As the fates had it, I delivered before C did. This seems to be the best case scenario because otherwise, I would have had a baby needing to nurse while I was in labour. So, we embraced the moments we had with our new baby. Family members visited. Photos were taken. Text messages sent. Meanwhile, C continued her seemingly never-ending efforts to get labour going. She even resorted to castor oil smoothies! I told her that the yoga ball had worked for me, so she got herself a ball and started bouncing! But, it was days. Baby A remained nameless and I think C and I both worried that she might get too overdue and intervention might become more likely.
In the mean time, Lee was still finishing some course work for his first year of his masters. One night, while I sat in the family room, holding Baby A, Lee said that he best get into the basement and work because who knows how much longer he has. He reflected on how much work one baby already was and how hard it was to carve out time for school. Off he went to the computer. A few minutes later, I received a text message from C. It was a screen shot of an App which tracks contractions. There was a list of contractions. They seemed to last around 45 seconds, sometimes longer. And they seemed to be approximately every 5 minutes. I quickly texted C back, asked her if she believed she was in labour and if she had phoned the midwife. She responded that she had not phoned the midwife and was still feeling unsure if this was truly labour at all. I called down to Lee and asked him to come upstairs. I can picture him coming up, and looking to me through the banisters, where I sat on the couch. My smile reached from ear to ear. He said, defeated, "she's in labour, isn't she?" We had invested so much in having a surrogate pregnancy, and she is finally in labour, and he is disappointed?! I laughed and then quickly explained that I was concerned she would not make it to Pembroke. She might be too far along. She might change her mind. I asked Lee to pack bags and prepare us. EllaGrace was sleeping at her grandparents, so that was one less concern.
C called her own midwife in Ottawa as my suggestion. C was told that if she hoped to deliver in Pembroke that she needed to get in the car as soon as possible. C phoned doula J to give her warning. I phoned midwife S. C and I are so alike in that this denial seems to be how we labour. I phoned S and explained that C was on her way, but she was not feeling certain that she was in labour and no one wants to inconvenience the midwives. S suggested that she come now, as she has to drive into town, and if it is a false alarm, or a slow labour, we will deal with it then. Knowing everyone was on their way (and that baby B was on the way! Ack!), Lee and I tried to prepare the house. My own strength was not yet back to normal, as Baby A was only 4 days old. I knew I would have to take it easy in preparing and supporting C. We prepared the room in much the same way, played the same music, had the same candles, etc. We decided our dog - who had barked each time I contracted - better go to my in-laws. S arrived and helped prepare. We realized that our attic was filthy as a result of all the renovations so Lee disappeared with the vacuum. It was busy and exciting.
When C arrived she quickly said that the ride had been quite awful and that the doula best be called. With J on her way, we all said our hellos. Then C noticed that the contractions were less frequent and intense. She voiced concern that it was false labour. I reminded her that labour slows with change of location and that she needed to allow herself time to feel settled. S checked her and said that her cervix was still 'very early'.. C looked disappointed. It seemed that even S was unsure if this was the real thing, as she mentioned that we would all just go to bed, if needed. C sat on her yoga ball, had her water, and began to relax. And, sure enough, labour resumed. This time J was present for much more of the labour. She gave hand massages, used oils, did back pressure, back rubs, etc. She once again proved herself a great doula and marriage material.
I remember sitting on the couch, watching C labour with my unborn child, and feeling very guitly. She was phyisically uncomfortable because I eanted help having a baby. Despite my inner psychological warfare, everything unfolded in a very relaxed manner. We all sat together - something that has not happened much with me and the midwives - and chatted, joked. The professionals offered support during contractions. C was graceful in early labour. She used these huge, long, deep breaths. She articulated what she wanted. Her partner, J, was by her side the entire time. He spoke to her about how wonderful she was, how well she was doing. He also took moments for me. "Your baby is coming. This baby is going to be perfect." Each time he spoke to me, I cried.
I recall that it seemed like labour was slow, but in fact, it progressed smoothly and consistently once she arrived in Pembroke. It was between 9 and 10 for her first text and she arrived between 11 and 12. She began articulating that the work of labour was too hard, but she continued to be so graceful through the contractions. Lee prepared the pool and it was ready for C when she was ready to make the switch. S did check her one or two more times and she was progressing just as she should.
