Three years since.

I think of my birth experience with Danny often; sometimes even daily. I’ve never been the same. It changed me as a person, as a woman, as a mother. It gave me such a glimpse of

what it means to have a body (and soul) designed by God. This experience was holy for me.

The week Danny was to arrive, my mom had come to stay with us. She came to ease the passing of the long last days of pregnancy. We had a sweet time together, playing with Morgan, going to lunch, reading books, playing outside. She cooked and cleaned. I rolled around from couch to bed. We were waiting for little bear to arrive.

Friday afternoon, I began having sweet little contractions around five pm, or so. I sat on my birthing ball. I rocked my ripened body, not believing this was anything significant. When you’ve been pregnant for forty+ weeks (weeks that feel like years), you can’t comprehend the reality of the beginning of real labor; the beginning of the end. So I sat. I walked around. I fixed my hair.

I called Mr. Keller, who was golfing with a friend. I told him my belly hurt. He said he’d be home in a while, both of us doubting this would turn into anything certain.

I walked around the house more, becoming more anxious, as time slowly went on. My mom was timing contractions with her phone. I called Mr. Keller again. And then again fifteen minutes later, telling him I needed him home. He said he would be coming soon.

'Soon' was too long. I called him again and heard his friend in the background say, "I think we better leave." Mr. Keller later told me he explained that we'd done this before, and it would be hours before it was actually time. 

When Mr. Keller finally arrived, we decided to call in to see if anyone would be willing to check my progress before we headed to Idaho Falls.

There were, at the time, just two doctors in town that would allow me to try to deliver vaginally (after my c-section with Morgan), and both of those doctors were out of town and not available. We knew in advance that this would most likely be the case, so we lined up another doctor in Idaho Falls who would allow us to labor naturally and try for a vaginal delivery. And that plan was in place. We planned on heading there.

But we didn’t want to head there too soon. With my forty-one hour labor with Morgan, we expected a long labor again.

When I was checked at 7pm, I was dilated to two centimeters. Exhaling, we came home. I climbed in bed and breathed. The pain was coming in waves; small, but precise. I was laying on my side when I audibly heard (and felt) my bag of waters break and immediately, I was devastated. It was 8pm. The anxiety of this labor had been with me since conception. The outcome was so unknown. We still, to this day, feel the sting of our long, failed labor with Morgan. My water broke very early on with him, as well, and with broken waters now with Danny, I remember melting there on the bed. I remember feeling defeated, and immediately, I was emotional. I called for Mr. Keller who was eating in the kitchen. He came running and I began sobbing, explaining my broken waters. “I can’t do this”, I told him. He reassured me that it would be okay (although he thought I was crying over the soaked bed!).

The pain, of course, became greater then. I always wonder why women want their waters broken early on. It’s such a gift from God to sway the pain. And those babies born in the caul! What a dream.

I was in a warm bath now, breathing and crying. Mr. Keller was coming in and out of the bathroom, bringing me drinks of water, ice, dinner, oils. Dinner didn’t stay down for too long.

The time was passing fast and slow. We didn’t know what to do. Neither one of us. We expected hours would come and go before we would need to leave to Idaho Falls.

Soon, the pain was excruciating; swift and unbearable. Still in the bath, I remember us looking at each other, and realizing Idaho Falls was out of the question. I knew with the pain as it was, the ride would be too long to handle. We prayed to know what to do. And I so clearly remember thinking I had to give to God the dream I had of giving my baby a natural birth. I had to give it to him. I had to let it go. This dream I had held in my heart, the one had I had planned, prayed and prepared for. I had to give it away. And so I did.

Mr. Keller called our hospital here in town and told them to prepare for us. We had confirmed a few hours earlier that the on-call doctor was not one who would allow us to try to deliver vaginally, so we knew if we went to Portneuf, we were headed for a cesarean. Mr. Keller later told me the nurse had heard me in the background screaming through contractions and telling him she thought I was going through transition. They would be prepared for us when we arrived.

I stood in the bathroom bent over. Mr. Keller had already put our bags in the car, where my clothes were. He ran out to get the bag. He brought the wrong one. He ran outside again. When I think of him on that night, I only see him running. He was running everywhere, like the frantic expectant father on all some dramatic Lifetime movie. We were that couple. I was so loud, in so much pain. And he was running around, sweaty, bags in his arms, his white golf shirt still on. I put on a nightgown. Mr. Keller was trying to hold my underwear up for me to step into. I couldn’t. I could laugh and laugh about how concerned he was about me not wearing anything but the nightgown. He could’ve carted me off naked and I would not have cared. We were having a baby.

