Birth Trauma

Miranda’s birth story has to start with some background information and a bit of her big brother’s story. We had planned an all-natural, drug-free hospital birth and had taken Bradley Classes when I was pregnant with Dustin. Unfortunately, the hospital staff didn’t like how slowly my labor progressed and coerced us into interventions we never wanted. Because of all this, I ended up with a c-section after 28 hours of labor.

The recovery was rough. I had a hard time breastfeeding and I ended up in a really bad spot for a while. I was eventually diagnosed with post-partum depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. We had always talked about having two kids but after all this, we weren’t so sure. When we did get back to thinking about a second child, we knew we would do things very differently!

Before I even got pregnant this time, I started researching my options and sending preliminary e-mails to local midwives and birth centers. Being a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) patient, I knew my choices might be limited. I got plenty of responses saying that they could not take me as a client. I was lucky to find a couple of midwives (one was even a VBAC mom herself!) close to my house and we set up an initial consult soon after we found out I was pregnant. We liked them a lot after the first meeting and we decided to definitely go with them after an amazing review from a friend who saw them for her last pregnancy.

Just like when I was pregnant with Dustin, I had a smooth pregnancy with no complications. The care and prenatal appointments were so much better with midwives, though. They actually got to know us and answered questions and truly listened. We were given options and choices about testing and procedures instead of just being told what things would be done when. The reactions I got from people when the topic of a homebirth came up ranged from “you guys are crazy!” and “is that really safe?” to “I wish I would have done that!” and “that sounds amazing!”

My due date (August 19) came and went with no signs of anything happening. I was really hoping since this was my second baby she would come earlier, but she had other plans. There was never talk of inductions or anything being “wrong” - we all just waited.

The day I hit 41 weeks, we went out for a big breakfast and a small hike. I wanted out of the house and I was really hoping I could get something happening. Still nothing! Early the next morning (around 2:00), I got up to pee for the umpteenth time, got back into bed and felt a gush. This was something new for me, as my water didn’t break on its own last time. I wasn’t having any contractions so I grabbed a towel and went back to sleep.

Around 3:30am, I got up to get a clean towel and Johnny woke up. He asked how I was doing (he meant sleep-wise since I hadn’t been sleeping well most nights) and I told him about my water breaking. The sound of shock in his voice was great! I still wasn’t having contractions so we both tried getting some more rest.

At 4:00am my contractions started. They were coming every 10 minutes until just after 4:30am. I decided to get up and start getting some things ready. I asked Johnny to start getting the birth tub set up and then all of a sudden the contractions were right on top of each other and I wasn’t really getting any breaks. I got in the shower for a bit, but that wasn’t even really helping. I came out to call our midwives, but couldn’t even talk. I handed the phone over to Johnny and went back to the bathroom.

At 5:15am I was moaning through contractions and wondering why they were so strong already. Our midwives Amy and Ondra and their apprentice Kelsey all showed shortly thereafter. At this point my body was pushing and I was thinking something was wrong - there was no way I was actually ready to push! I worried that it wasn’t going to end well. After a quick check on our baby’s heart rate and such, the midwives got me up and helped me to the tub.

At 5:55am I got the first cervical check of my pregnancy and found out I was completely dilated with her head right there! I couldn’t believe it!

I continued to push while kneeling with my upper body resting on the edge of the tub. I kept reaching down to feel the progress of her coming out and it was such an odd but amazing feeling.

Miranda was born at 6:32am and I couldn’t help but break down crying! I had done it! I got my VBAC and it was the best feeling in the world to be the first to hold my brand new baby!

We stayed in the tub for awhile cuddling and nursing (she latched on within the first 10 minutes or so). Dustin had slept through all of the birth. Johnny went and got him and told him what was going on. The look on his face when he saw me in the tub with his new baby sister was priceless!

I delivered the placenta at 7:05am and Johnny got to cut the cord. At this point Dustin was wandering around with his breakfast, way too distracted to eat. I was helped out of the tub and got into my bed for more snuggle time. We got to spend our first bit of time together as a family of four, totally relaxed in our own home.

