My Journey to a Home Birth – Part 2

Read part one here.

I stood at the front door and kissed my little girls one last time before sending them off to spend the night at my best friend’s house.  They kissed and rubbed my tummy as they too were eager to meet the new arrival of our family.  I watched them walk down the driveway in their fuzzy flannel PJs and matching bootie slippers.  My two babies that had grown ever so quickly before my eyes.  My daughters that would return to me the next morning as big sisters. 

I closed the door on that cold night and immediately began to prepare.  Here we go.  Right here. In this very home.  No need to worry about an empty gas tank, too many red lights, or potholes in the road.  7:33 pm – I called Shannon to give her a heads up that tonight is the night.  She instructed me to drink after each contraction to avoid dehydration and to inform her when my contractions are five minutes apart, one minute long, for one hour.   Next, I called my mother.  Five times, no answer.  Eventually I got a hold of her and informed her that she should begin the one hour drive.

I wheeled in the mini bassinet that held all the supplies into the kitchen.  I set everything out on the dining room table providing easy access for Shannon.  The birth kit that I ordered online that was filled with Chux pads (the large blue absorbant protective pads, just like they use in the hospital), gloves, umbilical cord clamps, and flexible straws among other things.  A queen size flannel sheet that was cut down into receiving blankets to catch my little one on its way out.  Much softer than those offered in the hospital, these were also specifically for my baby.  I set out a mini kettle for tea and arranged the tea bags neatly on the counter.  Next, a small saucepan was brought out with the broths close by, ready to be heated.  I ate a couple of dates and sipped coconut water with a splash of pineapple as I literally nested.  I fluttered through the house making sure everything was just right and completely ready for my little birdie. 

All the while, Rami sat on the couch watching the Niners game on TV.   Oh, how easy men have it.  I am reminded why the Prophet Muhammad {pbuh} said  “verily, Heaven lies under the feet of a mother.”  With good reason.  I go through the house, picking up any toys and books the girls left behind.  Then I snap.  With good reason.  “I’m in labor and you don’t even care!”  Those hormones combined with a painful contraction and the overwhelming emotions that I’m about to become a mother to three hit me.  I direct all those feelings at Rami.  Poor guy, never saw it coming. 

I put on a long cotton knit tunic and black leggings.  In the darkness of my room with only the hallway light spilling in, I climb into the comfort of my own bed and wrap myself in the warmth of my cozy blankets.  I reach for my smart-phone and download a contraction counter app.  Technology, what’s not to love?  Start timer. Stop timer. Duration, 1:11. Sip coconut water.  Start timer.  Stop timer. Duration, 1:32.  Sip coconut water. Start timer. Stop timer. Duration, 1:21. Sip coconut water. Rami keeps coming in to check on me.  He holds my hand through contractions, strokes my head, and helps me drink my water as I stay laying on my side.  Text to Shannon: Mon, Dec 19, 2011, 10:09 pm – These are definitely real contractions. Resting in bed. Contractions around 15 minutes apart.

10:14 pm, Shannon calls.  I tell her that I’m in bed and that I’m doing as well as anyone experiencing labor pains can feel.  She doesn’t want me to lay there and feel okay.  She wants me to get up and get things going.  “You don’t want to try to manage your labor, you want to get through it.”   I’m nervous about getting up because I know how painful it is to stand.  This pain is very different from Maysoon’s labor.  With Maysoon I could feel her pushing down.  This time, the baby felt waaay down.  Shannon asks me to walk around for 30 minutes then call her and see how things have progressed.

The hallway bathroom is adjacent to our bedroom door.  I barely make it into the bathroom when I have another contraction that leads me to throw up.  I know this part.  This is transition.  Call Shannon.  I repeatedly throw up into the plastic bag lined bucket that I have also prepared prior labor.  I’m kneeling on the stool that my daughters use to reach the sink to brush their teeth.  A towel covered pillow provides cushioning beneath my knees.  I’m so cold.  My God, I’m so cold.  I’m covered with a large bath towel as I lean against yet another towel folded to soften the hard countertop as I lean over the bucket. I’m shaking.  Someone please call Shannon.

