By Elissa Cirignotta
I was hoping to write a super cathartic & redemptive birth story. Instead here I am again sludging through some messy, complicated, and unpredictable feelings. This is a story of surrender where both gratitude and mourning can be witnessed.
Birth is a mystery. Having already experienced the wild ride that is birth I knew going into it again that I must keep an open mind. With my first son I had an 84 hour labor that ended in an non emergent C-section because while I remained in active labor for days my body did not dilate. I tried really really hard to have a vaginal birth and had lots of big emotions for weeks after about how things ended up. In many ways I felt like a failure. Clearly something was wrong with me and/or my body that I wasn’t able to birth my child in the natural goddess given way.
There were things I knew I needed to heal and some traumas that I knew I needed to address and I was committed to giving it my all. I also wanted to attempt a vaginal birth one more time. I started regular mental health therapy, Birth Trauma Resolution Therapy, Physical Therapy, Pelvic Floor Therapy, Chiropractic Care, and Prenatal Massage. I hired the best doula in town and decided to work with my favorite midwife to attempt a homebirth VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). I spent thousands of dollars in copays and fees and collected a team of people to support me through this journey. While knowing that this birth could go any number of ways I remained hopeful that I would and could birth my boy at home.
Nothing, and I repeat, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the knock down that was getting Covid at 38 weeks pregnant. It hit me hard and took me down. Of all the symptoms the most challenging was the paralyzing fatigue and lack of energy. The head to toe body aches were a close second. Every day the symptoms were new and different but I assumed I was getting better. I mean, I had to get better. Right? There’s only so much garlic-onion-thyme-oregano tea that a person can drink. Around day 7 we rolled into a Full Moon. That Thursday night contractions started. My first thought was “oh hell no” alongside a knowing that I had absolutely no control over how this would unfold. Under the full moon, during a 2am bathroom trip, I said a quick prayer that this baby would stay in my womb until Monday. My body was clearly not ready and birthing in the height of this virus would impact every single thing I had envisioned for Luca’s entrance in the world. I needed more time. Contractions were slow but steady and I peacefully breathed through each one.
The following day I spiked a fever again and took a turn for the worst. My body and my baby must have known the timing was misaligned because contractions came to a complete halt while my immune system went totally haywire. I was trapped in a vicious cycle of fevering, sweating through all my clothes, and shivering uncontrollably around the clock while getting close to no sleep and having little to no energy. I was bed bound with a painfully achy body and it was becoming easier to let my mind travel to dark and lonely places. There were moments where I couldn’t see that light at the end of the tunnel.
After several days of this cycle I consulted with a holistic physician who offered some valuable mindset therapy and prescribed me a long list of supplements and meds. That Monday morning I ended up visiting the Emergency Room to make sure baby Luca was safe and healthy in utero. After determining Luca was doing okay we were sent home to continue weathering the storm. I crawled right back into bed and watched that final episode of Selena the Series, which I would highly recommend to all of you 80s and 90s bebes. My fever broke that morning and every hour that went by was a mix of celebration and anxiety that it might return. My energy was still depleted and the farthest I was able to make it that day was down to the kitchen and dining room. At 6:50p I texted my midwife to let her know I had been fever free since 8am! This was worth celebrating. And it meant I might still be able to have that shot at a homebirth.
Exactly 10 minutes later my contractions started and they arrived making a clear announcement. We were finishing up dinner and I wondered if Greg knew what lay ahead. Luca was on his way however I was completely unprepared to accept this reality. I texted my birth team and told them I was going to drink lots of water, go to bed, and pretend the contractions were going away. I was able to sleep through them for a handful of hours but woke up at midnight when I just couldn’t manage any longer. I breathed through each wave in bed until I needed additional support so Greg drew me a warm bath. I called my doula and chatted with her for a bit. We decided I’d finish my bath and see if it was possible to rest again. I was assuming the warm water would stall or slow things down but after soaking for 30 minutes my contractions sped up to every 3-5 minutes and I was quickly reaching a point of desperation. Every single contraction demanded every ounce of energy that I could possibly muster and all of my attention and focus. I called Emily, the angel Doula, and 30 minutes later she was at my bedside offering soothing guidance, gentle caresses, and a steadfast presence. She reminded me to rest deeply in the space between. As time went on I started to lose sight of what was happening around me with every passing contraction. Emily called my midwife who arrived shortly after. Given my birthing history we decided to do a cervical check. I was overcome with immediate despair when my midwife Rebecca announced I had only dilated 1cm. One thing I most certainly knew for sure was that I didn’t want a repeat 84 hour labor. No thank you. Rebecca laid out 4 options. I could continue laboring at home, I could transfer to hospital A or B get an epidural/or not and continue to attempt a VBAC or I could transfer to Hospital C and get a gentle C-section. In the moment it felt most right to head to my preferred hospital where I could have a gentle C-section. My body and mind were being pushed to the limit and I was afraid things could play out similarly to how they evolved with my firstborn. Mind you, 24 hours before this I was lying in bed convinced I wasn’t going to survive.
