The Unassisted Birth of Brian Mishael

Note: For a better appreciation of Mish's birth, you may want to first
read the story of his older brother Peter's hospital birth, found here.

 

The Difference Between Peter and Brian My two sons, my first and last babies, had many things in common about their births. The major difference was that one was in a hospital, and the other was a UC. I put the two accounts together to show the difference UC can make – subtle in some ways perhaps, but it is all the difference in the world. It has been almost eight months, and I had expected I would sort of fade from the homebirth scene now that we are done having children and life is moving forward into new stages. But I can’t shake it; my last birth has stayed with me in a foundational way. I don’t wish for more children; God has shown us that this is His perfect number for us; but I wish I had it to do over again...

His name is Mishael because when I chose to go for an ultrasound at 18 weeks, they told me he had a cyst in his brain and that it might be linked to a chromosomal disorder, Trisomy-18. That was all the doctor would say.

Mishael means, Who is What God Is? It was the Hebrew name of Meshach in the Book of Daniel. Meshach and his two companions were cast into the fire for refusing to worship Nebuchadnezzar’s statue. They told the king, “If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us out of your hand, O king. But even if He does not, let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”

I felt like we were in the same place. If our baby were to be fatally defective and die soon after birth, certainly those around us would wonder how we could worship this God who claims to be a Saviour. Perhaps they would wonder what hidden sin was in our lives, that God should “discipline” us in that way. But I knew that my health and my baby’s are not ultimately dependent on my walk with God; I had seen for the first time, just before my first son was born, that nothing I can do and nothing anyone else might do to intercede for me will affect God’s judgment of me as a sinner, “for there is one God, and one mediator between man and God, the man Christ Jesus (1 Timothy 2:5).” “For no man can by any means redeem his brother, or give to God a ransom for him – for the redemption of his soul is costly, and he should cease trying forever – that he should live on eternally; that he should not undergo decay (Psalm 49:7-9).” That judgment was paid for completely and unconditionally at the cross by Jesus (whose very name means “God is salvation” – for He shall save His people from their sins, Matthew 1:21). I made up my mind after some struggle that I would give glory to my Lord anyhow and my child and I could talk about His reasons in heaven, if that was the way it was going to be. I could be certain of this and joyful about it because “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, for the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death (Romans 8:1).” He has proven Himself in my life, and I can be absolutely confident that no one can snatch me out of His hand!

So I kept on...

I went online and found out that a choroid plexus cyst is not actually in the brain, it’s in the choroid plexus, which manufactures the fluid that fills the spine and brain cavity, and that when there’s only one tiny cyst there is no evidence that it will be linked to any disorder unless there are other symptoms already present. I was so pleased with my doctor for being so informative! (Well, anyway...)

I then had to consider what I would do if for some reason, against all indications, this baby did turn out to be headed for death. Should I go to a hospital, where they couldn’t save him anyway, knowing from my research that interventive measures were not recommended for this disease? Or should he have a peaceful moment on earth with us to be held and loved, with his brother and sisters present, before he went with God? What would the legal ramifications be?
I decided that if the second ultrasound showed signs of disease, I would find the best lawyer I could and stay home, unassisted, either way. I knew my little one was in the hands of God, and I wanted love and peace for my baby, not isolation and fear.

As it turned out, a second ultrasound showed nothing wrong at all, and I swore off doctors altogether. From then on, I ate well, nested, and tried to shake off the fright I was given. We set up the birthing pool about a week before the baby was born, and I sat in the pool one night, with just a lamp on, crying and hugging my baby-tummy because I wanted so awfully badly to see and hold my little one. The anticipation almost did me in!

I went into labour probably sometime in the early hours of the morning. It woke me around 7:00. I thought it couldn’t possibly be real labour, since all of my other births started just as I was ready to go to bed! It took me about four hours – somewhere into the distracting contractions – to accept that I was really in labour. My Dad had already come and picked up the kids, and David was on the way home from work.

