Jericho’s birth, Part One

I’ve decided to write this in pieces. I can’t sit down and get it all out in one go. I can’t expect anyone to sit down and read it all in one go. I need to take breaks in between each section. There’s so much to tell. I need to say it all. I need to tell it, and read it, over and over, because I still don’t believe it happened to me.

Curtis told me this evening: “This doesn’t happen in real life, this only happens on TLC or the Lifetime network. Those people have this happen to them. Real people don’t.”

The first part ended up being five pages, and at 2am I stopped writing. When I get up tomorrow I’ll write more.

This story is written in three parts. Jericho’s original birth announcement, with photos, is [ here ].

[ Part One ] is below.

[ Part Two ]

[ Part Three ]

Part 1.

Early on the morning of November first I felt twinges of cramps. They were not unlike the Braxton hicks I have every single day, throughout the day. They came and went irregularly, maybe every 10-20 minutes, and lasted barely 15 seconds. Sometimes I didn’t notice them at all, and they hardly bothered me. I ignored them.
The cramps went, for the most part, unnoticed over the course of my day. Around noon I started feeling them a little more intensely. I had to stop what I was doing and take a breath. Still they were not any more intense then Braxton hicks contractions that I was accustomed to having, it’s just that they were coming more frequently then those were. I posted an entry, feeling irritated and frustrated that they were not spreading out. Usually my bouts of cramps would respond to drinking water or lying down. These did not – but neither did they get closer together. I timed a few and wrote it down on some scrap paper. Thirty seconds at the most, totally irregular, sometimes as little as 7 minutes apart and sometimes as much as 14.
I went to the bathroom and checked myself. My cervix felt odd, like something was sticking out of it, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It was sharp, and small, and something else was fleshy and fat. I was about 4.5 centimeters dilated. When I took my fingers away they were covered in wetness and a cheesey white substance. It looked like vernix. It startled me, and I made a post in my unassisted birth community about the possibility. As far as I knew my water had not broken. A few suggested that it may have sprung a leak, but he was down so low that it had resealed and a bit of vernix was lost. At this point I believe he spun from head down to head up.
His heart rate was strong and normal, I felt him move when I pushed on him, but only a little.
Curtis came home and I pulled him aside to tell him about the cramps. He asked if they were regular. I said they weren’t. We shrugged it off.

I took a shower somewhere around 3:30. They all but stopped. This convinced me there was nothing to worry about. I felt crampy, but the regularity of the cramps had stopped, I was left with almost a sore feeling as though I was recovering from a mighty kick to the gut.
When my mother arrived after 4pm I hid in my room. The cramps returned and I didn’t want her to be alarmed and start making announcements about it. I napped a little, and sipped on some Gatorade that Curtis had picked up for me. Every so often a cramp woke me, but they still weren’t that bad. I didn’t even bother to roll over for them.

I ate dinner around 6pm, and suddenly the contractions felt real. I sat on them a while, wondering what to do. Something was pulling me to go to the hospital. I fought it, because I wanted proof this was real preterm labour; proof that something was wrong. Something inside me knew it, but I pushed it back for fear of the medical treatment I would receive if and when I went.
We didn’t time them, but they were coming regularly. I would moan into a pillow when each hit. I held a hot water bottle to my back, which ached terribly from the baby’s strange position. He’d turned to posterior breech, and the jolts that each contraction sent through my spine were very painful. The cramps themselves were not that bad, it was just the back pain that had me.

My labour with Tempest was so obvious. I had no doubt about what was happening. I kept waiting for that sign this time, kept thinking I had plenty of time to decide. Going to the hospital was a scary prospect. I knew if I entered I was submitting to medical care, and yet I felt so strongly that I should go.
I called the only person I could think of to call: Tammy is an LLL Leader who lives in this town, and recently her and I had started to become good friends. She is a natural birth advocate, and as anti hospital and medical care as I am, so I deeply trusted her opinion.
Her husband answered, said she was busy and took my name and number. I’d relayed to him that it was very important, and he said he’d pass it on but she would not call me back right away.
I sat in silence for a few moments, feeling nervous. The phone rang. It was him again.
“I didn’t realize which Heather it was,” he said. “Tammy’s in the middle of a miscarriage, but she wants to talk to you.”
I burst into tears. I felt horrible for my ignorance. Another contraction hit. This one felt stronger, because I was emotionally unprepared for it. I cried into my pillow and held my stomach. I felt so much pain, and guilt, and a strange sense of kinship. He twisted within me, and I felt something move in my birth canal.

I took the phone back when the pain subsided, and explained to Tammy my symptoms. I wanted a second opinion about whether or not this was labour and she knew a good, trustworthy (albeit non-practicing) midwife who I wanted to call. Unfortunately, non-practicing really meant non-practicing. My two remaining choices were notorious “med”-wives. One had recently given birth, and may not be answering her phone. With no choice I picked the other and took down her number.
Before I hung up Tammy told me my contractions were five minutes apart and lasting roughly a minute.

I called the midwife, Karen, and quickly summed up my symptoms. I told her I was having an unassisted pregnancy, explained my history, and was very clear that I merely wanted a second opinion on whether this was preterm labour or something non-threatening.
I paused for another contraction.
She said, “Without a doubt you’re in active labour, and if I were you I’d go now”. She brought up some points I had not considered: like how a preterm baby does not need a fully dilated cervix to pass through.

She started to give me a lecture about how if only I’d gone sooner in the day when I first felt the twinges they could have stopped my labour.
“I am of the belief that things happen how they are meant to,” I told her. “Even if I’d known then, I would not have wanted my labour stopped.”
She was aghast that someone would refuse medical care so willingly. I hung up, and called Tammy back to tell her I was leaving. I promised to call her from the hospital when I knew what was happening.

I called my mom. “I think I’m in preterm labour, I need a ride to the hospital”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said.
I had one more moderate contraction, and then they stopped. I went to the bathroom, and when I wiped I felt something sitting just on the brim of my perineum. I felt a rush of fear, and ran to the car. I kneeled in the seat because I was afraid to sit on it, whatever it was.
It took about three minutes to drive to the hospital. We walked to the ER desk, and the nurses directed me toward L&D. “I’m only 34 weeks,” I told them. I heard the number echo down the hall between nurses like a game of telephone. Someone ran up to escort me. She offered a wheelchair, but I refused. I was still afraid to sit.

The walk to L&D took five full minutes. I joked to LC how torturous it was for a labouring woman. I felt no contractions on the walk.

They brought me to a private room, gelled my stomach and hooked me to an external fetal monitor. His heart rate was 138. The nurse told me the machine would check to see if I was actually having contractions. Of course, they’d stopped when I got into the car so I felt like an idiot lying there. It was almost an hour before I felt them start up again. It was a very slow build at first: quiet irregular cramps that I barely noticed quickly turned into sharp back pains I had to moan through. I flipped onto all fours, rocked and made my birthing noises. Inside my mind I repeated a mantra: gentle, baby, gentle.
A nurse came in and announced that the monitor was not picking up any uterine activity: I was not having real contractions. She put a hand on my stomach to feel for tightening – when there was none she seemed to feel validated.

