My third pregnancy, I was fed up with doctors and hospitals, and I vowed to never go back unless I HAD to.  I decided to hire a midwife and have a home birth.  There was only one problem; we had just recently moved to Alabama, where it is illegal for a midwife to attend birth because they don’t issue midwife licenses here.  GREAT!  I found a midwife who had a small house just over the Alabama/Tennessee line.  She allowed people from Alabama to birth there.  It was only a little over an hour from my house, so I said, “Let’s do it!”  However, when I called her, it turned out that she no longer had the house.  The state had come (because of complaints from doctors in the area) and told her that the home could not be considered her residence, and she must apply for a birthing center license.  She explained that it could cost her well over $100, 000 up front just to pay for the license, so she no longer had the house available.  We talked over our options, and I agreed to birthing in a hotel, just a few miles up the interstate, in Tennessee.  It was not ideal, but still much, much better than the hospital.

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I had the my best pregnancy ever, with the care of my midwife.  She gave me many books to read about birth and vaccinations and healthy eating.  I felt very empowered to make my own choices in this pregnancy, and very courageous about the birth itself.  I understood what would happen and that there were relatively few risks to me and the baby.  I knew that we did not need to be in the hospital, nor did we belong there.  I couldn’t wait to have my “home” birth.

One day, about five weeks before Samantha’s due date, I was at home, having my internet phone service installed, when something strange happened.  I stood up, and some water ran down my leg.  I thought that I peed on myself, because the baby was quite low and was pushing on my bladder.  I changed my pants and took the other kids to Wal-Mart to get about three weeks worth of groceries.  I got a huge basket of groceries, while lugging around a four year old and an almost two year old, put them in my car, and unloaded them when we got home.  I was pretty tired after all of that, so I decided to lay down.  I called my husband and told him that I couldn’t cook dinner after all of that, and asked him to bring home some pizza.

We had also gotten some movies, so I put one in for the kids and just layed on the couch.  Then, contractions began.  I was also having to use the bathroom very frequently and I seemed to be leaking in between trips to the bathroom.  Well, I must have been in denial at this point, because I could not accept that I was about to have my baby today.  I checked the internet to figure out if this liquid could be amniotic fluid, or just pee.

I concluded that it definitely was pee, and went back to laying on the couch.  The contractions were stopping sometimes, and I would not have very long or strong ones when they were happening.  I called the midwife, just in case, and she told me to rest and call her if things changed, but that she would not be able to deliver the baby at home,  with it being so early.  She also told me to get in the bath with some Epsom salts and sit for a long time, if I was sure that it was not amniotic fluid leaking.  I got into the bathtub for about an hour, and didn’t feel anything.  I was starting to feel much better.  There had not been any contractions for thirty minutes or so.  I might hold off another week.  Then the midwife could deliver her.

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I got out of the tub, and BAM!  The contractions were still there.  They were getting closer together, now about every five minutes.  I called my husband in the bedroom and told him that this was it.  He called the midwife, but at this point I did not want to talk to her.  Things were suddenly getting quite serious, and I was having to concentrate more on relaxing through the contractions.  I asked him to talk, but he handed me the phone, instead.  ( I think that he was still in denial, too.)  I told her what was going on, and she came over to check me, on my request.

While the midwife was on her way over, I broke down a little.  It looked like my plans for avoiding the hospital were being washed away.  I cried and knealt down beside my bed.  I begged God to please make my labor stop.  Over and over, I told him that I did not want to go to the hospital.  I then asked for peace and safety for my baby, and put it in His hands.  We had some things packed up, and were getting the kids ready to go to the hospital.  When the midwife got there, she checked me, and I was a seven, almost eight.  She said that I should think about going to the hospital, and suggested that I go to her cooperating doctor in Huntsville.  I was very calm, but I did not think that I would be able to ride for the hour it takes to get to Huntsville from our home.  I decided, against my better judgment, that I would have to go to the hospital in town.