Baby A slept soundly in a swing a few feet from the pool, where we all gathered around C as she worked through labour. I struggled, knowing how hard it was from my own labour 4 days earlier, how hard it all was. C would articulate fear, and beg for help. But actually presented as quite calm and coping well. Her words did not line up with what she said. I was nervous that she would have a negative birth experience and be unhappy with her decision to be our surrogate. I second guessed, applauded, shared excitement and fear. As things progressed, my own emotional state became more and more fragile.
But, my care team is amazing, even when it is not me in labour. J would wink at me, reassuring me that things were going well. S checked in on me from time to time, but more importantly, each time she checked the heart rate she reported to C, but also looked at me and waited for me to acknowledge - to understand - that my baby was still well. Each time, my eyes filled with tears. After such loss, could we be so lucky to have two happy, healthy babies? I was so thankful for her support. And, in fact, that beautiful Baby B was so healthy, S kept commenting that the baby did not seem to know it was time to be born, as the heart rate was not fluctuating at all. Like me, C's water had not broken. So, she worked and worked, and we watched and waited. It is so difficult to be the observer, wishing I could do more to take away the pain, especially since it is my baby. As I knelt beside the pool, watching this amazing woman - amazing in so many ways - work to bring my child into the world, I would be overcome. Now and then I would crumple, leaning on my side of the pool, and cry.
When it was time to push, things unfolded slowly. Of course, that is a relative term because I had barely had to chance to realize I was pushing four days earlier. C had a bit of cervix in the way, which caused a lot of pain and S had to move manually. I again feared that she would be unhappy with the birth story. I remember Lee whispering to me, suggested that I should watch for the baby's ear. That was the first thing he saw when EllaGrace was born, and a moment of magic that he will never forget. I witnessed my child's head crown, slowly and gentley entering the world. Then C was in pain and S explained that the baby was moving, turning over, while being delivered. I looked down to search for an ear, but instead saw this sweet hand emerge. The baby had pushed its arm out, raised its hand above its head and made a fist. The baby entered the world like Superman. The sweet hand belonged not to the baby boy C and I believed was coming, but to a plush baby girl. She was delivered and placed into my arms. She was so slippery, covered in vernix and wet from the pool. I laughed. I laughed at her size and with joy. Everyone laughed at her size. I held her and she cried - her cry is of the saddest variety of baby cries and still is.
So, four days after Baby A was born, he was present for the birth of his Twibling sister, Baby B. She was born in our home at 2:30 am. EllaGrace had missed the birth again, but it was unfolded so beautifully, it could not have been better.
xx
As I recall, around 12:30, midwife K was the first to arrive. Midwife M was having trouble getting out of her driveway. When K arrived I was still on the couch and was becoming less aware of the goings-on around me. I knew that K was getting oriented and arranging everything for the birth. Lee was again, at least at some point, upstairs with EllaGrace.
Directly beside me, on the coffee table, K began setting up the infant resuscitation area. As she brought out oxygen and other medical tools, I could hear my thoughts begin to fight. I know that this is normal. She does this at every birth. This is normal. I am fine. The baby is going to be fine. And the scarier, and louder thoughts: The baby will need this. The baby might die. You know what it is like to have a dead baby. As much as I cognitively knew why the equipment was being made available, it was overwhelming, scary, and triggering. I let out a sob, asking K (and begging the universe) "the baby's going to be okay?!". Thus began my first emotional meltdown. Here I was in the throes of labour and remembering just what happened to both my children the last time. K quickly came to me and explained that she was getting ready because I seemed to be coping, but that she could see that I needed reassurance. Somewhere in this exchange J arrived and came to my side. K found the baby's heartbeat, healthy and strong, without incident. She then offered to check my cervical dilation.
After checking me, K estimated me to be 7cm dilated. I have to say that being told that I am that far along is validating. I have been working fairly hard, but managing without much support, and have made it this far. Also, it was probably a good thing that I called my team in. She then explained that she calls this an 'inconsequential 7'. My waters had not yet ruptured, so the bag of waters was putting pressure on me, that was what I was feeling. She explained that when my waters rupture, the baby's head would descend quickly.
