My Birth Story

During the pregnancy months, I heard a lot about "my birth story" - the stories women share after their babies are born, and the way they feel about them, and how they went as expected or not. And I marveled that often, women would tell a story that I thought sounded horrendous, but they would finish with, "I loved my labor." How could this be?! (There were exceptions, and I don't discount these - I know a lot of women carry a lot of baggage about how their labor and delivery turned out. That's just not what this blog is about.)

Now, I understand. I had thought long and hard about how I wanted things to go, and I had a terribly difficult time accepting that it might not go that way. But guess what? It didn't go as I planned... and I wouldn't have it any other way. I might next time, but for this time, my labor and delivery was perfect. 

So allow me to share my story.

Grace was 13 days overdue. This was draining, more emotionally than physically. It finally got to the point where my doctors no longer felt it was safe for her to stay in there, and so we made the decision to induce. I was really distressed about this. I had so much baggage about wanting my body to do something right, and I hated that once again, I was going to need medical intervention. With the help of my dear husband, I finally accepted this reality, and tried to believe that this could still be a wonderful labor and delivery, even if I had to have the medical intervention I had so badly wanted to

Mom and Dad came to check out our digs, which we did our
best to make look like home.

avoid. 

It turned out that knowing just when this would happen gave us a wonderful gift: we were able to spend the rest of the day consciously preparing for the event. We spent some time alone, some time together, we went for a walk, we cuddled with the dog, we picked up the house and got it ready for my parents to stay there the next couple days to take care of Klaus. This intentional time together was very special, and I'm so grateful we had it. 

Once we got to the hospital, the doctor on call, Dr. D., came to talk to us, and we immediately liked her. She said, "I know you really wanted a natural birth, and we're going to do everything we can to make it as close to that as possible." I felt a burden lifted. She told me about the drug they would use to ripen my cervix, Cervadil, which they would insert and after 12 hours, we would re-evaluate, and possibly start the Pitocin then. It was a slower, but gentler approach, she said, and if I were to go into natural labor during that time, they would abandon the rest of the plan and let my body do what it does. Sounded good to me, and I said a silent prayer that I would, in fact, go into natural labor during the next 12 hours.

As per my request, they hooked me up to the portable monitor so I could walk around. Michael and I

All suited up with my monitor "purse."

explored the third floor. It wasn't exactly as I had pictured it, but I was walking, and that's what I wanted, and I was so grateful to the doctor for making it possible. After our walk, we took our time going to bed, because we expected to be in this for the long haul.

How wrong we were!

An hour after falling asleep, I started having contractions. Unable to sleep, I texted with a friend, then called the nurse in. Between the time I called her and the time someone actually came (around 3:30am), my contractions had grown too strong and frequent for me to get any sleep, even with sleep medicine. Since I had only slept an hour and needed more energy for impending labor, we opted for some morphine mixed with Nubain, which allowed me for two hours to sleep during the few minutes between contractions. Totally worked: Michael said I would moan through a contraction, while he massaged my back, then immediately my breathing would change to the measured breathing of sleep. 

Michael texted our doula, Alison, and she came right away. I was aware of her entering the room, but one of my more vivid memories of those hours was when she touched my back for the first time - her cool hands were such sweet relief, and she knew just where to touch my back, and the pain immediately dissipated. This may be too dramatic, but it reminded me of Jesus' healing stories, where "immediately" an ailment leaves the person at the mere touch of the Healer. I felt calmer just knowing she was there. Her being there also allowed Michael 90 minutes of (fitful) sleep, which was essential to get through the next part.

At some point, I became very aware of the need to push. It wasn't even a mental awareness so much as a completely physical one, that is, I was pushing before I realized I was doing it and thought to tell anyone. What an amazing thing, to feel my body know how to do something, to listen to it, to let it guide the process. When I told the doctors and nurses I was pushing, they didn't believe I was ready so soon, but an exam (between my now rapid fire contractions) revealed that I was indeed ready. I think it was during this time that my water broke, around 7am - a fact I felt the need to announce to everyone ("Water broke! Water broke! Water broke!" I said, with every breath), as if they couldn't see the gush that had just come out of me! Just trying to be helpful, you know. :)

Nurse Alicia and Doula Alison - a great team!