Eventually our midwives did Miranda’s first check-up; she was 8 lbs, 4 oz and 19 ½ inches (shorter but heavier than Dustin was). I got checked out around the same time and it was confirmed that I had a pretty good tear (I had felt it happen, which in a way was pretty cool since I was so aware of my body and everything that was happening). Our midwives cleaned up, started some laundry, packed up their stuff and after a few final checks, left us to get some rest and start the new piece of our lives.

The difference in recovery from a vaginal birth has been amazing. Sure, I was pretty sore (mostly from the tear that I later had stitched) and worn out the first couple weeks, but it was nothing compared to my previous delivery. It’s been almost a month now and I still get excited thinking about how everything happened. I've wanted to tell my story to anyone who will listen, and convince every pregnant woman to question everything and that homebirth is an amazing option.

I know now exactly what I missed out on when Dustin was born, but at the same time this was such a healing experience!

Prenatal and postnatal complications are not as rare as we'd like to believe, even in the United States. This month, Band Back Together is bringing this to light in our spotlight series.

We invite you to share your stories of any type of complication before or after the birth of your child. Whether it's preeclampsia, a cord trauma or an infection like Group B Strep, we want your stories.

Have you experienced complications during pregnancy or immediately after?

My daughter is a tiny woman, but pregnancy agreed with her. She looked, and felt, wonderful - the hormones seemed to right all the wrongs caused by the mental illnesses she inherited from every single member of her family tree.

She had a difficult labor which could have been greatly improved by the hospital, nurse, and OB/GYN. In the end, she had to have a cesarean section.

After delivery, the hospital told her she'd had both a vaginal and cesarean delivery since the baby had been in the birth canal so long. The poor baby looked horrible after that ordeal; they took her picture a couple days later when her face had recovered from the trauma.

My daughter had lost so much blood that she was grey. On the day of discharge, she had a fever; they gave her acetaminophen and sent her home. She called the doctor's office three times with concerns about bleeding and worsening pain.

They told her it was a normal part of recovery from the c-section.

At the baby's first doctor visit the following week, the pediatrician told her to go to the hospital immediately.

My daughter's uterus had ruptured - not along the incision, which happens sometimes, but vertically. She was full of infection - her uterus was shredded. Because she was so young and had just given birth to her first baby, they repaired the uterus. She was in the hospital for ten days with a team of doctors overseeing her care: a surgeon, an OB/GYN, an infectious disease specialist, and a hospitalist.

She couldn't walk, but she wanted to nurse the baby. Someone had to stay around-the-clock to take care of the baby as the baby wasn't a patient. My daughter had drains on either side of her incision and a PICC line for the high-dose antibiotics. She was discharged with two more weeks of antibiotics.

Her husband left for National Guard training and I stayed with her most of the summer. Months and months of pain, doctors appointments, pain medications, plus taking care of a newborn - it was a difficult time.

She could have sued, but waited too long.

The good news was that the baby was fine; she nursed through this whole ordeal. The bad news was that my daughter had one parent with bipolar disorder and the other with borderline personality disorder along with addiction issues. She, herself, had abused drugs in the past. After all she'd been through, my daughter ended up addicted to painkillers, which then led to other drugs.

Her husband was stationed in Egypt for a year. She had an affair and became a heroin addict. Her marriage survived. They are now living with her dad.

For about a year, I would not talk to her because of the affair and her behavior. We've established boundaries and now have contact. I get to spend time with my granddaughter, who is now five years old and seems well-adjusted and happy. I don't see any signs of mental illness or abuse and am so thankful.

Currently my daughter is waiting to find out why she hasn't had a period in a year - she's full of endometriosis and cancer has been mentioned. Again, there is a family history.

Fortunately, all those women had hysterectomies and survived.

Prenatal and postnatal complications are not as rare as we'd like to believe, even in the United States. This month, Band Back Together is bringing this to light in our spotlight series.