Given how far along I was, the pool needed to be filled with water quickly and I needed to be given antibiotics. This administration of antibiotics is recommended by Health policy in Ontario for women who have been ill, or have had a child(ren) who were ill, as a result of GBS. Given that this is what caused my labour with Patrick and Maggie, I fit the bill. However, throughout my pregnancy each midwife had given a different perspective on receiving the medication. I was particularly unsure given that it requires the insertion of an IV. K reflected on my anxiety. I had already melted down and it seemed that what I needed was assurance of health. This was a convincing argument, so I agreed to the IV. K quickly inserted the IV and administered the antibiotic and then I was free to labour, with the IV taped to my hand, but leaving me untethered.
J was an amazing presence during labour. I wanted peace while I laboured. I think, in our home, a downfall to home birth is that Lee is busy. He is parenting EllaGrace, preparing water, answering questions, etc. He is not free to be 100% present for me. J was though. I did notice, that despite all of the different pain management strategies she had demonstrated to us before, none were being suggested. I later learned that this is because I was so far along. She did however, tickle my back (something I LOVE on the best of days). She was gently and quietly present. She offered encouraging words sometimes. She held my hand. She was there. And it was reassuring because she has watched this unfold with other women, she has knowledge, and her only role is to have that knowledge and support you. Several times I thought of proposing to her and her glorious back rubbing hands, just as soon as I was done this labouring.
M eventually arrived, between 1:00 and 1:30. It was nice to have her there. I find so much reassurance in each of the women who were a part of my care team. They are so knowledgeable and kind. I love that they are each so different, and offer a balance. And whether it is just how they do their jobs, they helped me to feel like I was special and important. For me, this labour and delivery was not just any labour and delivery. This was after having had two children die. I needed to believe that our caregivers understood the significance of this. They were mostly quiet as I laboured. I was encouraged to take on more of a squatting position so that gravity might help rupture my waters and move things along, which I tried by moving from on the couch to the floor. I recall one contraction, which occured while I was walking towards the bathroom, in which I held on to the banister and ... dangled... for lack of a better word. They were all very encouraging with this position. This was also the contraction during which I yelled some profane language - they all laughed, I apologized, and they all laughed some more.
The thing about labour, for me, is that I use denial as a coping strategy. I knew I was about 4cm dilated at the start of the day, but doubted that labour had started despite regular contractions that evening. I knew I was at least 7cm dilated at that time, but kept reminding myself that it could be a long time yet. Telling myself this, I am motivated to save up any good techniques that might help me, like the pool. They had the pool ready and encouraged me to get in, but I was unsure if I wanted to use it yet. I confessed that I did not feel ready to be prancing about naked just yet either. In my mind, this means I am not far along, because in my experience, when things get serious, modesty goes out the window. They supported me getting in the pool wearing underwear and a bra. I spent some time here, labouring. I remember saying 'ow-wow-wow-wow' through contractions. I was hoping that big 'o' shapes with my mouth were conducive to allowing my body to open up, rather than fighting things. I remember beginning to feel like I could not handle the contractions anymore. I cried.
K asked if my waters had ruptured yet. I told her not, and questioned if I would know while in the pool. They all assured me 'oh, you will know.' At one point K announced that she believed my waters had broken, pointing out 'turbulence' in the pool. It was just the hose spurting out cold water and air! Everyone had a laugh. In the end, I never did notice when my waters broke. I think it was likely while I was pushing. And, I often think, isn't it interesting that Maggie's sac ruptured at 15 weeks - like it was weak, and here I was fully dilated and still nothing?
K asked if I might be comfortable removing my underwear soon as she would perhaps like to see how things are moving along. I declined, still preferring some sense of modesty.
I still had not had my waters break, but just like with my labour four years ago, I was going through a contraction and felt the distinct bodily instinct - I was pushing. My body was bearing down and my 'wow' sounds, turned into a deep grunting moan. I announced that I was pushing. K suggested that this was really the time to remove my underwear! Up to this point, I had been leaning on the side of the pool. In the next contraction, I turned over, kind of floating and leaning backwards in the pool. From the first, involuntary push, things moved incredibly fast. I felt a huge, unrelenting contraction. I did not need coaching on when to push, my body was taken over. On one set of notes that I have from the midwives, it is written 'involuntary pushing at 03h28' and head delivered at 03h29. The entire baby was delivered by 03h30. I HULKED OUT. I was an animal. My back was arched and I had no control over my body. It was beyond intense. It was overwhelming. It took me days to adjust to how quickly this part of the story unfolded.
