Note: This is a story that I wrote for the North Shore News about my baby being born at home. The article is also online here. Sorry, there's no sports in there — here are some Blake Griffin dunks to tide you over.
Life begins at home
Reporter and wife choose home birth to the astonishment of many
By Andy Prest, North Shore News October 17, 2010
My wife is a reserved, polite woman and, as such, I was half expecting her to remain nearly silent during the birth of our first child for fear of upsetting anyone in earshot with any uncomfortable screaming.
After it was all over, she actually confirmed my suspicions: her plan was to keep it as quiet as possible. But in the heat of the moment that plan changed quickly. And noisily.
The beauty of contractions, as far as I can tell, is that there are breaks between each one that allow the mother to rest, regroup and set herself for the next one. It was during one of these lulls -- coming after an intense push that had her letting it all out -- that my wife turned to me and said something that I found hilarious.
"I guess we should have told the people upstairs that we were going to give birth down here," she said.
Well then.
- - -
The idea of having a home birth came fairly early on in the pregnancy. It was in the back of my mind but it probably would have stayed there because of our current living arrangements. Given the North Shore housing situation and our lack of a million dollars, we currently rent a garden suite -- our fancy name for a basement.
To me, the concept of home births normally conjures images of expansive country homes with claw-foot tubs, a four-post king-sized bed, the smell of patchouli hanging in the room and billowy white curtains tossed softly by a warm spring breeze. Nowhere in that image are there any six-foot-high ceilings, clanky furnaces or unsuspecting landlords sleeping upstairs.
But it was my wife who first asked the question: Why not a home birth? I didn't have a great answer to that question, aside from my hatred of patchouli and our lack of claw-foot tubs, so we looked into it.
We had already chosen a midwifery practice to be our primary caregiver throughout the pregnancy, so that meant that a home birth was a possibility (the College of Physicians and Surgeons of British Columbia advises against planned home births and does not allow its physicians to attend them). Our midwives never pushed the idea on us -- they simply supplied us with information about the pros and cons of home births and hospital births.
A 2009 article published in the Canadian Medical Association Journal examined every planned home birth attended by a midwife in British Columbia from 2000-2004 -- 2,889 in total -- and compared the outcomes to all hospital births meeting the same eligibility requirements attended by a midwife as well as a matching sample of physician-attended hospital births. The results put home births in a very good light. The study concluded that "planned home birth attended by a registered midwife was associated with very low and comparable rates of perinatal death and reduced rates of obstetric interventions and adverse maternal outcomes compared with planned hospital birth attended by a midwife or physician."
The B.C. government began regulating and publicly funding midwives in 1998 -- the cost of midwifery care is now covered for all B.C. residents with a valid Carecard. There are approximately 145 practising midwives in the province, all registered with the College of Midwives of British Columbia. The University of British Columbia accepts 10 students per year into a four-year Midwifery Education Program within the Department of Family Practice, Faculty of Medicine that leads to a bachelor of midwifery degree. It's the only program of its kind in Western Canada.
After it was all over, she actually confirmed my suspicions: her plan was to keep it as quiet as possible. But in the heat of the moment that plan changed quickly. And noisily.
The beauty of contractions, as far as I can tell, is that there are breaks between each one that allow the mother to rest, regroup and set herself for the next one. It was during one of these lulls -- coming after an intense push that had her letting it all out -- that my wife turned to me and said something that I found hilarious.
"I guess we should have told the people upstairs that we were going to give birth down here," she said.
Well then.
- - -
The idea of having a home birth came fairly early on in the pregnancy. It was in the back of my mind but it probably would have stayed there because of our current living arrangements. Given the North Shore housing situation and our lack of a million dollars, we currently rent a garden suite -- our fancy name for a basement.
To me, the concept of home births normally conjures images of expansive country homes with claw-foot tubs, a four-post king-sized bed, the smell of patchouli hanging in the room and billowy white curtains tossed softly by a warm spring breeze. Nowhere in that image are there any six-foot-high ceilings, clanky furnaces or unsuspecting landlords sleeping upstairs.
