For centuries, people have been pondering the classic koans: the sound of one hand clapping, the nature of the Buddha, the tree falling in the forest. Now, we get to add to this the distinctly American koan: How can you trespass on your own land?

Like the Native Americans who could not wrap their head around the idea of buying and selling land, I have not been able to wrap my head around the shutdown of public lands during the government shutdown. I’ve read the reasons, but I still don’t really get it. These lands are mine and yours. That’s what I knew, and as my husband joked, I was ready to go all Edward Abbey on my favorite piece of National Forest if they didn’t stop all this nonsense soon.

Life with a newborn makes time go faster, but it was a long 16 days without Glen Alton. “Where? Glen What?”

Glen Alton. Paradise right here in Giles County. You know you haven’t died and gone to heaven only because a) the swarm of gnats that surround you must have come from the wrong side of Earth and b) surely no lawn mowing is necessary in heaven.

Glen Alton is an old homestead that has recently been renovated for public use. The extensive grounds call to picnickers, while the red-painted outbuildings make it a photographer’s dream. Birders come to listen to calls on the nature trail, and fishermen reel in trout from nearby Big Stony Creek. Littler folks find delight in the mound of sand and sandbox toys, swings, and the mud pie “kitchen.”

Eric and I originally wanted to get married here, but that was the year they were doing construction on the buildings, and we didn’t think yellow “do not cross” tape was very romantic. Now, however, it’s perfect. One of the main buildings is occupied full time as a caretaker’s cottage, but the other is available for day-time rental. Brides often use it to get dressed for their big day. Most weddings take place underneath the grape-vine arbor on a manicured peninsula. (As what homestead would be complete without its very own pond?)

The best time to visit Glen Alton is in October. Wind enough to keep the gnats away, sunshine, spectacular mountain views made better by the changing colors of the leaves– you won’t ask for any more, but you’ll get it. Delicious muscadine grapes, unusual apple varieties, pears too, chestnuts and walnuts just a-lying on the ground, all ready for the taking. You can go and harvest the wealth for hours at a time. All of this might make you might be tempted to keep Glen Alton a secret all to yourself, but it’s not necessary. There’s plenty for everybody. Just being there will make you feel positively rich.

Every time I go to Glen Alton, I discover something new. There are so many little out-of-the-way pockets to poke about in. Can you find the old barn– the one that’s not painted red? What about the row of blueberry bushes? The old scales? What will I find next time?

So, have I convinced you yet? Go visit! But first, a caveat: Glen Alton is off the beaten track; the caretaker’s cottage is the end of the line for electrical and telephone service. Don’t expect to get cell service or your GPS to provide accurate directions. Also, bring a wide-brimmed hat (in case of gnats).

Directions to Glen Alton can be found here. After your visit, you’ll surely want to become part of “Friends of Glen Alton.”

In the meantime, leave a comment to tell me about your favorite piece of public land that you’re glad to be able to visit again.

 

Since Heron’s birthday, I’ve thought a lot about my labor and birth experience, which you can read about here. Like many births, it didn’t go as hoped, planned, or desired. Despite this, his birth was beautiful, awe- inspiring, mind-blowing, and powerful—just like I had hoped, planned, and desired. Those things are inherent in new life coming into this world.

Before becoming pregnant, I didn’t know very much about labor and birth; I’d be going into it blindfolded. In generations past, this likely wouldn’t have been the case: I’d have helped friends and relatives at births before becoming pregnant myself. I’d know what I was getting into, at least a little bit.

In an effort to lift the blindfold before I went into labor, I started researching. At the start, I was confused by unexplained references made online to things like “Pitocin” and “preeclampsia.” I became the mad Googler, only to come up with references to even more terms that I was supposed to already know about.  So I googled these too, and the crazed cycle continued.

Don’t do that to yourself. Even if you can figure out everything online, you’ll feel like you’re always missing something. Get yourself a good book that will lay out all the technical stuff for you. Read it, and then turn on the computer for the good stuff online. The birth stories.  (Which you now understand, because you know all about continuous electronic fetal monitoring and pre-toxemia without resorting to mad Googling.)

Books might help you technically prepare, but other women’s accounts of their children’s births will help prepare you emotionally. These birth stories didn’t reveal to me how my labor was going to go, but they helped show me the power and possibilities of birth.

