My birth story begins almost five years ago with the birth of my first child, when I was surgically *******ed of my baby lying abject and disembodied on the surgery table. It ends with me powerfully birthing my baby at home on the lounge-room floor. My story is a journey of discovery and empowerment and one I hope many more women will take as they begin to fight for their right to have a normal birth.
Although many caesareans may be life- saving to either baby or mother, I do not believe this to be the case with the birth of my son Arlin in 2001 and my daughter Shae in 2003. I believe I had two unnecessary caesareans and was denied the right to birth my own babies. Many friends wonder why I feel so wrong -done by, they say it doesn’t matter how babies are born as long as they are safe and healthy. They say its not the birth that matters, but the rest of your life as a mother, they say its better to have a caesarean anyway because its safer for the baby and at least you don’t ruin your vagina.
No one ever mentions the health and safety of the mother however, who has major surgery, as if it were as simple as removing a wart. No one ever questions how being unable to have skin on skin contact with your baby after birth, or being unable to breastfeed properly because you are in pain and still partially paralyzed for the first day, or how being off your head on morphine, affects your ability to mother in the crucial first days of your baby’s life. No one ever wonders how being *******ed of your baby on the surgery table may make you feel totally powerless, inadequate and like a failure. How can this be a good way to enter motherhood, the most important thing you will ever do in your life?

My first son’s birth was a so-called ‘emergency’ caesarean. I thought of myself as well informed and well prepared. I had one-to-one care with a great GP/obstetrician and a community midwife in a small country town in North East Victoria. What I didn’t know was that if I was induced I’d be very likely to end up with a caesarean. Like most first time mothers, my due date came and went, and after 10 days I desperately wanted to have the baby and naively asked my GP for an induction. To give him credit he actually tried to talk me out of it, insisting that I could wait a couple more days. I think he wanted to keep me at the local hospital, as to be induced I would have to travel to the next town, Wodonga. But I was adamant, and so on Boxing Day 2001 I had what I now know was a ‘failed induction’.
I had probably 8 hours of pre-labour overnight with the gel on my cervix and then 6 hours of real labour. I thought I was doing fine until my waters were ruptured and I was attached to the syntocin drip and foetal monitor. Of course my movement was limited so therefore I was unable to manage contractions the way I had been until that point, which was by walking up and down the hall. I lost confidence due to being treated with contempt by an awful and impersonal obstetrician. When I heard the obstetrician say ‘oh she’s only four centimeters, this one will be a caesar’, I lost all will to continue and an hour later I was being prepared for an ‘emergency caesarean’ . I have since got hold of my medical notes and discovered that there was no indication whatsoever for an ‘emergency’. I think all I needed was for someone to encourage me or tell me I was doing fine, but all I got was continual discouragement.
The caesarean was traumatic, I could feel the tugging and pulling and I could see the reflection of the operation on the lights above me- blood, blurred body parts, gloved hands, masked faces. This was not the birth I had imagined or planned for. The surgeons and nurses made small talk about their Christmases and there was an awful commercial radio station playing in the background. I felt completely detached and alienated from my body, I felt like a piece of meat, but what I also felt was relief that the contractions were over and I would finally see my baby. Arlin was born at 12:20pm on the 27th of December 2001. A big beautiful, healthy, baby and of course I was over the moon, despite the trauma of the birth. Arlin weighed 4.8kgs and everyone said it was just as well that I had a c-section because he would not have ‘fit’.

My next pregnancy, in 2003 ended in an ‘elective’ caesarean. I use the term elective very loosely as I only elected a caesarean because I was told I had no other choice. In the time since Arlin’s birth I had come to partially accept that I had a caesarean because my body had failed and because Arlin was too big. On the other hand I also read about the ‘cascade of intervention’, how one medical intervention leads to another and to another, resulting in the ultimate medicalised birth- a caesarean. I realized that this was had happened to me and I was angry. However, I also distrusted my body and didn’t really believe I could give birth vaginally. I planned for a VBAC but I didn’t do enough research, on how to maximize my chances.
I booked into large public hospital in Melbourne and received very little support for my desire to have a vaginal birth. It seemed that no one wanted to commit themselves to me- I was always told ‘to wait and see’, I was always referred to as a ‘trial of scar’ and everyone kept reminding me that I’d be likely to have another large baby and would therefore may not be able to ******* normally. I encountered negativity everywhere; no one ever said ‘you can do this’.

