Birth Memories

Hi Everyone,
Today I was thinking about Sadie's birth. While Sadie was taking a nap, I made myself a cup of tea and sat at the computer going through all the photos that were taken at the hospital.
In my mind, when I think about the experience, I looked like this...



...and so it was with a little bit of shock that I came across this photo and remembered that I looked like this...



I had tried my best to hold off shaving my head until after she was born so that I had my hair for all the photos. But what they don't tell you when you get chemo is the pain in your scalp. It's the hair follicles dying. I had to shave it off to stop the pain. Greg went out to the local Walgreens near the hospital to get shaving cream and razors, and while I waited for the inducing drugs to start, all hooked up to IVs and monitors, he cleaned it up. I guess it's not every woman that gets their head shaved by their husband before giving birth. As if it was some sort of ancient ritual.



Lately I have been feeling lucky to have had cancer at the same time I had Sadie because I have been able to spend so much more time with her than if I had just been on regular maternity leave. But when it comes to my birth, I only feel robbed. Cancer robbed me of the experience of bringing her in to the world with only thoughts of being a mom and having a baby girl on my mind. Instead I was thinking how I couldn't breast feed her. I was worried about my white blood cell count. The fear of caesarean. The risk of infection because of my compromised immune system. The chemo treatment scheduled just two days away. Not that I was thinking about any of this during this moment. This moment, I remember. This moment was pure.



That's my OB's arm in the blue gown handing her to me seconds from being born. Sorry for the squeamish ones reading this. In case you didn't know, birth is bloody. I only got to hold her for a second before she was taken away and looked over by a team of doctors. I had this incredible feeling of calm while they were all fussing over her because I knew everything was going to be OK. But poor Greg was right in the middle of it and was a bit worried hence the look of concern and teary eyes while he is listening to the doctor answer his, 'Is she OK?' question for the fiftieth time since she came in to the world.



I love that Hannah is connecting with her. She is making sure that Sadie knew right away that she was Tia Hannah and to never forget it (not that Sadie or Amara could. Hannah is a very good Tia).

I had a lot of expectations about giving birth and at the same time was totally willing to let them all go. I grew up in a home that was focused on birth because my mom was a doula. My friends still recall coming over to my house, picking up a stack of freshly developed photos on the kitchen table, only to find themselves staring directly between the legs of a woman bringing a new person in to the world--at least that's the nice way of putting it. Again, for those of you who don't know, birth is bloody!
My expectations also had a lot to do with where I was born and how. The Farm became famous because of their dedication to natural childbirth. I was delivered by the woman who wrote Spiritual Midwifery, Ina May Gaskin.
Just the cover of this book makes me miss my mom so much.



That's Nina holding the book, reading to me, and Hannah rubbing my belly while I waited to be dilated enough to push.



I wasn't feeling much due to the epidural I had to have (long story--you can read about it here) which is why I said 'waited' to be dilated, instead of 'labored' because after the epidural, that's all I did. Wait. Which is so different from the amazing experience my mom talked so much about, that I grew up hearing about. Though I wasn't in a bus, all warm and cozy with 'good vibes' and 'juicy energy', I want to think that my birth experience was still beautiful and amazing, but it's hard.

Anyway, I feel like the longer I get away from having cancer, going through chemo, giving birth, the more I am bothered by it all. The more angry I get. I think when we are in the midst of something, we only do what is in front of us. This is our survival instinct taking over. And then, when the smoke has cleared, when things have calmed down, then you start to see things differently. Lately, there have been many moments where I stop and think, 'But wait. Did that really happen?'.

It's good we have real photos to look back on. They tell a story. And they talk to us. Like this one here. This photo is saying, 'Who cares that I am surrounded by latex glove dispensers and hazardous waste containers, bright florescent lamps and hospital issued linens. Who cares how she came in to the world. She's in the world'.



Love,
Rosalie

ps: This is really not for the squeamish. I don't think I will be getting a left nipple after all. The scab fell off and took whatever was trying to grow with it. I threw it away and then Frida found it in the garbage. And ate it.