We invite you to share your stories of any type of complication before or after the birth of your child. Whether it's preeclampsia, a cord trauma or an infection like Group B Strep, we want your stories.

Have you experienced complications during pregnancy or immediately after?

My story isn't so bad, really, because now I'm healthy and have a very healthy baby. Compared to everyone else's submissions, my story is probably tame.

But, it's my story, so I'm going to share it.

Having a baby is the coolest thing my body has done. I was amazed at my pain threshold and resilience. I was in so much pain afterward, but it really didn't matter.

I have my baby and, wow, she is beautiful! Daphne's pediatrician was worried about jaundice, so we took her home along with a little BiliBed. My husband, Jon, and I were vigilant about putting her in it while she was sleeping because we were so freaked out.

She slept very peacefully in the bed, probably because it was so warm, but I couldn't help but feel like I was preparing her for "Toddlers and Tiaras" in her mini-tanning bed.

It was pure torture when the first nurse came to our home to check her serum bilirubin levels and cut her little heel open and let it drain into a tube. The second nurse let me breastfeed her throughout, and it was completely peaceful. She didn't cry once.

The jaundice fear was over and the bilibed gone, and I was finally getting some more sleep. The worst was over, right? Wrong. When Daphne was one week old, I realized that my C-section incision was hot and swollen. I wanted to ignore it, but Jon convinced me that if it got really worse, it would be harder to care for Daphne.

He had already learned that the baby was perfect leverage. I called the OB, who told me to come in immediately - I had so much anxiety. If you've ever had to travel with a newborn who is breastfeeding, you may understand why. What once was a thirty-minute drive became an hour drive with two feeding stops to get her to stop screaming.

I went into an exam room expecting to hear that I might need an antibiotic; maybe I had a little infection. Dr. S, who wasn't my delivering OB and was new to the practice, came in. This made me more worried - the only experience I'd had with him was when he'd checked to see if I was dilated two weeks prior, and, in the process, put his entire arm inside me.

Up on the table I went, lifted up my shirt, pulled down my pants.

Dr. S said, "Yeah, I'm going to have to cut you open. Right now."

I looked at Jon, then at Dr. S.

I said, "Shut. Up. You are not serious."

I really thought he was joking.

He wasn't.

Before I could ask again, he told the nurse to get - I remember very clearly - "a blade." My loving husband said, "I'm going to take Daphne out in the waiting room. This might freak her out." That made perfect sense as I was in complete shock.

I had an infection, apparently one introduced in the operating room and Dr. S needed to drain it.

Jon needed to come back to learn how to pack the gaping hole in my stomach with gauze as he was going to have to perform this procedure twice a day until I healed. I figured that was just desserts - as he'd slept through my labor and left the room while the doctor went all Freddy Krueger on my incision.

It took two weeks for my c-section infection to heal.

Two weeks of social isolation, breastfeeding, not sleeping, and feeling uncomfortable.

I'm healthy now and, the best part?

I have a cool scar story.

Prenatal and postnatal complications are unfortunately not extremely rare, even in the United States. This month, Band Back Together is bringing them to light in our spotlight series.

We invite you to share your stories of any type of complication before or after the birth of your child. Whether it's preeclampsia, a cord trauma or an infection like Group B Strep, we want your stories.

I struggle with being extremely vocal about Group B Strep awareness. I would love to scream, “DANGER DANGER” from the rooftops, but for me personally, I don’t like to frighten people.

I struggle with knowing when to step in and say, “You really should head to the doctor since your baby has x, y and z symptoms because those are signs of GBS.” I’ve done it a few times on Facebook and Twitter and in real life, but the bottom line is, I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want people to think their baby is going to die just because mine did.

I struggle with being able to spout statistics, because statistics are bullshit. Yeah, the chances of a baby contracting early onset GBS are slim. It’s even more slim to contract late onset GBS. And it’s downright rare for a baby to die from late onset GBS. But when YOU are the statistic – the rare one – it’s often hard to tell someone of your experience without causing sheer panic.

