It's hard for me to tell this story, but it's important.

My awakening to the pitfalls of managed birth practices began with the birth of my first child. I was wildly unprepared. I had little to no support. I think we took one hospital class which was basically a hospital tour and the inevitable intervention jokes and instrument walk-through. I had an OBGYN, but every appointment was with a new practicum student, no continuity of care, and in fact, one of the students, didn't even know I was pregnant during one of our last appointments. It was a mess. So, I took it upon myself to learn what pregnant people are supposed to do. I tried to avoid caffeine, to eat well, and avoid deli meats. I probably scoured YouTube to try and find some birth videos, which, 10 years ago, were not as easy as it is to access today.

Early labour felt long and confusing. When it came to actually giving birth, I walked to the hospital and was sent home twice! Thankfully we lived in an apartment close enough to the hospital to make the trip on foot. In hindsight, this was a great way to productively labour! Eventually, contractions picked up with enough intensity to return and be admitted. I have always found comfort in the water, so I immediately made use of the suite's bathtub.

Resting in the tub, I became very dissociated from my body and the birthing process. My laboured slowed. I believe it's because I didn't know what to do and no one was guiding me and because I was afraid of the discomfort and I really wanted birth to be over. There was no control and I thrived on control. I wanted my baby. I understood for the most part how to do the baby thing. Birth was the unknown.

I recently found an old online journal entry detailing the events that occurred after and I wanted to include them…. to be honest, my story fills me with sadness.

I write,

"A doctor entered along with a staff of young women. She told me her name but I couldn't hear her over my own screams. It seemed incredibly irrelevant to me. All I wanted to do was run away from it all. My entire face and hands tingled with pins and needles as I hyperventilated. Quickly, a nurse put an oxygen mask over my face. The doctor told the team of nurses "Just get her to push!" and with the way her words came out, so stern and urgent, I knew I was in trouble. There were no breaks between pushes as instructed. In the distance I heard something said about a vacuum and then all of a sudden, the room was thrown into chaos.  I was still screaming and hyperventilating. My eyes were closed. I had no idea what was happening and then I heard the word 'forceps'. I shouted "No!", but the forceps were rammed into me. I let out a blood curdling scream as my son was wrenched out with those metal demons in one go. It happened so fast. Blood spattered across my partner who was standing beside me. There was a flurry of activity around the baby, as I just laid there in shock."

I remember the moment almost like it was yesterday. I saw this baby across the room, but felt no connection to him. I watched him and the nurses who were sucking out mucus from his nostrils and mouth, as I delivered my placenta. I could feel the threading of the stitches in my third degree tear, even though they said I should be frozen.It was an out of body experience. Post stitches, laying in the bed, I felt wet. Too wet. I found my pad soaked with blood and had to alert the nurses to stop the bleeding. I felt every pack of gauze shoved in and removed. I was wildly hypersensitive to their touch, my body responding to the trauma.

Eventually, once the bleeding was under control, the nurses brought my son over and asked, "who wants to hold him?" to which I replied with a gesture to my husband. Not me. I remember my husband having his turn and then bringing him to me after a few minutes, placing him in my arms. All I could think of was the contrast in what this moment should feel like, and what I wad feeling. I faked it. I was so traumatized. I felt like I was holding a bundle, not my child.

When everyone left, I waddled to the shower, dripping with blood. It looked like an absolute horror show and I wondered if it was normal to see this much bright red running down my legs. My body felt wildly foreign. The hot water felt glorious. So much so, that I almost forgot what had just happened. After most of the blood was washed away, I began to feel more like myself.

Our nurse offered to debrief once I was dressed. Apparently my son's heart rate dropped to 50 bpm which started the absolutely horrific chain of events in my birth. They claimed there was no time to assess or even go for a c-section. They attempted to use the vacuum and it popped off his head, sending the Dr. across the room with it. That was the big commotion before the forceps. The forceps literally tore my body apart from vulva to asshole. After recounting this harrowing tale, we were moved to a postpartum room sometime around 4 or 5 in the morning.

My son was born with red hair. Our nurse at one point, scooped him up and paraded him around the floor to show off his locks. At the time, still in shock, I was grateful for the extra rest and didn’t mind this strange woman leaving with my baby. Eventually we had to page her to have him returned and she did.

That day, hours later, they told me his bilirubin levels were too high and he would need light therapy before we would be allowed to leave the hospital. I was supposed to keep him in the blue light bassinet for as long as I could. Of course he cried and cried alone in the stupid box. I sat beside him, I tried to stick my finger in his mouth to soothe him but it was really uncomfortable to sit on the edge of the bed and all I wanted to do was hold him and rest.

Eventually I couldn't take it and I scooped him up and kept him with me despite their concerns. He was so much happier and I could breastfeed and sleep next to him. For 3 days we were stuck there until discharge.

At home, I was terrified to poop. All of the hospital food wreaked havoc on my insides and when the time finally came on day 8, I felt like I was giving birth again. Alone. In my bathroom. Trying to poop.

To this day, I find it hard to connect to my birth experience. It was incredibly traumatizing to myself and to my partner. We both suffered deeply from this experience. I still have scar tissue and discomfort from my forceps injury. I became another one of those moms who believed there was no way it would happen to her and that I could do it alone with my equally as clueless partner. I really believed the hospital would help me. From that experience on, I vowed to never let another woman feel so alone. I knew I would share my story with anyone that needed to hear it and I knew that if I was going to give birth again, it would be at home.

Although this birth was the farthest thing from what I wanted, it was the catalyst for a career of supporting and nourishing women in perinatal work and I’m grateful for the lessons learned here.