were progressing apace.  But as my husband was setting up the birthing tub by our sliding glass patio door, we noticed that there was a whole work crew alighting on the neighbor’s roof, ostensibly preparing to spend the day painting his house; about 10 feet above where my head – and the naked, writhing rest of me –  was supposed to be during delivery! My husband paid a visit next door, and our neighbor was kind enough to ask the crew to come back the next day to finish their work. Just imagine if their schedule hadn’t allowed them to delay the job.  We’d have spent all day staring at each other, me moaning in the throes of labor while these poor men tried to ignore my hollers while they scraped paint chips off the wall.

But they left, the midwife came, and nine hours after telling my husband the wetsuit wasn’t getting wet that day, we were embracing our new daughter in a pool of warm water in our living room. We both believe that being born at home was part of the reason she was such a settled baby from the start. There were no beeping machines, no bright lights, no being carted away from me too soon in the delivery room to be poked and prodded.  Just lying on mama’s chest, hearing our calm, hushed voices in the warm surroundings of her new home. Moments after our fantastic midwife, Maria Iorillo, finished checking her vitals, making sure we were nursing well, and dealing with my perinatal care, she and the other midwives and doulas on our birth team cleaned everything up and quietly slipped out our front door, leaving my husband and I lying in our own cozy bed with our brand new daughter.  Nervous beyond belief, but already settled in the place where we’d now live as a family of three.

Giving birth at home without drugs or doctors was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  But now I know what I am really made of, and that can never be taken from me. If we ever choose to have another baby, I’ll absolutely aim to have it at home as well. I realize it’s not a choice that works for everyone, though. I think the most important thing for every woman’s birth experience is for her to be where she’s going to be the most comfortable, so she can fully focus on the work she has to do. For me, that was my home on Kansas Street.

- Andie Grace

 

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