I watched his heart rate fall with the next cramp; 110, 100, 80, 73 – then we would hear silence for twenty seconds, slowly his heartbeat would return as the cramp subsided. This continued for the next half hour. I reported it to the nurses, but they ignored me. They insisted the machine said I was not in labour.
An RN was called. All I wanted now was for someone to tell me what was sticking out of my vagina.
I called Tammy and gave her a ho-hum update. We knew nothing, no one knew anything, no one could agree on anything. They said I’d be there at least another few hours to wait for tests. Tammy assured me she’d still be awake then and to call when I knew something more.
I sent Curtis and Tempest home; she was exhausted. I assured him that I’d be home before tomorrow morning so he wouldn’t have to figure out what to do with her when he woke for school.
LC stayed. We cracked jokes about the negligent staff between what were most obviously contractions, even though I was firmly told they weren’t. The RN agreed that it was early labour, but wouldn’t check me without the OB/GYN present. He was called, and I was told it would only take him ten minutes to arrive.
In hospital terms this means half an hour or more.
By that time the cramps were very intense. I asked for a birthing ball, and considered a shower while I waited. It was starting to hit me that I was actually in labour, but the full reality of the situation and what that meant for the future were well beyond my grasp. I was focused on my visualizations, my mantras, and retaining a sense of comfort even in this stark hospital room. LC rubbed the small of my back, but not nearly hard enough. I think she was trying to be gentle for fear of aggravating me, but when you’re having a contraction a soft and gentle touch is the last thing you want.

This is where things started happening too fast. The next twenty minutes are a blur of activity and emotion. It took me three days to break down each second. I had LC tell me every moment from her point of view, then asked Curtis, so that I could place every instant into my gray memory.

The OBGYN entered mid-contraction. He was a dark, heavy-set man with a thick accent. I heard him say hello, then repeat the introduction with more insistence when I did not respond. My face was buried in a pillow and I was trying to remain focused. I considered yelling back, “Shut the fuck up”, but couldn’t summon my voice for anything but my birthing woman cries.

When the contraction ended we were formally introduced. I said I only wanted him to see what was coming out of me, and then I would go home.
He donned a glove. I made sure, for the 58th time that evening, that it was non-latex before allowing him to continue. Regardless of how many times I asked this question the response I always got was “What happens to you if it is latex?”.
He reached in and felt around. Silence. I eased the tension by joking that I must be crazy for feeling something there. More silence. He palpated my stomach fiercely and I cried out in pain.

“You are ten centimeters dilated, and the baby’s buttocks and penis are right there.”
I screamed: “What?!”
He repeated himself. I heard an emergency page over the intercom and knew it was for me.
“We have to do a c-section,” he said.
A dam burst at the door to my room – seven people and an ultrasound machine flooded in. Someone put gel on my stomach, someone shoved a bedpan beneath me to hoist my body higher, someone else asked about my allergies, another nurse answered her “She’s allergic to everything”.
“Any medications?” asked one.
“Who is your doctor?”
“When is your due date?”
“When was your last menstrual period?”
“Are you having back pain?”
“Would you like to see your baby?”
A monitor was turned toward me. I saw a head, and part of a spine. The OBGYN shoved his fist into me and pushed my baby back toward my womb. It was the most horrible pain I’d ever felt. I screamed. Things started to hurt terribly. Each contraction felt like hot knives cutting through my spine. I begged to move, but two people held me down. Someone inserted an IV in one arm. Someone gave me a shot in the other. Another IV went into my wrist.
“Pump your hand.”
“I want to deliver vaginally, I want a vaginal birth”
“Heather-“ started the OBGYN, “Your baby is breech, his buttocks is right there, he is half out, I need to do a c-section to save him.”
Someone finally noticed his heartbeat disappearing on the monitor. I looked at the ceiling and howled through another contraction. Two people held my arms so I would not writhe in pain.

“Don’t push”
“I’m not pushing”
“Don’t push!”
“Don’t scream!”
“Don’t yell!”
“Don’t push!”
“I’m not pushing!”
“Take a deep breath!”
“Take it!”
“I want to deliver vaginally!”

I reached out for LC’s hand. The OBGYN took it instead. The room filled with more people. I saw LC pushed to the back corner.

“Call Curtis, call Tammy.”
She nodded.

Hands held me down, hands went up inside me, on me, all over me. None were gentle. I kept reaching for LC but each time I looked for her she was further away; lost in a sea of hospital staff, beeping machines and people screaming orders over my voice.

Suddenly someone came forward and shoved a consent form into my face. The room went silent. I could hear my baby’s heartbeat on the monitor my own pulse racing. I was terrified, and shaking so hard that my teeth rattled over the buzz of commotion just outside my doors. I so desperately wished for someone to hold me, and we’d fly away, somewhere quiet…
The OBGYN broke the silence by yelling at me. Did I want my baby to live? We have to do a c-section now. Now.
Someone put a pen in my hand and closed my fist around it.

I signed.

Chaos resumed. I was undressed, shaved, held down, hooked up, spread open, and palpated by a hundred hands. I shook violently. It was so cold in the room. Someone threw a hot blanket on me. It was my only modesty.
Don’t push, don’t yell, don’t scream, don’t push, don’t cry, breathe deeper.
My IV bag was thrown onto my stomach and my bed flew out the door. I caught LC’s eyes as we rounded the corner. The room grew larger and larger and she looked so small and alone there. I was so scared.

Every bump in the floor felt like a fierce punch. I was held down on my back, slightly inverted, screaming through my contractions. The OBGYN kept his hand up inside me, forcing my baby back toward my womb and demanding I not push. I wasn’t pushing, I never felt the urge to push.
They threw my bed at the first elevator, but it wouldn’t fit. In the second I closed my eyes and fought back rising nausea. I counted seconds.
“My mother was born vaginal breech” I whispered. Eyes turned toward me, but no one said a word. I cried.

An instant passed, and I was in the OR.

“Roll like a log,” said a nurse. Sterile and anonymous faces of half a dozen masked men and women appeared over me.
“Please put me out.”
“We will.”
“I’m going to insert a catheter.”
“Please put me out first!”
Three people took my medical history. Someone put a mask over me, then took it away.
“No latex”
“What happens when she touches latex?”
“Skin irritation, breathing difficulties”
“…On her mouth?”
“… allergies”
“… no time”
“… no visible reaction”
“… do it anyway”
The mask came back.
“Breathe deeply”
“Stop screaming”
“How do you feel?”
I closed my eyes and tried to take deep breaths. I wanted to sleep. I kept repeating to myself, “Please sleep, please sleep, please sleep.”
Someone washed my stomach. Someone else pushed on it. The OBGYN removed his hand from my vagina and closed my legs. My eyes snapped open, “I’m not asleep!”
“Breathe deeply!”
“I am.”
Another twenty seconds passed. I could taste the anesthesia on the back of my tongue. “I’m not asleep”
They took the mask away. Someone pricked my left arm, and then it was over.




  • Amanda says:

    My question feels cold but I must ask, did he have any other birth defects
    That did not allow his lungs to work? While reading this I can’t help but think there are babies born at 6 months who live, my own daughter born at 27 weeks,
    It just doesn’t seem fair. I found your page on the Skeptical Mothers Page, couldn’t help but cry for you and your family. I pray my comment does not offend you, I am just very curious as to what went wrong with your little boy.