I remember the drive feeling so long. It was ten minutes. I remember Mr. Keller trying to speed, but me telling him to slow down because every bump in the road he hit made the pain so much worse. And I remember screaming so loud I was hurting my own ears. I remember Jared was on the phone again with hospital. I remember passing our favorite restaurant, sitting at the stoplight, driving the onramp to the freeway, and then the off-ramp a mile later. I remember turning into the hospital parking lot and Mr. Keller trying to park the truck. I remember thinking (and maybe saying), ‘What the hell are you doing?! I can’t walk!”.

So, he pulled up to the doors and the halls were empty. It was 9:22 on a Friday night. Finally he found a wheelchair and ran out to get me. I sat in the chair, and he left the truck and all the doors open. This was happening. Finally someone must have heard me screaming. A lady came running out and quickly took over the wheel chair while Mr. Keller ran (again) to park the car. I remember seeing people in the waiting room staring at me. I was outside my body, thinking so loudly, above the screaming and above the pain, I was so alert.

When we arrived on the right floor, I was met by a flustered team of nurses. They stripped me down and laid me on a bed in a triage room, since they hadn’t had time to prep a labor and delivery room. The dark haired nurse knew my name and I thought she must have been the one Mr. Keller was talking to on the phone. He was so upset in the truck with how rude they were to him. She kept asking me over and over, “Are you pushing?”.

I didn’t know. This pain was foreign to me. It was blinding. Never, even after hours on Pitocin, did my labor with M organ ever feel like this.

I remember so clearly her checking my cervix with one hand, and her holding a phone up to her ear with the other.

“She’s 9 ½ and pushing” she said.

I could not believe what I was hearing. I had dilated from 2 cm to 9 ½ in a matter of two hours and twenty-two minutes. How could this be?

They assured me the doctor would be arriving soon. He was golfing on the other side of town.  

Mr. Keller hadn’t come back yet from parking the car. He finally ran (again!) to my side. He was shocked when they told him how dilated I was.

When the doctor arrived, he was red faced and angry. Since we had left the house, I remember telling myself over and over, “Just make it to the hospital and the pain will go away.”

I was longing for the cesarean prep now. I wondered what was taking so long.

I remember hearing them talk about the anesthesiologist. I finally yelled out, “Where is he?!”.

The same dark haired nurse got close to my face again and told me he was in the OR with a little boy who was bleeding out. That gave me perspective. I thought of Morgan.

Someone brought in a blue colored apron and put it across the doctor’s chest. I can still hear him snapping his white gloves onto his hands. He turned to my legs spread wide and said to me, “I guess we will just let you push.”

I have so much emotion that comes to me when I think of that line. Anger is the first, primarily. For so many reasons, because really, my body has safely brought me here to this point, and you guess you’ll just let me push? The second emotion I still feel, just as I did that night, is disbelief. As in, “I can’t believe they’re going to let me do this.”

I could not believe it (and still cannot). If you understand the unfortunate politics behind VBAC deliveries (especially in Pocatello), disbelief makes sense. It was shocking.

I remember trying to digest what was happening. I was in such blinding pain, and such disbelief. I remember struggling to change my state of mind from, “Numbness is coming!” to, “Here’s your dream. You’re going to do this! Now go!”.

Now go. I pushed. I pushed so hard. And it hurt so bad I literally thought I was dying. For an hour and half I pushed. Mr. Keller lifted my back and I pushed. I squeezed the nurse’s hand. I pushed. Screams came and came, though I didn’t recognize the voice. I was outside my body. I thought of many things. My thoughts were so clear. I thought of how incredible it was to be thinking so calmly, but yet feeling so out of control, so overcome with pain. I remember feeling baby move, the further down he became, I felt him still. His body was full of life. I was bringing him here.

I couldn’t believe my body. My wonderful, miraculous, perfect body doing exactly what I had dreamed it would do. I was giving birth to my own child. My body was doing this. Then he came. He came!

There are no words for this experience. I often think to myself there is nothing on this earth that I could do that would ever compare to this. It was the most holy experience I’ve ever had. There is such parallel in giving birth; the excruciating sacrifice of one’s body to bring about new life. There is such intention there. Such intention in the experiences we all share in birth, death, and all that’s in-between.

