Just over a year ago, our son was born. An intended home birth, we ended up in a cesarean after 67 hours of non-progressive back labor.
The day after returning home from from the hospital, I wrote the following.
I am sharing it here now with the hopes that it may speak to you or spark your own insight if you also tend to find yourself in this place of ‘waiting.’
Larisa from a year ago writes:
Donovan is here! In the flesh!
Right now, as I write, he is nestled up to my chest in a sling. Peacefully sleeping.
The story of his arrival is epic; I’m not certain I can even scratch the surface of the the event itself or of its meaning/significance.
Let me begin with now, Saturday the 14th, 2015, finally at home with both of my men.
Today I feel overwhelmed, in the best possible way, for every detail of this pregnancy, delivery, and birth. I feel such gratitude for all that has transpired (including my own birth) that brings me to this specific moment.
Sitting here today I have no idea what the future will bring… only that it will be so unlike the past as to be completely unrecognizable.
I have no idea what the future will bring and that brings me such a sense of joy, celebration and wonder. That underlying sense of dread/doom (that I wasn’t even consciously aware of for the most part) has lifted. And it is all due to the birth of Donovan Noonan.
Today I saw how much of my life I’ve spent waiting.
Waiting for something to happen or, perhaps even more accurately, for something to be over.
While this pattern underlies my entire life, this pregnancy and birth brought it to the surface in such a way that I can no longer ignore it.
Throughout the entire pregnancy, I was just waiting for it to be over.
Initially I was so exhausted, nauseous and overheated that all I wanted was for the first trimester to be over.
Finally, it was. Those symptoms lessened or vanished but new ones took their place – that I also simply endured knowing there was an eventual end in sight.
Every discomfort associated with pregnancy had a potential end date, a time when they would no longer exist, so I simply held out for that time signified by D’s due date.
Finally, the week of his due date arrived. And then passed.
Every subsequent day brought the possibility of relief from the acute discomfort of pregnancy, from the waiting. Every day brought the possibility of Donovan’s arrival. Every day passed with no such resolution.
Time crept on for two weeks past the due date.
Then, happiness! Contractions began, my water broke – on a Friday around midnight.
At this point, a whole new level of discomfort (and waiting) began.
From midnight Friday through all day Saturday, all Saturday night, all day Sunday, the contractions continued – at a level of pain that left me shaking, gasping, crying.
Note: we later discovered he was in the worst possible position for labor and that was why I was in so much pain from the very first contraction.
And yet, there was an end in sight, right? I was in labor. I had to give birth. It was happening? Right?
Eventually, it became obvious that a home birth was no longer an option.
Labor was simply not progressing and my water had been broken for nearly 40 hours at this point.
While I was sad to release my dream of a home birth, I was very very happy to have a plan… and a place to go that would put my waiting (and my pain) to an end.
We arrived at the hospital. I was given an epidural and pitocin.
And then, time slowed down again.
Instead of going in, getting the shot/medicine, and then being able to give birth, more waiting… for me to fully dilate.
Monday afternoon I was finally far enough dilated to attempt pushing.
Three hours later, still nothing. No real progress.
Plus, complications (for both me and Donovan – infection, fever, D’s heart beat decelerating alarmingly, the obvious continued malposition…).
It was determined a c-section was necessary.
Ok, now, really the waiting was about to be over.
The epidural was no longer working and I was once again in extreme pain plus I no longer had any resources (nor desire) left to meet the pain.
Finally, after the procedure was described in great detail with every cell in my body silently shouting that I didn’t care about nor want to know the details, just get me the fuck into the OR, I was in the operating room.
Then, more complications.
And yet, finally, it did happen.
D did arrive!
The waiting was over!!!!
Except, now, a whole new series of things to endure…
…the hospital stay, Donovan screaming himself hoarse (and me incapable of consoling him), nursing issues, being constantly examined, given injections, pills, not being able to move, being in a new kind of pain, unable to sleep, go home, etc.
Days later, we were finally released only to discover the reality of life with a newborn who didn’t sleep day or night due to trauma from the birth and an acute nerve root injury sustained during the c-section…
Still, the first three weeks are the hardest, right? Just hold out until then… I can make it another three weeks. Can’t I?
UNTIL… today, the breakthrough.
Seeing/feeling/sinking into the gift of NOW.
Of the preciousness of this time (which will be over so quickly!), the sacredness of these first days with Donovan, with Paul at home, of this time we have together.
Of how beautiful his cries are, of the wonder and bliss I feel in those moments of calm during and after feeding or now as he sleeps (he’s sleeping!) on my chest.
Of this moment.
Of the next and the next and the next.
Ever unfolding. Ever sacred.
ALL of it, the pain, the discomfort, this ache in my back, the depletion in my body and the searing pelvic pain from surgery.
The sweet coos D makes as he sleeps.
The high pitched hoots in between heart-breaking wails.
His tiny arching back, his seeking mouth, his beautiful, all-seeing, slate-gray eyes.
I don’t want to miss a moment of it… waiting.