    • Babyslime says:

      It doesn’t offend me. 🙂

      I wrote later on that he had what’s known as Classic Potter’s Syndrome. He never developed kidneys, and since amniotic fluid is largely composed of fetal urine, that meant there was very low fluid levels in the womb during his development. That causes a lot of pressure to build up, which can collapse lungs and heart, preventing them from properly maturing. Classic Potters is not survivable, and there’s no chance of “transplant” as there’s nothing to connect it to. When organs fail to develop at all, the ‘hookups’ don’t develop either. There are other levels of Potters that can be survivable, where a baby has one or both kidneys in-tact but they may be underdeveloped or atrophied, but unfortunately his was not. It can sometimes be diagnosed with a special test via ultrasound that runs a dye through the baby’s system and watches it travel an eventually be expelled. That test isn’t usually done though, not unless there’s other more obvious issues that arise during the pregnancy that make them suspect there are problems with kidney function. Of the mothers I’ve known who had babies with varying degrees of Potters, about half found out and half didn’t know until birth. Of those who found out, most chose not to carry to term.

  • Amanda says:

    My question feels cold but I must ask, did he have any other birth defects
    That did not allow his lungs to work? While reading this I can’t help but think there are babies born at 6 months who live, my own daughter born at 27 weeks,
    It just doesn’t seem fair. I found your page on the Skeptical Mothers Page, couldn’t help but cry for you and your family.

  • Oh my God, I can’t believe the nurses and medical staff dismissed your contractions like that! It made me so angry reading about that.

    Good lord, what you went through – you must’ve been absolutely terrified out of your mind. I certainly would’ve been.

    I don’t know what to say, except I can’t believe all that happened to you before the c-section. That, and a generic *gentle hugs*…cliche, but it comes from the heart ♥

  • imaflake says:

    I’m so sorry. I’ve only made it through this part, and a little of the next, and I’m in tears for you. Iknow now how and why you put it so eloquently to Ascher, about not spending your pregnancy in fear for something that can’t be controlled. I wish I’d had your kind of courage a few months ago, when a nagging worry about not feeling pregnant drove me to the doctor, to find out my 12week fetus was a blighted ovum, and then I let myself submit to a D+C a week later because I let myself get frantic about the idea of sepsis if I held off any longer. And it’s like that two-hour block of time I went under, came up, and went home never happened, because I was so groggy and so out of it only my husband knew what time we came and what time we left. That two hours just mars the 7-8 weeks I had control of the pregnancy, and I still feel like I damaged my principles.

    I’m sorry to dump on you. I just still didn’t know how to piece together all the angles of my loss til I read your story. And I’ll just wrap up by saying I’m so impressed that you maintained the confidence to have another UP so soon.

  • imaflake says:

    I’m so sorry. I’ve only made it through this part, and a little of the next, and I’m in tears for you. Iknow now how and why you put it so eloquently to Ascher, about not spending your pregnancy in fear for something that can’t be controlled. I wish I’d had your kind of courage a few months ago, when a nagging worry about not feeling pregnant drove me to the doctor, to find out my 12week fetus was a blighted ovum, and then I let myself submit to a D+C a week later because I let myself get frantic about the idea of sepsis if I held off any longer. And it’s like that two-hour block of time I went under, came up, and went home never happened, because I was so groggy and so out of it only my husband knew what time we came and what time we left. That two hours just mars the 7-8 weeks I had control of the pregnancy, and I still feel like I damaged my principles.

    I’m sorry to dump on you. I just still didn’t know how to piece together all the angles of my loss til I read your story. And I’ll just wrap up by saying I’m so impressed that you maintained the confidence to have another UP so soon.

    • admin says:

      Thank you, and I’m sorry about your D&C trauma. 🙁
      It’s not dumping; it’s sharing. I have appreciated every personal story and little bit of kinship I’ve been offered from writing his story out. The best comfort is knowing you aren’t alone.

      In regards to ‘having the confidence’…
      This pregnancy was very unplanned. We were using condoms and honestly I was terrified when I realized I was pregnant. I had no idea that my fertility had returned.
      Someone just really wants to be here.

    • admin says:

      Thank you, and I’m sorry about your D&C trauma. 🙁
      It’s not dumping; it’s sharing. I have appreciated every personal story and little bit of kinship I’ve been offered from writing his story out. The best comfort is knowing you aren’t alone.

      In regards to ‘having the confidence’…
      This pregnancy was very unplanned. We were using condoms and honestly I was terrified when I realized I was pregnant. I had no idea that my fertility had returned.
      Someone just really wants to be here.

  • tears…

    Another stranger in tears. So much fear about a hospital birth, how they make you feel so weak and out of control. If horrible things must happen one would wish them to happen when we are wrapped in love and light.

    And we shall meet, and know, and remember, and love them again.

  • abbygirl14 says:

    I’m sitting here reading this nearly in tears. I was in pre-term labor and it was almost identical to your situation. The machines didn’t pick it up, the nurses couldn’t feel them by pressing on my stomach, no one believed me. I was sent home after an hour where I delivered my baby completely unexpectedly. I’m so sorry to hear about your son. I only “know” you through the Pregnant community, but I always valued what you had to say in your posts and comments. I will be praying for you and your family.

  • purplemusic says:

    Thank you for sharing your story, I know it can’t be easy.

  • anja13 says:

    That’s horrific. Words and even hugs are simply not enough to convey the deep feeling of sorrow of you having to go through this. I would have expected more from the Canadian medicial establishment.

  • frootijen says:

    Babs, I am so sorry for your loss and with your tough experience with your C-Section and the medical staff. I have seen so much pain lately just having to visit the NICU. The neighbor in one of the patient/family care rooms was given bad news about their early baby and was staying at the hospital room next to me. I was staying in a Care Room to breastfeed Roman. They had their son in there room with them to live out the rest of his life. Their eldest son would play with my daughter out in the waiting room and he told us that his little brother would be going to heaven. I had a feeling that it was getting close to the end because the whole family was staying in the Care Room and nurses were coming in and out. I had been called in at 3 in the morning to feed Roman and unfortunately had come out of the room just as the baby was passing. I heard the monitors go off and I was completely numb. I couldn’t even fathom what the family was going through at that point or even after the passing of their son. When I came back to my room, I had come in on momma crouched over the bed crying from the loss of her son-their door was open. The nurses slowly closed the door to give mom and family privacy. I felt so horrible for coming in on something so heartbreaking and personal. I will never be the same person again for witnessing that. I can’t even imagine the pain that they went through and are going through now. I have wished that no-one else that I know ever has to go through losing their baby. I cried for them all day long. I have been away from my computer for a while, and I come back and get on LJ to find out that someone who I have been finding to be an incredible person has to experience the worst loss in the world. I don’t know you all that well, but it is hitting me hard hearing about your experience and knowing that Jericho your very beautiful son was not given the chance in life that he deserves. He is truly beautiful, and my thoughts, love and prayers are going out to you, and your whole family. If you need anything or feel like just talking, please let me know. Just know that many people are thinking of you, and many tears have been shed for Jericho and your family.
    *hugs and blessings*

  • pert_embrace says:

    I don’t know your religious background, if you are religious or not. But I hope you take this with the loving voice that it was meant to be spoken in.

    2Cr 1:4 Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

    I can’t imagine how you feel right now, but I hope you will again feel peace. You are such an advocate, and I believe that you will be able to use your experience to bring comfort to other women who share this experience.