God gave this experience to me. I know this. His hand was there, moving all the odds and making way for me to be given this experience, this natural birth. I had prayed for this birth. I had dreamt it over and over. I had prepared my body for it. And here was my baby. At last! I had conceived and nourished this perfect little body, and my body had brought him from inside of me, into my arms.

Looking back, this is such a miracle to me, the way it unfolded. God, with his hand, moved the odds away. They were so stacked against us that night. Between the politics at the hospital, the on-call doctor being particularly against VBACs, then the anesthesiologist not being available to prep me for a c-section, and me arriving (nearly) fully dilated and ready to push. This was handed to me. I’m so, so thankful.      

Last night, we watched our home video of that night. Danny Jared Keller was born at 11:02pm. Both grandmas arrived at 11:23pm, which is when my mom began recording.

It brought back such a sweet emotion. I was wearing a crown. The spirit was so strong, and I remember feeling so loved. I have never felt more loved than I did that night. The room felt like it was glowing. I felt such angelic strength and such peace. I had felt such presence behind me, urging me on. And here was my sweet chunk of a boy, with such bright eyes, taking it all in. I was struck last night, as I was the night he was born, by how alert he was, and how calm I was, when 25 minutes before, I was at the very height of all pain, bringing him into this world. We had passed through this together, Danny and I. And here, at the end, all was well. How amazing birth is! What a privilege it is to be a woman. How our Heavenly Father loves us to grant us these experiences.

"Childbirth is an experience in a woman’s life that holds the power to transform her forever. Passing through these powerful gates – in her own way – remembering all the generations of women who walk with her… She is never alone.” – Suzanne Arms   

I’m so thankful for my Danny boy. I often think to myself he’s always just what we need; all three of us. He brings such joy and laughter into our home. He is light, easy, hysterical and delicious. And so, so irresistible. He is such a gift. I love him so. 

11:02pm

The last time I ate homemade lasagna was the night Danny Jared was born. My mom had made it from scratch, along with homemade bread in the breadmaker I got for Christmas the year before. I threw it up all over the bathroom floor. The marked sign of transition, unrecognizable to me that night.

When my bag of waters broke, I was laying in our bed, easing in and out of contractions. I remember watching the big tree outside the window. The leaves were dancing. I wanted to be anywhere but there. It felt like Morgan’s labor all over again, which was devastating to me. I knew I could not face another lengthy labor again and fail. I felt afraid and alone. We did nothing for an hour, mostly because we didn’t know what to do. I was drifting. I was trying to breathe, trying to stay brave, trying to see it out to the very end. Staying in town meant a repeat Cesarean section. Going to Idaho Falls meant laboring for an hour in the car. When the pain was more than I could bear, I knew we couldn’t make the drive. I’ll never forget the prayer we had together, on the bathroom floor. I offered up my one dream to Heavenly Father and I knew I had to let it go.  

Ninety minutes later, baby entered the world, unassisted, alongside a doctor who adamantly refuses "patients" like me. Any way I unfold the thought of this, it proves to be a miracle to me. The politics, the timing, my body. God’s hand was in mine that night.

Rick Warren said, "Your most profound and intimate experiences of worship will likely be in your darkest days -- when your heart is broken, when you feel abandoned, when you're out of options, when the pain is great - and you turn to God alone."

I'll never forget the few excruciating moments before I felt Danny enter the world. In those moments, I was so aware of how stretched  I was, in every painful sense of the word. But especially my spirit. When I was surely on the edge of dying, he came from within me and out into the world. My body was shaking, but if I was cold, I didn't know it. I physically felt wrapped in love. In every corner of the room, it was there. God was there. And here was my warm little miracle on the chest of my body that had grown and brought forth, on its own, a whole new life. I'm so grateful.  

That night, I was given a glimpse of how present God is in our lives. Even when we feel He's far away, or worse, not even there - it isn't so. He knows us intimately and love us more than we'll ever know.  

Being mother.

I was lying on Mr. Keller's side of the bed this afternoon, looking up at the trees outside our window and it was something about the time of day, the green leaves and the blue-gray sky that took me back to the night danny was born. I had been lying in that exact same place, almost a year ago, looking out the same window when my water broke with Danny. My mom had left the house with Morg a few minutes before, so it was just Jared and I, and the moment my water broke, I fell apart. All the courage I had built up over the last ten months was nearly gone. I was so afraid, knowing waves of pain would momentarily follow, washing away what chance I had left of a successful vaginal birth, after my c-section delivery with Morgan two and a half years before. We both knew how stacked the odds were against us, with my water breaking so early, eliminating the chance of traveling an hour to Idaho Falls to deliver, since there were no doctors on call that night in our town that would allow us to try a natural delivery. And here I was, in this moment of stark realization, recognizing how much it was going to hurt letting my dream go.

