I've heard it a hundred times and I should be used to it. But I'm not.
It happened again last week.
My friend was having her third baby. She's already pushed out two babies without problems - an 8 pound and a 9 pound baby.
She's into natural birth, even considered a home birth... but then got nervous thinking about it and went on with the obstetrician. He is a nice man. I like him a lot. If I had to pick a doctor, he'd be in the top dozen that I know. But he works in the hospital and thinks the way he was trained.
Two months ago my friend came home from a prenatal with the shocking, horrifying news, "Mary, they did an ultrasound and my baby already weighs over five pounds! He's gonna be HUGE by my due date!"
I talked her through it: She'd already pushed out a 9 pound baby. This one probably wouldn't be that much bigger, if even that big. She has a great body for having babies. If she was worried about her baby getting big, she could stay away from refined carbs and sugars.
She looked skeptical. I wondered if she really was scared of doing labor again and was hoping for a c-section. I hoped not, but I had to think that perhaps that was going through her head... I loaned her some books and told her that she'd already done it twice, and I was sure she could do it again.
About two weeks ago, they did another ultrasound. This time she was told that her baby already weighed a whopping TEN pounds! Her doctor didn't like the idea of her birthing a 10+ pound baby, and she really didn't like the idea. They mutually agreed that she'd have an elective cesarean section on the following Monday. She'd be 37 weeks. Everything would be fine.
So last Monday, her belly was sliced open and this "giant baby" was extracted. He weighed 6 pounds, 7 ounces. She sighed and laid there waiting for everyone to put her insides back together while he cried and squirmed in the warmer.
The doctor smiled - another successful c-section! No respiratory problems for the baby, no issues with the mother. The ultrasound estimate of size was a little off... but no harm was done, so that really didn't matter, right?
The nurses smiled, too. All was well as the new daddy stood near his baby and held his hand and the mommy was stitched neatly closed.
This is birth... the American way.
Showing posts with label hospital birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital birth. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
New Study: Home Birth as Safe as Hospital Birth
Ahem!
Is anyone in the medical community paying attention?
This wasn't exactly a "small" study.
Will ACOG revise their radical stand opposing homebirth?
I'm just wonderin'. . .
Look at these rates:
Intrapartum death:
Home: 0.03% vs. Hospital: 0.04%
Intrapartum and neonatal death within 24 hours of birth:
Home: 0.05% vs. Hospital: 0.05%
Intrapartum and neonatal death within 7 days:
Home: 0.06% vs. Hospital: 0.07%
Neonatal admission to an intensive care unit:
Home: 0.17% vs. Hospital: 0.20%
And as a side benefit, more happy and comfortable in their own beds and bathrooms and living rooms. Oh, and it cost less.
No matter where you have your baby, there is no guarantee that it will all turn out well or that you will like the outcome or that whatever happened couldn't have possibly been prevented in the opposite setting. BUT, to say that home is more risky than the hospital for healthy women...
Show me!!
NEW YORK (Reuters Health) Jul 28 -
In terms of perinatal morbidity and mortality, a planned home birth is as safe as a planned hospital birth, provided that a well-trained midwife is available, a good transportation and referral system is in place, and the mother has a low risk of developing any complications, new research shows.
"Low-risk women should be encouraged to plan their birth at the place of their preference, provided the maternity care system is well equipped to underpin women's choice," Dr. A. de Jonge, from TNO Quality of Life, Leiden, the Netherlands, and co-researchers emphasize in the August issue of BJOG: An International Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology.
Data regarding the safety of home births in low-risk women are lacking, due in part to the fact that studies with very large sample sizes are needed to assess relatively rare adverse outcomes. Moreover, randomized trials comparing home and hospital births have not been done because women usually want to choose their place of birth, the authors explain.
The present study, an analysis of 529,688 low-risk planned births, was conducted in the Netherlands, the only country in the west with a large enough data set. The group included 321,307 women who wanted to give birth at home, 163,261 who planned to give birth in the hospital, and 45,120 with an unknown intended place of birth.
All of the outcomes studied occurred with comparable frequency in the planned home and hospital birth groups. These included intrapartum death (0.03% vs. 0.04%), intrapartum and neonatal death within 24 hours of birth (0.05% vs. 0.05%), intrapartum and neonatal death within 7 days (0.06% vs. 0.07%), and neonatal admission to an intensive care unit (0.17% vs. 0.20%).
"As far as we know, this is the largest study into the safety of home births," the authors note. The findings, they conclude, indicate that with proper services in place, home births are just as safe as hospital births for low-risk women.
BJOG 2009;116:1177-1184.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Classic Old-School Doc Re-Appears
I am at one of the local hospitals pretty frequently, supporting doula clients in labor - often enough that I now have some favorite nurses and some of the L&D staff people remember me. That's usually a good thing.
I've also done exactly one birth each with quite a few different doctors. Fortunately, some I never see again. Other times, I wish we could trade back for the doc that attended the last birth.
