Diana's Story |
My Experience with a Doula
Through it all, Heather was there — to comfort me, assure me, massage my hands and my panic-stricken mind.
I found out I was pregnant with my first child in May. I had always had a feeling that my pregnancy would be a difficult one, and birth, perhaps worse. I had nothing to base this on except a deep, life-long instinct. I knew I would need more than the 3 minutes per month that my obstetrician could give me. All my friends who had had children encouraged me to get a midwife.
My due date would be January 1. This apparently, was to be bad planning on my part — all the midwives in the city were fully booked or unavailable during the holidays. I imagined arriving at an empty hospital with no one but the cleaning lady around to help. However, the same pleasant woman who informed me of the paucity of midwives in Toronto suggested that I try a doula. "Doula"? An image popped to mind a woman dressed in many gauzy layers, with jingling ankle bracelets, dancing around my belly, chanting and squirting me with oil and pulped herbs.
As it turns out, a doula is sort of like a coach — she doesn't deliver babies but knows a lot about pregnancy and birth and is there as much for my partner as she is for me. And there are two kinds — a labour doula and a postpartum doula. There are accreditation programs, but, in Ontario, they aren't recognized by the health insurance plan yet. So — I got an appointment with an o.b., talked it all over with my husband, and then called Heather Mains.
Heather, as it turns out, doesn't wear gauze. And nary an ankle bracelet. She arrived at my home in jeans, smiling broadly, and immediately began putting me at ease — not an easy task, given that already I was experiencing the 24-hour "morning" sickness that would last 5 months. She explained that her major job would be to be with me during my labour and delivery, but that she would be happy to advise me at anytime before that. She talked to my husband about how she would be there to ensure that our expectations of the birth experience would be met — that she was not there to replace him, but to enhance the opportunities for him to participate. She talked about pain management, about coping skills, about what questions to ask my o.b., but mostly, she wanted to know about my state of mind, and where I was at emotionally.
As any mother knows, pregnancy is intensely personal, and everyone experiences it differently. I had a rough time of it. When the nausea finally eased off, it was replaced with the equally heinous and alarming sensation of being under water. I couldn't breathe. I was gaining weight at a phenomenal rate, even though I was barely eating more than usual. I have a small frame, but in my 8th month, I was already 55 pounds heavier. From my 6th month, my extremities began to swell. I began experiencing "carpal tunnel syndrome" in which, at night, my hands would freeze into painful claws, and continue to hurt throughout the day. My sinuses swelled so that my husband had to sleep elsewhere to escape my snores, and constant turning in bed. I would put on my slippers in the morning and fall back into bed, out of breath. I was sent to a cardiologist in my 7th month. A week from my due date, the baby (whose size elicited a "whoa!" from my o.b.), still hadn't turned.
Through it all, Heather was there — to comfort me, assure me, massage my hands and my panic-stricken mind. She helped my addled brain make sense of my o.b's instructions, and to decipher the final chain of events.
By the morning of December 29th, I had had it. The night before, I had gone in to the hospital certain that it was time (because the baby was a "footling breach", it would be dangerous for me to labour at home for too long — a prolapsed cord was a real possibility). The hospital sent me home — the strange tugs and tightenings I was feeling weren't leading to "real labour" just yet. But I returned the next day,determined to stay until the enormous being in me was out, out! OUT!! We arrived at the hospital on a rather dreary, bone-chilling day. The labour and delivery area seemed deserted — other women having sensibly planned births at more convenient times. The o.b. on call had a quick look, and matter-of-factly advised that I indeed should have a c-section, and that, after he returned from his banking errand, he would be happy to deliver the baby.
Heather arrived, and sat with us, listening to the monitoring equipment and preparing us mentally for the big event ahead. The attending nurse told us that Heather and my husband, barring complications, could be with me during the delivery, but that it would be up to the anaesthetist to decide whether anyone could be with me during the special spinal epidural (hurts like crazy but works immediately and lasts longer). Heather, in her straightforward manner persisted and was given the okay to come with me. My husband elected to stay out of the way for this part.
I don't think I would have held it together during the epidural if it hadn't been for Heather. A rather strong nurse held me in a fetal position and the anaesthetist worked to find his way into my lower back. There were two attempts before the alarmingly large needle found its true mark. Heather crouched by my head holding both my hands and maintained a running commentary about what was happening. But then, it was all over, and, as a numbing sensation subsumed me, people in surgical garb began flowing into the room.
Heather stood on my right, my husband on my left, each holding a hand and peeking over the little cloth screen covering my chest. Heather also held our camera in her hands (she's also a very competent photographer). Again, she described the goings -n, every once in a while encouraging my husband to watch, to see the amazing birth of his daughter. As all my husband could do was gasp and make barely audible amazed exclamations, I counted on Heather to give me the goods. I knew that Heather had the experience to deal with labour but that I would become the exception, because she hadn't attended many c- section births. But, she was as calm, and as responsive and helpful as if she had attended c-sections a million times.
The baby was born 9 pounds and 3 ounces. Her head was as round as a croquet ball. She was perfect. It seemed like merely seconds later that I was lying in a recovery room while Heather and a nurse coached me gently through my first breast-feeding adventure, the baby barely an hour old.
Heather returned to the hospital a couple of days later and helped me make it through a particularly difficult evening, waiting until my sister arrived for the ‘night shift' (c-section moms know it is impossible to walk that 20-mile stretch to the bassinet to attend to a crying baby). She then visited us at home to see how we were all doing. She brought us her ‘story' — a written account of the birth. I placed it in the photo album, next to the wonderful pictures she had taken.
We were very fortunate to have had Heather be a part of the birth. I know that my daughter had just that much a better start to her life because her mama was relaxed and happy. We have Heather, our doula, to thank.