But it was my wife who first asked the question: Why not a home birth? I didn't have a great answer to that question, aside from my hatred of patchouli and our lack of claw-foot tubs, so we looked into it.
We had already chosen a midwifery practice to be our primary caregiver throughout the pregnancy, so that meant that a home birth was a possibility (the College of Physicians and Surgeons of British Columbia advises against planned home births and does not allow its physicians to attend them). Our midwives never pushed the idea on us -- they simply supplied us with information about the pros and cons of home births and hospital births.
A 2009 article published in the Canadian Medical Association Journal examined every planned home birth attended by a midwife in British Columbia from 2000-2004 -- 2,889 in total -- and compared the outcomes to all hospital births meeting the same eligibility requirements attended by a midwife as well as a matching sample of physician-attended hospital births. The results put home births in a very good light. The study concluded that "planned home birth attended by a registered midwife was associated with very low and comparable rates of perinatal death and reduced rates of obstetric interventions and adverse maternal outcomes compared with planned hospital birth attended by a midwife or physician."
The B.C. government began regulating and publicly funding midwives in 1998 -- the cost of midwifery care is now covered for all B.C. residents with a valid Carecard. There are approximately 145 practising midwives in the province, all registered with the College of Midwives of British Columbia. The University of British Columbia accepts 10 students per year into a four-year Midwifery Education Program within the Department of Family Practice, Faculty of Medicine that leads to a bachelor of midwifery degree. It's the only program of its kind in Western Canada.
According to the Midwives Association of British Columbia, B.C. midwives deliver nearly 10 per cent of the province's babies compared to two per cent in the rest of the country. Approximately 30 per cent of this province's midwifery clients choose to give birth at home, meaning approximately three per cent of all babies in the province are born at home.
Our midwives reported that home births generally resulted in shorter labours, lower infection rates for babies and moms, as well as greater client satisfaction due to the comfortable, familiar setting of the home as opposed to the sterile, unfamiliar hospital setting.
- - -
The information my wife and I uncovered about home births was very encouraging, but there was still that little nagging doubt about health and safety. What if something went wrong? What if we needed all those doctors and forceps and spinal taps and nurses and IV bags and drugs and wheelchairs and orderlies and little cups of Jell-O to keep mom and baby safe?
Our final fears were allayed when we attended a home-birth information night put on by a midwifery clinic in Vancouver. The midwife giving the presentation fielded all of our questions about safety as she unloaded three huge duffel bags full of medical supplies that every midwife takes to every home birth. It was like a magical travelling hospital; items such as a resuscitation bag and mask, oxygen tanks, suturing instruments and equipment for newborn intubation popping out.
Midwife protocol dictates that there be two trained attendants at every home birth. Among other benefits, this means that in the case of emergency mom and baby can be looked after simultaneously. There were also clear guidelines spelled out about what situations would lead to a midwife suggesting or strongly advising that the birth be moved to a hospital.
What wasn't included in the home birth package, aside from the cups of Jell-O, were any options for pain reduction. If this thing was happening at home, it was happening au naturel. Knowing this, we chose home anyway with my wife leading the charge. She may be polite but, as we would soon find out, she's one tough Mama.
Once we decided that home was our No. 1 plan, we had to pass the strict criteria laid out for home births. Only low risk, normal pregnancies are eligible for home birth. Midwives assess the situation throughout the pregnancy and into labour to make sure that the guidelines are continually met.
Mothers with serious medical conditions or who are giving birth to multiples are precluded from giving birth at home, as are women who go into labour very early or very late in their pregnancies. Factors such as the length of time required to travel to a hospital under current road and weather conditions are also considered in deciding on the suitability of a home birth.