We drove to the hospital, and I was wheeled up to labor and delivery.  When we got there, we found that there were no more regular rooms, and they put me in a small room with a regular hospital bed.  I told them that I did not want any medication, and that I did not want an IV or Pitocin, or anything, really.  I was only there because my baby was coming too early.  I had to sit and answer all of the admissions questions for what seemed like an hour.  I answered the same questions three times.  My husband helped out when he could, but a lot of it was just personal medical history and such.  I layed on my side, breathing and concentrating on relaxing, even though the lights were bright, and people were coming in and out of the room.  Once I got checked in, and close to delivering-I was dilated to 8 to 9 by that point-the doctor came in and told my husband that he would have to leave.  It was crushing.  He had been there for my last delivery, and it was so special to the both of us.  I could not imagine doing it without him.  We of course protested, but she refused saying that the room was too small, and if something happened, they would be in the way.  (I think that she was really just being a bitch, though, because she wanted to have some sort of “control” over the situation, and since I did not let her drug me, this would be her way.)

I tried to keep up my positive attitude, and assured him that I would be fine.  Just about the time they left me, the contractions began to come more quickly and were very long.  I closed my eyes and relaxed.  I again visualized myself riding the waves.  Just floating on a float up and over each peak of the contraction.  I was getting some rest between contractions, but not a lot.  At one point I remembered thinking, “I don’t know if I can make it.”

Then I was relieved because I knew I was almost done.  About 30 minutes later, the nurse came in to check me, and I felt like I wasn’t having any more contractions.  I actually got a little worried, because I had never had that feeling during my other births, and the doctor had just finished doing a Cesarean which resulted in a patient being life-flighted to another hospital.  ACCCKKK!  “She is going to want to cut me, too!” was all I could think.  Silly, maybe, but she was not a very nice lady, like I said before.  She came in and checked me and said that I was complete and asked if I was ready to get to work.  Was I READY to get to work?  Um, well, I thought I had already been working for like, the last several hours.  I was hot and covered in sweat.  “No, I think I”ll just rest for a few minutes,” I told her.  It was a welcome break, and even though they would not give me anything to drink, I did cool down for a few minutes and get my strength up for pushing.

She actually pulled a chair over, folded her arms across her chest, plopped herself down in the chair and huffed a little.  Oh, things were not going her way at all.  I just looked at her, in obvious refusal to push on command.  After about ten tense minutes of her staring at me, as if willing me to push this baby out now, she got up and left.  I relaxed a little, and got ready to push.  I adjusted the bed, raising the head of it up all the way so I could half way squat and get the baby moving down the birth canal.  I figured that in doing so, the contractions might kick back in.  They did shortly, and I began to push with them.  The nurse with me, God bless her, did not go get the doctor.  She just stayed there and let me push.  Another nurse came in to help, and they asked if I needed a mirror.  During this time, a nurse from the nursery came and brought the bassinet and scales.  She looked at me and said, “Wow!  I have never seen someone so controlled.”  The other nurses agreed.  I did not count, but it seemed like I pushed about eight or nine good times.  The last two pushes, the doctor came back in and “caught” the baby.

Those last couple of pushes were the most intense.  I remember just wanting her out.  It did not hurt, really, but was more of a sensation of pressure building, and then a great release of pressure when she was finally out.  I was saying, quite loudly, “Oh God, oh God! Thank you lord.  Thank you Jesus!”

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I got to hold her immediately, and my husband had sneaked back in there at the last minute, to catch a glimpse and then be shuttled back out again.  She was perfect in every way, and weighed 5 lbs 3 oz.  I thought she looked quite large and healthy and she had red hair!  The boys were allowed back in a few minutes later, and we all ogled her and loved her.  Our first baby girl!

Looking back, I still wish that I could have birthed her away from the hospital, but in the end, I was content to know that she was okay.  There’s alway next time!