The Mountain

Our birth story.

Birth is like a movie. There’s so many characters. A main plot, multiple twists…Everyone plays a role. There are scenes and scenes within scenes. Unless you watched the movie, you wouldn’t know all the details. But here’ the trailer…

I was exactly 38 weeks when I was told by a cardiologist that there was something wrong with Owen's heart. We were told that day that it might be necessary to deliver at the German hospital due to the availability of the fatal echocardiogram and high level NICU. Less than 24 hours later my water broke in the night. I did some relaxing, ball bouncing, and walking for the next 8 hours or so and then contacted the OB. I got a call back from the head neonatologist who told me that I would need to immediately go to the German hospital and that the suspected heart defects were likely to be severe. We went a the 12 hour mark and when we got there, they wouldn’t let Jay in and they still had a pretty strict Covid policy. I was taken to a shared room on the recovery unit and told to just come down the hall when I thought it was time for the baby. I was left alone and very confused and scared. Things started to pick up but they still said Jay couldn’t come. No one helped me with comfort and they kept sending me back down the hall. Eventually I went back because the pain was getting more intense and I asked for something in my IV to rest. It ended up spilling all over me somehow because the IV got pulled out. There were about 4 hours of a complete blur and then it was time to push. I pushed for about 15 minutes and he was born. Jay missed the birth. I had a few minutes of skin to skin then they took him. I started to hemorrhage. They took me for surgery. I woke up hours later. I met Owen in the NICU and was told how serious his heart conditions were. I stayed in hospital for 6 days. We were airlifted to Washington DC for surgery. He had surgery when he was 10 days old. He died when he was 36 days old.

Birth is also like a beautiful beaded necklace. There’s many beads. They have different colors, shapes, textures, and weights. As I close my eyes and run my hand along the necklace there are some beads that are a bit more jagged than others. Some that demand my attention. I have many of these beads. But the one that calls me the most is when I went down the hall to the labor ward and was told I was only 2 cm and I had to go back. I was begging the nurses to let me stay and she was kind and sweet but told me no. I can see it as a still frame even today. And I zoom in on this image, what stands out the most is her face and her sweet, sad German voice. The nurse looking at me with sad eyes and saying “you’re so strong” as she rubs my leg…

If I take myself back to that moment, I feel cold. I feel uncomfortable as my contractions are picking up. I feel a bit like I am outside my body because nothing really makes sense. I am confused why they are being so nice and so mean at the same time. Why they aren’t helping me. I feel a bit like a child. Or maybe a bad child who isn’t allowed to have what she wants. What she needs. I feel like they think I have done something wrong or I am not good enough to be there; maybe because I am American. But mostly I am cold. And I am confused.

What I most wanted in that moment was to be cared for. To be loved and nurtured. To be supported. And yet there’s also this part of me that believes “just be a good girl” and things will be okay. Just don’t rock the boat, and it’ll all turn out fine. Be strong, not needy. The belief that the universe will bestow goodness to those who have already suffered; to those that are good and patient and strong, is also part of this for me…surely goodness awaits.

Because this happened, because this moment went as it did, and so differently than I wanted, I think there is part of me that believes I am unworthy. My head knows this isn’t true, but my heart aches with the heaviness of this belief.

And even though I know in my head that I am worthy; even though I know I am good and all of the things…this still shows up for me today. This is still part of my “living story.” It shows up in my fear that I am somehow to blame for what happened. That because the universe broke the “be good and good will come” rule then I must not have been good enough. It also complicates my grief. Again, my head knows I didn’t cause my baby’s heart defects and his death—by my heart isn’t so sure. And it also has made me keep my birth story to myself, for the most part. Who am I to have any feelings about my birth; good or bad, when ultimately what happened afterwards was so traumatic and terrible? Who am I = I am not worthy. Being told “you’re so strong” has been a recurring theme since my baby died, too. I am so strong = just be quiet. Strong is quiet.

As I reflect, the image of approaching a mountain comes to mind. The mountain existed long before I arrived at its base. It has existed forever. And as I approach I see that rather than gentle foothills, the mountain has a pretty treacherous rocky base. Traversing this is hard, arduous, and at times, frightening. But the mountain’s beginning is not indicative of the rest of the climb. It may give way to a clearing and well worn paths, or perhaps a valley with lush fields. And just as if the mountain had started more gently, it could have sharp, steep cliffs later int he climb. This metaphor reminds me that the journey, the climb, the mountain is not something I control. It is not something I know until I take the next step. It reminds me that it’s also okay to look back at those steps. It’s okay to feel those steps in all their pain and pride and it doesn’t make me less strong.

And after reflecting on this mountain metaphor, I realize that I need to come up with something a bit more true about me than “I am not worthy.” It hasnt come to me yet, but the shift is there. I also realise that one thing that’s been missing is the space to really feel my birth story. To grieve for the parts that are painful and to celebrate the parts that I am proud of. I am not healed. But I have more space. And for now, space is good. And I will keep climbing.

Note: The way I have told this story here is a bit different than a usual birth story. This is loosely based on the process of Birth Story Medicine. This is a therapeutic method for telling, exploring, and healing birth stories. I have participated in a session as well as been trained as a practitioner since that participation.