I heard the nurse, Alicia, say, "As much as I'd love to deliver this baby, they don't like it when I do that, so I'm going to call the doctor," then heard her on the phone, "No, you need to come now. No, now." No one could believe how fast this was happening! There wasn't even time for the pediatrician to get there (there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, so they usually have the peds come in this case).

At some point, Alison had me move from being on my side, to being on all fours. I had tried that earlier without success, but now it gave me relief. She then had me turn to face the wall behind the bed, and put my arms over the back of it, so I was on my knees with my back to the doctor. When the doctor came in, someone said, "Can you deliver this way?" He said he never had before (in 27 years!), but could certainly figure it out! (Later her said, "Wow, that worked pretty well!" Turns out having gravity on your side is helpful, not to mention being in a position more conducive to baby movement as opposed to ease for the doctor.)

I had heard about the "ring of fire" - when baby's head is coming out and you can't imagine your skin could possible stretch any more to let the kid through. This was the only time I was ready to admit defeat. I said into my pillow, "I can't do this." (Did I not want anyone else to think I was doubting myself? I don't know.) But then I thought: this hurts so much already, and it's going to hurt even more when she goes through there, but she can't go the other way. I guess this is the only option. Good use of logic, Jo. I resolved to do it (as if there was really a choice).

Two great, rapid pushes later (Bam, Bam), I felt each of Grace's little limbs passing by, and it was the most exciting and exhilarating feeling I have ever experienced. I felt my child enter the world. All the pain was absolutely worth it for that two seconds. It didn't take long for me to forget what the pain of labor felt like. But I can still remember both the need to push, and what it felt like the moment my daughter came out of the womb. Wow. Wow. It was everything I had wanted, everything I had hoped for in my labor and delivery experience. It was everything.

Our first picture together!
During skin-to-skin time.

That is, it was everything until I saw that slippery little beauty. As soon as Michael (who was by this time weeping for the sheer emotion of it all) had cut the umbilical cord, they placed Grace on my chest for some skin-to-skin time, and for about 45 minutes, we got to know each other a bit (then I passed her on to Michael for skin-to-skin with his daughter). I searched her face for familiar features, and tried to grasp that this little person was someone I at once already knew, and was only just getting to know. I didn't feel the overwhelming rush of emotion I expected, because I really felt like this was someone I already knew, and we were just hanging out face to face now, and it was the most natural, ordinary thing in the world. My daughter. Of course.

All in all, this was certainly the most incredible experience of my life, and it was everything I could possibly have hoped for and more. I am so grateful to my amazing husband, and all the wonderful doctors and nurses for being so sensitive to my hopes and desires, and for all the care they offered before, during and after. 

First family picture

A friend of mine had offered me the advice, while I was still anxiously waiting and pregnant, that sometimes things don't go at all how you wanted, but how they go turns out to be exactly what you wanted. Throughout my story, this was so true for me. Every time something happened that I didn't want, it ended up being such a gift: a planned induction allowed us time to prepare our hearts, minds, and home, medical intervention helped my body realize what it was supposed to do so that it could do it on its own, morphine allowed me some much needed sleep. And in the end, all the things I truly wanted - those feelings I will never forget of pushing and feeling Grace enter the world, and of course a healthy child at the end of it all - were not compromised. This sage advice is something I will continue to hold onto and unpack throughout this new life. Thanks be to God, that God is the one in charge, and not me. God knew the best way all along. 

The most beautiful thing I've ever seen

This morning I experienced the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I had just gotten up to feed and change Grace, about 7:30 or so. After we were done, we crawled back into bed together with Michael and Klaus to have some whole family cuddle time. I lay down and lay her on my belly. Sometime thereafter, I saw her starting to root, crawling her way up my chest like she had done during our first skin-to-skin time right after she was born. I quickly pulled down my tank top a little so she could find some skin. Soon enough she was pulling down my shirt, and I realized: she was looking for my breast.

I couldn't believe it.