In the end I went two weeks past my due dates, which was really pushing the limit of hospital protocol. I was angry, disappointed and sad that my body had failed once again; no one ever told me that it is possible to go three and even four weeks past a due date safely. I was advised to have a caesarean, as there was no other choice. I was told I could not let the pregnancy continue. I was not offered monitoring or ultrasound to see if the baby was ok, I was offered surgery and I took it. My darling baby girl, Shae Anna was born on the 27th of October 2003.

I would still describe Shae’s birth as beautiful although it was not the birth I wanted. The sheer joy of bringing a new life into the world partially made up for the birth experience. Once again I felt completely detached and disembodied- like a talking head without a body. It seemed there was no connection between the baby emerging from my body and what was going on in my head. Before I left the hospital, an obstetrician told me in a jovial but scolding manner: “Now you wont be having any more babies vaginally, if you have anymore children they will be by caesarean”. As soon as she left the room, a midwife gave me a pamphlet- it was the Midwives in Private Practice pamphlet and she said, “don’t believe a word of it, you can have a natural birth and when you decide to, call a private midwife”. I kept that pamphlet hidden away in drawer even though I’d made the decision not have any more children.

At the end of 2005 I discovered I was pregnant once again, although we had not planned a third baby! My first two antenatal visits were at the same public hospital I went to for Shae’s birth- god only knows what I was thinking! The first obstetrician I saw, looked at my history and assumed I would be having caesarean. I will recount my encounter with her because it highlights so clearly the kind of attitude I was up against in my quest to have a normal birth.
“We’ll book you in for the caesar now, what date would you like?” I tell her I am planning to have a natural birth and she is dumfounded. “I wouldn’t recommend that, there are risks associated, uterine rupture for instance, with trial of scar births”. I tell her I have done my research and the risks are very small and that in fact there are more risks in having a third caesarean. I tell her I’d like the opportunity to try. She tells me she doesn’t think hospital policy allows ‘trial of scar’ after two caesareans. She says it was “quite reasonable” with the last pregnancy but not this time. I tell her I am prepared to go to another hospital if that’s the case. She looks worried and then tries to talk me out of it. “Uterine rupture is quite a serious condition” she says (as if I didn’t think it was) “it can result in maternal or child death- your baby could die. A caesarean on the other hand, is a simple and safe procedure”. By this stage her logic is starting to work on me, how does one react when told they could kill their baby? I start feeling like a bad, selfish mother and my confidence begins to waver. I tell her apologetically that I still want to try, that its important to me. She really is lost for words, she simply does not understand my desire for a vaginal birth, and she thinks I am crazy; she looks at me in total disbelief. After she finishes the physical examination she leaves the room for twenty minutes. I wonder what she is doing; maybe she is calling the bad, selfish mother police! When she comes back she tells me she has spoken to the hospital and is now clear on hospital procedure. She tells me, rather embarrassed and flustered that there is no policy on trial of scar after two caesareans and they could not therefore, “prevent” me from labouring although they strongly discourage it. However, I was not to labour at home, I must come to hospital immediately, I must have constant foetal monitoring and a saline drip in preparation for surgery!
I knew I had no chance of normal birth here. I was a caesarean waiting to happen. :evil:

