Birth is Gonna Rock Your World
I’ve had two pregnancies, two births and two postpartum periods. One birth was idyllic and the other traumatic. The postpartum periods seemed to be reversed. See what you think.
This all started in a strange way. Two months before our wedding my fiancé became critically ill. I almost cancelled the wedding, but Karl made it down the aisle…and then we went out of state for several more weeks of hospitalization and procedures. Fortunately, my work as a fitness writer and anatomy educator helped distract me. My dogs got me outside into the fresh air. Faith, family, friends and sleep carried me through the crisis.
After all of this we were very ready to settle down at home in Bozeman. Yet, another adventure awaited us.
Just 3 months after getting married, I got pregnant on our first try and I was happy it didn’t take me years like it did my mom. Karl was a bit shocked as to how fast it happened, but excited and called all his family right away. I love thrifting and started hunting for second hand maternity clothes and baby stuff that week.
My naturopath asked if I would birth with a midwife. What’s a midwife? I asked. Me and my younger sister were born in a hospital in New Jersey. So, it was a familiar route.
I visited the Bozeman Birth Center to say I’d considered it, thinking I’d rule it out, but when I walked through the doors it was like being wrapped in a big familiar hug. The midwives felt like long lost sisters and I fell in love - with all of it.
The worst part of pregnancy for me was the nausea, fatigue and night wakings, but my flexible freelance work allowed me to sleep and nap anytime I felt the urge.
I didn’t realize that this so called freedom would come to be problematic.
Our son, Isaac, now 3 was born with fiery orange hair, into the water, just a few days after our first wedding anniversary. I was empowered after 15 hours of labor and giving birth. I felt like anything was possible.
A parade of visitors occupied our guest room. Local friends stopped by. I welcomed the company, but it was distracting and prevented rest. Which would come to have a big impact.
During pregnancy someone told me “birth is gonna rock your world girl!” But, sleep deprivation was what did me in. I became emotionally fragile, calling Karl at work in tears saying:
“I can’t do this!”
“How do people do this?”
Night wakings surged adrenaline and cortisol through my veins, delaying me from falling back to sleep after breastfeeding and just when I drifted off, Isaac would wake up again. Looking at the screen on my phone was also a problem but I didn’t know it yet.
One winter morning I was sitting in my car with two month old Isaac behind me parked outside the massage school. I was eager to get back to teaching, but I was crying and afraid to go inside. My feelings were so conflicted, but it was relieving to press the pause button on teaching and re-direct my efforts to breastfeeding and writing from home.
At three months old, sleep was getting worse, not better as promised. I wanted to sleep like the human body wants to breathe oxygen. My desire felt so primal.
I stalked sleep advice in books and on blogs with every free moment I had, but nothing was working. Until, four months postpartum when I met a pediatric sleep specialist named Myra Hartzheim. It turned out Isaac was overstimulated and sleep deprived so nothing in the books would work. Together we honed in on Isaac’s subtle sleep cues and shortened his time awake.
Myra’s holistic approach resonated with me deeply. Encouragement toward getting outside more and dimming lights in the evening - felt so natural.
Karl and I also planned meals for the week, ate dinner at 6pm instead of 8pm and went to bed earlier. I stayed home so I could honor Isaacs need for frequent naps. Sometimes I felt trapped in our house. But, slowing down was replenishing and the predictability of routine began to set me free.
Isaac was sleeping through the night at six months, but I was still waking up.
I dug deeper into circadian rhythm and sleep science. I became fascinated and obsessed, so I could sleep better, but also for my career. It’s such an overlooked part of healthcare. Consistency with an early bedtime, evening screen shutdown and a daily 25 minute nap gifted me with nine hours of nightly sleep.
At 12 months, I was feeling pretty good and then Karl crashed. He was holding himself together so I could fall apart. He was feeling like a third wheel and missed his wife. We argued around in circles for months before finding some solutions. A nanny to allow weekly daytime dates, couples counseling and trail running. We started to feel united and stable enough to consider another baby.