By the time I got to the hospital I was having contractions every 30 seconds to a minute. There were no longer resting breaks in between. I felt completely unprepared to handle every contraction that arose. It was becoming unbearable and I felt lost out at sea drowning in every wave that crashed through my body. And then suddenly I had the urge to both push and poop. I knew what this meant and after several contractions with this new sensation I finally said it out loud. The OB checked my cervix and we discovered I had dilated to 8 cm. My water immediately broke and with the OB’s assistance I went to being fully dilated at 10 cm. There is no way to describe the intensity of the whole situation. If you know you know. I was in some kind of a trance only minimally aware of what was happening around me. I was given the option to vbac and told it would likely be another 3-5 hours of pushing given how high the baby was. In that moment I searched within me to see if I could access the power that I knew I needed to deliver this baby vaginally. I couldn’t do it. Or rather, I chose not to do it. The decision that felt the most right for my sick, fatigued, weathered body was a gentle C-section. That was the decision that I trusted would keep me from drowning.
I was desperately hoping I’d never have to make this choice. In a way there was a sense of empowerment behind it because it was my decision. I was respected and supported every step of the way. But this wasn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t how I wanted things to be going. This wasn’t where I wanted to be.
From that moment everything went quickly. I was wheeled into the OR and Brogan, the most incredible Labor and Delivery nurse ever, held my arms and let me rest my Covid covered forehead on her shoulder while I quietly breathed through my final contractions. That’s a distinct clear memory for me. I felt so much presence from this near stranger nurse who lovingly held me through this moment of transition. A transition that offered immediate full body relief alongside a deep internal sadness. Brogan was the nurse I didn’t know I needed.
Luca Salvatore was pulled out of my belly at 10:20am roaring just like his brother did. In every imaginable way he was/is perfect, a bringer of light. I know for certain that our souls have danced in previous incarnations. I walk through the world with 2 guardian angels at all times, my beloved Nonno Salvatore and my Zio Giovanni. Luca entered the world on Zio Giovanni’s birthday and is named after Nonno and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that my Angels guided and protected the both of us through our birthing journey.
In the aftermath I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t disappointed. I’m actually pretty painfully disappointed. And it still feels raw. I didn’t get the birth I was hoping for. I didn’t even come close to it. But I know that I did the best I could with a pretty rotten situation. Fuck you Covid. I have a perfectly delicious baby and so much postpartum support. I feel cared for, nurtured, and loved by my immediate and far away family and friends. I hold so much gratitude for everyone that crossed this birthing path with me, except for Resident Flinters. (Name has been changed to protect his identity.)
There’s nothing easy about birth. The process of surrendering into something you absolutely can not control requires big-time strength. This narrative I let creep in that only women able to vaginally birth (without meds) are truly powerful feels unfair and toxic and I’m actively working to rewrite it. Give me time and at least 29 more therapy sessions to get there.
In short, things didn’t go my way and I’m super bummed about it. I’m also wildly grateful it’s over, that my beloved Luca is now in my arms, and that I have tools and support in place to help me navigate postpartum, post covid, and post surgery. For now I’ll allow the tears to accompany my joy. I’ll also continue to offer gratitude to everyone and everything that helped me through one of the hardest experiences of my life.
My advice to expecting mamas:
When in doubt, hire the Doula.
Have a plan, be open to changing it.
Accept help and food.
Prioritize sleep.
Say Thank You, all the time.
Build a Birth Team that you trust.
Surrender to the unfolding.
Feel it all.
Birth Images from Andrea Oleson.