In an effort to share what is possible, I’ve collected 25 different birth stories from 25 different blogs down below. Since you can’t read them all in one sitting without birth story overload, I recommend that you bookmark this page and come back to it as your pregnancy progresses. I hope that you gain as much as I did from these courageous women who have shared their stories. There are a lot of stories out there, but here I’ve included only ones that touched me emotionally in some way, and that I learned from.

Without any further ado, here they are:

1. 2 Plus 3 Makes 5 One baby is difficult enough for me—this woman has triplets, and two older children at home besides. No, I don’t know how she has time to blog. Check out her story for a sweet picture of one triplet sucking on another triplet’s fingers.
2. Anne Riley So, imagine going to the hospital, but they won’t admit you. Not because you’re not in active labor, but because they can’t find your cervix. Anne Riley practically gives birth before being admitted, and she makes it all sound… well, hilarious. You know it wasn’t this funny when it was actually happening.
3. A Belly for Me, a Baby for You  Tiffany Burke, surrogate mother, gives birth to twins at 34 weeks. That sounds amazing in itself, but it’s the details, humor, and pictures that makes this post what it is. Case In point, a picture of herself with a tupperware: What’s in it? Amniotic fluid. So Tiffany can prove that her water really broke, she didn’t just pee herself.  (“I pee my pants ALL the time, I know the difference!”)
4. A Bump and a Lump  The best sound ever is a baby’s first cry, especially for this mom, who is fighting cancer at the same time as she is pregnant.
5. Enjoying the Small Things Once you read this birth story, you’ll never forget it. This is the powerful story of Nella Cordelia, and one mother’s honest and beautiful reaction when she realized her newborn had Down Syndrome.
6. The Excellent Adventure This is a feel-good birth story, about which the author writes “This was how it should be, for every woman, every where.” This is where I first came across the idea that “labor is so the woman’s spirit can journey across the sky to bring her baby’s soul to earth,” and after having experienced labor, I have to say that it feels true.
7. The Fix-Its  This story could hardly be more different than mine—I never had occasion to say “The baby is about to fall out.” It’s important (and great!) to know that 20 minutes of pushing is a possibility too.
8. The Healthy Ginger  When Natasha Bell and her husband Mark decided to have a home birth, they kept it a secret from friends and family. If you’re pregnant, you know why this is such a delicious start to the story: even complete strangers think they are entitled to give you pregnancy advice, and this couple just says… nope, thanks, I’m not going to deal with all that. Haha! Take that! Seriously, though, this is a beautiful story, and a great one for non-pregnancy experts as Natasha takes the time to explain any medical terms she uses.
9. Hillsteading This is one of my favorite birth stories, and it is so real. I love how she believed in her body—this is something all women can do, going into labor. If you’re an expecting mama, I recommend reading this story, as she writes a lot about how she got through the experience.
10. Hungry Hungry Hippie A NICU story with a happy ending.
11. It’s Just Laine There’s such a feeling of excitement when you go into labor, like you’re a little kid (who can barely tell past, present,  and future apart) that has woken up to find that Santa has finally come. Forget Santa, it’s the stork that’s magic! The anticipation in Laine’s story is joyous!
12. The Little Things We Do  Lauren’s story is bad-ass, and she comes right out and says so. After her natural birth, Lauren writes, “I picked Fern up out of the tub and looked her over and the first thing I said was: ‘Wow!  I did that!  That’s bad ass!’” Three hours of pushing and a brow presentation? Yeah, that’s bad-ass. One more thing: if you want your husband to say something like “You have never been sexier than you are right now – and I mean that.  You just gave birth to our baby,” at your birth, give him a hint and have him read this story too.
13. Lovely Morning   I really want to tell you what makes this birth special, but I can’t, ‘cause that would ruin it. I know, you’re thinking “Birth story. Woman goes into labor. Baby is born. Where’s the plot twist, again?” But if you don’t think “Whoa, amazing!” after you read this, then I doubt your reading comprehension abilities are up to snuff.
14. Marigold Road Reading positive stories like this is immensely helpful and calming before going into labor, as they are a source of strength to draw on. Maybe your labor will be like this; maybe not. You can’t know, but it’s helpful to envision, no matter what the outcome.
15. Mighty Girl  Every time I go to write about a birth story on this list, I want to say, “I love this story. It’s one of my favorites!” So, yes, that’s true (again!), but the bonus for this story is that it’s also told with a lot of humor. So, if you’ve just had a C-section and laughing hurts, you might want to hold off for a couple of weeks.
16. More Like Mary ~ More Like Me  Kaitlin’s story about her son Paul’s birth is a good reminder that things can be OK even when labor progresses very differently than planned. Kaitlin wanted a natural birth but ended up with Pitocin and an epidural. What I love is that she wasn’t pressured into these things in the moment, but chosen by her—and right for her. She says, “I am DONE. I am NOT a martyr. I have NOTHING to prove!” and does what she needs to do. This isn’t an “unnecessary intervention” runaway train story—it’s a story of one strong mama.
17. Noah’s Dad  Uniquely from Dad’s perspective, this is a story of the birth of a child with Down Syndrome.
18. Noelle Aloud  Birth can have complications. I haven’t included too many stories that showcase that, because I do believe that most birth is normal, and we should empower women to know that, but nevertheless, it’s impossible not to have some worry when you are pregnant. How can we handle that? Noelle shows us just how strong we can be in labor.
19. Notes from a Ragamuffin  Jordan’s story about the birth of her daughter Penny is written from a very real place. I love how she is honest about labor denial, fear of not progressing, and what she is thinking as she gives birth. It’s not all puppies and rainbows, but at the end, she turns to her husband and says, “I could totally do this 4 or 5 more times.”
20. NYC Running Mama This is a nice story of having family present during the birth.
21. The Rebel Heart While reading this, I kept thinking, “Is this really happening?” You know in your strangest pregnancy dreams/nightmares you narrowly miss giving birth in a car and make it to the hospital only with the help of a police escort. In a foreign country. Since that’s not going to actually happen to you, go ahead and live vicariously through Charlotte.
22. I Still Hate Pickles  Kirsten writes, “Even if you don’t plan to have a C-section, it might be nice to know some of this stuff, because birth generally goes different ways than what we expect or even hope.” Since I didn’t want a C-section, I didn’t read as many C-section stories, but I’m glad I did read some! I very much identify with Kirsten when she wraps up her blog post saying, “Birth stories can be great or awful, or somewhere in between. The baby is always worth it in the end, but that doesn’t mean you can toss out a horrible experience, and many women even experience post-traumatic stress. Know that birth matters, to you and your baby, beyond just having a healthy baby.” On a side note, I really wish that I had delivered at a hospital that allowed immediate skin-to-skin contact in the operating room, the way this one did. Definitely look into that, even if you think a C-section will never happen to you!
23. The Spohrs are Multiplying  Another positive C-section story, this one from Dad’s perspective.
24. They All Call Me Mom The home birth story of a big baby from a big family. These pictures don’t lie about what birth is like.
25. Wood Turtle   Here’s an excerpt of this beautiful birth story:  “It is amazing to me to see what I am physically capable of, how well I know my body, and that I was blessed to have an informed and empowered birth experience.” Reading this story will put you on the path to having the same.