In those moments, everyone was with me. K was there to catch the baby - or help Lee to do so, I'm not sure. M was there to ensure the baby was healthy and safe. J was there, ever present and soothing. I gave birth and the baby was put on my chest, but I could not look. Lee said it was a boy. I began to weep, asking if he was okay, still not looking at the baby. I was calling, almost yelling "my baby, my baby. Make sure it's okay." I could hear M telling me that the baby was healthy and fine, her voice calming and reassuring, but also distant for the moment. My mind went back to 2013. The words leaving my mouth changed from 'my baby' to "my babies.. my babies..." I was yelling for Patrick and Maggie, crying and distressed. I again heard M reassuring me and telling me to look down at the baby on me and finally I could. There was this baby on me. This little boy. Sweet and perfect and amazing. And healthy and alive and 7lbs10oz. I was so lucky.
Not every person has a magical moment after birth during which they fall in love with their baby. Not everyone has rainbows and happy tears. For me, I was paralyzed by fear. I was to scared to see the baby and love it more, when I could not be sure it would live. Giving birth was triggering (unsurprisingly). I was scared for this baby. I grieved for Patrick and Maggie. Not only was it physically overwhelming, but emotionally as well. And in all that, I managed to become present and celebrate my new Love. I love birth stories, but I cannot remember the delivery of this baby without feeling that sadness and fear. I have tears in my eyes any time I think about it. And like my sobs in the hospital when Patrick and Maggie died, I can hear myself calling 'my babies'. I'm not sure that sound and sense of despair and desperation will ever live my memory.
I made it out of the pool and was wrapped up in blankets on the couch holding my new baby, when CB arrived. She looked around the room and announced/questioned "I missed it?!" She had been unable to sleep after we spoke and had left an hour later, but with the 1.5 hour drive, it had been just too long. She had missed the birth by minutes. I was sad to not have had more witnesses. Perhaps that is strange to say, but even though it was overwhelming, it was still amazing. Something to be celebrated. I wanted my friend to see that, to bare witness. But I was happy to have her when she did arrive, and she brought muffins and coffees for the others, which was widely appreciated.
Looking back, there are only a few things that I would change. A big one is EllaGrace. She was meant to have the option to witness the birth. Since it was the middle of the night we did not want to have her awake longer than necessary. Things unfolded so quickly at the end that there had not been a chance to wake her. I wish that we had allowed her to get up and come downstairs with us - she could have napped on the couch, or done whatever she needed to, but I wish she had been there. I also did not call my friend B, who was supposed to photograph the birth. I had texted her, but since it was the middle of the night, I felt badly waking her. I regret not waking her - surely she would have recovered - and I do not have any of the photos that I would have liked to have.
We did not go to sleep that night. We phoned our families in the early morning hours. CB helped care for EllaGrace and we all took naps throughout the day. Baby A remained nameless - he could not be named until we met his Twibling. So now, we cuddled, and waited more.
xx
I love babies. I love pregnancy (though I may not be very good at it!). I love labour and delivery (hard work, but so amazing). Basically, I am the cheesy person who believes that every little life is a miracle. I think each part of the story is amazing and beautiful. So, this is a warning, details will be shared here!
Our due date for both pregnancy was March 27th. C and I were both feeling impatient and ready for babies to arrive a good two weeks before then. I would get text messages from C that she had been on long walks, playing in jungle gyms, and all sorts of other things trying to get labour going. I was less inventive, but did my share of kitchen dancing. C and I both discussed the pros and cons of a 'stretch and sweep'. She attempted to have one done one two occassions, but due to positioning of baby, it was not possible. I had considered it, but wanted to stay as natural as possible. It was so hard to be patient, and to anticipate which baby would come first, where it would all unfold, how we would manage with one baby already born and another arriving...