After this encounter I decided to do everything I could to have a natural birth and so began my journey to empowered birth.
First, I changed hospitals to a hospital that encouraged VBAC. I met a wonderful midwife at the second hospital who made it clear I was still fighting an uphill battle and my chances of VBAC depended on staff who would be there when I went into labour. Some supported it, others did not. My next step, after joining Maternity Coalition and getting some great advice form the ozbirthing email list, was to find a private midwife and a student midwife to support me. I read everything I could about VBAC and discovered that I had a much better chance at success if I had the support and care of a known and trusted midwife. I dug out the old pamphlet given to me two years ago and began making phone calls. In the end however, it was through word of mouth that I discovered Helen, a midwife who’d had a vaginal birth after two caesareans herself. I then made the most important decision so far; I decided to have a home birth.
When Helen first suggested a home birth, I admit I was hesitant; I had been so conditioned into a medicalised framework to believe that I was a risk, that my body was faulty and that I therefore needed the full safety –net of technology. However Helen’s gentle, yet logical instance that I was a healthy woman with a healthy baby and thus had no reason why I could not give birth at home, eventually convinced me. She also made it pretty plain that a normal birth would be much harder to achieve in a hospital. I already knew deep in my heart that I would not have a normal birth in a hospital, I knew I did not have it in me to fight the system and the only way to achieve my goal was to do it at home.

My antenatal meetings with Helen were so vastly different to previous experiences in the hospital system. Helen treated me with respect, listened to my fears and always patiently assured me. My check-ups were in my own home and my children and partner Martin were always involved, which they really enjoyed. Helen gave me as much time as I needed to discuss anything I wanted to. She never treated me as a risk and was always 100% confident that I would have normal birth. Finally someone believed in me, finally I had the support I needed to achieve my dream. She really became part of our life in those months leading up to the birth and I miss her now!

Martin and I attended ante-natal classes organised by a team of private midwives; I felt like I had stepped into another world and wished I had have discovered it all in my previous pregnancies. Here, birth was not treated as a medical and possibly risky event, the way it is in hospital antenatal classes where you are constantly reminded of what could go wrong and what interventions you will most likely receive. Instead we were prepared for normal birth, learnt of ways to cope with labour that did not involve drugs and learnt to trust our bodies and the birth process. During these months I really felt as though I was on a journey of enlightenment, why, why, why did I not know all this stuff before? Why aren’t we told that very few women give birth at 40 weeks and that many pregnancies go for longer if not forced into a medical schedule? Why are we never told about natural induction methods such as acupuncture? Why are we not told about optimal foetal positioning to ensure an anterior birth position?

My due date passed, as we knew it would and I admit I started to get despondent and worried. That old feeling that my body would fail me kept creeping back, but Helen and my wonderful student midwife Katrina, kept my spirits up. My partner Martin was also very good letting me know how silly I was being and kept telling me that it would happen when it happens, and to stop being a control freak and just relax! I had really strong Braxton-hicks contractions for about week before my due date, the baby’s head was well and truly lodged in the pelvis and I had a slight ‘show’. I had never got this far with either Arlin or Shae, it was all new to me and although I was surprised that my body was actually working, I continued to worry that I would not go in to labour.
I didn’t have to worry for long; four days after my due date I had regular and strong contractions that kept me up all night. That night I camped out in the lounge room trying to sleep between contractions and watching really bad late night TV! By morning the contractions were gone. This went on for three more nights, so by the time labour really started on Saturday morning, I had virtually no sleep.

On Saturday morning the contractions kept going and got closer together. Early that morning I was in the bath, trying to relax, still disbelieving that this was the real thing. Arlin, my four and half year old son was with me, looking after me. I will never forget the beautiful moment of telling Arlin that the baby would probably come today! I made breakfast for the two of us while Martin and Shae slept in, all the while my contractions were getting stronger and closer together. Every time I had a contraction I would get up off the chair and lean against the kitchen bench, breathing slowly through it.
When Martin and Shae woke up, I told Martin that it was really happening and I thought we should call Helen, my midwife and my sister Tasha, who would be looking after the kids. Helen arrived around 10 and did a vaginal examination, she said I was making great progress at 3cm and she would come back when labour was well and truly established, she said she wanted to hear some noise as I was still getting though contractions by breathing and I had a long way to go! She also told me to get out of the birth pool (which I had been lolling around in for about half an hour!) until my contractions were stronger, as the water was slowing down the labour.

