Conscious Choice: Natural Birth

November 2004 | Cover Story

Natural Birth

One Woman’s Story

by Jacque Shannon-McNulty

My husband, Scott; 1-year-old daughter, Ania Soleil, and I were living in southern France when we discovered that we were expecting our second baby, and made the difficult choice to return to the United States. I was six months pregnant when we arrived and scrambled to plan for another homebirth with a Certified Professional Midwife (CPM). I discovered that many Illinois CPMs had left the state. So, I convinced a well-respected CPM from California to come to Illinois two weeks before the due date.

My labor began in the wee hours of the morning on April 21, 2000. I was excited and focused, yet unafraid. I woke my husband, who called our midwife, doula and birth team as I tidied up the house a bit and braided my long hair. My husband filled the water-birth tub we had set up in our living room. Our midwife, doula, my sister and three friends all arrived as the contractions intensified. I walked around our home, cagey as I felt myself revert back to a more primal state. Scott held me in an enveloping, wordless, loving embrace through intense contractions.

My midwife and I decided I was ready to enter the water-birthing tub. As I slid into the warm water, I was filled with deep pleasure and relief and sighed, “Every mother deserves a water-birth tub!” My extra 51 pounds no longer were a burden, my muscles were warm and supple, I was gently and strongly supported by the water. Our midwife watched, Zen-like, observing my labor. Her belief in being like a “lifeguard” of the birth, watching for potential complications yet respecting the biologically perfect progression of normal labor and birth and not intervening unless absolutely necessary, was a challenging discipline.

I became more serious, gripping the edge of the birth tub and vocalizing a primal moan during contractions, opening myself for our baby’s passage. I breathed deeply, consciously relaxing the painfully tense muscles, surrendering to the waves of uncontrollable intensity that flowed through my body. I envisioned myself swimming in the ocean in a storm, the waves propelling me as I tried to stay on top of them. Our doula firmly pressed my sacrum and the counter-pressure was an incredible relief from the surging pain in my back.

I vomited into a waiting bowl and an overwhelming but momentary panic set in. An intense energy surged through me as if it would break me in two. I whimpered. Scott was there, holding me as I gripped the edge of the birth tub. I looked deeply into his eyes and he summoned me back from the brink, calmly reassured me that I was doing great and our baby would be with us soon.

Transition, the most challenging part of labor, was upon me. The contractions shifted from abdominal waves to the deep downward pressure of pushing. I was re-energized. My body began to push involuntarily as I roared through the contractions. The sounds were powerful and seemed to come from somewhere else, but felt like a great release; they helped me breathe, open, push. I allowed them to flow out, let go of my inhibitions.

I felt safe in my primal and incredibly vulnerable state, knowing I was safe at home and surrounded by people who loved and cared about me, my baby and my family. My midwife intermittently checked my baby’s heartbeat with a waterproof Doppler. My baby slowly spiraled her way down through my birth canal. The pain was intense, much more so than when my first baby was born, and I knew that my baby was big. I struggled and pushed. Feeling the bones of my sacrum slowly separate, I relaxed through the intensely weird sensation. In a couple of pushes, my baby’s head eased over my perineum, the water gently providing counter-pressure and softening my tissues, protecting my perineum. She was still receiving all of her oxygen from her placenta and umbilical cord and did not yet need to breathe on her own.

Her head was still underwater, the rest of her body still waiting to be born, and she opened her eyes and looked up at my midwife. It was awe-inspiring. In another push, my midwife directed me to push my baby out. Her seriousness awoke something in me and I pushed with all my might. My baby emerged at once, into the waiting, gentle hands of our midwife, who eased her out of the water in one graceful motion. I was spent, completely exhausted and incredibly exhilarated.

Our doula eased me up into a position to hold my new precious little one. As I lifted her to my chest, her eyes were wide open. We locked eyes and my newborn baby girl, seconds old, actually smiled. My husband gasped. Then a silence fell upon everyone in the room as it filled with an otherworldly feeling, graced by the sacred. I grasped my precious baby girl, Maya Cosette, to my body and welcomed her to the world, barely noticing that she fell limp.

Our midwife immediately stepped in to stimulate circulation and a first breath, while still on my chest to retain warmth. I was helped out of the birth tub by my birth team to awaiting towels and robe and the midwife held our baby, inches from my body, massaging and stimulating her while telling her that it was time to take a breath. The midwife’s apprentice was ready with oxygen. “Talk to your baby, Jacque,” directed my midwife, “She’s not here yet.” So, completely uncharacteristically, I started to sing a French lullaby that I had sung to comfort my toddler. Our baby had heard this tune endlessly and knew my voice. At that, she began to stir and breathe. After some nourishing drinks and food, snuggled on the couch in warm blankets, with my baby nursing, my toddler waddled sleepily into the room. She touched her face and then the very proud big sister cut the cord. She still talks about it.

After an hour or so of nursing, we handed our precious Maya Cosette to our midwife, who weighed her twice and declared, “Your baby is 10 pounds, and 10 and one-half ounces.” It dawned on me, that had we been in a hospital, I might not have been “allowed” to give birth to my baby. They would have insisted on a c-section. How could a 5-foot, 4-inch woman with a pre-pregnancy weight of 125 pounds ever give birth to an almost 11-pound baby without drugs or intervention?

In the medical world, flat on my back in an unfamiliar, cold hospital room, without hydration and nourishment, with doctors, residents, nurses coming in and probing my most private places with a shrug, muttering that I may need a c-section, without the comfort of a water-birth tub, maybe I couldn’t.

But in my home, with my loving husband, and midwife, in 4 hours, this 5-foot, 4-inch normally 125-pound woman gave birth to a 10-pound, 10-ounce baby girl, safely, joyfully, gently and naturally.

Jacque Shannon-McNulty is the president of Chicago Community Midwives.

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