My mother is frantic in the background.  I wonder, when did she get here? She’s begging Shannon to hurry as she fears she may be the one to deliver this baby.  Rami asks me if I want to go to the hospital.  I want to laugh and punch him at the same time.  Clearly he is still not convinced that I actually want to have this baby at home.  Through grinded teeth, I tell him to never ask me that again.  More contractions, more throwing up, more shaking.

I am exhausted.  I want to sleep.  I desperately want this all to be over just so that I can sleep.  The light in the bathroom is off, the sound of the fan is simply too much to bear.  Half kneeling on the stool, with my head leaning against my arm sprawled across the counter, I drift in and out of sleep.  I’m thrust into wakefullness with each contraction.  Sleep can’t take me away from the thunderous rolling pain that envelopes my body each time.  I allow every contraction to take over me.  To let it do what it needs to do.  I am merely the messenger at this point.  I’ve been given a message that my body will soon deliver.

At some point, I find my best friend next to me in the dark bathroom.  Another first for us.  At the time I admit that our Disneyland experience was much more enjoyable than this.  Labor is not the happiest place on earth.  She softly spoke to me, telling me little prayers to say, and asked me if I wanted warm socks.  She also gently touched my arm and offered to play with my hair.  Unfortunately for her, she never received the memo about me not wanting to hear anything nor wanting to be touched during labor.  I snapped at her.  Poor girl, never saw it coming. 

I thought about my daughters.  I missed them so much.  In the late of night, in the throes of labor, I prayed that Allah would always protect them and watch over my girls.  That God would improve Jenin’s behavior, improve Maysoon’s speech, and improve their relationship.  I prayed for friends and relatives.  I prayed for myself and my husband.  Increase so-and-so’s faith, improve his and her financial situation, make her labor and delivery an easy one, make their big move overseas a smooth transition.  I sent up prayers one by one between contractions.   The Prophet (SAW) said: ‘There is at night an hour, no Muslim happens to be asking Allah any matter of this world or the Hereafter, except that he will be given it, and this (occurs) every night.’ [Muslim #757]

Contraction after contraction.  Subconciously, I find the rememberance of Allah on my tongue.  Allahu Akbar, God is greater.  God is greater than the pain of  these contractions.  God is greater than my misunderstanding of why this must be so difficult.  God is greater than my lack of knowledge behind his devine plan for our bodies.  Allahu Akbar. God is greater.   I put my trust in Allah.  I put my trust in my body that was created by Allah’s perfection to preform this miraculous task.  I surrender and let each contraction bring me closer and closer to my baby.

My state and condition must have been of great alarm to my husband and mother.  I kept hearing them in the background frantically questioning when Shannon would arrive.   Neither one of them could understand the process and painful affects of labor on the body, leaving them helpless and scared.  My mother had all five of her children by cesaeran section, never feeling a single contraction. (Best Napoleon Dynamite voice: ‘Luuucky!’)   Being at home without any one to deliver the baby just made them even more frantic to have her arrive.  12:45 am, Shannon is just a few minutes away.

When she arrives, I’m still in the bathroom, half sitting half kneeling on the stool my daughters use to stand on while helping me bake.  She moves so gently and effectively that I don’t realize she’s monitoring the baby until I hear the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of that sweet little heartbeat.  All is well and baby is certainly ready for its debut.  How soon to the debut can only be determined by her checking my progress.  I need to move back to the bedroom.  This will not be pleasant, nor will it be fun. 

Eslam Najjar Photography.