As a side note, I have only ONCE in the last 4 years of attending hospital births, ended up at a birth where the attending physician was actually the laboring woman's own doctor. I used to kind of hope/assume that my client's doctor who had signed off on their birth plan and all would be there. I've stopped planning on that. It's always somebody else. Usually, somebody from that practice, but I find that doctors came come from the North and South Pole and still be in the same practice together! So, we're always in for a surprise when the doctor walks in the door (unless I've worked with him/her before... in that case, I may have an idea about what's coming!).
Not long ago, "Belinda" was due and planning a natural birth in the hospital. She had 2 little ones already, so part of our doula visits prenatally focused on who would take care of the kids and arranging transportation and all kinds of practical details. Besides her husband was in Iraq for most of the pregnancy, and arrived back just a few days before she went into labor.
As for the birth plan, her doctor had said that she was fine with everything on it.
She said that she doesn't do an episiotomy "unless it's necessary."
She said that she avoids C-sections whenever possible.
That she encourages natural birth for any of her patients who want to try it.
That she would allow her patient to move and walk and do whatever she wanted to during labor.
That she would allow her to shower during labor (since a birthing tub wasn't available).
The only thing the doc wasn't very agreeable with was delayed cord clamping. But my client decided to give on that one if she had to.
Then labor happened.
The couple had just been moved from triage into their room. Labor was progressing quickly. The nurse checked Belinda's cervix and cheerily announced, "You're a good, stretchy 7 centimeters! I better tell the doctor to come right in!" With that, she chucked her glove in the trash and hurried out. Belinda was concentrating hard on the next contraction. It looked like all she could do to keep from screwing up her face and crying out in pain.
Meanwhile, the nursing student was having trouble getting the I.V. inserted. So the phlebotomy tech came in to help. Eventually, the I.V. was in and running after the fifth try. Belinda grimaced as she gripped my hand and said, "This is the last stick, right?"
And then Mr. Old School Doctor walked in. He looked like a classic, right out of a book about an eccentric old man... And it began.
"How are you, Ms. Smith?" he asked, touching her shoulder briefly.
"I'm, uh, ok." She sighed, exhausted. "What do you need to do right now?"
"Well, we need to assess how quickly you're progressing. So, I'm going to check your cervix, and we can break your water..."
"No, I - uh, don't want my water broken. Not right now, anyway."
"Oh." he stopped and shrugged. "Well, then that's fine for now." He turned back to adjusting his glove.
Belinda spoke up quickly before the next contraction. "Then can I get up and walk around after you check me?"
"No, oh NO! No, dear. You're going to stay right in that bed. Catastrophic things can happen if you get up and move around in labor."
Belinda looked a bit shocked, but another contraction hit, and she sank back against her pillow and closed her eyes. A couple of minutes later, as she opened her eyes, and looked back at the doctor, she brought it up again. "But I've been planning to walk and be up in labor all along. My doctor said it would be just fine. We talked about it a lot. She said as long as the baby was fine, I could get into whatever position feels good while I'm having contractions."
I chimed in to try to help her. "Maybe," I appealed to the doctor, "She could stand by the side of the bed and lean over it, but not walk around...?"
He looked at me as though I was suggesting that we bring a real, live tiger into the room to help things along. I backed off and he repeated, "No, no, no.... "
Then turning to Belinda again, "Honey, I don't let people do that. The best place for you and your baby is right in that bed."
He sounded patronizing, kind of grandfatherly, and yet... I wasn't sure what to do next. The nurse had a sympathetic look on her face, but she was nodding with the doctor. I knew she knew there was no good reason f
or this. I had just done a birth with her several weeks earlier and that doctor had let the woman move anywhere she wanted during labor.
Belinda's husband looked uncomfortable. Clearly, he didn't like the conflict. "Uh, honey, maybe..." he trailed off as Belinda rode another contraction out.
Then she snapped her head around and said very calmly but firmly, "I want to be upright. I've read that it can help with labor. Can't I do something that will aid gravity to make the baby come down and out easier?"
"Ah... " he rubbed the white stubble on his chin. "We have ways to get babies out if you're worried about that. Have you ever heard of the McRoberts position?"
Another contraction hit, but he kept talking. Belinda stared, glazed over at Dr. Old School as he rattled on about the McRoberts position while she breathed and nodded and winced. I pressed on her back and wondered to myself what would come next.
He repeated, "Do you know what the McRoberts position is?"
Belinda gripped her husband's hand a little tighter. "No," she gulped, catching her breath.
"The McRoberts position opens up your pelvis as wide as possible for your baby to come through. Its when we lay you on your back and pull your knees back to your ears. So, let's do that. Okay? When it's time to push, we'll lay you on your back and your pelvis will open wider so this baby won't get stuck."
Belinda nodded and was swallowed up by the next contraction. Afterward, she tried one more time, "But can I get up now? Can I stand by the bed or something? These contractions are KILLING me! They are hurting so bad in my back here in bed."
