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Birth of Elaya
by Jamie Stouffer
I thought I was prepared for the birth of Elaya Quinn Clark.
I had been studying midwifery for several years, attended
close to 100 births and she would be my second child. My
son had been born at home almost 8 years before and although
I could pick his birth apart and find fault with the experience,
everything went quite well.
Elaya's birth started out normally. About 3:00 a.m. I got up to pee and realized
that I was having contractions. Knowing it could still be awhile, I didn't
tell anyone and went back to bed. I wanted to relish in the experience by myself
for a while. Around 10:30 a.m. I told Dan I thought things were progressing
but that it could still be many hours. My water broke at 5:00 p.m. There was
some meconium in the water and I had a fleeting twinge of panic. Heart tones
were good and she was moving so I decided that we were safe to continue as
planned. Because the baby had not been engaged the last time that the midwife
checked me, I asked Dan to phone and ask her to come over. This was Dan's first
birth. In his enthusiasm he misunderstood me and phoned everyone. Within a
fairly short time my midwife, the second, a close friend who was taking pictures
and doing video and my sister arrived. It was time to party!
Things weren't happening as fast as I expected them to. I wasn't noticing the
shifts that I had with my son's birth. I kept waiting for that sensation of
needing to push. Secretly I wished everyone would go away and leave me alone.
I was in and out of the pool, in and out of the shower and in and out of bed.
Everyone was alternately trying to give me space and renew my enthusiasm for
the birth of this baby.
It was determined that the baby was a kneeling breech. This explained why this
labour didn't feel at all the same as my first. It also gave us information
as to how much longer this birth might be and how patient we were going to
have to be during the dilation phase.
After many hours of attempting to encourage contractions to become more regular
and effective with every means known to us I hit an emotional breaking point.
For the first time in my pregnancy I told someone about my deep fears for the
baby. I was afraid that there was something really wrong. It was pointed out
that if there had indeed been something the matter, it would have shown up
on the ultrasound I had early in pregnancy. Immediately my focus shifted, something
needed to be done to get the baby out soon. I was exhausted. We were about
45 hours into labour. Although most of it had been quite easy, during the last
few hours of pushing as hard as I could in many different positions without
the baby moving down I had reached the end of my physical and emotional stamina.
With many tears and a deep-seated guilt I made the decision to transport. We
all knew that moving to the hospital at that time would guarantee a caesarean
section, but it seemed the best decision. I arrived at the hospital shortly
before 1:00 a.m. And was treated with open hostility by the doctor. I was informed
that due to the pediatrician shortages and strikes, he couldn't guarantee that
my baby would survive. I knew that the heart rate had been good throughout
labour, so I ignored him as best I could.
The sensation of being put under general anaesthetic was pure bliss. I was
no longer the one in control and responsible for the life of my child. The
pain had ended and I had been absolved.
I awoke afterward shaking uncontrollably. I was informed that this was a "natural
reaction to the drugs" and was offered pain medication to help quell the
trembling. After a time I was told that I had a daughter, the pediatrician
was with her and they thought she would be fine. A girl? As much as I dared
hope for a daughter -- I had prepared myself for another boy because I had
thought my first one was a girl -- and he most definitely was not! A girl...
I was wheeled up to the nursery room window to see my baby. A tiny little face
in a bundle. A girl? Not that I could tell. Mine? Not as far as I knew.
Later I phoned friends and family. It was a difficult task compounded by
my feelings of inadequacy and shame. I started with those closest to me --
the ones I knew wouldn't judge me because they loved me. One of my friends
said to me, "You may be feeling fine about your decision to transport -- to
have the CS now -- but eventually you probably won't feel as positive about
it and that's okay." I dismissed this thinking "maybe if the CS had
been thrust upon me I would feel this way -- but I had made the decision --
I was in control. She's wrong."
There were unforeseen complications. My daughter was diagnosed with an infection
that they never cultured anything from. She became very jaundiced due to a
blood incompatibility. She was required to stay in an isolette for several
days. We could put our hands in through the tiny little portals and touch her
-- but until she was three days old -- no one could pick her up and hold her.
I will never forget the first time we held her. We were told we had about 10
minutes. My son and my partner were there and I battled with the knowledge
that they both needed to hold her also and the desire to keep her for myself
and never let her go. On day four I was given permission to nurse my baby for
the first time. I had been pumping and she received nothing but breast milk,
but not directly from me. She was amazing. She latched on immediately and never
looked back. It was like she knew that as long as she was nursing they wouldn't
take her back to the nursery. I had her lying in bed with me at night -- and
we would both be sound asleep until a nurse approached our room and she would
begin to nurse again with vigor.
One day when she was about six months old I was sitting on the bed writing
in my journal as my wee one slept beside me. I recall looking down at her and
realizing that part of me wasn't yet prepared to mother her. In fact there
was some part of me still waiting to give birth to her. How could I possibly
be the mother she deserved when I had failed her in her first stages of life?
Was this what my friend had tried to warn me about? Obviously.
A couple of weeks later three people asked me if I would be willing to help
them work through their birth experiences. They were hoping to deal with the
trauma they were battling with before bringing more babies into their lives.
I agreed quite readily. As I began reading and formulating a plan of action
I realized that I would have to deal with my own ordeal first.
Almost 2 years later ...
In stages I grieved the loss of the birth I had planned and accepted the birth
that I had. I identified the many lessons buried within my experience and tried
to find ways to implement changes into my life.
Elaya's birth was:
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As it was intended to be.
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A hard learned lesson.
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Powerful.
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The entrance into the world
of a wonderfully vibrant spirit whom I am Blessed to know.
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A beginning.
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The time I felt closest to
Dan as we danced in the candlelight.
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A time to laugh and laugh
and laugh.
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Filled with those who love
us.
From her birth I learned:
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The value of sharing honestly.
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That my body is very equipped to nourish my children.
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The essence of space and privacy and my desire for both.
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That I am worthy of trust.
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That my hands will always supply me with the correct information.
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To be tolerant andd patient with others.
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To let go of judgement of women whose birth
experiences weren't "normal."
I have witnessed Elaya's strength, courage, beauty, and
sweet acceptance from the beginning. From her earliest days
I knew I was privileged to know her. I would go through much
more than a caesarean section to be her mother. Next time
I shall birth her body as easily as I birthed her soul. Tomorrow
I shall release her again. And again. And again. With love.
Jamie Stouffer 34) lives in
Brandon , Manitoba with her partner and 2 children (Andree,
10, and Elaya, 2). She practiced as a midwife for five years.
Through Elaya's birth and the shared experience of many women
she recognized the need for support and healing following
a traumatic birth. Jamie now offers a Birth Renewal Workshop
to women with the hope of providing a space to allow that
healing to begin. She can be contacted by email at jstouffer
@ westman.wave.ca or
phone at (204) 725-0052
Story in Birth Issues magazine, published by ASAC in Edmonton
. Jamie Stouffer is currently the leader of the ICAN Manitoba
Chapter. ICAN is International Caesarean Awareness Network.
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