Our midwives reported that home births generally resulted in shorter labours, lower infection rates for babies and moms, as well as greater client satisfaction due to the comfortable, familiar setting of the home as opposed to the sterile, unfamiliar hospital setting.
- - -
The information my wife and I uncovered about home births was very encouraging, but there was still that little nagging doubt about health and safety. What if something went wrong? What if we needed all those doctors and forceps and spinal taps and nurses and IV bags and drugs and wheelchairs and orderlies and little cups of Jell-O to keep mom and baby safe?
Our final fears were allayed when we attended a home-birth information night put on by a midwifery clinic in Vancouver. The midwife giving the presentation fielded all of our questions about safety as she unloaded three huge duffel bags full of medical supplies that every midwife takes to every home birth. It was like a magical travelling hospital; items such as a resuscitation bag and mask, oxygen tanks, suturing instruments and equipment for newborn intubation popping out.
Midwife protocol dictates that there be two trained attendants at every home birth. Among other benefits, this means that in the case of emergency mom and baby can be looked after simultaneously. There were also clear guidelines spelled out about what situations would lead to a midwife suggesting or strongly advising that the birth be moved to a hospital.
What wasn't included in the home birth package, aside from the cups of Jell-O, were any options for pain reduction. If this thing was happening at home, it was happening au naturel. Knowing this, we chose home anyway with my wife leading the charge. She may be polite but, as we would soon find out, she's one tough Mama.
Once we decided that home was our No. 1 plan, we had to pass the strict criteria laid out for home births. Only low risk, normal pregnancies are eligible for home birth. Midwives assess the situation throughout the pregnancy and into labour to make sure that the guidelines are continually met.
Mothers with serious medical conditions or who are giving birth to multiples are precluded from giving birth at home, as are women who go into labour very early or very late in their pregnancies. Factors such as the length of time required to travel to a hospital under current road and weather conditions are also considered in deciding on the suitability of a home birth.
My wife and I were given the green light (actually more like a yield sign -- proceed with caution) and then came the hard part: telling people our decision. On Day 1 of our pre-natal class -- held in the shiny new West Vancouver Community Centre -- all of the couples were asked what hospital they were going to give birth in. We were the only ones in the group to declare our home as our hospital of choice. Dropped jaws, nervous glances and even a few gasps greeted our announcement. It was a reaction we grew accustomed to over the next few months. Many of our friends and family members seemed equally concerned for our sanity as our safety. One well-meaning co-worker said he could not in good conscience hear about our home birth plans without relating the story of his own child's birth several years ago. A wrapped cord and sluggish heartbeat threatened brain damage for his son and was thankfully overcome by immediate intervention available only in a hospital, he said.
Another co-worker who recently gave birth offered some advice, not knowing we were planning on being at home.
"Your job is to make sure your wife gets all the drugs she wants," she told me. I responded with a nervous laugh and a quick change of subject.
Then there was my wife's visit with an old friend. He's an obstetrician/gynecologist. He's married to a labour and delivery nurse. He greeted my wife's home-birth declaration with a look of sheer dumbfounded disapproval.
"Why would you do that?" he said, his incredulousness completely unmasked as he began the uncomfortable process of trying to talk her out of her birth plan by relating the horrors he's seen when childbirth goes wrong. His wife the nurse, also a new mother, was only slightly more diplomatic.
"Obviously I would never do that, but it's your choice," she said as an awkward silence fell, an ideological chasm cleaving the room in two. If that figurative chasm had been an actual rocky cliff, I believe my wife would have seriously considered scaling down it to flee the scene.
- - -
The labour and birth were 19 of the most amazing, surreal, holy-shit-did-that-just-happen hours of my life. I awoke at 5 a.m. to find my wife sitting in bed playing with her iPod.
"Are you in labour?" I said.
"Yes," came the answer.
As the morning wore on we set up the room for the delivery -- a relatively quick process involving duct tape, absorbent pads and a stack of towels -- before visiting our local bakery and going for a walk around the neighbourhood. Back at home we ate our own food and lounged in our own comfortable surroundings.