On the morning of March 25th I woke up bleeding. Blood during pregnancy, and late pregnancy, can mean a lot of things. I did not have any blood during my pregnancy with EllaGrace until delivery. My mind immediately went to a negative place - something must be wrong. The baby is going to be stillborn. What am I going to do? As much as these things cross through my mind, I am also able to remember that I need only to call the midwife and she can tell me if it is indeed something to worry about. So, I texted Lee at work and phoned the midwives. The wonderful M took my call and after a quick assessment said that there were no indications that we needed to be worried but that she would come for a home visit just to ensure everything was fine. In the mean time, she suggested I lie down and count the baby's movements.
Counting the baby's movements was stressful. I felt small movements but would second guess if it was baby or something else. First thing in the morning is not typically when the baby does gymnastics on my ribcage, so I continued two teeter between inevitable catastrophe and calm, positive thoughts. EllaGrace was with me and proved to be a helpful distraction, though difficult to stay lying down when she wanted breakfast!
M arrived a couple of hours later, mid-morning, and did a quick assessment. She indicated that baby sounded healthy and happy and that she was confident there were no signs of danger. She offered to check for dilation - something I refused with EllaGrace, but thought it might be worth it this time. She indicated that I was 3 - 4 centimeter dilated and completed a stretch and sweep. She assessed my cervix and said that in many measures it was appearing to be prepared for labour, save for positioning. We chatted for a while. She suggested letting my body doing what it needed to, but as we both got caught up in the excitement of a potential baby that day, she suggested vigirous walking, yoga balls, etc. She left, reminding me that I could stay at this dilation for days or could go into labour, only time would tell but that she is ready when I am.
Luckily my mother-in-law phoned that day so we decided to go for a brisk walk. During the walk I had one or two strong contractions, but nothing to write home about. Then I went home and resumed normal daily activities. Lee worked his full day, came home, and we had a family dinner. We spoke about potential for a baby to be arriving - so near the due date, we were getting more and more likely to meet at least one of the babies! We were excited but nothing was happening to suggest that tonight was the night. I had been in contact with C, my best friend CB, and my doula. I told each of them that tonight was not the night and to carry on with their lives and Lee and I headed to the basement for a little TV time. I sat on a yoga ball while he gave me a lovely massage for the entirety of the show, ending around 10.
It was when the show ended that Lee cautioiusly observed that it had been about every ten minutes during the television show that I had been rocking side to side and taking deep breaths. I, of course, was aware of some discomfort and had thought little of it - chalk of the delightfulness to Braxton Hicks contractions. I assured Lee it had nothing to do with labour, but another wave came. He said that he recalls having the same conversation four years ago with EllaGrace's birth - a conversation in which he has to tell me that I am in labour! I assured him this was not the case and that simply lying down would slow the contractions - so I did, and it did. It was during this exchange that I had my first reality check: I might be going into labour. Ummm, no thank you! Not tonight! I am tired. Too much work. In fact, I've changed my mind altogether, the baby can stay in there. I shared these thoughts with Lee and he laughed, looking rather excited. I maintained that this was not real labour and that we ought to go to bed.
As a compromise, I agreed to prepare the space planned for birthing, just in case we needed it. A round play room, surrounded by windows, close to our family room is where we planned to put the pool. So we removed excess toys, tidied surfaces, hung inspirational quotes, and put out the beads and other mementos to remind me of my support circle and natural abilities. Then we went to bed, around 11pm.
As luck would have it, EllaGrace was having a tough night and could not sleep. She moved into our bed and the three of us snuggled down for some rest. It was then that I started to think that, yes, maybe I was in labour. Every ten minutes I was breathing deeply, loudly. I was not able to sleep. I spent about one hour in bed doing this, but was finding it difficult to stay still and quiet while EllaGrace slept. I assumed that Lee, just the other side of our daughter, was awake and aware but I was mistaken. So, I woke him and said that I needed him to come downstairs to help me. I am not sure that he fully grasped what was happening and why I needed help. I made my way downstairs, but noticed that EllaGrace had woken up, so Lee was some time behind me.