I remember so clearly Jared holding my face in his hands, reassuring me, telling me exactly what I needed to hear. I remember leaning on him; I needed him and he was there. He calmed me, encouraged me, lifted me, prayed for me, held my hand, and rode out those excrutiating waves with me until three hours later, we lived a miracle.

I've been thinking all day about what it means to be a mother. It's the hardest, sweetest, most exhausting, most pure experience I believe I'll ever have. And I've found that the very best part of it all is feeling the depth of love that I have for this family I've helped create. It's like this endless sun of love inside my heart and it's warm and familiar and holy. As I've been trying to see these feelings for what they are, I've been thinking about all the things that have made me. The sacrifice of pregnancy, the pain of childbirth, the sleepless nights. The smiles I get, the kisses I give, the tears I hush. And then there is my other half, with his guidance and support, knowing so well how to love me. It's sweet to say I am a mother because of him.

So today, in my heart, I've been celebrating my husband. And, of course, two specific young boys that belong to me, as well. And I've been counting my blessings, too. It seems the best ones have names.

Mr. Keller, Danny and Morg.

Birth, babies, and a little waiting.

We're about to welcome a shiny new soul into our family; she will be here any time.  And while I've been waiting for happy news, I've been thinking, rather nervously, about bodies and souls and pain. 


Pain is such a strange thing, and really, our bodies have no way of remembering its potency. Even the very second after I pushed Danny from inside of me and out into the world, the deepest, splitting pain I had ever felt in my life was somehow gone. Instantly. And except for that sweet, tiny voice, and my beating heart, everything that was so loud before, was quiet; a moment entirely filled with God.


I own that moment. I took that journey. I balanced on that razor sharp edge. I felt my body (and heart) split wide open. And I remember screaming through that last deafening pain that pulled my baby through that veil and straight into my earthly arms. I shook, and wept and felt holy. This work and pain of labor is holy. It was whispered to my soul at the very end.  


What a journey that even the worst pain could not keep me from wanting to experience over and over again.



[Courtney and her husband delivered their third baby, together, alone, in their upstairs bedroom of their home in Utah last week. Her home birth has somewhat convinced me about my own round three (if there should be one someday). While this is only a part of her birth story, you should read the rest of the story here.] 

When it was time to push I was tired. It had only been over an hour since we had started transitioning, but it had been intense. Up until that point Chup had been with me, with every contraction and seeing to my every need. But this was the place where he couldn't really do much for me. This was that lonely spot in the process where I had to find all the strength and faith inside of me to push. Another contraction pounded my body and I felt my spirit start to leave my body--a dizzy feeling of losing consciousness. I felt it with Ever too. Part of me had resolved that death is part of birthing life. I had to die a little to get enough courage to cross the line of mortality and bring my baby with me.

A bitter cup.

I've been looking at you lately, my sweet Danny boy, and thinking to myself 'I can't believe that last september, you were a wish in my heart.' Your own hadn't even starting beating yet. I've been thinking about the night you were born, how it was such a dream and how it empowered me. My soul grew in leaps that night. You were a miracle. I delivered you. And I felt every single part of that journey. I did it. I'm so glad I did. And I'm so glad you're mine. Happy three month birthday, baby. I love you so.

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Just before my water broke the night Danny was born, Jared sat beside the bath holding my head. It's a strange thing, labor. You expect it and you know it will come, (it has to come!) and still you wait. (We waited.) And as you wait, you wonder and you race around what's about to take place, what you're about to feel and what's about to unfold. And there's butterflies and fear spun up in this foreboding feeling. I think one of the sweetest moments for us that night, we exchanged there by the bath. Every pain that would come, Jared would breathe and close his eyes and full of emotion, tell me we were never going to do this again (which was so sweet, and sort of funny, that he was saying that to me!). But I think I learned in that moment (combined with the long, painful journey of Morgan's birth)that for him and I, labor was/is equally difficult for us both, just in different ways.

I found myself sort of taking him in my shakey arms and telling him how I had been thinking about what a gift labor really was. And I meant it. I told him it was an opportunity for us to experience a little more about a few things divine.  I told him it was a little like our own journey through our own atonement. (Him, like Heavenly Father, and me in Gethsemane.) And that by going straight through something so impossible, conquering and coming out on the other side, there would be life -- this tiny, precious life. And he would be ours.  