  • This brings back so many memories. Going to the hospital, hearing that you need to have a c-section in order for your baby to live. Being “forced” to have a c-section, and the drama and emotion that floats around the whole situation. I’ve been through it and it’s traumatizing. I’m such an extremely self conscious person and being stripped naked in front of everyone and just feeling uncomfortable and touched just isn’t fun. I know exactly how you felt.
    I was treated like crap by all the nurses and doctors involved. They all talked down to me like I was some sort of dumbass and that I didn’t know anything about pregnancy or what was going on (and they were -really- wrong). It takes time to heal, both emotionally and physically, and I pray that you’re stronger than me. I can already see that you are by you coming out and having the strength and courage to type all of this out. I couldn’t do it.
    I just wanted you to know that I know parts of what you’ve been through, and even with the rest, you have my sympathy and support. You and your family are indeed in my thoughts.

  • I am sitting here, a mama for 12 years now, and I am holding my breath, my abdomen is clenching up around a now non-existant uterus. I can feel myself tensing my body to hold that baby in.

    Thank you for sharing this, thank you for bringing back memories of my own difficult labor and delivery, when I fought for my own son.

    I feel like I am going to hold my breath till the rest is written.

  • (((HUGS)))

    I am so sorry they were so rude/terrible to you! You are an amazing woman–so strong and brave and wise.

  • i am so sorry. you and your family are in my thoughts.

  • shanna says:

    I know we don’t know each other, but I wanted to offer my condolences. No one deserves this kind of pain. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. You and yours are in my thoughts. Be well.

  • lizbtropez says:

    Makes me feel bad for complaining they induced me.

    But I will say drs shouldn’t force someone to do things against their wishes, unless their option is 100% safe and to follow the wishes is not.

    There are some things that may have prevented or slowed your preterm labor but I won’t bother you with that now since it’s unfortunately irrelevant.

    I don’t know you but one of my LJ friends were talking about you so I thought I’d share my condolences.

    Hugs to you all in this terriblly sad time.

    • admin says:

      I wouldn’t have wanted it slowed or stopped, even if he was fine. As I said, I believe things happen how they are meant to. I went to the hospital because I felt, inside, that I needed to go. I believe the experience I had allowed Jericho those 15 minutes to say goodbye. We’ve thought about it so much, and no other choice would have allowed those last moments to be the way they were – so for that I’m glad I went, but I’m allowing myself some anger at my c-section and the way I was treated. It helps to heal.

      • lizbtropez says:

        You were treated horribly… he may not have lived anyways with a vaginal but at least that would have been respecting your wishes and giving you a chance to see him right away, that’s what I think the dr should be apologizing for. I don’t think suing for a load of money is the answer, drs have enough problems affording insurance, but filing a complaint or suing on principal should draw attention to the need to respect the mother’s wishes unless intervention is the only way (which in this case it wasn’t). You should also see if the dr has an avoid average rate of c sections, or failed c sections and see if he wasn’t just pushing his preference on you (which they shouldn’t do).
        I am truly sorry and you should be angry and you should tell them how you feel.

        • Most doctors have well over the “recommended” 10% C-sec rate. In fact, state-wide my state, Texas, has over 45%…nearly 50! Many doctors don’t track their personal rates…I know…I tried to find out the rates of all OB’s within two hour drive when I got pregnant with my first baby. Only ONE had that information available. You’d have to get a supeona of his medical records which would require an actual filing of complaint or pressing charges or whatever.

  • lunar_envy says:

    I hope this doesn’t come across sounding crass but things could be worse. The same kind of people that subjected you to such VILE treatment at the hospital are the same kind of people that would be advocating to take Tempest away if you had home birthed and Jericho died.

    The way you were treated is absolutely disgusting and I’m very sorry it happened to you.

    It’s been said before but please be at peace.

    • admin says:

      If Jericho had died at home due to defects, there’s no grounds for CPS to get involved. Plus, with how fast he was coming, and the fact that he was so small, it would have been easy to say it was an accident… He was coming out by the time we left for the hospital. One push would have birthed him.
      I have thought about it. I wondered what would have happened if I’d stayed home… I think those moments would have been lost in panic and chaos of trying to resuscitate him, calling 911, and then having him die there – probably with the ambulance intubating him. His lungs couldn’t take breaths, and he couldn’t even live on a machine. Curtis saw him breathe only once before he died.

  • msbratty says:

    I am so so sorry
    I have seen you post in some communities that I am in and just wanted to say that I am thinking of you as you go through this horrific time.

  • on_a_hill says:


    I can’t say anything.

  • Fuck.

    I am so sorry.
    I crying right now…
    Jesus, I want to hear the rest….

    I’m so sorry.

  • mystik00769 says:

    I know you don’t know me, but I am so incredibly sorry you had to go through all of this. I don’t know what else to say, except that I really am heartbroken for you and your family

  • *hugs* i don’t even know what to say. What a terrifying horrible way to treat you. I’m praying for you and your family.

  • CoB girl here, letting you know that you and Jericho and Tempest and everyone are in my thoughts. constantly. thinking of you all.

  • ercvt says:

    I don’t think I can really say I understand you pain, because I have never felt that sort of heart wrenching pain…but please know that you have my prayers and thoughts. I am glad you wrote this down, getting the words out there has got to help.
    I know its the last thing on your mind, but your experience and message has GOT to be spread.

  • redhen says:

    i am so sorry that this happened to you, to anyone. there are hundreds of people on LJ feeling your pain with you, but none of us will ever truly know. again, mama… stay strong.

  • Another prayer from a stranger….

    Someone told me once that the tears we cry here on earth, God stores as shimmering pools of clear, sweet water. As we meet strangers, friends, loved ones around us with parched souls we are able to dip from the pools of our hurts and minister to those around us. I think of this now becuase I strongly believe that God has already, and will continue to, transform the hurt and pain you’ve gone through into a beautiful ministry to those around you. The tears you cry, and we cry with you, ARE comforting others in their moments of pain. And will continue to do so. And so Jericho will always live on in those moments of love and giving.


  • psychofox says:

    that sounds so awful. i’m sorry for the crap way you were treated. reading this brings tears to my eyes.
    you are in my thoughts. much love

  • I’m a friend of Jesamin, but I wanted you to know that I’m lighting a candle and my heart is with you and your family, truly.

    Much love.

  • kimmlett says:

    I’ve only seen you through the communities, so it feels a bit awkward to intrude into your journal. But I had to leave my condolences to you and your family. I cried through the whole entry and it disgusts me to read how rude they were to you. It has to be hard sharing all this with everyone, but thank you for doing just that. I’m sorry this had to happen to you.

  • mommaof5320 says:

    Hi there. I’m not on your friends list…but i am on ‘s and she said that you had lost your baby and to keep you in our prayers. It;s so strange…i feel like i should know what to say to you. My mother lost a baby at 30 weeks. I have had two miscarriages. It seems like i should have words that mean something or take away a little pain. I know when I went through it nothing made me feel better. I was angry, i was terrified, I was sad. I guess the only words i have to offer is that your not alone. I’m so sorry and that i will keep you in my prayers.