Rami is my column of support.  Unable to stand up fully and with very little strength in my legs, I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and cling to him.  The very short walk from bathroom to bedroom is excruciating.  The pressure is intense.  I  s l o w l y make my way in the most awkward walk.  Nada and my mother are cracking jokes in the background.  They’ll both pay for that later. 

I eventually make it to the edge of my bed.  I can’t move again.  I’m having another strong contraction.  I need to lay back in order to determine how much longer this process will take.  But I can’t.  I just simply can’t move.  And the beautiful thing is that I don’t have to.  Not until I’m ready.  Shannon is kneeling beside me on the floor, patiently waiting.  No demands or shouting.  Just gentle words of encouragement and sparkling blue eyes.  

Contractions are being confused with pressure and I can’t tell the difference between start and finish.  It takes a good 20 minutes before I am prepared to move again. I lay back and will stay there until the birth of my baby.  Upon checking me, it became evident why walking and moving was so painful.  Shannon announced that the baby was very low and I was at 8 centimeters!

I turned to my left side to ride out the last of my contractions.  I mentally check out as I knew these last moments will surely be the most difficult and painful.  Rami stayed by my side, holding my hand.  Here I was, in the comfort of my home, about to deliver my baby.  All the building up and waiting and I finally reached the end. 

Patience and support. Eslam Najjar Photography.

One final check.  “If you would like to push on the next contraction you can.”  With that, my room filled with the people I loved and trusted.  My husband of nearly 7 years right by my side.  My mother that was deprived of the experience of birthing her babies in this manner, stood close to be the first to see the baby make its exit.  My best friend who would never have a home birth, taking the whole event in that only her crazy BFF would attempt.  A new friend to preserve these precious memories and future special moments, is also present.  And Shannon, who just a year prior was a complete stranger.  A chance meeting introducing me to one of the most important people of my life. 

2:52 am. I pushed.  I pushed with every ounce of my being.  I pushed with purpose.  You are almost here little one.  The contraction ended and I had no strength. My energy was drained.  For the first time, I panicked, “How do I push?!” With the most gentle of voices, Shannon assured me that I did just fine and to do it again.  2:55. Next contraction…

puuuuuuush!

Head. “Ring of fire”.  Shoulders. Body. Bottom. Legs. Umbilical cord.  I felt it all.  And then I felt no pain.  “Which of the favors of your Lord do you then deny?” {Qur’an 55:13} My baby was here.  In the last third of the night, Praise for Allah filled the room. 

Here she is! Eslam Najjar Photography.

“It’s a girl!”  Another beautiful blessing from Allah.  Tuesday, December 20, 2011, at 2:55 am, my sweet Zaynab arrived safe and sound and was immediately welcomed home. 

First Athan - Eslam Najjar Photography.

Quickly and efficiently, all was cleaned up and removed from the room.  Newborn checks and tests were done all within reach of me.  The chicken and vegetable chowder I had made that night for dinner was warmed up and brought to me.  I had access to my bathroom.  I rested and relaxed in my bed.  I am changed forever.

7 pounds, 12 ounces. Eslam Najjar Photography.

The beauty of a homebirth is not simply the act of delivering naturally.  It’s about being in an environment that you feel most comfortable and safe in.  Where the people around you support and believe in you.  There is no tension or pressure to perform.  You are free to experience the miraculous event without the stress of completing things in a way that benefits the nurses and doctors schedules.  It becomes about you and the baby’s health and natural well being.  Labor and delivery are not medical procedures.  Our bodies were created and designed to bring these beautiful babies into the world. Trust your body and trust God.

Homebirth is not for everyone and complications do arise.  If you have a history of healthy pregnancies and deliveries, I urge you to consider a home birth.   Educate yourself.  Ask questions. Watch “The Business of Being Born”.  Meet with a midwife.  Meet with other mothers that have had a home birth.  Put yourself first and realize you do have options outside of a hospital. 

Alhamdulilah, all praise is due to Allah, for having the good health that allowed this to be an option for me.  My look on life will never be the same.