I don’t struggle with talking about grief. But I do struggle with talking about Group B Strep.

July is Group B Strep Awareness Month.

So I’m here to talk about it.  My son's death in 2003 would be in vain if I couldn't turn it into something "good" and this is what I do. I talk about Group B Strep.

For those who don’t know and who may stumble across this page, let me first tell you about Group B Strep.

What is Group B Strep (GBS)?

Group B strep (GBS) is a type of bacteria that is naturally found in the digestive tract and birth canal in up to 1 in 4 pregnant women who "carry" or are "colonized" with GBS. Since levels of GBS can change, each pregnancy can be different. Carrying GBS does not mean that you are unclean. Anyone can carry GBS. (Quoted with permission from Group B Strep International)

When will they test me for Group B Strep and what does that even mean?

CDC’s guidelines recommend that a pregnant woman be tested for Group B Strep when she is 35 to 37 weeks pregnant. The test is super simple. It's simply a swab of the vaginal area and rectum. Results are typically back at your next appointment. At that time you'll be told whether you're positive or negative.

A pregnant woman who tests positive for GBS and gets antibiotics during labor has only a 1 in 4,000 chance of delivering a baby with group B strep disease, compared to a 1 in 200 chance if she does not get antibiotics during labor.

Any pregnant woman who had a baby with GBS disease in the past, or who has had a bladder (urinary tract) infection during this pregnancy caused by GBS should receive antibiotics during labor.

What’s the difference between prenatal onset, early onset and late onset Group B Strep?

Prenatal onset of Group B Strep happens before your baby is born.

Early onset relates to cases from birth to 7 days old.

Late onset typically relates to cases from 7 days old to 3 months (or later in some cases, but that's the typical timeline for GBS to infect a baby).

 What do I look for?

Symptoms of Prenatal Onset Group B Strep:

• • decreased fetal movement or no movement after 20 weeks
  • unexplained fever in mother -- signals infection

Once born:

•  
  • High-pitched cry, shrill moaning, whimpering
  • Marked irritability, inconsolable crying
  • Constant grunting as if constipated
  • Projectile vomiting
  • Feeds poorly or refuses to eat, not waking for feedings
  • Sleeping too much, difficulty being aroused
  • High or low or unstable temperature; hands and feet may still feel cold even with a fever
  • Blotchy, red, or tender skin
  • Blue, gray, or pale skin due to lack of oxygen
  • Fast, slow, or difficult breathing
  • Body stiffening, uncontrollable jerking
  • Listless, floppy, or not moving an arm or leg
  • Tense or bulgy spot on top of head
  • Blank stare
  • Infection at base of umbilical cord or in puncture on head from internal fetal monitor

What is the outlook for a baby who contracts GBS?

Babies can be infected by GBS before birth and up to about 6 months of age due to their underdeveloped immune systems. Only a few babies who are exposed to GBS become infected, but GBS can cause babies to be miscarried, stillborn, or become very sick and sometimes even die after birth. GBS most commonly causes infection in the blood (sepsis), the fluid and lining of the brain (meningitis), and lungs (pneumonia). Some GBS survivors have permanent handicaps such as blindness, deafness, mental challenges, and/or cerebral palsy. (Quoted with permission from Group B Strep International)

Now we’re all caught up on what Group B Strep is.

So here’s where I’m honest with you.

I don’t believe in scaring people. I believe in educating people and arming them with the information that will allow them to make informed decisions.

Unfortunately, I can’t make decisions for everyone. If that were the case, nobody would ever have their membranes stripped, internal exams after finding out they were GBS+, scalp electrodes during labor, long labors without c-sections, or choose to not have antibiotics during labor with a positive GBS status.

In short, I would put everybody in a GBS-proof bubble.

As long as there is life on Earth, there will be baby loss. There will be mothers dying during labor, babies taking one breath, babies spending weeks and months in the ICU because of life-threatening conditions. As much as we want to eradicate it, it’s a fact of life.

