Surviving a Home Birth

One Dad’s experience with the joy of home birthing

You should see the look on peoples’ faces when I tell them two of my three kids were born at home. You might be sporting the same look right now — a combination of puzzlement, curiosity, and shock. “You did what?” Yep, we did that.

“Dude, you guys are crazy. Don’t you know people have kids in hospitals for a reason? You have access to some of the best healthcare in the world — why leave it to chance?”

Yeah, that was my reaction too.

“I’m pregnant Joseph! I’m pregnant!!!”

Shock. Complete and utter shock. She looked it. I felt it. It was mother nature’s way of letting us know life as we knew it, was over. Once we got over the shock, we eventually started planning for the big day.

I’m ashamed to say, that despite having a mom with years of experience as a labour and delivery nurse, I was ignorant on what came next. I read, and had it confirmed by experienced friends, that we had to find ourselves an obstetrician.

When I updated my mom on our plans, she suggested we consider a midwife instead. I was hesitant. My wife was also working on the assumption we should have an obstetrician, just as her mother had. We were going to do what everyone else did: get a doctor and deliver the baby at a hospital. This is how society’s been doing this for over half a century. I wasn’t exactly itching to present my mom’s alternative approach to my wife. But I did, hesitantly.

My wife, to her credit, set out to research the pros and cons of having a midwife, only to find that if you’re having a normal healthy pregnancy, there are no cons to midwifery care, especially in Ontario:

• Midwives are completely safe and provide personalized and attentive care. They’re highly trained professionals who specialize in pregnancy, labour, birth and newborns in normal or healthy pregnancies.
• They tend to care for only four or five women per month, and each visit lasts from 30minutes to one hour. They provide personalized attention. You never feel rushed.
• Midwifery clients experience lower rates of forceps, vacuum extractions, Caesarean sections, episiotomies, and infections.
• They track the mother’s progress and offer the same tests that an obstetrician does, like genetic screening, ultrasound, and lab tests.
• During the birth, midwives work in pairs: one to take care of the mother, the other to take care of the baby.

Wouldn’t you know it, my mom’s suggestion wasn’t out of left field. It came with serious merit. We decided to go with it, and joined a midwifery collective. We were relieved to discover that you can have a midwife and deliver in a hospital. This was an important discovery: we were going to have our baby at a hospital, just to be safe.

The midwives gave us outstanding prenatal care. This is what healthcare is supposed to be like. We were treated as clients, not patients; as family, not numbers; and as independents, not ignorants.

In the beginning, we had monthly meetings, which turned into bi-weekly meetings, and eventually into weekly meetings, as we approached due day. At every stepped, we were informed of our options, and trusted to make the best decisions for our family. We were walked through common scenarios in which there would be transfer of care to an obstetrician. This was reassuring. At the start of this process, I was nervous as hell, playing out all the worst-case scenarios in my head. Armed with all this information, I now looked forward to the birth with some confidence.

The transfer of care would come later. Nearing the end of the pregnancy, bloodwork drawn from the midwives indicated alarming platelet levels. We consulted with an obstetrician at 38 weeks. Further blood work found elevated liver enzymes, suggesting my wife was developing Helpp Syndrome, a life-threatening obstetric complication.

We were called to the hospital one day shy of 39 weeks. The fetal monitor indicated the baby was doing fine. My wife’s platelet levels were bouncing back up — a good sign — but her liver enzymes were still elevated. We “agreed” to an induction that night. I put that in quotation marks because the question was framed in the way that had me feeling like I had no choice. My wife doesn't remember ever being asked. My wife was given a gel capsule that would soften the cervix. We were sent home for the night and asked to return the following morning. When we checked in the next morning, my wife had not begun to dilate and the doctor was going to send us back home with more gel. But before he could, the water broke. The doctor than said, “we’re going to get your baby out of there,” and initiated the induction.

In hindsight, the induction was unnecessary. Once the water breaks, you have a 24-hour window for labour to start. There’s no need to rush it. For the next two births, my wife’s labour would start almost immediately after the water broke, completely naturally. The doctor’s motivation seemed to be that as a first time mom, my wife could possibly labour for hours upon hours. Well, it didn't take that long. For a period of less than five hours, hell ensued before we would welcome our first born.

The gel took immediate effect. My wife’s water broke and labour kicked in thereafter, initiating the most intense contractions of her life, with labour progressing at a ridiculously fast, and painful pace.

We quickly ended up in the labour delivery room and experienced this:

1. My wife, who was expecting to move around during labour, was strapped to a monitoring device and stuck in bed for the entire labour, whether she wanted to or not.
2. When she felt the natural urge to push, the nurse scolded her, telling her to hold on until she was told to push. She did so in an aggressive, loud, and completely unnecessary tone. While I have no doubt the nurse was well-intentioned, her reaction would have long-term effects on my wife.
3. The obstetrician was accompanied with a group of interns and acted like it was okay to just walk in like it was no big deal, and inspect my wife like she was cattle. Nothing to see here folks, this one’s not ready to pop out offspring. Off to the next unsuspecting patient!
4. When the time came to push, and the obstetrician had a hard time finding a heart beat, he threatened to use forceps. Yes, forceps. As in, metal claws that would be strapped around my child’s head and used to pull him out. My wife, upon hearing those words, pushed our first-born child out with so much force, it caused the kind of damage that would require very uncomfortable, and severe repair work.