The old doctor straightened up and adjusted his glasses. "No, dear, did you already forget what I just explained? We need you IN BED till you have this baby, okay? Terrible, terrible things can happen to babies sometimes when you get up. You wouldn't even want to know what. But they are catastrophic. Sometimes babies die. I'm just trying to keep your baby safe. And didn't you understand, the best position for this baby to come out in is when you lay back? Do you understand?"
Belinda meekly nodded her head and then looked away as she felt another contraction coming.
And so went the labor... the whole thing. I tried asking the doctor lots of questions about the how's and why's of what he was decreeing, but nothing made a difference. Every time he didn't want something done a certain way, he'd say in his most grandfatherly voice: "Catastrophic things can happen if you do ____ . Do you understand, honey?"
Belinda pushed her baby out in the McRoberts position, which the doctor insisted upon.
And really, everything went fine. Nothing catastrophic or even close to it happened. She didn't have a tear or skid mark or anything.
It wasn't that terrible of a birth. But, Belinda was frustrated at her helplessness to have any say in simple matters of labor. Frankly, I was, too. I thought the whole "not getting out of bed" thing was ridiculous.
I was honestly a little surprised to find a doctor around still practicing so "old school"... He suctioned really vigorously on the perineum for over a minute before he let the shoulders deliver... and the amniotic fluid was completely clear. And then he spent a full two minutes holding a pink, kicking, screaming baby upside down, wiping it's face again and again and again before he handed him off to his mother. I don't know what he was thinking.
I guess it was just protocol.
That's the kind of hospital births I see a lot. They're usually kind of okay, but some of the stuff you put up with is just... dumb and frustrating at times, and for some mothers, infuriating!
People like Belinda will probably have a homebirth the next time. But the hospital might get to keep her as a patient if all their doctors would just be a little more open minded to a very few things that can make a big difference in a mother's experience.
As for the catastrophic things that were likely to happen, I'm still a little confused. Beyond the possibility of a cord prolapse (which can happen at any time, in about any position), what did he think was going to happen if the mother stood beside her bed?!
Oh well. I just hope that I never run into him again at a birth. And should I ever need to have a baby of my own born at that hospital, I hope Dr. Old School won't be the one walking into my room.
But, then, again, it really wouldn't be the end of the world. If I really, really needed hospital care for me or my baby, I would put up with most of it. And I'd try to be grateful. But it would be hard to be impressed. I'm just sayin'...
I've also done exactly one birth each with quite a few different doctors. Fortunately, some I never see again. Other times, I wish we could trade back for the doc that attended the last birth.
As a side note, I have only ONCE in the last 4 years of attending hospital births, ended up at a birth where the attending physician was actually the laboring woman's own doctor. I used to kind of hope/assume that my client's doctor who had signed off on their birth plan and all would be there. I've stopped planning on that. It's always somebody else. Usually, somebody from that practice, but I find that doctors came come from the North and South Pole and still be in the same practice together! So, we're always in for a surprise when the doctor walks in the door (unless I've worked with him/her before... in that case, I may have an idea about what's coming!).
Not long ago, "Belinda" was due and planning a natural birth in the hospital. She had 2 little ones already, so part of our doula visits prenatally focused on who would take care of the kids and arranging transportation and all kinds of practical details. Besides her husband was in Iraq for most of the pregnancy, and arrived back just a few days before she went into labor.
As for the birth plan, her doctor had said that she was fine with everything on it.
She said that she doesn't do an episiotomy "unless it's necessary."
She said that she avoids C-sections whenever possible.
That she encourages natural birth for any of her patients who want to try it.
That she would allow her patient to move and walk and do whatever she wanted to during labor.
That she would allow her to shower during labor (since a birthing tub wasn't available).
The only thing the doc wasn't very agreeable with was delayed cord clamping. But my client decided to give on that one if she had to.
Then labor happened.
The couple had just been moved from triage into their room. Labor was progressing quickly. The nurse checked Belinda's cervix and cheerily announced, "You're a good, stretchy 7 centimeters! I better tell the doctor to come right in!" With that, she chucked her glove in the trash and hurried out. Belinda was concentrating hard on the next contraction. It looked like all she could do to keep from screwing up her face and crying out in pain.
Meanwhile, the nursing student was having trouble getting the I.V. inserted. So the phlebotomy tech came in to help. Eventually, the I.V. was in and running after the fifth try. Belinda grimaced as she gripped my hand and said, "This is the last stick, right?"
And then Mr. Old School Doctor walked in. He looked like a classic, right out of a book about an eccentric old man... And it began.
"How are you, Ms. Smith?" he asked, touching her shoulder briefly.
"I'm, uh, ok." She sighed, exhausted. "What do you need to do right now?"
"Well, we need to assess how quickly you're progressing. So, I'm going to check your cervix, and we can break your water..."
"No, I - uh, don't want my water broken. Not right now, anyway."
"Oh." he stopped and shrugged. "Well, then that's fine for now." He turned back to adjusting his glove.