I had to walk alone. And he could only watch. There's the strongest parallel there. And it's been so powerful for us both to realize that.

Everyday since June 17th, I've thanked my Heavenly Father for our experience. I'm thankful for two babies to love, for arms that are full and for being given the opportunity to taste so fully something so bitter and something so blissfully sweet.

It is beautiful to me.

 

Danny's birth story.

The moment Morgan arrived via c-section, I knew I wanted to try for a vaginal delivery again. I had all sorts of dreams tied up in hoping for the most perfect, natural birth. And the first time around, I had worked for it. I had worked hard. Then I had been burned. I had trusted my body once. Forty-one grueling hours of trust. I had given it a good, long shot and then I was cut.

After a long, hard while, I accepted it. It was the way it was for a reason, and I may never know why. But what I did learn is that my next pregnancy, labor and delivery would be different. I would learn more, pray more, eat better, read all that I could, and eat, drink and sleep all sorts of herbal concoctions. And I would learn to trust my body again.

I spent most of this pregnancy worrying, which I think is why I never felt quite ecstatic about writing out my feelings. I cautioned myself to not be too sure, too dreamy about a situation that could go either way very easily. All and all, the exhaustion came from knowing that this delivery would determine, in a great way, how big our family would be. I swear the pressure broke my heart. And when feeling broken-hearted did nothing for me, I decided to press on.

I read. I watched documentaries. I asked questions. I listened to the stories of other women. I reached out. I weighed the pros. I weighed the cons. Some days I was certain it was the right thing to do to give it a shot. Some days I wondered why on earth I would want to risk my own health as well as the life of our baby.

Still, I hung onto my dream. And for forty weeks exactly, I made us a baby.

Fast forward.

Last night, we looked at the clock at 11:02pm and couldn’t believe a week ago, we welcomed our second son into the world. In a sort of dream-like state, we couldn’t believe a lot of things. Then there were some things we could believe. Simple miracles.

Tuesday afternoon, my membranes were stripped. I hadn’t planned on this, and it wasn’t something I would have opted for, but the doctor who checked me at my appointment just did it without asking or informing me, and then it was over, and there was nothing I could do. I was pretty crampy for the rest of the day, and we decided it was probably a good idea to have my mom come to stay with us. Just in case. Then nothing happened.

In between then and Friday, we shopped, walked, made cookies, ate Wendy’s three times, sat on the back porch in the evenings, dyed my hair a horrific brown/black that was nothing like the color on the box, and asked baby a million times, when he was going to arrive.

Friday morning, I had a few sweet contractions that had me wondering if I was actually going to have a baby after all.

We still went shopping. And I walked around like C3PO and everywhere we went, people asked when I was due.

"Today," I said.

Today.

Friday afternoon, Mr. Keller put on his white shirt and shoes and went golfing. After all, my contractions weren’t too serious. Yet.

A few hours passed and they were ten minutes apart. Then eight minutes apart. I breathed and breathed.

I called Jared on the green.

Then I decided to gather our things.

There was our hospital bag, our snack bag, and our in-case-we-deliver-on-the-side-of-the-road bag for the hour’s drive to Idaho Falls, equipped with towels, sheets, new scissors and string. Our camcorder, two cameras, my cd player, my grooves, my make-up bag, my essential oils, and my ‘I can do hard things’ sign I printed off weeks ago, to remind me, when I was dying, that all would be well.

Within a half hour, my contractions went from every eight to ten minutes, down to four minutes apart. Now we were in real business. So I called Jared. Again.

Two holes left. Twenty minutes tops.

I breathed. And my mom hovered, following me around the house with her cell phone clock.

Three minutes apart.

Three minutes apart.

Three minutes apart.

When I called Jared again, thinking ‘where-in-the-hell…’, (luckily) he was turning onto our street, and alas, his life was spared.

Around 6:30pm, we had our Pocatello midwife check my progress to see if she thought it was really rock-and-roll time, and to gauge when we would need to go to Idaho Falls. I was a good three to four centimeters dilated (though I had been three centimeters for days), and 90% effaced. So, we went home to pack up, and to wait a little longer, since we were both adamant about not arriving at the hospital too soon.

Jared loaded our things, and I filled the tub up high with sweet hotness. And I melted. I ate homemade lasagna and fresh bread. I ate half an ice cream sandwich, and I hurt.

Jared sat holding my hand, helping me breathe. And we couldn’t believe nine months had come and gone, and there we were. Once again.