Although we had planned for Tasha to look after Arlin and Shae, it soon became apparent that I needed both her and Martin to support me. Also, I felt like I couldn’t labour properly with the kids around, I was holding back. Luckily they were more than happy to go and play with their friends across the road, where they stayed until the next day.
Well, Saturday afternoon came and went, time made no sense to me at all as I laboured through 1 and 2 minute contractions all afternoon. Tasha and Martin were such attentive, hands-on, fantastic birth attendants. They were running form the microwave and kettle back to me with a constant stream of hotpacks and hot nappies, which were wonderful. I was screaming at them to get them in the right spot- THERE, NOT THERE!! I don’t know how they made sense of me. They worked out a system: hotpack in the undies and hot nappies across my back and abdomen. I seemed to feel the most pain in bottom, hence the hotpack in my undies! Martin and Tasha made sure I was getting enough fluids and food- I nibbled at fruit, nuts and icy-poles in between contractions. The afternoon was a blur, I know I was in a lot more pain than I ever imagined, I hopped in the pool a couple of times for a break, as the warm water both eased the pain and spaced the contractions out.
After one long break in the pool, Martin had to coax me out. I knew I was stalling the process, I knew I had to be brave, get out and get to full dilation, but I was being a coward and trying to resist what my body was doing. Finally I found the determination inside me to get out and face the labour. I had a couple of sprays of ‘rescue remedy’ and I was off. I was determined to get to transition and I told Martin and Tasha, I would be having this baby within the next couple of hours! I think this was the moment when I finally gave in to my body, let go of my thinking self and surrendered to the primal and unstoppable force of my body.
Quite soon after this, I started having longer contractions that were on top of each other. I walked up and down the hallway, I leaned over the bean bag and fit-ball, I got in and out of the shower, all the while hardly letting go of Martin. For some reason I just did not want to let him out of my sight! I’d given up on the hotpacks, nothing was going to ease the pain of these contractions. And then I vomited, I vomited a lot. I was convinced that this must mean I was in transition so I was actually quite happy about it and buoyed by the thought that I must be at fully dilated and could therefore get back in the pool, which I desperately wanted!
Martin called Helen and she arrived soon after, which was when I started going down hill. Helen did a vaginal examination and told me I was 5cm- I couldn’t believe it. Although I had no sense of time, it was now dark outside so I knew a long time had passed and I had only dilated a couple of centimetres. I was disappointed to say the least. I just kind of fell into a spiralling hole of negativity after this, I was ready to give up but knew I couldn’t. Martin, Tasha and Helen were fantastic through this period. They encouraged me and continued to tell me what a great job I was doing. In the back of my mind I acknowledged what they were saying but I wasn’t thinking, I was completely primal, grunting, swearing, hurling abuse at my poor helpers!

The next few hours were more intense, painful and demanding than I had ever imagined. My god, I just never imagined my body could withstand so much pain and not die! I yelled to be taken to hospital and given drugs; I was demanding that SOMEBODY listen to me! I kept insisting that I could not go on any longer. It was so unbelievably painful; all romantic notions I had about natural birth were gone. Of course I was not actually thinking this at the time, I wasn’t thinking anything, I was just using everything I had in me to ride each contraction.
Helen had prepared us all for this, she told me I would probably ask to be taken to hospital, so Martin and Tasha were well ready for this and they knew that I didn’t want to be taken to hospital unless it was an emergency. They also knew that instead of offering me sympathy, they should keep encouraging me. Helen, Tasha and Martin countered my negativity with positive affirmations of my strength, ability and determination. Every time I said I couldn’t do it they said “but you are doing it Monica!”
The value of good birth attendants cannot be overstated; I just could not have gone through such a long and difficult labour without such wonderful, strong people supporting me. They all put on a united front- not one of them wavered in their strength, support and belief in me, no matter what I dished out to them!
I don’t know how much time lapsed, as I said, I had no concept of real time, only the rhythm of the contractions, the rhythm of my body. I vomited a lot and was constantly nauseated. I had a lot of gastrolyte icy-poles shoved down my throat to keep my energy levels up. I kept getting really annoyed with everyone; one minute I’d be pushing Martin away, the next I’d be pulling him toward me. I was so unbelievably tired, all I wanted to do was go to sleep, and in fact I think I did doze in between contractions as best I could in the birth pool. I went through an excruciating stage of the labour with the baby’s head pressing down on my bladder so it felt like I constantly needed to wee, but every time I tried I couldn’t. Each contraction was even more excruciating because of the pressure on my bladder. Around this time Clare, my second midwife arrived and inserted a catheter so I could wee, but still nothing came out! The birth pool was my only relief and that’s where I stayed. All of a sudden with one contraction I felt the urge to push!! It was amazing, all this energy coming from my body! I actually preferred the pushing contractions because at least I could do something with the contractions, rather than just enduring them.