Belinda spoke up quickly before the next contraction. "Then can I get up and walk around after you check me?"
"No, oh NO! No, dear. You're going to stay right in that bed. Catastrophic things can happen if you get up and move around in labor."
Belinda looked a bit shocked, but another contraction hit, and she sank back against her pillow and closed her eyes. A couple of minutes later, as she opened her eyes, and looked back at the doctor, she brought it up again. "But I've been planning to walk and be up in labor all along. My doctor said it would be just fine. We talked about it a lot. She said as long as the baby was fine, I could get into whatever position feels good while I'm having contractions."
I chimed in to try to help her. "Maybe," I appealed to the doctor, "She could stand by the side of the bed and lean over it, but not walk around...?"
He looked at me as though I was suggesting that we bring a real, live tiger into the room to help things along. I backed off and he repeated, "No, no, no.... "
Then turning to Belinda again, "Honey, I don't let people do that. The best place for you and your baby is right in that bed."
He sounded patronizing, kind of grandfatherly, and yet... I wasn't sure what to do next. The nurse had a sympathetic look on her face, but she was nodding with the doctor. I knew she knew there was no good reason f
or this. I had just done a birth with her several weeks earlier and that doctor had let the woman move anywhere she wanted during labor.Belinda's husband looked uncomfortable. Clearly, he didn't like the conflict. "Uh, honey, maybe..." he trailed off as Belinda rode another contraction out.
Then she snapped her head around and said very calmly but firmly, "I want to be upright. I've read that it can help with labor. Can't I do something that will aid gravity to make the baby come down and out easier?"
"Ah... " he rubbed the white stubble on his chin. "We have ways to get babies out if you're worried about that. Have you ever heard of the McRoberts position?"
Another contraction hit, but he kept talking. Belinda stared, glazed over at Dr. Old School as he rattled on about the McRoberts position while she breathed and nodded and winced. I pressed on her back and wondered to myself what would come next.
He repeated, "Do you know what the McRoberts position is?"
Belinda gripped her husband's hand a little tighter. "No," she gulped, catching her breath.
"The McRoberts position opens up your pelvis as wide as possible for your baby to come through. Its when we lay you on your back and pull your knees back to your ears. So, let's do that. Okay? When it's time to push, we'll lay you on your back and your pelvis will open wider so this baby won't get stuck."
Belinda nodded and was swallowed up by the next contraction. Afterward, she tried one more time, "But can I get up now? Can I stand by the bed or something? These contractions are KILLING me! They are hurting so bad in my back here in bed."
The old doctor straightened up and adjusted his glasses. "No, dear, did you already forget what I just explained? We need you IN BED till you have this baby, okay? Terrible, terrible things can happen to babies sometimes when you get up. You wouldn't even want to know what. But they are catastrophic. Sometimes babies die. I'm just trying to keep your baby safe. And didn't you understand, the best position for this baby to come out in is when you lay back? Do you understand?"
Belinda meekly nodded her head and then looked away as she felt another contraction coming.
And so went the labor... the whole thing. I tried asking the doctor lots of questions about the how's and why's of what he was decreeing, but nothing made a difference. Every time he didn't want something done a certain way, he'd say in his most grandfatherly voice: "Catastrophic things can happen if you do ____ . Do you understand, honey?"
Belinda pushed her baby out in the McRoberts position, which the doctor insisted upon.
And really, everything went fine. Nothing catastrophic or even close to it happened. She didn't have a tear or skid mark or anything.
It wasn't that terrible of a birth. But, Belinda was frustrated at her helplessness to have any say in simple matters of labor. Frankly, I was, too. I thought the whole "not getting out of bed" thing was ridiculous.
I was honestly a little surprised to find a doctor around still practicing so "old school"... He suctioned really vigorously on the perineum for over a minute before he let the shoulders deliver... and the amniotic fluid was completely clear. And then he spent a full two minutes holding a pink, kicking, screaming baby upside down, wiping it's face again and again and again before he handed him off to his mother. I don't know what he was thinking.
I guess it was just protocol.
That's the kind of hospital births I see a lot. They're usually kind of okay, but some of the stuff you put up with is just... dumb and frustrating at times, and for some mothers, infuriating!
People like Belinda will probably have a homebirth the next time. But the hospital might get to keep her as a patient if all their doctors would just be a little more open minded to a very few things that can make a big difference in a mother's experience.
As for the catastrophic things that were likely to happen, I'm still a little confused. Beyond the possibility of a cord prolapse (which can happen at any time, in about any position), what did he think was going to happen if the mother stood beside her bed?!
Oh well. I just hope that I never run into him again at a birth. And should I ever need to have a baby of my own born at that hospital, I hope Dr. Old School won't be the one walking into my room.
But, then, again, it really wouldn't be the end of the world. If I really, really needed hospital care for me or my baby, I would put up with most of it. And I'd try to be grateful. But it would be hard to be impressed. I'm just sayin'...