When I got out of the tub around 8:00pm, Jared helped me to the bed. Within a few minutes of lying down, I heard (and felt) my bag of waters pop and immediately was hysterical. I had prayed so hard to keep my bag of waters in tact until the very end, to help with the pain. With Morgan, my water broke before labor began, and I could not believe the difference in the level of pain laboring with my bag of waters in tact this time around. It was incredible, and when it broke, it took me two seconds to go from mentally thinking I could do anything, to feeling defeated. And I cried. And while I was crying, Jared took me in his arms and assured me. He reminded me that we were going through all of it together and that no matter what, it wouldn’t be worse than what we had gone through before. I believed him. And I felt calmed.

Within a few minutes, I found myself back in the tub, while we tried to decide if we were to ready to hit the road.

And within a few minutes of that, I was dying. Dramatics aside, I really thought I was dying. Pain kicked into the highest gear I never knew was on the charts. Scream, yell, breathe, breathe. Scream, yell, breathe. And I couldn’t hear anyone. I couldn’t hear myself. It took me only a few contractions to realize there was no way we would be going to Idaho Falls for this delivery. And by not going to Idaho Falls, I knew we would be subjecting ourselves to delivery by cesarean section. (The only doctor who delivers VBAC patients was out of town.)

This entire pregnancy, I had prayed fervently for an open mind. I had prayed that the safety of our baby would not be put in jeopardy because I had such a tight grasp on a dream. In a moment, my mind was entirely open. And Jared was by my side as we prayed for and received confirmation that Portneuf was where we needed to be.

And then there was just pain. The swift and strong kind. With each contraction, I squeezed and screamed, and I began to wonder how I would even survive driving four miles down the road. Jared ran around the house making phone calls to labor and delivery, to let them know they needed to get the on-call doctor there, and to prepare the operating room for us. He was running back and forth from the truck to the house, bringing me my nightgown and oils and soon we were flying down the road. And if I thought I was dying before, back at home in the tub, I was really dying now. And I mean dying. My legs were kicking and I was scratching Jared’s arm on the freeway, and he was still on the phone, and trying to help me breathe, and I was clenching and screaming all sorts of insanity.

I felt like we were in the scene of a movie, with the situation becoming more dire with each passing second. Imagine the insane wife, and the frantic dad-to-be. When we pulled up, he drove around to the parking lot and I screamed at him to drive me to the entrance instead. He ran around the side of the truck, and I screamed at him to go get me a wheelchair. He brought me the wheelchair and told me to wait while he parked the car. I told him ‘NO WAY!’, and so, with car doors left wide open, he pushed my wheelchair full speed through the hospital doors. 9:22pm.

It was Friday night and I swear no one was there. Except a grandpa at the end of the hall who took one look at me, and turned right around. Soon a lady came running out from the back room. And my state needed no explaining, so she took right over while Jared parked the car. She ran me to the elevators and we passed several more people, just gaping, but trying not to. And I could have cared less. I could have been entirely naked for all I cared. The truth is I didn’t care. About anything, really. Only one large needle, and sterile uniforms, and that familiar bright-white room. That’s where I was begging to be.

Soon a dark haired lady breathed in my face and asked ‘Are you Ms. Keller?’

I nodded my head and she said come with me. And as I was contracting down the hall, she yelled at me, ‘Are you pushing?!’ And I couldn’t answer. Which meant I was.

She helped me up out of the chair and stripped me down and laid me on the most uncomfortable bed and checked me.

She had a roving phone up to her ear, and I heard her say, ‘Nine centimeters, and she’s stretchy. She’s going to push right through this.’

I think Jared almost collapsed. And I didn’t care. Nine, ten, stretchy? I didn’t care. Where was my spinal tap? Where was the doctor?

In a moment, and in jeans and a t-shirt, he arrived. And without saying a word, I knew he was furious. He very adamantly does not oversee VBAC deliveries. Still, he checked me. Ten centimeters. Good gosh. With Morgan, it took me forty-one hours to fully dilate, and here we were going from four centimeters, all the way to ten centimeters in roughly an hour? Holy hell.

I remember nothing in terms of time. I remember wondering what was taking so long for action to take place. I remember screaming for the anesthesiologist. And I must have been rude, because the dark haired woman got close to my face again and told me ‘Hollie, right now he’s tending to a two year-old in the O.R. who is bleeding out at this moment.’

I thought of my own two year-old, and for a moment I had a little perspective. I didn’t ask for him again.