I pushed in the pool for about an hour I think, however it was apparent that I wasn’t making much progress in there and Helen and Clare eventually convinced me to get out. Once I got out for the last time, I looked back into the pool and realised I could not birth my baby in there- it was a disgusting mixture of poo, vomit, blood and membranes!
Getting out of the pool was just what I needed, all of a sudden I had a burst of energy, I got my groove and determination back, I knew it would all be over soon and that thought kept me going. However, I still pushed for long time after this. I don’t know where that strength came from; I was so tired, so exhausted, I never knew the meaning of exhausted until now. But a woman’s body is amazing and I kept going and going. In ‘real’ life, I am not a very physically strong person, but the power emanating from my body that night was a force that could not be stopped; I am still in awe of that power.
I tried pushing in a few positions, but it was a supported squat, with Martin holding me, that finally worked. I pushed my baby boy out at 4:16 am , almost 24 hours after labour had started, four days later if you count pre-labour! I don’t have the words to describe that moment as words do it an injustice. Once his head was out, his body slid out easily. I fell back on to the mattress on the floor and Sunny was lifted on to my chest. He was slippery and long and covered in blood from the tear on my perineum. All the pain was gone in an instant and all I felt was sheer joy, exhilaration, relief, jubilance and amazement. I DID IT!

My body completely collapsed after this, I actually couldn’t move I was so exhausted- no exhausted is too weak a word for how my body felt! But my mind, wow I was buzzing. Sunny needed a bit of oxygen and I needed stiches, so while I was being “fixed”, my sister and Martin looked after Sunny. Unlike the caesarean births, Sunny was right next to me for most of the time and I wasn’t afraid or detached, I was chatting away happily to Helen and Clare while they stitched me up. It was so lovely to have hot shower and hop in to my own bed with my beautiful baby. My sister’s partner Jason, who had slept through all my screaming and shouting and swearing but came in for the good bit at the end, made me some vegemite toast and a boiled egg which I devoured. Finally the nausea that I had been experiencing for the last 24 hours was gone and I was starving! I tried to sleep but I was just too hyped up and I just couldn’t take my eyes off my beautiful baby. I eventually did sleep for a couple of hours while poor Martin cleaned up the aftermath of the birth. When I awoke, my other children Arlin and Shae arrived home very excited with lots of cuddles and kisses for their new baby brother.
I admit that I was not as mobile and pain-free as I had hoped after the birth because I had quite a nasty tear. I had to put Icy-poles in pads in my undies for a few days after the birth which really helped. I had a fantastic roster of nurses- my sister, my mum and Martin It took exactly two weeks to be pain-free which is not bad compared to a caesarean and the pain was no where near as severe as the pain after surgery; Panadol was all I needed.

Sunny was not as big as my other children, but still a big baby at 4.5kgs and there was never any concern that he would get stuck.

For weeks after his birth I was on a high, I had the song “I am woman” by Helen Reddy running through my head for days- this song must have been written about childbirth- “I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman, hear me roar”! I did do a lot of roaring through the birth and I now feel so strong, invincible and empowered! Giving birth to Sunny at home without drugs or doctors or being cut up, after being told I could not, should not have a normal birth, was the best thing I ever done in my life and far outweighs any other achievements in my life. I feel triumphant, jubilant, like I could take on anything. This is just incomparable to how I felt after a caesarean birth.

It took me three times to get it right and this is simply because I did not have access to the care, knowledge and information needed to achieve a normal birth. Although I have disappointments, I have no regrets as this was the journey I was meant to make and which has now become my life passion; professionally through my research as a feminist sociologist and publicly by doing what I can to help other women achieve normal births.