Once downstairs I curled up on the couch, allowing myself to be a bit noisier during contractions - some ooos and aaahs - as I looked for an App to download in order to track my contractions. Once I did this it appeared that they were about every five minutes, give or take. Lee, between visits to EllaGrace, suggested that we better call the midwives. I love my midwives. So much. So much, in fact, that I do not like to wake them in the night. I resisted calling, but thought I best just offer a heads up that I do appear to be going into labour.
To reach a midwife, there is a pager service, to which operators answer. On this night, around midnight - just March 26th, a man answered my call. He asked who I wanted to page and I told him the midwives. He asked my name, and I began to have a contraction. This is awkward. While I am sure I am not the first woman to have a contraction on the phone with the pager service, it still seemed... weird. So, he politely listened to be moan my way through a contraction, and then we finished our conversation. Within moments, the wonderful M phoned me. I assured her that this was just a 'heads up', that she needn't rush, and I apologized for waking her. I had a contraction when we spoke, at which point she said "okay, I am coming now".
When we hung up the phone, and after a consultation with Lee we decided:
1) I am probably in labour, and we should finish getting the house ready
2) If M is on her way, then we should probably get our doula, J, and CB on the road as well.
Our doula was unsurprised by the call and was quickly on her way. CB had not yet slept and said she would begin driving in a few hours to be safe. I continued labouring on my own, while Lee cared for EllaGrace and prepared the house.
xx
After a scary and sleepless night in Ottawa, I knew I would be relying heavily on my Aunts. I told them that I did not want to face driving and that C and I were starving. They agreed to come visit the hospital (read: swoop in and save me) on the way to the Blessingway. C had been having an ultrasound - we watched Baby squirm around a bit and were told that Baby was big - I wish I could remember how big they estimated that day - above 8lbs and she was not even full term yet! I was happy to hear Baby looked well, but was exhausted and stressed nonetheless. I headed back to C's room to see if my family had arrived. I can still see - and feel - the walk down the hall looking at my family standing there, waiting. What it is about the presence of support, I do not know, but it was as though with each step towards them, my walls broke down a bit more. By the time I reached them, I hugged my aunt Carol and cried, not unlike a young child. They passed me around, hugged me, and consoled me. Then they fed me and got me ready for the Blessingway. Really, I was like a child. Infantile or not, I thank my lucky stars that I have my Aunties.
I was really torn about the Blessingway. I had discussed postponing, changing location, and other ideas in order to be able to include C - she certainly needed support and celebration as much as me. In the end, I though I best attend since family had driven so far, Christie has planned so much, and because I was looking forward to it (and C encouraged me to go - she needed some quiet anyways).
A sidenote: the use of the word "blessingway" is likely cultural appropriation, perhaps so is attending one. Christie and I discussed this and acknowledged the struggle of hosting an event like the one she was planning while also giving it a new name. It was noted that the word Blessingway is often used to describe these events and it would serve as context/a reference for guests. We believe it is important to acknowledge that the gathering was based upon mainstream knowledge of a Navajo tradition in which the woman facing a transition, ie. child birth/motherhood, is celebrated, supported, and empowered. I wish I had a wonderful reference to share here. This, I hope, is better than nothing: http://www.blessingwaybook.com/
The event could not have come at a better time. I needed support, to be re-centred. Our time was both happy and sad, joyful and fearful, reflective of my story. Everyone was there to give support and love for my upcoming labour and delivery and the new role I would take on as mother to more children. But, we were also all there to remember Patrick and Maggie - it is impossible to separate my stories of birth from my stories of loss. And as each person spoke about their connection to me and my family, it was impossible again, to overlook my gone babies. We sat in a circle and shared our experiences of labour and delivery as a supporter or birther. Most of us cried. I cried a lot. Beads were given to me, each representing traits or holding properties that would support me through labour and delivery. Each bead was so meaningful to me - my tears are strength, coming from the sea, celebrating my rainbow after my storm. It was incredible. I felt ready to give birth and face the scariness that C was going through, after my time with these women.
It was almost as though we were celebrating in a parallel world: two ongoing pregnancies and an event to prepare for upcoming births (joyful)m while also following messages from C about test results and medical encounters (fearful). We spoke about the joy and fear which exists because of my last pregnancy while C was in the hospital, a reminder of how fragile life can be.