What about you? Do you have a story that this list really should include? Let me know.

I’m sure there’s a poignant and telling metaphor out there that could convey just how very uniquely awful having a C-section is, but I can’t think of one. Maybe it’s not really like anything. Maybe it just sucks.

I asked everyone at the hospital how long it would take to feel better. The answers varied, from “You’ll be up walking around, feeling so much better in a couple of days!” to “You’ll be 90% in about a month.” A couple of days. I could do that. A month? Not as good, but I could still do that.

Well, a couple of days went by and I could barely move. Although I still had Heron’s meconium and blood on me, I was physically incapable of showering. I felt so helpless, especially because the nurses seemed so impatient, too busy to help. I was discharged without knowing whether or not I could climb stairs and get into my own house.

At home I found that yes, I could go up the stairs. It was not easy; everything hurt. At some point during that first week, I wailed to my husband “I’m recovering from major surgery and giving birth on Motrin! This is evil!” The pain just didn’t end. It was like I was still in labor.

My midwife had set up an appointment for me with another practice closer to my house for my week check-up. Here’s part of my conversation with this midwife, whom I had never met before.

Midwife: … and when you’re done with your narcotics…
Me: Wait, I’m on narcotics?
Midwife: Aren’t you? Didn’t they give you a prescription for lortab?
Me: Uh, no. I’m taking Ibuprofen.
Midwife: You’re not taking pain medication and you just walked right in here a week after a C-section? And labor? You’re a rock star!
Me: No wonder why I feel so shitty. (And I start crying, of course.)