  • Oh Heather…. I know you from MDC and other communities… i don’t mean to intrude in your personal journal… i just had to tell you again.. i’m so so sorry I can’t stop crying… please please know we are thinking and praying for you… i don’t even know what to write…..
    im so sorry….

  • unrulyx says:

    my deepest condolences, hun. i know there are no words.

    your story touched me deeply.. i had a traumatic c-section shortly after i turned 18. i am so sorry they treated so you inhumanely.

  • alphapythia says:

    When you’re able to think of such things, I’d like to make a charity donation in Jericho’s name to a charity that means something to you guys. (I thought of March of Dimes but I thought you might like soemthing else better.) Let me know if that would be soemthing you’d like. No pressure obviously. Everything at your pace.

  • I am so sorry.

    I know you don’t know me, I am a friend of .

    You said that everything happens for a reason…and I know it’s awful and I know that it seems like there is no reason, but there must be one. *hugs*

    I know you may not take much solace from the words of a stranger, but I am deeply sorry and I hope you and your family are able to heal and move on.

  • tobeborn says:

    I am so sorry that you were treated with such disrespect. Know that I am thinking of you and your family during this difficult time.

  • mom2britnjor says:

    You write so beautifully that I feel like I am in the room with you, watching what your going through. I cannot imagine and lord knows I hope I never have to experience the pain and loss you are going through. I have added you to my friend list to keep in touch with you. I am sorry I dont have kinder words for you, but I do have a ear/shoulder to lend if you ever need it.

  • rawness says:

    Oh Babs…I wish I knew what to say, I really do. I’m beyond sorry they treated you so poorly. God that’s the understatement of the year. I’m so sorry they treated you like you were subhuman, I am. I wish I could say or do something that made it better, but I can’t.

    Most of all I’m sorry about the baby. Words cannot express how sorry I am. And I just…I don’t know what to say. Rest, and heal as much as you can.

  • kwanboa says:

    Fuck, now I’m crying…

    No one should have had to go through this shit…god…

  • I am so very sorry to hear about your the loss of Jericho. I can’t stop crying. The pictures are so powerful, he was a beautiful little boy.

    I’ve been reading your lj for a long time. The first entry I remember reading, was back when you had a poll about which photo to use of Temptest nursing, I like the sepia toned one, and I think I may even have voted. (I’m not sure why I’m rambling) But anyway, there have been many times I’ve wanted to comment, but I’m not sure why I haven’t, because I’m always reading. Sometimes I tend to be on the shy side.

    But through your journal I’ve been so interested in learning more about cosleeping, and natural birth. I haven’t yet had a baby, I’ve been working hard on having a healthy diet, and trying to get in better shape before having a pregnancy. Seeing Curtis’s wl sucess has been a huge motivator for me as well. We just recently adopted internationally. (We haven’t even been home a week, I always check your journal, and I just felt like I wanted to leave a note, and I’m sorry it’s rambled on, but I wanted to give a little background to how I’ve come to your journal)

    Please know your whole family is in my thoughts and prayers.

  • neuraltube says:

    Crying my eyes out. I am so sorry. Keep writing–we are all here to bear witness. My dear friend lost her baby at home while pushing her out and I am still reeling from that experience. Your precious baby. I am so sad for you.

  • Yikes how awful. This brings back memories of my c/section experience with
    Lydia 🙁
    I can’t imagine dealing with the emotions that go along with losing a much loved baby as well as the aftermath of an unassisted birth that becomes brutalised. It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.
    You are in my thoughts and have my love.

  • ickle says:

    You have been in my head and my heart ever since I read that first post. Before then, too, actually…you have been an inspiration to me for a long time now.

    I can’t stop thinking about it. I am so unspeakably angry at them for treating you like that.

    Thank you so much for sharing this with those of us who aren’t on your friends list. x

  • runawaybunni says:

    I only know of you from different communities, and occasionally reading your personal journal. I’ve looked up to you from afar, and you’ve always amazed me with how incredible you are as a person. I cannot imagine what you must be feeling right now, but you are in my heart. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.

  • dearheart … i don’t know you very well, but my heart hurts so very much for you right now. i know that it’s not much comfort, with everything that’s been assaulting your heart and mind since this happened … we are all thinking of you, praying and wishing the best for you in our own way. you are such a beautiful soul and you have done so much for others, been such an amazing person and mother and so important to even the “ananymous strangers” of livejournal. i’m aching and weeping for you, and if i could i would just hug you so tightly … you are so brave to have gotten as far through this as you have; it’s not over, and it isn’t going to be easy, but we will all be here for you. please, please let me know if there is *anything* i can do for you, anything at all, and i will do everything that i can.

    i love you.

    • more thoughts for you …

      this came to me, and i wanted to write it out and share it with you. i just feel compelled to do so …

      he lived a life of peace and quiet beauty … for 34 weeks, he lay sheltered beneath your heart, safe, warm, and loved. he moved within you to let you know he was there, so close to you, his heart beting so closely to yours, all of that time. for most of his life, all he knew was that safety, the coziness of the womb, the sound of the blood rushing through your heart and veins, the gentle noises of your body and sounds of the world that filtered through your womb. no intruders disturbed him for this time, nothing distressed his gentle life; you as his mother loved him fiercely, and held him within your heart and womb. how very like heaven the womb must have been for him; free of stress and pain, worries of the world. for the time that he was here on earth, he was sheltered and loved so much; what more could any of us ask for?

      his time here was brief, but for him, it was a lifetime of love, and his stay on earth was as beutiful as it could possibly have been. it is a trgedy that he could not linger with us longer, but his memory will be with all of us who knew of him, and more importantly, with his family who cared for him and loved him more than anyone else ever could.

      i can’t stop thinking about him, and about you … as othes have said, i can’t believe how you were treated, and the way that you were violated; i imagine that their intent was to focus on saving the baby, but they should have remebered that birth directly involves *two* people; child and mother must both be equally considered.

      i ache so much for you, and your family. as i said before, please let me know if i can do anything. people always say that, but i do honestly mean it. *huggz* i wish that i could be of some help or comfort to you.

  • You probably don’t remember me, as I dropped all the pregnancy/baby communities when I had my stillbirth in June, but I’ve been thinking about you ever since I heard. You write beautifully.

  • aylablade says:

    I know you from B_N and natural birth. My heart goes out to you and your family. Please know that you are in my thoughts even though you may not know me.

  • buzzy_bee says:

    I’m so, so sorry someone else has to go through this. If you need to talk through this, IM or whatever. I don’t know you that well, but I’ve been there (and after a pregnancy and labour where I “broke the rules” about my care as well) and that may help.

  • birthingway says:

    I am so sad for you and your family Heather. And *thank you* for sharing this. I agree that it is so important to record it.

    I wonder–what can we do for you? Is there anything you need? I live in BC too, and would be so happy to serve your family.


  • xavi7734 says:

    I am so incredibly sorry…there just aren’t any words to express to you how I am hurting for you and for your family right now. I wish you much peace in the months and years to come. This is a terrible tragedy and you will need time to heal. Please know that there are so many on LJ who care about you and your family. We are all thinking of you.

  • _melly says:

    Oh my… I’m so sorry you had to go through with all of that. They should have let you deliever breach if he was right there. When I get my RN I will be a huge vaginal birth advocate including VBACS. That doctor should have let you deliver if he was right there….. Im so sorry they were so ignorant and cold…. ::hug::

  • Many *hugs* and condolances.