I’m armed with more information about GBS than most doctors, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t talk to your doctor about Group B Strep. Because the incidence rate is smaller and smaller, a lot of doctors do the test at 35-37 weeks and just throw out the positive or negative results without much of an explanation. Make them explain it to you. Talk to them. Understand it.

Use your mommy and daddy instincts and USE YOUR PEDIATRICIAN. That’s why they went to high-dollar schools for a bazillion years. To help you when you need them.

The baby does something you don’t like or understand? Call them. Go in.

BE THAT MOM!

I can’t underscore this enough. YOU know your baby better than anyone and have to follow your instinct. If it says, “call the doctor,” then by God, call the doctor.

Your gut is rarely wrong.

Anyway, in honor of Group B Strep Awareness Month, I want to answer your questions.

Leave a comment (or Tweet it to me or ask me on Facebook) with any question about GBS you may have. If you don't want to do it publicly, email me at janasthinkingplace@me.com.

I’ll post a few times this month with answers to them. And together, we will make the world AWARE OF GROUP B STREP!

Sometimes, we at the Band know that part of owning who you are is admitting it to the world. It's one reason why we at The Band work tirelessly to break down stigmas and find the ties that connect us all, the ties that remind us that we are none of us alone. Please join us in standing tall and proud as we tell the world who we are.

What are you, The Band, The Face Of?

***

"They look like white elephants," she said.

"I've never seen one," the man drank his beer.

"No, you wouldn't have."

"I might have," the man said. "Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything."

- Hills Like White Elephants, Ernest Hemingway

It starts with the nightmares.

Night after night, I'm stranded in airports I've never visited - some exotic, some rural - malls I've never seen, always looking for someone whom, in a dream-like way, I know is looking for me, too. A particular someone - someone I've never met, but someone whom I chase night after night. I have a feeling I'd know him if I saw him, but really, that could be a lie.

It feels silly to admit that I spend my dream time not eating marshmallow fluff, but looking for a particular person. I'd much rather be saving the world while I sleep than sorting through the faceless masses at fictional airports.

Once the dreams begin, sleeping becomes fitful, if not impossible.

I've not won any sleeping awards since I got my thyroid regulated (I HAVE A GLANDULAR PROBLEM), but during these patches, it becomes nearly impossible to drift off. When I sleep, I run, I chase, and I wake myself weeping into my pillow or moaning in sadness. By 9AM all hope of rest gone; I slog my soggy ass out of bed and pretend that I remember what it's like to sleep.

I'm functional for a few weeks like this - groggy, with slowed reflexes - but because of my usual rate of unintentional self-injury, no one notices anything is amiss.

It's only after a few weeks, months, I don't know how long, that I start to crack. The anxiety becomes too much. Things I would've normally found hilarious - my neighbor's tree, for example, which looks like it's growing a full set of knockers - don't even elicit the barest of smiles.

I want so desperately to reach out, to connect with someone, anyone, but I can't bring myself to do it. I can't bring myself to admit that it's okay to be weak - that I'm allowed to not understand my feelings. It's then that the voices of those whom I once loved echo through my head and I begin to doubt. Everything. Myself. My ability to function in everyday society.

The echoes of things once-said flit through my mind. "I can't handle your problems right now," my ghost-husband says. "You're a liar," my ghost-brother says. "Take down that story about the rape or I'll take action," my ghost-ex threatens.

My world becomes smaller, ever smaller, as the PTSD rears its head. It leaves me gasping for air, for straws, for any reason as to why there's a 9,827 pound white elephant on my chest while the rest of the world seems to be breathing air like it's no big deal.

I wonder what is so fundamentally fucked inside my head that I can't manage to beat this PTSD. My daughter lived; I have countless friends who'd gnaw off a couple of legs to say the same thing. So why am I so fucked? Why does rubbing my hand along the plastic implant inside her skull make me break out in a cold sweat? She squeals and laughs runs and plays and kicks her brothers with wild abandon, while I sit trapped on the couch, my windpipe unable to properly move air into my lungs.

And those words, those words like white elephants, are trapped in my lungs; they remain unspoken.