It was a traumatizing ordeal. Thankfully, my mother would arrive when the going got tough to give my wife support and coach her through all the steps. But even though she came to save the day — and she really did save the day — it left us wondering, is this what a “normal, healthy birth” is?

The birth of our first child was not what we thought it would be. It was certainly not what we wanted it to be. We had visions of a birth where the mom-to-be could walk around as she laboured. We pictured a quiet, private room, with music of our choice. We’d be left alone, so that my wife could labour as she wanted — as her body needed — until things progressed to a point where the experts would be needed. Labour would be slow enough to give her body time to adjust, and no one would try to hijack the process or force her along. Mother and baby would be left alone to do their thing, as God, mother nature, and science intended.

It was, as we discovered, a pipe dream. But we were also convinced that it didn’t have to be this way. Twelve months later, as we laid our heads down to sleep, my wife shared some news. She was pregnant for our second child. Shock? Yes. No matter how many times you hear the words, it comes as a shock. But this time, there was no angst. This time, we were going to do this our way.

We locked in a midwife early. I was starting a new job, so my wife went to most of the appointments without me. Everything felt the same as the first time, with the notable exception that we chose to attend an info session on home-birthing.

At this point, despite the ordeal of the first birth, I was still hesitant. Sure, the first birth was not what we expected, but at the end of the day, our son was born a healthy baby any my wife recovered quickly and in good form. It wasn’t perfect, but it could have been much worse. What kind of risks would we be taking on by having a home birth? What if things went really bad this time? Are we putting two lives at risk? Is that really better than a less-than-perfect birth in a facility fully equipped to deal with every possible outcome?

We were certainly not the first couple to raise those concerns. As we joined a room full of expecting parents interested in home-birthing, I quickly became a convert to the idea. The midwives spent the first half of the session walking us through the procedure; the equipment, and how emergencies are planned for, and dealt with.

I had visions of a messy birth in a tub, with the midwives showing up with nothing more than latex gloves and stethoscopes. Truth be told, midwives come equipped with the same equipment found in hospital labour rooms, save the epidural. If you haven’t lived a birth yet, we’re talking fetal Dopplers, blood pressure cuffs, oxygen tanks, bags and masks for resuscitation, drugs to stop hemorrhaging, IV bags to treat bleeding, medication, and of course, the aforementioned stethoscope.

Sounds dandy, but seriously, what happens in the case of an emergency? Well, midwives are the real deal. They’re trained to deal with delivery-related emergencies, including neonatal resuscitation. In our province of Ontario, they have to undergo recertification for neonatal resuscitation and biyearly recertification of emergency skills. They take this stuff seriously. It’s what they do for a living.

Yeah, but, what if things go really bad? What if we need to rush to the hospital? This is what sealed the deal for me: midwives call the hospital ahead of time, if the situation calls for an emergency transfer. The vast majority of these transfers are preventative in nature. The call ensures the hospital is prepared when the mom-to-be arrives. This means that should things go south, and the mother needs to be rushed to the hospital, she’ll be brought directly to the labour room. No waiting. No cues. No paperwork. She gets cared for immediately. In most locales, this means that the mother gets quicker care by having a home birth than a planned hospital birth.

We were also provided with information from recent studies which examined the final outcomes for planned home and hospital births. Guess which one resulted in fewer interventions? Yep, home births.

Fair enough, but won’t this leave a bloody mess in my house? Not really. Like any big moment in life, if you’re prepared — and you have almost 10 months to prepare — it’s actually not that big of a deal. You place some plastic sheet under the bedding of your mattress and once the baby arrives, the midwives strip the bed and put the linens in garbage bags. Trust me, you’ll be so consumed my the miracle of birth, you won’t even notice this part. And I say this as someone who has to hold back the gag reflex at the sight of blood.

Is it actually a private ordeal? Yes, it is. Your primary midwife arrives first. The second is called when labour transitions from contractions to pushing. As we experienced twice, many practices have student midwives as part of their team. But unlike the hospital experience, the mother-to-be gets to meet this student ahead of time, and can decide whether or not to have the student at the birth. Like I said, this is what healthcare should be like: you’re treated as the client, with the prerogative to make the choices that are in your best interest.

Other than that, the mother-to-be can choose who she wants present, whether it’s a doula, a friend, a sister, or a mother. There are no restrictions. This is her home. Her place. So she makes the decisions.

Still sounds like a lot of work; is it convenient? It most definitely is. For our first birth at the hospital, the first night was not exactly pleasant. I had no bed to sleep on; I was left to hold and sleep with my first born next to my wife, on a single bed. When that wasn’t working, I had to try a cot. Good luck getting sleep when you’re worried sick about dropping your child off the side of the cot. Oh, and the best part: breakfast arrives the next morning; it’s the kind of breakfast you’d give a prisoner on death row. As a slight digression, it amazes me that hospitals are supposed to be places where people seek to improve their health, to heal from some type of trauma to the body. Yet, we feed these same people jello, processed bread and food loaded with chemicals few of us could pronounce. Not exactly food that gives your body a fighting chance of getting healthy.