    Like so many others said you are an amazing woman and have done so much. You gave me all of the information and shared with me the picture or Tempest first nursing. After seeing that and talking with you it made me HAVE to be successfull with BF my baby. And I have been. Thanks to you!

    I wish you great peace.

  • mollyf says:

    (((((hugs))))) and condolences from another mother. I’m so sorry this happened.

  • I’m so glad that you at least had your peaceful pregnancy. I just wish that his birth could have been just as peaceful.

  • moistangel says:

    I wish there was more I could do than offer my condolences and empathy. *hug*

    A c-section no matter how necessary (…) is always violent and dramatic and I still cry about mine, even now while I’m crying over yours.

    I’m so so so very sorry. I can’t find words to tell you how sorry I am. You are a beautiful strong woman, and you didn’t deserve that, neither did Jericho but it’s not your fault!

    I can barely make an intelligent sentence, I’m shaking so much from crying, so I’ll just end this before I type something stupid. *hug* Take care.

  • mommydama says:

    I’m praying for peace for you. As you purge this pain from your heart and body, I hope you are covered in peace.

  • jesamin says:

    Thank you for sharing this with us, for allowing us to be a part of your life and because of that, your sorrow. I have hope that my tears and those of the people whose lives you’ve touched on here will offer some comfort to you, to know that we are all thinking of you and wish you the peace. I admire you very, very much, you are an inspiration to more than you know.

  • wolfteaparty says:

    I don’t think there’s anything I can say that hasn’t already been said. I’ve been following your journal for many months, and thought you were one of the most inspiring people on LJ. So I was hoping that things would work out the best for you. I can’t believe how brusquely you were treated in the hospital; you were already in a difficult enough situation.

  • mzvanessa says:

    I’m in serious tears reading this.
    The way you write brings readers right there beside you,i could practically hear the screaming,and crying.
    I can’t begin to imagine the extent of emotional pain you must be in,but i can feel a part of it from your writing.
    I know this takes a lot for you to write out,i wanted to thank you for sharing this very personal story with all of us.

    You are a very strong woman,i’ve always thought that,i still think that,and i think that even more so for you sharing this with us.

    You are in my thoughts.

  • julierocket says:

    I’m reading this at work when I’m supposed to be typing up a report because I couldn’t stand not knowing how you were doing and what was going on. This whole thing makes me feel a bit weak, just reading that. The way they treated you, holding you down and ignoring you and hurting you like that… it sounds like rape and it’s just awful. I don’t understand what it is about people, especially doctors, that makes them act like a pregnant and laboring body is suddenly public property and loses its individuality and autonomy, like it becomes THEIRS more than YOURS simply because you’ve entrusted them to offer their support if needed. It’s just horrible. I’m so sad about what happened to you and at least now I know what to be careful of, when my time comes years later.

    I know I hardly know you, and I know you don’t read my journal even if I read yours. I feel like I’m not supposed to be here reading this because it’s so personal and I’m not a close and personal friend to you. I want you to know, though, that there are things I look up to in you and things I respect so much about you that I feel close to you even if I’m not, and I’m reading every word of everything you’ve posted about all this. I adore you and I adore your family, and this whole situation is so tragic that it really stays with me all day. You’re on my mind and I’m sending you all the good energy I can for as long as you need it.

    Julie ♥

  • janaya says:

    Thank you for sharing this.

    I can’t believe you were so violated.

    I’ve thought of you constantly over the last day, and shed many tears for you. I am so glad you had an unassisted pregnancy, it couldn’t have been more right to keep Jericho in your womb as long as possible. He is still with you now and always will be.

    I look up to you very much, Heather. I hope you find strength in the fact that hundreds of women all around the world are thinking of you and loving you and mourning with you.

  • katieshy says:

    This is…I have no words. I’m crying for you. For me. For your baby. I couldn’t stop reading.

  • I feel like such an intruder reading your story but I wanted you to know that I am sorry that they did this to you. I cannot imagine the fear you must have felt.

  • neokitty says:

    There are no words of comfort.
    I’m so sorry. Find strength in each other and hold each other tight. Take as many pictures as you can in every possible way. The nurse took naked pictures of Logan, its the only time I saw all of him. If you haven’t yet, make molds of his hands and feet. Buy two small indentical items and bury one with him and keep the other.

    • julierocket says:

      I read your entry a while back after you had posted it. I don’t even know how I found it. It was one of the first, and few, times I ever cried from reading something, especially something on a computer. My heart hurt so badly for you and your husband. I hope you have found some sort of peace.

      Julie ♥

      • neokitty says:

        Thank you so much. Although the good days have turned into good months and we are approching his one year birthday next month, it still stings and burns as much as it did the first few days after he died. I’m pregnant now with another boy. All I can do is thank Logan for giving his brother life and hopefully someday, Simon will carry on the memory of his big brother.
        It hurts me so much to see other mothers with arms aching to hold their babies just one more time.

  • carlos2112 says:

    “Do you want your baby to live?”

    That’s coercion. They might as well have held a gun to your head.

  • absinthea says:

    Im so sorry for the pain of the loss and the pain of how you were treated. I am really disgusted at the way you were treated, too. Many hugs and prayers coming your way.

  • aughraseye says:

    Everyone that has made comments has been able to put into words what I wish I could say… But I just wanted to add, thank you for keeping these entries public. It means so much to me to be able to read your story. I am absolutely livid that the hospital treated you that way, and crushed that you are experiencing such heartbreak.

    I’ve never wanted to hug someone that I didn’t know so badly.

  • fkgirl says:

    I can’t stop the tears either

    I am right there with you…I can’t stop thinking about you and yours Babs. Lots of people love you, I didn’t realize how much I care, but I do. And I am so deeply sorry.

  • i would sue the hospital
    why wouldnt anyone check you to see if you were dialated at all that makes no sense.
    they dont have to be a obgyn in order to do that they are L&D Nurses that is thier job

    I feel so sorry that you have to sit there n recall all of this is must be so painful I am so sorry hun if you need anything let me know

    • manicmuffin says:

      (Hi Babs … I don’t know you, but i’ve read bits and pieces of your journal and i’ve seen you in some communities … )

      why wouldnt anyone check you to see if you were dialated at all that makes no sense.
      they dont have to be a obgyn in order to do that they are L&D Nurses that is thier job

      This was my first thought … I’m an RN student in Ontario and i know that at least here, we don’t need a doctors order for a vag exam. … I just don’t get it.

      I’m so sorry you were treated this way … I agree w/ the comment earlier that birth should NEVER be like this.

      I’m sorry you had to go through this, on top of the loss of your child 🙁

      • admin says:

        They kept telling me that they weren’t permitted because I was preterm, and it had to be an OBGYN. Two nurses did a strictly visual exam (just glanced but didn’t really touch me at all) and it’s probably the only time I REALLY would have wanted someone to do an internal.

        • manicmuffin says:

          That still seems odd to me … In Ontario, i dont believe there are such restrictions.

          When you’re up to it, i think it may be worth investigating further (I realize that now may not be the time, but it may offer some closure and reassurance that this may not happen to another family later on). Let me know if you’d like help w/ this, as i am in Nursing (almost … heh) and should be able to find whatever info you need.