I pulled down my shirt the rest of the way on both sides, exposing both of my scar-covered breast mounds, watching to see what Grace would do. As she made her way down the breast toward where the nipple would be, I wondered, "Is there really still some instinct in her, or some scent or remaining tissue in me, that draws her to this place, even though it is merely a manmade breast?" And then to my amazement, she started licking my mastectomy scar - right where my nipple used to be.

What a gift my Grace was giving me. At first, my heart ached a little, because she will never find food from that scar. My little girl is such a good sucker and she would surely love breast-feeding. I have many times wondered what it would be like to breastfeed her, even as I find bottle feeding her very satisfying as well. But here I was getting something at least close to the breast-feeding experience, and it was beautiful. It occurred to me then that I had not finished the bottle, filled with donated breast milk from a friend, that we had started. I reached for it, and squeezed it in under her little seeking mouth, and Grace took it immediately. And then I fed my daughter breast milk as her head rested on my breast. I looked on in continued amazement.

When she had finished, I took off her sleeper, and my shirt, and lay her back down on my chest. She happily rested her head between my two breast mounds, her sweet, soft head between my scars. My heart filled with gratitude even as my eyes spilled over. I tried to sing softly to her the song that Michael and I danced to at our wedding, the first song I ever sang and played for Michael on my ukulele, The Way I Am (Ingrid Michaelson), but I couldn't get past the first chorus before my voice left me completely: "...Cuz I love the way you say good morning. And you take me the way I am."

And so I just enjoyed the moment, enjoyed watching her sleep, enjoyed stroking her head, praying for her, thanking God for this gift.

This, my friends, this is what GRACE looks like.

Welcome to the world, Grace Victoria!

It is my great pleasure to introduce to the world (only 13 days late)...

Miss Grace Victoria Rehbaum

Day 5

Born Saturday, Sept. 5, 2015

6 lb 13.75 oz

19.5 inches long

Beautiful and perfect in every way!

So far, on Day 5, Grace is a delightful baby. She has her mom's nose and lips, and her dad's ears and chin, and seems to have her grandpa Karl's eyes, and strawberry blonde hair. She loves singing, looking around, and of course being held by either mom or dad. She brings smile upon smile to all who meet her with her rosy cheeks and entertaining sounds and faces.

Here are some more pictures from shortly after birth:

Happy family of three, a couple hours after birth

Daddy gets some skin-to-skin time (after mommy had hers!)

Mommy feeds her daughter for the first time

Close up of Grace's sweet face, a couple hours out

Three generations

Waiting, wounds, and waters of new life

I'm now beginning my ninth day overdue with my until-now-cooperative unborn daughter. The waiting is not easy, as anyone who has had to wait for anything knows, but especially anyone who has had to wait for a way overdue child to be born.

Michael and I have been dealing with the waiting in different ways, but both ways have been wrought with anxiety. For me, a lot of that anxiety comes from a whole bunch of cancer baggage I did not expect to rear its ugly head during this experience.

I have written before (here and here) about how pregnancy has been something of a healing process for me in learning to love and appreciate my body again. This is a body that has betrayed me too many times by growing death and disease, but the fact that I have had such an amazing pregnancy, and I can see life literally bulging out from under my scars, has helped me be grateful for that body anyway, and rejoice in the amazing things it can do.

But the longer I wait, the less confidence I have.

Last week (39 weeks and 5 days), we had an ultrasound that showed that our Grace is measuring on the small side of normal, and that her head is especially small. Even though the doctor said it was nothing to worry about, I created a whole narrative in my head in which my body has already failed to do its job. In my made-up story, my body can't sustain life after all. It has stopped nourishing my child, and she can't grow like she should. I repeat that no one told me this was even remotely true; my unhealed wounds totally made it up. And my unhealed wounds told me: your body has failed again.

Yesterday, at 41 weeks and one day, I went in for a fluid check and non-stress test (NST) to make sure Grace is still thriving in my womb. At the doctor, the NST was inconclusive - nothing wrong, necessarily, but they didn't get the information they needed to be sure everything was okay. It should have been that whenever she moved, her heartbeat changed, but the few times she moved, there was no change. So they sent us to the hospital for more monitoring, with the likelihood of inducing. If they couldn't be sure, the doctor said, they'd rather get her out. (By the way, my doctor is on vacation this week - I wish she were here!) Both Michael and I had not planned on inducing. Even though I mentally prepared for this possibility, I found myself incredibly upset that once again, my body was not doing what it was supposed to. Every time a doctor checked my cervix and concluded it was not "ripe" or "favorable" or "soft" but rather, closed up tight, all I could think was, "Body fail."