Friday, March 14, 2008
Ten Centimeters. Push!
Last week I found myself in one of my favorite positions -- Leaning over a hospital bed, rubbing the back of a laboring mother.
Over all, the labor wasn't bad.
I went in with a positive attitude, hopeful of seeing a good birth. I liked the obstetrician - she was an extremely nice woman with a great personality, and seemed to genuinely be enjoying her job. She was very supportive of the mother's desire to have no epidural if possible. Although medical reasons made the obstetrician decide that induction of labor was appropriate, she respected the mother's wishes to keep the Pitocin drip at a minimum and not turn it up once she started contractions.
The mother had given birth in the same hospital twice previously and was well prepared for labor. Her husband was supportive and as helpful as possible.
As labor progressed and the Pitocin induced contractions became more and more unbearable and on top of each other, the nurses were awesome. They provided one-on-one care, basically having someone in the room with us constantly. They, along with the father and I, encouraged the mother to try all sorts of positions - standing, hands and knees, sitting on the birth ball, rocking, etc.
I was even more impressed when the nurses got into whatever positions they had to to continue to monitor the baby's heart rate. It seemed that whenever the mother was in an upright position, the electronic fetal monitor (EFM) just wasn't tracing the heartbeat very well. So, the nurse had to stand there for several hours continuously holding the doppler in place to maintain a tracing. There was absolutely no "I'm really busy. You'll just have to lay in bed so we can get a decent tracing" or any, "I'm sorry this isn't working. We're going to have to put in a fetal scalp electrode." (The obstetrician wanted constant monitoring because of an increased risk of fetal distress with the Pitocin induction.) Care was all focused around what the mother wanted and needed and what made her most comfortable.
I was also impressed with the information that they provided the parents with before taking any action. The mother got vaginal exams when she wanted them, not every two hours or according to any set protocol. The father and mother both didn't want her water broken early in labor. The hospital staff respected their decision and didn't do it till near the end, when the mother requested it.
As I massaged the mother's shoulders and gave the father suggestions for new ways he could support her and asked the nurses to better explain the progress to the couple, I found myself thinking, "This birth isn't bad. It's about as good as hospital birth gets."
Of course, the Pitocin made things miserable for the mother, and more than once she just burst into tears and cried, "I just can't do this anymore!" But every time she got to that point, we managed to re-focus her on dealing with this contraction and just getting through right now. Her obstetrician poked her head into the room at just such a moment, and very quietly, almost reverently watched her experiencing an intense contraction. "Wow," she whispered. "You just never see women willing to do this any more. I'm so impressed."
Ten centimeters came as the sun came up. The shift would be changing soon, but these nurses were excited that they would get to see the fruit of this labor before they left. The doctor was summoned. Mother got back into bed and was positioned in a semi-sitting position. The bed was broke down, and her legs were spread apart while the overhead lights were turned onto the site of action. The doctor gowned and gloved. Two nurses held one leg (since the stirrups were uncomfortable) and I held the other. Sterile drapes were placed everywhere, leaving only the vaginal opening exposed. The father, nervous and excited at the same time, held her hand, and reassured his exhausted, tearful wife that she was almost done. She was so tired, and kept saying, "I don't think I have the energy to push. I can't."
We all assured her over and over that she could and would get her baby out. The doctor leaned in close to her face and looked her in the eyes, "Just listen to me and do what I tell you. Just follow my instructions closely and you'll be just fine."
The mother nodded through her tears, and the father whispered, "Honey, you can do it. Just listen to the doctor."
"Okay, on the next contraction...." The doctor began to explain the process of letting the contraction build, then taking a deep breath and holding it while pushing as hard as possible while the nurses count to ten.
I sighed to myself. Purple pushing. Why do all doctors think that this is the only way to get a baby out? I knew they'd do this. Why do I even hope that this time will be different?
("Purple pushing" is the above described technique, termed such by many doulas and midwives because the mother has so little time to breathe and exerts herself so intensely that she often starts to turn purple and even burst the blood vessels in her eyes. It has been employed at nearly every hospital birth I've ever attended. It barrels a baby a baby out faster than any other method of pushing. A first time mother who might take an hour to push a baby out when allowed to do it at her own pace, will usually push a baby out in less the 20 minutes with this incredibly intense way of pushing. I personally think that purple pushing can be necessary and effective if a baby is in fetal distress and there is a good reason to get the baby out as quickly as possible. If there is not medically indicated reason, I think it just traumatizes the mother's body [tissues don't have much time to stretch and she's more likely to tear, etc.] more than necessary, not to mention that she thinks of pushing as one of the hardest, most exhausting things she's ever done.)
So, the pushing began. "Take a deep breath. Hold it! PUSH!! One.... two..... three..... four.... no, no, don't take a breath yet! Keep pushing down and out as hard as you can!... five.... six... that's a girl!... seven.... eight... nine... TEN! Good push! Now, quick, quick, another deep breath, and down and out! One.... two.... three.... "
(Mother falls back exhausted. "I can't! I have to catch my breath! I can't breathe! Just let me catch my breath!")