          Hang in there.

          – Hollie

  • maylea_moon says:

    like many others who read your journal, we don’t really know each other but i’ve read your journal for months and i feel like i know you. i wish i could give you the biggest hug. i cannot believe the way you were treated in the hospital. nobody deserves that sort of nightmare. i lit a candle for jericho last night, and i have been thinking about your family constantly. take care of yourself. the best you can anyway considering the circumstance. don’t hesitate to ask for support. *huge hug*

  • tikizeekbaby says:

    I’m so sorry honey, I wouldn’t want this experience this way for anyone, but especially not for you. My heart aches for you.

  • dreamalynn says:

    All I can say, Heather, is how very sorry I am, for all that you’ve gone through. There aren’t words to express it further. You, Curtis and Tempest are in my thoughts, and my prayers.

  • simplifying says:

    I have never been so profoundly touched by a complete stranger in all of my life. It’s amazing that you have the ability to put your experience into words and I hope that it brings you some sense of peace.

    I’m so sorry for your loss and I send all the strength I have to you, Curtis and Tempest…

  • I think you, like me, made the best decisions you could have in the circumstances. Not to compare my minor trifles to this, but just to say it’s so easy in retrospect to think “I should have done this” or “I wish I hadn’t done that”. I hope you are able to eventually find peace in this – I know you will and I know you are strong and a survivor, if I know anything about you.

    I can’t even comment on the way you were treated beyond that it was hideous and that NO ONE should have to go through that, no one. Unfortunately, it does happen every day and this really illustrates how it can happen to absolutely anyone. I also experienced the “You do want what’s best for your baby, don’t you?” line several times at my first daughter’s birth in the hospital and also signed consent forms I otherwise wouldn’t have. Once again, it obviously is hardly comparable, but I know what it’s like to be guilted/badgered into signing things that you never would have wanted. You still have to know you followed your gut knowing something was wrong and no one can fault you for that. Although it is painful to read, I’m glad you are doing what you can to deal with it directly. Life can be so cruel sometimes.

  • unconformed says:

    What a nightmare, I can’t believe anyone would treat you like that. I am thinking of you all the time. I am so glad that you were able to have such a gentle and unhindered pregnancy with Jericho even though the birth was such a traumatic end to it all.

  • the_lissa says:

    I am so angry that they treated so awfully Heather.

  • clumsyxheart says:

    I follwed ‘s post to your journal and I haven’t stopped crying since I started reading. I know I’m just a stranger, but my heart is with you and all of your family. I don’t even know what else to say…

  • Often when something like this happens, everyone wants to know why. People feel the need to place blame – on the mother, on the doctors, on God. I’ve never been one of those people, because I also believe things simply happen the way they are meant to. Everyone experiences joy and tragedy, as we must in order to grow and learn. And unfortunate as it may be, I’ve found that the more tragic the event, the greater the lesson learned when you come out the other side.

    I don’t know exactly what this experience will do for you in terms of emotional and spiritual growth, but I’m really glad that you are writing it down in this manner. It will help with the healing process. I also thank you for sharing your story with us. Your words portray such a vivid experience, I can’t help but take a tiny piece of your pain with me and learn from it as well. You are such a beautiful person and an extraordinary writer.

  • I’m so incredibly sad. The tears just won’t stop.

  • bonny_katie says:

    Having to transfer was awful. Going from my dark, quiet, comfortable home to the hospital was awful. The tiny L&D room was so cold and glossy and bright and smelled so weird. The whole thing felt like some awful dream. I’m so sorry LC got pushed aside, but I’m glad she was there. I don’t know if how I would’ve handled it without Julie (my midwife). It was amazing to me that someone with such a calm and gentle spirit could be so assertive and hard when she needed to.

    I remember having a contraction while I was in the bathroom changing, and I was swaying and moaning through it and I could hear the nurse outside saying, “What’s she doing? What’s going on? Why is she making that noise?” and my midwife saying, “She’s in labor- she’s having a contraction.” I was trying to convince myself that I could still have a vaginal birth, and hearing that, I just knew it wasn’t going to happen. These nurses didn’t even know what a laboring woman is supposed to sound like, no one there trusted me and my body, there was no way they’d let me have a vaginal birth, especially since I’d already had one section.

    The section itself was SO much worse than my first. Everyone was so nice the first time, the doctor talked to ME the whole time, telling me what he was doing, asking me if I was okay, etc. This time the only one who treated me like I was even there was the anesthesiologist. The doctor had someone helping and he talked to her the whole time, cracking jokes. I had no idea what was going on. He didn’t even tell me when she came out. That hurt so much. I had dreamt of birthing her into my hands.

    I have no idea what you’re going through. I only caught a glimmer of the pain with my daughter’s birth and everything that happened afterwards. I wish I had wrote it all out soon after when it was still raw, but I glossed over her birth to focus on her, and now it sits like a hard lump in my soul. It’s important to grieve for the loss of the birth experience, I know you understand that.

    I truly feel that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not immediately apparent. I’ve had some people look at me strangely when I say I feel with all my heart that my BOTH my daughters are blessings. The unspoken words are “How can you say that? Half of her brain is dead and gone, where’s the blessing in that?” But she wouldn’t Riley Avalon if she weren’t the way she is. I’ll just leave the rest in the air for you to decide if it applies to you, I don’t know your spiritual or relgious beliefs and don’t want to overstep there.

    I hope my comment doesn’t come of as all about me, but no one ever knows the right thing to say, I know it helped me after my daughter’s birth, and during her two week NICU stay, to hear the stories of other women who had been through similar experiences.

    You and your family continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. Thank you for making this public and sharing this.

  • gorrilagirl says:

    i have been in your neck of the woods yet never friended or commented…and found you through a mutual ljfriend…

    thank you for your words your story
    bless you and yours forever

  • lovemarigold says:

    You write so very beautifully…if about such a tragedy.

    You do not know me, but we share friends, and the experience of an emergency c-section.

    thank you for writing this.. so much.

    My brother lost a babe the day it was born, though at full term. Even an autopsy couldn’t explain why he stopped breathing.
    I am so sorry for your loss.

  • apers says:

    I am not on your FL, but we are in communities together and have mutual friends and stuff.

    I just wanted to tell you that i am so sorry this happined. I just cant express in words how sorry I am.

    I know of an online support group on yahoo for women who have lost children if you like. Just let me know and I can have the moderator contact you.

    I am just so sorry.

  • zeldazonk says:

    It is so absolutely amazing to me that I only know you from this journal, and yet yesterday I was thinking about you all day. I even told my family about you. You have some kind of magnetic emergy that pulls people to you; I think it is the honesty and beauty of your soul.
    I was reading through your entries last night when I got home from work. Your dream entries….you dream these things ahead of time. Its the dream entry from a few weeks ago. Very surreal…

    How I wish you nothing but strength and love.

  • the_waker says:

    Thank god you’re writing all this down. It’s so important to remember.

    The thing that strikes me about all of this is how alike many c-section stories are. So many of us have similar memories of that same scene – “Do you want your baby to live?” How can you say anything but yes?

    Birth, no matter what the circumstances, should never be like this.

    • witchbaby33 says:

      exactly what jenne said. oh my god.

    • tahoebean says:

      “Birth, no matter what the circumstances, should never be like this.”