"I may regret saying this, but this isn't so bad," my wife said.
Another co-worker who recently gave birth offered some advice, not knowing we were planning on being at home.
"Your job is to make sure your wife gets all the drugs she wants," she told me. I responded with a nervous laugh and a quick change of subject.
Then there was my wife's visit with an old friend. He's an obstetrician/gynecologist. He's married to a labour and delivery nurse. He greeted my wife's home-birth declaration with a look of sheer dumbfounded disapproval.
"Why would you do that?" he said, his incredulousness completely unmasked as he began the uncomfortable process of trying to talk her out of her birth plan by relating the horrors he's seen when childbirth goes wrong. His wife the nurse, also a new mother, was only slightly more diplomatic.
"Obviously I would never do that, but it's your choice," she said as an awkward silence fell, an ideological chasm cleaving the room in two. If that figurative chasm had been an actual rocky cliff, I believe my wife would have seriously considered scaling down it to flee the scene.
- - -
The labour and birth were 19 of the most amazing, surreal, holy-shit-did-that-just-happen hours of my life. I awoke at 5 a.m. to find my wife sitting in bed playing with her iPod.
"Are you in labour?" I said.
"Yes," came the answer.
As the morning wore on we set up the room for the delivery -- a relatively quick process involving duct tape, absorbent pads and a stack of towels -- before visiting our local bakery and going for a walk around the neighbourhood. Back at home we ate our own food and lounged in our own comfortable surroundings.
"I may regret saying this, but this isn't so bad," my wife said.
By mid-afternoon it was pretty bad. When things got really intense my wife sat on the edge of our bed, wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my belly.
Stubborn even in pain, we strictly adhered to our midwife's directives not to call until the contractions reached a certain length and frequency for a sustained period of time. They never did reach the exact criteria but by the time we finally made the call and the midwife arrived she informed us that we were well underway. Within an hour my wife moved into the pushing phase and the second midwife arrived.
I will never forget the amazing things my wife did for our child over the next four hours. It was natural and raw and I spent the entire time perched on my bed inches away from my wife's face, my only duties to whisper encouragement, offer water through a bendy straw and brush the tension and heat from her face with a damp cloth.
The midwives quietly coached us, the repeated words "this is very safe" bringing me unimaginable peace and relief. We were prepared, but nothing can prepare you. My wife had no idea what to do and yet she did everything perfectly.
Finally came the miracle moment. The head out. The first cry from our baby's mouth. The body followed and, like magic, the thing that was a bump inside the belly was now lying on Mama's chest, the dull grey hue of seconds-old skin turning pink before our eyes as our son took his first breaths.
Wow.
- - -
"So how did it go?"
It's a question new mothers face that is almost always accompanied with a look of grimaced sympathy, the questioner bracing for a horror story of hours of pain and stress.
"It was great," my wife has replied on numerous occasions. "Well, as great as labour could be, I guess," she adds when the jaws of those within earshot fall to the ground.
Labour, great? Yes.
When it was all over my wife said she would not have had it any other way. It's a stance that has prompted a lot of interest, questions and curiosity -- not to mention serious kudos to my wife for her all-natural delivery -- from our friends as well as the other new parents we met through our pre-natal class. Even my co-worker with the brain damage warning was intrigued -- he was the one who encouraged me to write about the home-birth experience.
And shock of shocks, though they were home the whole time, our upstairs neighbours did not realize that our baby was born at home in their rented basement suite.
"When did you go in to the hospital?" our landlady asked when she dropped by to say a quick hello a few days later. Um, never. Surprise!
- - -
In the moments after the birth, the midwives discreetly attended to my wife while allowing plenty of time for family cuddling and bonding.
Once we were all nicely acquainted they conducted a few basic measurements, tests and procedures. To weigh him, they wrapped him in a sling and suspended him from a scale, much like you would do to weigh a prize fish. It's a favourite photo-op for home births, we were told.