"No, honey. Not till this contraction is done." (Pulling her forward) "Take a deep breath right now, and hold it. Hold it while I count to ten... (more insistently) ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR...."
Ten minutes have passed. We're seeing a baby's head. The doctor comments on all the hair. Mother is gasping for air between pushes and saying she needs to slow down. The Pitocin drip is still going, and the contractions are coming right on top of another.
"No, not till your baby's here. Keep going!"
The nurses get in her face to help her stay with the pushing a little longer. I want to tell her she can take a 10 second break, but that is obviously not the opinion of the doctor.
I tell myself that this is ridiculous, but determine to keep my mouth shut. I'm the doula, not the obstetrician. The doc keeps taking sideways glances at the monitor. The baby's heart rate shows no sign of compromise. It's plugging away with nice short and long term variability around 140, even during contractions with head compression. Wow! The doctor smiles, "Your baby is doing great! Let's hurry up and get him out!"
The contraction ends. Mom falls back on her pillow and sobs and gasps for air. "Just... just let me rest for a minute..." I'm happy to see that the contraction is over and baby is wonderful. Surely they will let her rest till the next contraction hits. The father looks slightly concerned, torn between wanting to help his wife get what she says she needs, and wanting to follow the doctor's orders for the safety of the baby.
But, no, rest is not an option. The doctor wants to get this kid OUT! "You're almost crowning! You can't stop pushing now till your baby's head is out," she says firmly. The mother wearily sits forward, clutches her thighs again and pushes.
"No, harder, longer. Take a deep breath. Hold it while we count...." And again.... and again.
Finally a head emerges.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally the mother will get to inhale once without holding her breath for the count to ten.
I wait for the doctor to feel for cord around the neck. Instead she graps the baby's head firmly, locking her fingers under it's jaw line on both sides, braces her feet against the base of the hospital bed, and leans back, pulling for all she's worth. "PUSH!" she shouts at the dazed mother.
I watch with horror. The baby hasn't even rotated! How does she expect to pull the little guy out without allowing his shoulders to properly spiral through the pelvis?
The baby doesn't pop loose. Her eyes register panic. I see "lawsuit!" flashing through her mind. She yanks a little harder on the head. Still no baby. "Stuck baby!" the doctor half whispers severely to the nurses. The father has realized that the doctor is frightened and something is dead wrong. Tears squeeze out of his eyes.
"Supra-pubic pressure!" the doctor shouts in the direction of the nurse at her right shoulder. There are four nurses and a respiratory therapist standing by. Three of the nurses dive for the mother's stomach. (Supra-pubic pressure is usually applied with the palm of the hand, pressing down hard on the top of the pubic bone, trying to help the baby's shoulder "pop" out from underneath. It's a maneuver used for shoulder dystocia.)
One nurse lays the bed back flat with one swift maneuver. The other three pile onto the mother, leaning all of their weight into her stomach. She screams. "PUSH!" everyone yells together. "HARDER! HARDER! You've got to get this kid out!" The mother again grips her thighs, now having her knees almost to her ears and pushes with every ounce of strength she has left.
The doctor leans back and with all of her 200 pounds, pulls on the baby as if her life depended on it.
The baby pops out. It's been less then 15 seconds since the head emerged. The doctor quickly grabs a hold of the pink, squirming body of a crying baby and suctions and cuts the cord while uttering a sigh of relief. All that scare and an APGAR of 10. The nurses straighten up, slightly shaky. The parents can't stop crying and shaking. Their little boy is here, but his arrival was the worst minute of their life.
I stand there, still holding the mother's trembling leg and rubbing it and thinking...
About how this birth happened. About how it could have happened differently, if only some common sense had been used and everybody hadn't been in such a rush.
I replay every move over and over. It wasn't a shoulder dystocia. It was a little 6 lb. baby, being pushed out by a woman with a more than ample pelvis. If the baby would have been given another 30 seconds to rotate and line up the rest of his body, he would have slid out with the next push.
I shake my head, feeling sorry for the obstetrician who created her own emergency and is still shaking about the "close call" she had.
I feel most sorry for the mother and father who just went through some of the scariest moments of their life as they welcomed their baby.
The obstetrician tugs on the still pulsing cord, pulling out the placenta and throws it into a basin for pathology to inspect. She asks the nurse to turn the Pitocin up (to keep the mother from bleeding), and then inspects for tearing.
Seeing none, she looks pleased. It's been almost 5 minutes since the baby was born. He is wailing in his little warmer next to the bed. The mother is too exhausted to want to hold him right now, so the nurses are playing with him. The doctor pats her patient on the leg and says, "You look great! You'll be a little sore. Just use ice packs for a couple days. Congratulations! You have a beautiful baby!" She breezes out the door, to deliver the next patient.
I like her. She's a nice, caring woman. She's sweet and friendly. The nurses were great.
