I read all the books. I took all the classes. I researched local obstetricians and found the perfect practice. When all is said and done, I have spent hundreds of dollars and hours preparing for a natural, drug free, childbirth. When at 34 weeks Donovan was still presenting breech, my midwife assured I need not fret, “…at 34 weeks about 30% of babies are presenting breech, but at the time of birth, only about 3% still are. The odds,” she said, “are stacked in your favor.” Being the proactive gal that I am, I went back to the books, hit up the Google machine, and sought the advice of women in the local birthing community. By all accounts, it was crunch time. If I was going to turn this baby around the time to act was now. Enter: more time and money. I tried everything. Hours were spent laying upside-down on an ironing board propped on the couch, each week I made two trips to the chiropractor, I did an endless number of handstands in the pool, I put an icepack on the top of my belly and a heating pad on the bottom, I didn’t slouch, I kept my knees below my hips and whenever possible, my hips below my pelvis. All to no avail. At 38 weeks, the chances of my sweet child removing his head from its position nestled snuggly between the confluence of my rib cages are very slim.
So, are my dreams of natural childbirth shattered? Maybe not. That perfect obstetrician I found is a British trained 70 year-old. This is significant because back when obstetricians in the United States decided that ether and forceps ought trump the ancient wisdom of midwives and the woman’s body, obstetricians in the UK were still working with that wisdom. Subsequently, cesarean sections have become the go-to lawsuit avoiding procedure and the vaginal breech delivery is on the verge of becoming a lost art. But my OB is among the dwindling ranks of still-practicing OBs trained to do vaginal breech deliveries. This is fantastic. I’m elated. Weight is lifted off my shoulders when he tells me that he doesn’t see any reason not to go ahead with a vaginal breech delivery.
-But wait- My C-Section fate hangs in the balance as Dr. Sattar is on vacation next week. If I go into labor anytime between tomorrow and next Saturday I’m going under the knife, my baby will miss out on all sorts of neurological stimulus, potentially the nourishment of the colostrum I’ve been lugging around for weeks, my pushing play list (replete with Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” and Salt-n-Pepper’s “Push It”) will go to waste, and I’ll have to face my incredible and overwhelming fear of needles and surgery.
And so, even before his birth, Donovan is forcing me to grow. He is teaching me to be patient, to let go of the illusion of control, and to face my fears.