I am so thankful for that day and for the people in my life who were there to support C and I.
xx
A dear friend of ours offered to host a celebration of womanhood/labour/delivery for C and I. My family was attending from out of town, mutual friends, and friends of C as well. I drove in to the city the evening before the event so that I could do some shopping and stay with family as well as attend a meeting between C, myself and our doula, J.
I received some emails from C during the afternoon, while I was shopping, indicating that she was at the hospital having follow up completed regarding a cough she had had. She indicated that she might be late. I expressed my sympathies - no one likes to feel sick - and carried on my day. There was some conversation about whether or not to cancel our meeting, but J and I were both already in town and would meet when C was out of her appointment.
I have come to learn that when C asks to speak on the phone rather than text back and forth, it often means that there is something more serious to discuss. As I recall, she told me her phone was dying and she needed to talk. I was sitting in a restaurant, eating a mediocre meal on my own, believing all was right in my world. Then I spoke to C. Her voice was shaking, on the verge of crying, as she indicated that she was in triage in obstetrics being assessed. She said that they were concerned about her and the baby, as their heart rates were both elevated. She indicated that they were not allowing her to eat and seemed to be considering the possibility of an emergency cesarean section. In that moment we were both filled with fear as I ended my meal and headed to the hospital.
The drive to the hospital was an intense one. My emotions cycled as I went between near-immobilizing fear that something might happen to my baby, or C, and some smidgen of excitement that I might meet my baby today. I considered that at 35 weeks along, the baby may be okay or that I may be facing days and weeks in the NICU.
Returning to TOH's obstetrical unit is never easy for me, and this was no exception. I presented at the reception guest and identified myself as the mother of the baby C was carrying and they took me to the assessment room. There was C, in the room I was taken to when I went into labour with Patrick and Maggie. The same bed that they took my temperature, blood work, where I struggled to understand what was happening. And I sat beside C, in the seat my sister had occupied that awful October morning. C was teary and hungry and thirsty, and skeptical of the care she was receiving. In fact, the care we received as it related to evidence-based care, respect for alternative pre-natal care approaches, and communication were generally poor. One nurse seemed unable to change her vocabulary to demonstrate a respect for the surrogacy arrangement, calling C 'mother' and referring to her baby. They advised against midwifery and suggested a planned c-section, amongst other things.
Medically speaking, C was quite unwell. Her heart rate was elevated, especially when she moved. The baby's heart rate had also been high, but with treatment of C's fever, the baby settled. C was admitted for continued monitoring and to try to identify the source of illness. We were first put into labour & delivery, where we listened to a woman give birth in hysterics. We laughed nervously; it sounded like a hospital-based horror film. C was in severe pain due to coughing and it was late at night. They eventually provided her with medications to sleep and we each tried to rest - a challenge for both of us as I was also quite pregnant and sleeping on a hard pull-out chair!
It seemed like only moments after the medications began to take affect that a nurse came and said we would move rooms. So at 4am, we collected our things and walked to the post-L&D area. We walked down the long hall and as I followed I was certain that my luck could not be so bad, they would not admit us into the same room in which I had been admitted after giving birth to the twins. But, they did. I was silent. I felt nauseous. I could not manage the emotional over-load of watching C and that pregnancy in the hospital, while also processing all the memories that exist in that room. I could hear the crying. I could remember the conversations - the doctor telling us Patrick had a brain bleed, the failed IV attempts, EllaGrace climbing into the bed - where C now sat - and asking questions about my health and the babies. I sat in the chair and began to weep. I could not speak. I could not explained to C or the nurses what was happening. I believe I managed to finally utter something like "this is where I was" to C. I remember a nurse asking "what's wrong with that one?", as these two pregnant women seemed to be increasingly in disarray! Thankfully C told the nurses and they moved quickly to change our room.