I didn’t ask for anything. And soon, Doctor was at my feet again and nurses were at my side and Jared was behind lifting my back with each contraction. I suppose it was then that I started pushing, though I remember still waiting for someone to tell me the plan. I swear it wasn’t until I must have pushed ten times, each time screaming, ‘I can’t!’, until finally, Doctor said, “You can push him out or I can cut him out. You choose.”

I had a choice?

I had a choice. By miracle, I was given a choice, and I couldn’t believe it.

I still felt like I couldn’t, and I still screamed ‘I can’t!’, but mentally, I had just changed a part of me and I was ready to try.

I pushed. Weakly at first. But soon, I taught myself how.

I pushed. I held my breath and I pushed.

I held my breath and I pushed.

Nothing. Nothing.

Doctor called me honey. Doctor called me darlin’. And he told me he went 90 miles per hour past Ross Park just to get here for me. He laughed with the nurses, and talked about Fuzzy Navels and his wild college days.

In between pushes, I was gone. They would ask me questions to distract me, and I’d wave my hand at Jared for him to answer. I listened to them, then I’d fade away.

I stared at the ceiling and couldn’t believe I was there. I was dilated. I was pushing. I was there. Against all odds, the stars had aligned. And baby was about to come.

After a million hours, it seemed, I began to feel the tinkling of a recognizable sign. That burn I had read so much about. I recognized it, and sweet it was. Like fire. Death and fire. And I felt so alive. I remember looking at the ceiling and hearing myself scream, but not really believing the sound. I held in my breath so deep I felt the color blue in my face. And they cheered and encouraged and darling-ed me and said he was there. Right there.

Still blue, I pushed again and all at once, the thought came to me of something I had read about that one last cry that brings forth life.

‘This was the sound that made the universe.’

I thought it.

And it was.

One last push and one scream that cracked the sky.

My baby was born. Pink and glistening and eyes bright wide. And I held him so close, his body sweet warmth against my chest. And that moment, the one I had dreamed about since I was a little girl, was mine. It was entirely mine. In that moment, that smallest sliver of time, heaven and earth belonged to me. And I felt God.

The pain was gone. Just like I had heard. It was incredibly, miraculously gone. And I was alive. We all were. My body had never felt so beautiful.

We had just created and grown and birthed 8 pounds 2 ounces of miracle. And he was all ours. 11:02pm.

Long fingers, a dimpled chin and the cutest mess of hair I’ve ever seen (since Morg was born, of course!).

And right beside me, holding me, was my husband angel, enamored and glowing. And it was as if we had just had one sweet glimpse into the most heavenly and eternal thing we’ve ever experienced. And it sealed us.

Our labor and delivery was not quiet. It was messy and stressful and I was horrifically loud and difficult. The lights weren’t dimmed and Ben Folds wasn’t singing in the background. I wasn’t calm or controlled or perfect, like I had wanted, like I had planned. It was fast, excruciating, and nothing like what we expected. But it all worked.

Here are things that I know:

From beginning, right down to the birth, I know Heavenly Father was in control. It took ten months of prayer for me to entirely give Him the reigns. I felt I had trusted my body so much with Morgan, and I ended up exactly where I did not want to be: a c-section. But as this baby grew, so did my faith.

Heavenly Father heard and answered my prayers directly.

While I was laboring, and telling myself I could not go on, I physically felt the strength coming from prayer. I had never felt anything quite like that, and it was incredible to me.

There is power in doing the very thing you think you cannot do.

I DID IT!

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A word on herbs and other natural preparation for birth:

I am a believer in herbs. After Chandra’s incredible 1 ½ hour at-home birth two months prior to Danny’s birth, I told myself I was going to follow exactly what she did in terms of herbal preparation. At 34 weeks, I began an herbal regimen of sorts. And frankly, it sucked. And I really wanted to quit some days, thinking that it wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.Let me tell you, it did. Coming from a girl who took 41 grueling hours of labor to fully dilate with my first baby (and that was with the assistance of oxytocin), to dilating somewhere from 4 cm to 10 cm in roughly one (excruciating!) hour, the herbs worked. They really really really worked. And I want to share the list:

Blood Sugar Balance (capsules from Vickie Sorensen’s Nature Works, can be ordered online): 4 capsules daily. (This is super important! Helps keep baby’s size manageable, especially if you love carbs, like me. I love this and swear that it kept me feeling well my entire pregnancy. I only had cankles twice my whole pregnancy, and an hour after I delivered, the nurse came to check my feet and commented how she rarely sees feet that aren’t swollen after delivery! Blood Sugar Balance, baby.)