Isaac was 21 months old when we got pregnant. I was grateful for another easy conception but the reality of pregnancy surfaced memories of postpartum struggles for me and Karl. This time would be different right? And easier? I would take a break from work and we would have less visitors.
Instead of buying baby stuff, I shopped for supportive people, books and practices.
Staying committed to sleep was key for my emotional health, but I craved something deeper. I got my own counselor twice a month. I went to weekly support groups with other women and mamas and gained new perspective. I re-connected with my spirituality, cultivated healthier boundaries to conserve my energy and built more confidence and authenticity as a mother.
Prenatal yoga classes, postpartum books and consultations with a pelvic floor physical therapist and postpartum doula filled in the gaps in my schedule.
Wanting so much support felt weird. In hindsight, I was still recovering from round one. I didn’t realize how much I would need all this support. A different experience was coming.
Our 20 week ultrasound went long. When the radiologist said they needed a closer look at baby’s heart, chills swept over my body. Nobody wants to hear this in an ultrasound, yet 1 in 200 pregnant mamas do.
A few weeks later an echocardiogram in Billings revealed what is called Transposition of the Great Arteries, T-G-A. This meant the baby would need open heart surgery after birth to switch the arteries, out of state in a children’s hospital. The doctors swept the severity of the situation right out from under us saying “this is one of the better congenital heart defect cards to pull” and “don’t worry about the baby, focus on yourselves and your life”.
I was devastated on many levels. It felt unfair. It seemed impossible.
My second birth and postpartum experience felt like it was trickling away and “easier” - wasn’t on the menu. No home birth. No postpartum hibernation in my own bed. Instead I would be pumping breast milk and shuttling back and forth from a temporary home with my toddler to a hospital with my newborn for weeks without abundant skin to skin baby snuggles.
Better to know now than later… At least baby would probably survive…
Caring for Isaac and work distracted me a lot. I kept busy, renting a home in Denver, interviewing doulas, organizing family to stay with us, and making lists. I felt comforted knowing we had yet even more support. But, some days I binged on the TGA support group online staring in disbelief at photos of babies who had open heart surgery.
I tried to savor being pregnant, getting massages and every night I bathed my senses in the light of a salt lamp, lavender, heart stones and hypnobirthing meditations. I visualized what I wanted and best case scenarios. I released my fears to God. I even prayed the doctors were mistaken. I cultivated faith that everything would be okay.
My intentions didn’t seem to change our ultimate fate but shifted my mindset to endure what was coming.
Everything about us was “complicated”.
Baby was breech transverse and birthed by cesarean. Brain bleeds from oxygen loss committed baby - Felix - to a ventilator and we couldn’t hold him. We could barely touch him, our baby boy looked like an octopus - wires and IV’s covering his tiny brand new body. Just like the photos I viewed online, somehow familiar, but freaky. This was real and this baby was safe inside my body just hours prior.
Felix had open heart surgery at 6 days old. We held him for the first time at 10 days old, got to breastfeed a little and departed Denver at 3 weeks old on oxygen one year ago. It was Easter Day.
Spending six weeks in Denver during this fragile time of life was intense, but what I prayed for - it was - okay. Felix is such a smiley guy and I have special memories from that time, like my sister going down slides with Isaac when I was too big to play, my dad playing the piano, my mom and Isaac in a marching band and Karl’s parents cooking hearty, nourishing meals.
We returned to Bozeman and the surgeries faded into the distance. Disrupted sleep and breastfeeding became our biggest problems. Felix’s liking to the bottle allowed Karl to feed through many nights forming a special bond between them and allowed me my precious sleep.
All we had to do was ask and our community surrounded us with meals, breast milk, a mothers helper and lots of love.
These days it seems like one minute Isaac is playing adorable games like peek-a-boo with Felix and the next he won’t share or have anything to do with his little brother. I cope with this rollercoaster of motherhood by knowing I will get a good nights sleep. And Felix’s huge bright smile reminds me that anything really is possible.
~Beverly Hosford