But now I know why I don't want a hospital birth. Sometimes I forget.
I'll remember this one for awhile.
Over all, the labor wasn't bad.
I went in with a positive attitude, hopeful of seeing a good birth. I liked the obstetrician - she was an extremely nice woman with a great personality, and seemed to genuinely be enjoying her job. She was very supportive of the mother's desire to have no epidural if possible. Although medical reasons made the obstetrician decide that induction of labor was appropriate, she respected the mother's wishes to keep the Pitocin drip at a minimum and not turn it up once she started contractions.
The mother had given birth in the same hospital twice previously and was well prepared for labor. Her husband was supportive and as helpful as possible.
As labor progressed and the Pitocin induced contractions became more and more unbearable and on top of each other, the nurses were awesome. They provided one-on-one care, basically having someone in the room with us constantly. They, along with the father and I, encouraged the mother to try all sorts of positions - standing, hands and knees, sitting on the birth ball, rocking, etc.
I was even more impressed when the nurses got into whatever positions they had to to continue to monitor the baby's heart rate. It seemed that whenever the mother was in an upright position, the electronic fetal monitor (EFM) just wasn't tracing the heartbeat very well. So, the nurse had to stand there for several hours continuously holding the doppler in place to maintain a tracing. There was absolutely no "I'm really busy. You'll just have to lay in bed so we can get a decent tracing" or any, "I'm sorry this isn't working. We're going to have to put in a fetal scalp electrode." (The obstetrician wanted constant monitoring because of an increased risk of fetal distress with the Pitocin induction.) Care was all focused around what the mother wanted and needed and what made her most comfortable.
I was also impressed with the information that they provided the parents with before taking any action. The mother got vaginal exams when she wanted them, not every two hours or according to any set protocol. The father and mother both didn't want her water broken early in labor. The hospital staff respected their decision and didn't do it till near the end, when the mother requested it.
As I massaged the mother's shoulders and gave the father suggestions for new ways he could support her and asked the nurses to better explain the progress to the couple, I found myself thinking, "This birth isn't bad. It's about as good as hospital birth gets."
Of course, the Pitocin made things miserable for the mother, and more than once she just burst into tears and cried, "I just can't do this anymore!" But every time she got to that point, we managed to re-focus her on dealing with this contraction and just getting through right now. Her obstetrician poked her head into the room at just such a moment, and very quietly, almost reverently watched her experiencing an intense contraction. "Wow," she whispered. "You just never see women willing to do this any more. I'm so impressed."
Ten centimeters came as the sun came up. The shift would be changing soon, but these nurses were excited that they would get to see the fruit of this labor before they left. The doctor was summoned. Mother got back into bed and was positioned in a semi-sitting position. The bed was broke down, and her legs were spread apart while the overhead lights were turned onto the site of action. The doctor gowned and gloved. Two nurses held one leg (since the stirrups were uncomfortable) and I held the other. Sterile drapes were placed everywhere, leaving only the vaginal opening exposed. The father, nervous and excited at the same time, held her hand, and reassured his exhausted, tearful wife that she was almost done. She was so tired, and kept saying, "I don't think I have the energy to push. I can't."
We all assured her over and over that she could and would get her baby out. The doctor leaned in close to her face and looked her in the eyes, "Just listen to me and do what I tell you. Just follow my instructions closely and you'll be just fine."
The mother nodded through her tears, and the father whispered, "Honey, you can do it. Just listen to the doctor."
"Okay, on the next contraction...." The doctor began to explain the process of letting the contraction build, then taking a deep breath and holding it while pushing as hard as possible while the nurses count to ten.
I sighed to myself. Purple pushing. Why do all doctors think that this is the only way to get a baby out? I knew they'd do this. Why do I even hope that this time will be different?
("Purple pushing" is the above described technique, termed such by many doulas and midwives because the mother has so little time to breathe and exerts herself so intensely that she often starts to turn purple and even burst the blood vessels in her eyes. It has been employed at nearly every hospital birth I've ever attended. It barrels a baby a baby out faster than any other method of pushing. A first time mother who might take an hour to push a baby out when allowed to do it at her own pace, will usually push a baby out in less the 20 minutes with this incredibly intense way of pushing. I personally think that purple pushing can be necessary and effective if a baby is in fetal distress and there is a good reason to get the baby out as quickly as possible. If there is not medically indicated reason, I think it just traumatizes the mother's body [tissues don't have much time to stretch and she's more likely to tear, etc.] more than necessary, not to mention that she thinks of pushing as one of the hardest, most exhausting things she's ever done.)
So, the pushing began. "Take a deep breath. Hold it! PUSH!! One.... two..... three..... four.... no, no, don't take a breath yet! Keep pushing down and out as hard as you can!... five.... six... that's a girl!... seven.... eight... nine... TEN! Good push! Now, quick, quick, another deep breath, and down and out! One.... two.... three.... "
(Mother falls back exhausted. "I can't! I have to catch my breath! I can't breathe! Just let me catch my breath!")