So, if somehow you end up discharged without a prescription after your C-section, know that your doctors are not sadistic, they just made a mistake. Go ahead and make them fix that pronto. Then go brush your hair, because your rock star status will be downgraded.

Being “allowed” narcotics wasn’t the only surprise in store for me during that appointment. The hospital had sent over the paperwork about Heron’s birth, and the midwife sat down to share it with me. Finally! Despite my questions after the C-section, nobody at the hospital had time to sit down and talk with me about what happened.  I had to wait to talk to someone I had never met before I could find out the specifics.

Because of my back labor, I believed that Heron had been posterior, or sunny-side-up, with his backbone pressed against my backbone. Perhaps he wasn’t fitting that way, because at some point he must have tried to turn—but he didn’t make it all of the way. Instead, he ended up transverse, with his head sideways (note: this is different than a transverse lie). According to documentation from the hospital, they found him in “deep transverse arrest” when they pulled him out of me during the C-section. There was no way that Heron was going to fit with the widest part of his head presenting. (Note: If you’re not sure what I mean, here is a good link to check out.)

Despite the logic of that last statement, I had and still have a lot of grief over the C-section. Often, after I nurse Heron at 1 or 2 a.m. and put him back to sleep, I have trouble putting myself back to sleep. Different details of my birth experience surface nightly, but my strongest emotions keep coming back to one thing– a sense of loss over not getting to feel Heron come into this world. During labor, I felt so much—but I didn’t get to feel him being born. Because Heron may be our only child, I likely will never get to experience that. These feelings, like labor itself, are something I can’t shut off, but can only work with.

This is where people tell me, “But you should be grateful a C-section was available. If you lived 200 years ago, you’d be dead. After all, you have a healthy baby, and that’s all that matters.”

I believe that this is what the medical profession wants us to believe—but I don’t think it’s the whole story. A healthy baby, a healthy mama, and a normal, whole birth: one doesn’t necessarily preclude the other. Yet we’re made to feel guilty for wanting to “have our cake and eat it too,” as if what’s best for mama, what she wants, couldn’t also be what’s best for baby, too.  I very much love my healthy baby and am grateful for him—but I do regret not being able to birth him, and I’m not ashamed of those feelings. (In fact, I think it’s normal and maybe even evolutionary hardwired for a laboring women to want to be aware and feeling as her child leaves her.)

Yes, thank God for C-sections that are most often safe and effective. Some women need them, and would no longer be here without one. But did I need one? Maybe. I’ll never really know, because nobody tried to turn my baby. I thought that this option wasn’t provided by most doctors at this hospital because it was either risky or had only a slim chance of working—but now, after having done some research, I find that it isn’t the case. (Take a look at this article from Science & Sensibility.) Could my baby have been one of the 90% of babies that it would have worked for? Very likely, but it only remains a what-if. Because there was nobody available to me that had the ability to perform the rotation (though plenty that could do a far more complicated C-section!), yes, I did have to have a C-section in this specific situation. I don’t fault any person involved, knowing that everybody did what they could to help me avoid a C-section, but if the medical system had different priorities, and different skill sets were taught, then perhaps I would be telling a different story now.

If you are searching for a midwife or doctor, my advice is that you ask them about their experience with posterior labor and turning babies during labor. Do not settle for the answer “most babies will wiggle their way to a good position during labor.” This might be true, but it doesn’t really address the problem. I never thought to ask too much about this, because the stories I have heard and read with back labor involve the woman just dealing with it. (This midwife, though, believes otherwise.) I just thought that’s what you did, and your own bad luck if you happen to have a sunny-side-up baby. I didn’t realize that my baby could end up in deep transverse arrest, and I could have a C-section because that’s all that was available to me.

Other Reflections:

On Being Persuaded to Have a Cesarean: This is probably where I have the most anger regarding my hospital stay.  Instead of informing me of my specific situation and treating me like an intelligent person, I was given a speech/lecture that I bet this doctor hardly ever varied. I really should get a C-section because the baby might become in distress after such a long labor (umm, no. The baby was being continuously monitored and his heart rate didn’t drop even once the whole time.) We don’t know why the baby isn’t coming down, but it’s dangerous to keep trying because his cord could be too short (umm, no. The heart rate never dropped.) And this one was a little unique: It’s not good for your baby to be in your vagina for so long. He could get an infection. (never mentioning the chances of my getting an infection during a C-section, of course. But, keeping in mind mama’s health doesn’t matter, still no. Heron still had his amniotic sac protecting him.)