The information flow was slow, conflicting, and frustrating while C was admitted. We could not decipher what was a potential problem compared to what was simply about doctor comfort zones vs. that of midwives. I stayed with her one night and C stayed a second night. The celebration planned took place nonetheless, save for guests who were attending for C. I took refuge in knowing my aunts were in town and that they would take care of us - and they did. Thank goodness for them, I have relied heavily on their emotional presence and general helpfulness a lot in the last few years. C was eventually diagnosed with a flu and discharged from the hospital where she rested for a few more days. The stress was intense but it ended well - thank goodness.
xx
There has been some disparity between how I view myself and how others seem to see me. I see myself as invested in having children, I supposed. Sad. Perhaps, even desperate to not feel the pain I did when Maggie and Patrick died again. Maybe even a chicken? I see other women every day who choose to try again after PPROM and infant loss; they get pregnant and go through PPROM several times, and yet they continue. Those women are brave and strong. Me? I see myself as trying to avoid pain. And I see my privilege; this has enabled me to follow my fear and pay for fertility treatment at a clinic of my choosing, while also having a gestational carrier. Moreover, my privilege has allowed me to advocate to be able to do this.
To be honest, when I put all of that together, I often question myself. Was I deserving of C's generosity? Perhaps someone else deserved it more than us. Maybe C, as my own pregnancy stayed relatively uneventful, second guessed her decision to share this journey with me, rather than someone who had lost her uterus, or a same sex couple... I certainly have not seen this experience as a strength of mine.
Yet, people have commented on my perseverance and the story that I have influenced as it relates to these pregnancies. I will admit that my story seems to be rather unique in the world of surrogacy. Simultaneous transfers are uncommon. It is interesting that I am out of the ordinary in having pursued the simultaneous transfer, but again, I do not see this as speaking to my strength or other positive attributes. But others, like a friend of mine, calls me a trailblazer! Imagine that! That my pursuit of growing our family this way has demonstrated by stubborn personality traits - in a positive way, I hope.
The truth is, strong or afraid, stubborn or desperate, I am happy to be whatever, if it gives me hope.
xx
Planning for a surrogacy delivery is complicated in the best of situations. Where will the delivery occur? How can it be sure that the Intended Parents will be present? Who will be present? What interventions will and will not be allowed? What is the birth plan? Delayed cord clamping? Who will hold the baby first? What risks are involved and are they tolerable? I could probably have devoted an entire blog to the decisions that were made in this regard.
The simple version is this: We both wanted a home birth for C (and for me). We both wanted to be followed by midwives and to have a doula's support during labour and delivery. We both wanted a water birth, with no intervention, delayed cord clamping, and immediate skin-to-skin with me.
The complications: C lives 1.5 hours from us. We are planning a home birth but should there be complications a transfer to hospital would occur. So, whose home would C birth in? We considered both of our homes. I personally wanted to plan a delivery in our home. I liked the idea of having my midwives, who have supported me through all three of my own pregnancies, being present. It seemed full circle to me. I liked the idea of being in our home because I would either be recently post-partum, or very pregnant. I believed that being in my own home would be more comfortable either way. Above all of that, we needed to try to plan for C's emotional well-being. I was cocnerned that if we left too quickly, she might feel used or overlooked. I thought that if she was in our home that she could stay as long as she wanted, and leave when she chose, giving her some power in ending that part of the journey. Luckily, we all agreed on this.
Once this was decided, a new complication was to be considered. What if C was in a quick moving labour and she is unable to reach us in Pembroke? That would require planning for delivery in her home, just in case. Given that there could be complications, we needed to plan for a possible hospital delivery - in Pembroke and Ottawa. All of a sudden, we are planning for a possible delivery in four different places. The planning for hospital births, as it would turn out, became particularly complicated.
Another element of the planning is the emotional side, for C and myself. There is no way to know what C's experience would be, nor my own. I felt insecure. I was concerned the baby would want and love C naturally; I did not want them to be near each other. I wanted to catch the baby and hold it until I was convinced it knew I was Mummy... but, I could only imagine how important it would be for C and her family to see and hold the baby.
We found a wonderful, warm, understanding doula who had twins of her own to attend both of our births. She had tears in her eyes when I spoke of Maggie and Patrick so I knew she would be a compassionate and supportive person to be with me. C also decided she wanted this doula present. We sat and discussed, ad nausea, all the potential outcomes for labour and delivery. Where we would be, who would go into labour first, etc.
Ultimately, we had to approach late pregnancy and due dates with flexibility; there was so much that we could not know. In the mean time, I pushed myself to engage in the planning discussions without being overcome with fear that we would not reach that time with healthy pregnancies.
xx