"No, honey. Not till this contraction is done." (Pulling her forward) "Take a deep breath right now, and hold it. Hold it while I count to ten... (more insistently) ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR...."
Ten minutes have passed. We're seeing a baby's head. The doctor comments on all the hair. Mother is gasping for air between pushes and saying she needs to slow down. The Pitocin drip is still going, and the contractions are coming right on top of another.
"No, not till your baby's here. Keep going!"
The nurses get in her face to help her stay with the pushing a little longer. I want to tell her she can take a 10 second break, but that is obviously not the opinion of the doctor.
I tell myself that this is ridiculous, but determine to keep my mouth shut. I'm the doula, not the obstetrician. The doc keeps taking sideways glances at the monitor. The baby's heart rate shows no sign of compromise. It's plugging away with nice short and long term variability around 140, even during contractions with head compression. Wow! The doctor smiles, "Your baby is doing great! Let's hurry up and get him out!"
The contraction ends. Mom falls back on her pillow and sobs and gasps for air. "Just... just let me rest for a minute..." I'm happy to see that the contraction is over and baby is wonderful. Surely they will let her rest till the next contraction hits. The father looks slightly concerned, torn between wanting to help his wife get what she says she needs, and wanting to follow the doctor's orders for the safety of the baby.
But, no, rest is not an option. The doctor wants to get this kid OUT! "You're almost crowning! You can't stop pushing now till your baby's head is out," she says firmly. The mother wearily sits forward, clutches her thighs again and pushes.
"No, harder, longer. Take a deep breath. Hold it while we count...." And again.... and again.
Finally a head emerges.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally the mother will get to inhale once without holding her breath for the count to ten.
I wait for the doctor to feel for cord around the neck. Instead she graps the baby's head firmly, locking her fingers under it's jaw line on both sides, braces her feet against the base of the hospital bed, and leans back, pulling for all she's worth. "PUSH!" she shouts at the dazed mother.
I watch with horror. The baby hasn't even rotated! How does she expect to pull the little guy out without allowing his shoulders to properly spiral through the pelvis?
The baby doesn't pop loose. Her eyes register panic. I see "lawsuit!" flashing through her mind. She yanks a little harder on the head. Still no baby. "Stuck baby!" the doctor half whispers severely to the nurses. The father has realized that the doctor is frightened and something is dead wrong. Tears squeeze out of his eyes.
"Supra-pubic pressure!" the doctor shouts in the direction of the nurse at her right shoulder. There are four nurses and a respiratory therapist standing by. Three of the nurses dive for the mother's stomach. (Supra-pubic pressure is usually applied with the palm of the hand, pressing down hard on the top of the pubic bone, trying to help the baby's shoulder "pop" out from underneath. It's a maneuver used for shoulder dystocia.)
One nurse lays the bed back flat with one swift maneuver. The other three pile onto the mother, leaning all of their weight into her stomach. She screams. "PUSH!" everyone yells together. "HARDER! HARDER! You've got to get this kid out!" The mother again grips her thighs, now having her knees almost to her ears and pushes with every ounce of strength she has left.
The doctor leans back and with all of her 200 pounds, pulls on the baby as if her life depended on it.
The baby pops out. It's been less then 15 seconds since the head emerged. The doctor quickly grabs a hold of the pink, squirming body of a crying baby and suctions and cuts the cord while uttering a sigh of relief. All that scare and an APGAR of 10. The nurses straighten up, slightly shaky. The parents can't stop crying and shaking. Their little boy is here, but his arrival was the worst minute of their life.
I stand there, still holding the mother's trembling leg and rubbing it and thinking...
About how this birth happened. About how it could have happened differently, if only some common sense had been used and everybody hadn't been in such a rush.
I replay every move over and over. It wasn't a shoulder dystocia. It was a little 6 lb. baby, being pushed out by a woman with a more than ample pelvis. If the baby would have been given another 30 seconds to rotate and line up the rest of his body, he would have slid out with the next push.
I shake my head, feeling sorry for the obstetrician who created her own emergency and is still shaking about the "close call" she had.
I feel most sorry for the mother and father who just went through some of the scariest moments of their life as they welcomed their baby.
The obstetrician tugs on the still pulsing cord, pulling out the placenta and throws it into a basin for pathology to inspect. She asks the nurse to turn the Pitocin up (to keep the mother from bleeding), and then inspects for tearing.
Seeing none, she looks pleased. It's been almost 5 minutes since the baby was born. He is wailing in his little warmer next to the bed. The mother is too exhausted to want to hold him right now, so the nurses are playing with him. The doctor pats her patient on the leg and says, "You look great! You'll be a little sore. Just use ice packs for a couple days. Congratulations! You have a beautiful baby!" She breezes out the door, to deliver the next patient.
I like her. She's a nice, caring woman. She's sweet and friendly. The nurses were great.
But now I know why I don't want a hospital birth. Sometimes I forget.
I'll remember this one for awhile.
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