I want to be here, fully, for all of it.
From now to forever.
As you know, I have a big waiting pattern in my life. And am currently waiting/enduring through years of something I can’t change that is oppressive and exhausting.
In your story I notice that you didn’t have your awareness-moment to stop waiting and be in the now until you had something so inspiring and fleeting that it became important to be present to it. Before that, I would argue that it was adaptive to endure/wait. Or at least, I would argue that there is no perfect way to suffer and we all have to find what skills help us. Knowing you and your work, I imagine you were more present in your suffering than most people. Maybe there was nothing wrong with enduring, and you changed when your circumstance changed. I think the ability to adapt to the current circumstance is a key definition of health.
In other words, being “in the now” when you’re suffering from something real that is beyond your control is a different situation than being “in the now” when you have something unquestionably wonderful to be present to. Even if suffering is present in both circumstances, the resourcing effect of falling in love with a new baby is a major tip of the scales.
The question of how to best manage long-term pain or cope and be resilient in difficult circumstances is a complex question. When you study trauma, one of the first things you learn is that your body is responding as if you are still in danger when you are not, and that’s a problem. However, it was actually good to respond that way when the danger was real. Extended suffering is like being in a traumatic situation that is overwhelming, and yet it keeps going. Therefore I wonder if some of the ways we get through trauma, including suppression, are adaptive in these situations–especially if you retain the flexibility to discard them when circumstances change.
In my situation, I have gotten a lot of mileage out of developing discernment around what exactly I have control over and what I don’t, and being deliberate about where I place my energy and attention. I am constantly putting attention on what I am gaining from the situation, such as increased discipline. This is not to talk myself out of what hurts, but rather to strengthen what is resourcing. I am aware a great deal of my aliveness is suppressed because I simply don’t wish to spend energy to be present to all the pain when it just keeps coming. I realized I could either spend many hours a day crying, and feel everything in the present moment, or I could develop the habit of putting the pain on a shelf to unwrap later, and focus on doing what is resourcing with the necessarily-limited amount of presence available after what is spent maintaining the suppression. Both strategies have costs. And that’s the bottom line–sometimes you cannot meet all your needs. And that means choosing what trade-offs you take, as consciously as possible.
I’ve let go of or mentally refused a lot of ideas about how I “should” be doing this time and realize that I have to find my own way through it. There is no perfect way to experience extended overwhelming pain. Sometimes you endure things, and getting through means thinking about what it will be like when it’s over, suppressing parts of the current experience, and just making the best of it. There is a grief process and it’s important to get to the “acceptance” phase–but accepting something that is over is different than accepting something that is ongoing. That is, it’s relatively easier to accept that you can’t change the past than to accept that you can’t change the present or future even though you can see it coming. That is really facing our lack of control in the face.
Enduring/waiting creates its own kind of grief that has to be named–the grief of all the aliveness that could have been had I been spared needing to find ways to cope with this circumstance. But I think it is a cruel thing to tell oneself that one should be able to find a way to be happy and fully alive in all circumstances and somehow escape that grief. I think it is a way we try to feel in control over what is out of our control. Sometimes life overwhelms our resources, often for long periods of time. There is nothing wrong with not enjoying that fact, and it’s natural to find ways to cope. I could be projecting–maybe you are not judging yourself–but if you are, I would say: You can grieve that your pregnancy was painful without telling yourself you should have done it differently. You did your best and that is enough–and, you went through an awful lot!
Of course, when wonder and bliss arrive, by all means pay deep attention and enjoy it fully. I plan to…in 4 years and 8 months. 🙂
Hi Emma 🙂
Thanks for sharing your experience and how you have adapted to your time of waiting. I’m sending your tons of love for all the pain and grief you describe.
For myself, this is a pattern that has been part of my entire life. ‘just get through grade school, now middle school, now high school, now this, now that…’ This pregnancy and birth brought it to the surface in a way that I could no longer ignore. Fortunately, with awareness comes options. I’m so grateful for this moment of grace and increased options in large part because things most definitely did *not* get better after the first three weeks. If anything, things became harder, for months and months.
While I still often catch myself in ‘waiting’ mode – and believe me, there is SO much I could still be waiting for! – I now am much better about returning quickly to the present and meeting the pain, fear and grief that I’ve been avoiding.
In retrospect, looking back over the pregnancy and birth, I can say unequivocally (and without any self-judgement) that my suffering would have been less had I not been projecting myself into the future so often. Through not being present with what was in the moment (all of it), I missed all of the resourcing and aliveness that was also there for me in the present moment. This does not in any way mean that I would have been filled with happiness – quite the opposite in fact, at least while I was going through the meeting of what I was avoiding through not being present. And yes, falling in love with a newborn IS incredibly resourcing. And, that love is always present for us, in every moment. I experienced this time and time again throughout the pregnancy and birth as well – it wasn’t all waiting and enduring! We are always held, always loved, always supported… if we allow ourselves to be. Again, this is my experience; I’m not saying at all that it should be, or could be, yours.
Love to you.