      I completely agree. I’m so very sorry, Heather…

    • Having had a C-sect and a subsequent VBAC, I could not agree more with what Jenne said.

      Thank you for sharing this publicly. I have read your entries and cried and share love with you from one mother to another. I wish to bear this pain alongside you as I know so many of us do.

      I have never read you until today, but feel a kindred connection through both motherhood and as someone who has endured Cesearean birth.

      So many thoughts race through my mind regarding everything you typed, but not one seems sufficient to type.

      Through the Universal bond of motherhood I send you much love.

  • I’m so sorry for your treatment at the hospital. It was like your worst nightmare came to life. I do believe that doctors do what they believe is the best thing to do for the baby, but I found their insensitivity toward you shocking.

    I’m so angry that you had to go through that. I knew something was desperately wrong yesterday when, in your first line, you said that Jericho was delivered by emergency c-section. I covered my mouth and said, “Oh my God. Something went very wrong.”

    You are an amazing person, Babs.

  • aphephobia says:

    I’m so sorry they treated you like that. As well as everything else you’ve been through, having the trauma- and it is trauma- of being whisked around like that and treated like that…

    I know it’s probably the last thing you want to think about at the moment, but writing this down- while it’s still in your mind- is a seriously good idea, IMHO. When you’re dealing with other things, the details tend to get hazy. (I have some less-than-stellar experiences with various hospital staff when I was pregnant… so I can empathise with you a bit there.)

    I cried through reading this. My heart goes out to you, mama… you’re writing about this so… raw-ly and… I just don’t know what to say. I know it sounds stupid because I don’t know you, but you strike me as an awesome person, and a strong one- and you don’t deserve this to have happened to you. I’m so angry at the way you were treated and so sad for you.

    *huge hugs*

  • huakai says:

    Im sorry it happened this way….

  • it is good that you have another person to help you recount the details of what happened. all of that is very important to remember. you have to take the facts and make them loud.
    i can’t even comment on the hospital staff.

  • Did I want my baby to live? We have to do a c-section now. Now.

    That line gave me chills, it is the same line the on-call OBGYN gave me last November.

    I don’t have any words of comfort, but I just wanted to leave my love and a hug. Be in peace, mama.

  • *hugs* 🙁 My thoughts are with you and your family.

  • *hugs*

    I think Curtis was probably partially right. This shouldn’t happen to real people, this shouldn’t happen to good people, this shouldn’t happen to people who work hard for their children and who love them and want nothing but the absolute best for them. This should only happen in the sphere of fictitious television dramas. Not to real people.

    I don’t know you, but I want you to know that my thoughts, prayers, heart and tears are with you. You’re beautiful. Your family is beautiful, all of them… I wish you all peace and clarity.


    • I remember a few months ago, you posted about a dream you had regarding giving birth to breech twins, one of them passed away peacefully from a heart defect… I hate asking questions, but do you think that alongside your obvious joy and happiness about your being pregnant, you were being prepared for this? You’ve seemed more in touch with your pregnancy, your body, you babies than anyone else I’ve ever heard of.

      From the sound of it, just from what you’ve written so far, it seems that regardless of intervention/lack of intervention, Jericho wasn’t going to be here very long… and I suppose, the fact that his only experience of this world that we live in was an experience of love and peace, is tragically devistating in one respect, but also immeasurably beautiful in another.

      There was a lot of life in those thirty-four weeks plus fifteen minutes, I’ll bet. He probably experienced everything he needed to before moving on, and he passed on in the move loving, peaceful way possible. That too, is beautiful in a way, and I hope that gives you strength and comfort.

      • admin says:

        I did know, somewhat. There’s no way to prepare for it, no matter if you knew it was coming or not… but part of me knew. I told Curtis all through my pregnancy that something was wrong, but it was okay, because we couldn’t do anything about it and he needed to be happy and peaceful.
        I kept wanting to knit a burial gown, but thought what a bad omen that would be.

        When I first saw Curtis after recovery, I asked, “What was wrong?” and Curtis said, “You were right”. The more I heard, the more validated I felt by having an unassisted pregnancy. We had that peace, and such a beautiful eight months. We would have never had that if I’d had scans, tests and doctors.

        • breathbox says:

          i am so very sorry. i read altarflame and she mentioned your loss…

          you are an inspiration with your deep introspection and awareness…and still i feel just so terribly sad for you and your family.

        • And what would have knowing all along done? Nothing but made you miserable and probably shortened his life even more. You would have been just as unprepared and probably be just as, if not more heartbroken right now. I’m glad you’re at peace with this, I really am. I think that reading this right now is inspiring other women to trust themselves and their intuitions and their bodies with their pregnancies. From what I know, most babies with deformities end up being miscarried, I believe it was your love for your child, your trust in yourself and your positive attitude which gave him that beautiful and peaceful eight months- and I think it was the same energy which gave your son the strength to live those fifteen minutes and experience it in person. You’re completely right, when something is wrong, there’s nothing you can do about it anyway- you might as well enjoy each moment and be happy and peaceful. It’s ironic that such a tragedy can be so inspiring… but I really believe in unassisted pregnancy now, more so than ever. Thank you for sharing your experience.

  • altarflame says:

    I know exactly the feeling you’re talking about. My room had green tile the first three times, and this time I just remember thinking, at least this isn’t that room, at least the tile isn’t green….

  • beantree says:

    No words seem to come to mind…

    My heart is with you. HUGS

  • wanderingio says:

    You write so beautifully that I also feel like I’m right there. When you wrote that you were shaking, I found myself doing the same. I’m so, so sorry for your hurt, Babs.

    I scarcely know you and I feel on some levels that I’m intruding by coming over here and reading. Having been involved in UC communities for nearly six years now, much of the talk becomes mundane, but every now and then there is a person whose journey is so powerful, and so touching that it just carries me back to when it was all new to me. You are one of those people.

    I know you are angry about your c-section, and this will probably not come out in words the way it feels in my head and heart, but sometimes it is less the means of birth that matters, but rather the spirit of the person giving birth. You have so embodied all of that spirit of UC that rings true to me, and surely many others.

    Every word I type seems so trite, but I just want you to know how you have touched people. You write that you are of the belief “that things happen how they are meant to.” I share the same belief… and I also believe that you are woman very loved and blessed by God/dess, nature, or whomever to have been chosen as a vessel of life so short, because the powers that be knew you would be true to how Jericho’s life was meant to be.


    • admin says:

      This is the first note I’ve read in these last two days that has brought a few tears to my eyes. Thank you, not just for the words, but for the opportunity for a little bit of emotional release.

  • gngr says:

    Such frenetic activity. I’m right there with you. I love you. *hugs*

    • gngr says:

      By the way, I very much agree with your view that things would happen as they should, without medical interference. It’s not a popular opinion and of course, hospital staff are in the business of saving lives at any cost. It might not be the choice I’d make, but I support your choice as to what you do. I don’t believe one way is better than another. It’s just different. And different is good. Sameness is boring, hehe. Women have been having babies outside of a sterile environment for eons, just as the female of most every other species has through the evolution of the earth. 🙂

      • Anonymous says:

        I think that you are a bit neurotic, and did not do much to help the situation. Hospitals are not the most fun places, but you kind of have to help them help you, instead of resisting so much.

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