By comparison, at home, you not only eat real food — the food you want to eat — but the midwives stay for a few hours after the placenta is delivered to clean up, complete neonatal checks, and ensure both mommy and baby are in good form. The new mother can start breastfeeding immediately and the midwives are there to help with any difficulties. Oh, and you can toast the arrival of your new one with champagne and then sleep in your own bed, blissfully.

All in all, we walked out of the info session convinced that this time around, we should have our child at home.

It was 11:30pm on the night Lebron James won his first NBA title. The water broke and the contractions began with earnest. I called our midwife who promptly made her way to our home. Our second child would soon be born. I woke up my mother, who was staying with us as our doula to let her know things were getting started. As she went downstairs to make some tea and prep the home, my wife began walking around the house. This would prove to be one of the most obvious differences between the hospital birth and the home birth. She could walk around as she pleased. She could move her body, as it felt like moving, all without interventions — all without being strapped to a bed with chords, a monitoring device, and strict orders not to push too soon. Instead, she did what felt natural. A good chunk of the labour was spent standing up against a wall with me rubbing her back, and my mom doing a gatorade and water relay to keep my wife hydrated. When the contractions got intense, she moved to a sitting position and held on to my neck for an extended period of time, using me as support as she laboured. Three hours later, our second boy was born.

Wouldn’t you know it, he was born with excess mucus. He had a tough time coughing it out. But our midwives came fully equipped. A little quality time with the suction device would help him clear those lungs and within a minute or two, he was back in mommy’s arms. We spent the rest of the night in bed. By the time our oldest woke up from his sleep, he had new brother in the house. We didn’t have to sleep in a hospital bed, eat gross food, or commute home in the morning. We got to relax right away with our newborn, in the comfort of our own home, surrounded by the family we wanted there. No inductions. No interventions. No interns. No threats of forceps. None of these awful things. It was simply beautiful.

Two years later, it was just as beautiful.

The water broke early in the morning, at a time when we would normally be preparing breakfast. Not a big deal. We still got up and did our morning routine. We ate breakfast downstairs, and as the contractions intensified, my wife walked around our kitchen island, cool as a cucumber, staring outside and enjoying the sun rise. My mom, who reprised her role as doula extraordinaire, read books to our two boys in the living room. My wife sat next to them and listened quietly as she breathed through her contractions. Then she decided she wanted to get some fresh air. So our oldest, now almost four years old, agreed to join his mom and dad for a walk around the block. There was my wife, in labour, taking a casual stroll around the neighbourhood. Apparently, that was what she needed to intensify the contractions. By the time we walked through the front door, things had picked up.

My wife would spend the next 90 minutes in the tub, listening to relaxing music and breathing through the contractions. She barely made a peep. I held her head as the midwives watched, encouraged her, and otherwise just let her do her thing. No interventions. No interns. No threats of forceps. If you witnessed this, you wouldn’t believe she was in labour.

My wife would eventually transition to the pushing phase, which took longer than the first two pregnancies, but within 6 hours of her water breaking, we welcomed our first and only girl into the world.

The midwives did their checks on mommy and baby, cleaned up the room, and left us to enjoy quality time with our baby girl. They enjoyed tea and coffee in the kitchen for a couple hours, checking in on us periodically to make sure all was well.

When she was barely three hours old, our baby girl got to meet her two older brothers, who took turns hugging and kissing their newest sibling. My mom, and my sister-in-law took turns taking care of the boys and bringing us fresh snacks and dinner to our room. We celebrated with a glass of champagne. It was a five-star treatment. You don’t get this kind of care at a hospital. You just don’t.

I’ve barely scratched the surface on why our two home births were beautiful. A lot of factors were at play:

• We had a normal, healthy pregnancy. Not everyone is so lucky. We were, and that meant home birthing was a viable option.
• My mom and wife have an beautiful relationship. My mom makes for an amazing doula. I could write a whole article on the benefits of a doula, but we’ll save that for another time. Having someone there to tend to all the other things in a house, while also being an experienced neonatal intensive care nurse makes a world of a difference. If you can find yourself a good doula, it’s absolutely worth it.
• My wife is simply amazing. She went through all three of her births without a single painkiller — not even Tylenol. To pull that off — especially in this day and age — takes the type of mental stamina you typically find in Olympians. I don’t say this to cast judgement on those who use epidurals and other painkillers. I’ll never birth a child, and I’m in no position to cast judgement. My point has nothing to do with whether one should use painkillers or not; it’s about the contagious power of a woman’s confidence. My wife was confident. Her confidence gave me confidence. Without that, home birthing would not have been a joyful event. At the first sign of pain, I’d be ready to make a call to 911. Of course, it didn’t happen that way. My wife kept me calm, cool, and collected. And that meant our two home births were calm and quiet affairs.

For those who can have a home birth, I tell you this: as a Dad who went through two of them, it’s a most beautiful and joyful event. I’ll never forget it; I reckon you won’t either.