Soon he was back in Mama's arms, alert and in search of his new favourite food source.
As we stared at our new wonder the midwives cleaned up the suite, leaving no trace of a birth except for one garbage bag full of waste, another full of dirty laundry and a placenta stored in a container in the freezer. With the house cleaned and Dad, Mom and baby all settled in, the midwives left.
Now it was just our little family. All three of us were tired, excited and scared. We were entering a whole new world but we were entering it together and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.
It felt like home.
Stubborn even in pain, we strictly adhered to our midwife's directives not to call until the contractions reached a certain length and frequency for a sustained period of time. They never did reach the exact criteria but by the time we finally made the call and the midwife arrived she informed us that we were well underway. Within an hour my wife moved into the pushing phase and the second midwife arrived.
I will never forget the amazing things my wife did for our child over the next four hours. It was natural and raw and I spent the entire time perched on my bed inches away from my wife's face, my only duties to whisper encouragement, offer water through a bendy straw and brush the tension and heat from her face with a damp cloth.
The midwives quietly coached us, the repeated words "this is very safe" bringing me unimaginable peace and relief. We were prepared, but nothing can prepare you. My wife had no idea what to do and yet she did everything perfectly.
Finally came the miracle moment. The head out. The first cry from our baby's mouth. The body followed and, like magic, the thing that was a bump inside the belly was now lying on Mama's chest, the dull grey hue of seconds-old skin turning pink before our eyes as our son took his first breaths.
Wow.
- - -
"So how did it go?"
It's a question new mothers face that is almost always accompanied with a look of grimaced sympathy, the questioner bracing for a horror story of hours of pain and stress.
"It was great," my wife has replied on numerous occasions. "Well, as great as labour could be, I guess," she adds when the jaws of those within earshot fall to the ground.
Labour, great? Yes.
When it was all over my wife said she would not have had it any other way. It's a stance that has prompted a lot of interest, questions and curiosity -- not to mention serious kudos to my wife for her all-natural delivery -- from our friends as well as the other new parents we met through our pre-natal class. Even my co-worker with the brain damage warning was intrigued -- he was the one who encouraged me to write about the home-birth experience.
And shock of shocks, though they were home the whole time, our upstairs neighbours did not realize that our baby was born at home in their rented basement suite.
"When did you go in to the hospital?" our landlady asked when she dropped by to say a quick hello a few days later. Um, never. Surprise!
- - -
In the moments after the birth, the midwives discreetly attended to my wife while allowing plenty of time for family cuddling and bonding.
Once we were all nicely acquainted they conducted a few basic measurements, tests and procedures. To weigh him, they wrapped him in a sling and suspended him from a scale, much like you would do to weigh a prize fish. It's a favourite photo-op for home births, we were told.
Soon he was back in Mama's arms, alert and in search of his new favourite food source.
As we stared at our new wonder the midwives cleaned up the suite, leaving no trace of a birth except for one garbage bag full of waste, another full of dirty laundry and a placenta stored in a container in the freezer. With the house cleaned and Dad, Mom and baby all settled in, the midwives left.
Now it was just our little family. All three of us were tired, excited and scared. We were entering a whole new world but we were entering it together and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.
It felt like home.
© Copyright (c) North Shore News
Photo Cindy Goodman, North Shore News
Follow me on Twitter @Sportsbaby
Photo Cindy Goodman, North Shore News
Follow me on Twitter @Sportsbaby
Did you eat that placenta, too, you dirty hippy?
ReplyDeleteHaha, no, ha ha, we didn't ... ha ha, that would be ... crazy, you know. We did what all normal, non-dirty-hippy type people do — we chopped it into 123 pieces of identical size and weight, soaked it for eight days in a mixture of lark's blood, snow and olive oil, climbed the fourth highest mountain in the province and then burned it in a sacrifice to the creator-god Amun. It was quite a hike!
ReplyDelete