At the hospital non-stress test, Grace continued to sleep and not move. The technician had me lie on my side to see if that helped. I thought maybe if I sang to Grace, that would help - the few times she had moved at the doctor's office had seemed to be in response to singing. The technician said to try whatever I wanted! So I began singing: "Every time I feel this way, this old familiar sinking, I will lay my troubles down by the water, where the river will never run dry. Hallelujah." And she moved! She moved a bunch! And every time I felt her move, I could hear the monitor change, her little heartbeat growing stronger and faster for a moment. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. The technician stuck her head in, grinning, and said, "Whatever you're doing, it's working!"

With that news, the doctor said everything looks fine, Grace is still doing fine in there, and if we would like not to induce yet, that was fine. Michael and I both felt this was the right decision. We talked about it later, and I said as much as I want Grace to come out, the thought of inducing made me feel very unsettled, like we were pushing something not quite ready. He agreed.

But I couldn't shake all the baggage. I still could only hear, "Your cervix isn't favorable. It's closed up tight." I related some of my frustrations to Michael and my parents as we sat on our lovely porch, processing the morning. As my anxiety about it all grew more and more apparent, my mom said, through tears, "Your body did not fail. It grew a person. There's a person in there that you grew, and she responds to your singing! That is not failure. That is amazing." We talked some more, and more generally, about the need to be kind to ourselves and to our bodies, and the need to say to our bodies, "Thank you for all you do," instead of loath them for all that they do wrong.

That night, I took a bath. I don't take a lot of baths, but hoped it would help my muscles to relax and let a baby out. By the light of one candle and our "I <3 my Dachshund" nightlight (yes, it's true), I lay in the warm, lavender-scented water, and breathed deeply, praying two different mantras - one was the simple "oooooopen" we often use in prenatal yoga, and one was something I came up with, again during yoga: "Trust God. Trust your body."

Then I decided to actually wash myself a bit. As I ran a washcloth over my face, my arms, my belly, I imagined washing away all the blame and frustration. I used a lavender salt scrub to wash my scar-covered breast mounds and my belly, and was stunned by their softness and beauty. I see myself every day, but I have never really taken so much intentional time to really take in the whole picture, with multiple senses. In the soft light, I remembered again how taken I had been with the beauty of my "new boobs." Now again, as my skin glistened in the soft light, I remembered how beautiful my body is - not for how it looks, but for all that it has been through and all that it has done for me. As I rinsed the salt scrub off, cupping water in my hands and letting it run over my chest and belly, I couldn't help but notice that this is the same motion I use to I baptize people, cupping water from the font in my hand, and letting it run down the brow of the person being baptized. And so this, too, became like a baptism to me, as I imagined this water washing away my grief, my brokenness, my disdain, my frustration. In their place, I left words of gratitude: gratitude for this temple God has given me, gratitude to God for bringing me through so much, gratitude for the wholeness and love God offers, gratitude for the little being still growing in my belly. In short, it was a moment in which I experienced the forgiveness of sin and brokenness, and the promise of life.

I continued to sit in the warm bath for a few more moments, not wanting to leave that now sacred, healing space. And then, I was suddenly ready. I felt that this moment had fulfilled its purpose, and I was ready for the next thing. I got out of the tub, dried off, and got ready for bed. Before Michael joined me, I lay there in bed and prayed a most earnest prayer, thanking God, and surrendering my anxiety, my need to plan, my need for this to go my way, and leaving what is left of this pregnancy, and all that will follow it, in the hands of a God who I trust will not fail me. After a brief but loving talk with Michael, I fell asleep feeling a peace I haven't felt in days.

And so we continue to wait. As one friend commented on one of my recent Facebook posts, "Grace always comes at the right time and in the right way." And so it does. And so she will.