Meanwhile, if I had known Heron was transverse, I would have asked for a C-section pronto!  I didn’t want Demerol, Pitocin, and an epidural to be in me, transferring to Heron, if it wasn’t going to do anything! I only did all those things because I thought they could potentially work! It was a good thing I didn’t believe what this doctor had to say, because I would have been really confused about what did end up happening. It took four hours after I agreed for them to start the C-section! A real “dangerous” emergency, wouldn’t you say? It was pretty scary for me to know that at least some of the things she said were misleading. As a result, I felt like I couldn’t trust anything this doctor said.

About pain medication:

I wanted to have a natural labor and a natural birth. Before I had Heron, I thought that pain medication was like a C-section in that it was a “Thank God we have it” last resort that just didn’t apply to me. However, I should have realized that it wasn’t about me. It was about the situation, and no amount of desire could have changed it. When I thought about what-ifs, I never believed in them. “What if I need pain medication or a C-section” was like “What if I had to pack a suitcase for a trip to the moon.” Sure, there are people out there who need to think about these things, but it wasn’t real for me.

Even if you can’t make it feel real to you, it’s a game we can all play to at least prepare ourselves somewhat: What if you’re an expectant mother? What if x happens and you need or want a C-section or pain medication? What if it’s real?

For example, if you need a C-section, they are not (thankfully) going to perform that operation on your unmedicated self. It’s important to get to a place where this is okay, and you’re not going to feel guilty unnecessarily. What if you’re in labor for 24, 36, 48 hours, and think an epidural might help you relax or rest enough to birth your baby vaginally? That answer will be different for everyone, but one thing I do believe is that women have the right to (at least try for) a non-traumatic birth.

I know a woman who thinks about her non-medicated, natural birth in the way that many women think about their overly-medicated, hospital-controlled births. She had committed to not having any pain medication, and stuck with it, even though she got to a place where not only was she not on top of her pain, but she didn’t even want to be on top of it anymore. Her son was born with her feeling this way. For her second birth, she labored naturally until she started feeling this way, asked for an epidural, and actually was able to be mentally present during her second child’s birth. This birth was healing for her. Everyone has a different story to tell, and one thing I learned is that you don’t know what yours will be.

That being said, however, I do know that many women ask for pain medication because they are afraid that they won’t be able to handle the pain that is coming, not because the actual pain is too much for them. My advice is to prepare for the pain as much as you can by learning about labor, practicing different pain-coping techniques, and reading birth stories.  Be willing to do what is right for you, and practice advocating for yourself before the birth. When you’re in labor, just deal with the moment that is happening right then– don’t think about the pain still to come. Even if you do all of that, you may still need to make different choices about pain medication than I did, because we are different people, and please believe me– really believe me– when I say that it is OK!

For me, I had a very painful labor, but the hormones that were released during that time allowed me to bond with Heron right away. I am so glad I was able to have a natural labor, even as I regret having an unnatural birth.

On recovery:

So you’ve just had a C-section, and when you read “You’ll be 90% in about a month,” you started to cry? Well, you can stop now. I assure you, they’ve all been lying to you. People who actually go through an unplanned C-section have since told me three months, a year, and it can vary depending on who you are. Also, those nurses that told you not to be lazy, and get out of bed or you won’t heal? Erase that from your memory. Unless you’re rich and/or famous, it’s probably not possible to do too little and still feed yourself, take care of your baby, and have a clear path from room to room in your house.

It’s been a month, and I’m not even close to 90%. Yesterday I walked maybe a mile on a flat surface, over a span of a few hours, with lots of rest. Today I can barely get out of bed. This is not 90% of my pre-pregnant or pregnant self. I can’t believe that after a month I am still wishing I could feel as good as I did when I was 9 months pregnant. I know that eventually I will feel better, and I am healing, but it is very, very slow.

About What’s Important:

The whole story—good and bad, the grief and the joy—is important. The details that keep coming back to me even after I write this– how I almost bit my midwife when I was in so much pain (I was biting my own wrist, and hers was right next to mine!), how I sat on Eric’s lap and hugged him, how I gagged on the Hi-C when I tried to drink it– it’s all important. It’s important because this birth was the first thing we did together as a family. It’s important because the whole time, through every terrible and wonderful thing, we loved each other. I never, ever stopped feeling the love.

It’s an experience I would never want to forget.

We love you, Heron.