Liquid 5-week Formula (liquid from Vickie Sorensen’s Nature Works, can be ordered online): 1-4 droppers daily

Evening Primrose Oil (Fred Meyer)– two tablets orally daily, helps with dilation.

½ capful of Floradix Liquid Iron daily (available online, or at health food stores). This is a blood builder.

2 packets of EmergenC daily (Walmart, Fred Meyer). Helps strengthen your bag of waters so it doesn’t break prematurely.

Red Raspberry Tea or Pregnancy Tea (Fred Meyer, health food stores) Follow directions on the box. Or, if you’re like me and can’t keep tea down for anything, I just bought Red Raspberry Leaf capsules and took four of those each day. This helps with fast dilation. And it worked.

A good prenatal vitamin. This can be spendy, but it’s important. I buy the Rainbowlite brand from Fred Meyer’s herbal section.

Two-three weeks prior to your due date:

Insert two tablets of evening primrose oil vaginally just before you go to bed. (Wear a pantyliner.) This helps with dilation, effacement and helps condition your skin in preparation for stretching. I swear on my life that this, along with the perineum exercises, made my delivery an (almost) tear-free delivery. I pushed out an 8 pounder and ended up with one tiny stitch. My recovery has been a breeze.

Daily perineum stretches/exercises. Soooo not fun. But sooooo worth it. I promise! Both Chandra and I had very quick deliveries and we both went on without a hitch. We both believe it was because of this. Here’s a link to the exercises. These are slightly different since the ones we followed were in the book The Bradley Method.

I also had the essential oil Evening Primrose and the essential oil Clary Sage to help with the pain of contractions. Of course, by the time I thought to grab them, I was half-crazed and in the thick of going through the transition phase of labor, but I will say there was some instant relief once I rubbed them on my stomach.

Birthing ball (regular exercise ball). I bought one right at my 34 week mark and had it rolling around the house for the last six weeks. It drove me crazy, because yes, I’m slightly OCD when it comes to things in my house. But if I kept it out in the open, I didn’t forget to periodically sit on it each day. Chandra suggested sitting /bouncing on it at least an hour each night. Some nights it was just a half hour for me, some nights longer. It helps align your baby, and it also helps with cervical effacement.

Chiropractic care at least once a month your entire pregnancy, then once a week the last month of your pregnancy.

A few more things.

Things to remember about the night Danny was born:


How concerned Morgan was for me when we were laboring at home, and him running in and out of the bathroom sharing his slushy with me while I was in the tub. He kept saying things like ‘Mommy hurt! Mommy sad!’

How incredibly awake and alert Danny was just after he was born. His little eyes were the brightest I've ever seen.

Jared’s first words: Oh, Hollie, he looks just like Morgan.

My first words: Oh, my baby, my baby!

When I was pushing, I remember begging Dr. Carlson over and over and over to let me get in the tub. Finally he said, ‘There is no tub in here!!! We aren’t even in a delivery room!’ I guess they couldn’t prepare a delivery room fast enough, so we delivered in a triage room.

Seven other babies were born that day, including a set of twins.

The nurses kept telling us if we had a name for him, he would come out faster!

We almost named him Joel, which funny enough, was the name of the doctor that delivered him.

I pushed 1 ½ hours. It felt like fifteen.

Jared said I went ‘Southern Baptist’ on him several times during it all because I kept saying things like ‘Oh Jesus!’. I’m all for a good swear word every now and then, but I swear I never say anything like that. Ever. That being so, it really really really cracks us both up!

I should be sleeping, but....

instead I'm blogging. Here's a handful of pictures out of many. (For the grandmas.) 

We sure love our baby Danny.

Last night, on his one-week birthday.

Our Danny Jared

8 pounds 2 ounces, 21 1/2 inches long

Born right on time, June 17th at 11:02pm

We've been thanking our Heavenly Father day and night for so sweetly and directly answering our prayers for a successful VBAC labor and delivery, which was much more swift than we expected (around 4 hours long!) and dream-fulfilling by being an entirely natural, drug-free birth. (Holy cow, I thought my life was ending!) I recall biting, kicking, screaming louder than anything I've ever heard before, telling Jared to kill me, and asking the doctor to just reach in there and pull him out! I don't know how many times I screamed 'I can't!', but my best friend was by my side, lifting and holding me, insisting I could. And somehow I did. I can't wait to write about the entire experience.

Life is good!