David started filling the pool for me when he got home. It was as hot as was comfortable, and I thought my labour had stopped after I got in because I didn’t feel any more contractions for quite awhile. I learned I was wrong when I got out to go to the bathroom and one hit like a ton of bricks! My whole body felt heavier and achier out of the water. Things were much more tolerable in the pool.

It was such a beautiful April day. I soaked luxuriously in the pool, where David joined me for awhile, and drank my juice from a fancy glass. I was downright having fun!

I know now when transition hit, because it was when I started to feel alone. I kept forcing myself to get out of the pool to go to the bathroom, because my sister-in-law had had trouble with her over-full bladder blocking the baby’s descent during her homebirth. I’m sure I needn’t have worried about it so much! Somehow, I felt like I lost my connection to my Lord at that time, although I was still praying. I just couldn’t concentrate on anything outside labouring anymore. When I finally felt the need to moan, I felt self-conscious even having David there at first. Pretty soon I was too busy working to care.

Unlike the last birth, I don’t remember the start of pushing. It wasn’t a distinct event. Because I had lost my focus somewhat, I did feel like I was in pain at the time; in retrospect, I realize I was probably working against myself mentally for a few pushes. I think this was due to the fact that the rubber pool was slippery, and I couldn’t get into a comfortable position. It really broke my comfort level down. I kind of got stuck in a half-sitting position, leaning against the edge of the pool. (I also now wonder if this was an instinctive reaction to the cord being wrapped and therefore shortened.) I remember saying to David, “I’m scared – why am I scared? I’m scared – I’m alone– ”

Then there was a baby’s head! I told David, “Look at your baby.” He was all surprised, a minute before he’d been looking at me like he was trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

I said, “You can touch him – her – whatever...” We held his head, stroking his hair and face and ears as he rested there for a minute, David with tears and me feeling very uncomfortable and wishing this baby was out already. Then I felt I should really push him out, so I did. The cord was around his neck twice. I wanted him up out of the water and in my arms sooner than immediately; David had to tell me to let go for a minute so he could unwrap the cord. I called out to him by his name right away, Mish. I remember saying, “He’s perfect...”

At the time (right at the moment he was born) I said I never wanted to do this again. Now I laugh at myself, because we had both forgotten a particular quirk of mine, which is a moment’s panic as the baby’s crowning. It has happened at every birth except one, and now I just think, how silly of me! It makes sense now.

He lay on my tummy looking blue and asleep for a few minutes. I looked at his cord. It didn’t feel gross like I thought it would. Then I felt a little worried that he wasn’t getting active by now (all the others were breathing before I could even get my hands on them), so I wiggled him a little and talked to him. He snorted twice and then, the most beautiful thing! He gave a short, deep cry and turned pink. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.
Mish promptly latched on and nursed for the next 40 minutes. The water was starting to get cooler and the placenta hadn’t passed yet, so we called a birth-friend and asked what she thought was normal for the placenta. She said anywhere from four minutes to a couple of hours.
We cut the cord, and David finally got his hands on that spectacular baby, and toured him around the house looking at everything in an elated mood. It was really funny. Mish was very quiet and spent his first two hours of life simply looking alertly at everything – people, things, turning to hear voices.

While they were doing that, I had a brainwave about my stubborn placenta: Oh right, go to the bathroom again! It did indeed turn out to be a full bladder in the way, and the placenta passed as I stood up from the toilet. All in all, it was about an hour for it to pass.

I felt so energized and calm after this birth. It was the first one where I’d actually had a night of sleep beforehand! What a blessing. Cleaning up was a snap: David ran a garden hose out the window to the ditch and let the pool drain. (Being on a farm in the middle of nowhere, there are no bylaws about things like this!) I got to see and supervise everything about the birth, instead of having other people doing it: I looked at and handled his cord, I watched him take his first breath, I held him and no one else!

God’s hand was so obviously on this day. The daytime labour, allowing the kids to be out of the house; (on a funny note, we couldn’t get them to come back until 4:30 that afternoon, David had to go get them. I had told them the baby might not be here till tomorrow, and they were settled in at Grandad’s to stay! We phoned twice, and my 6yo said casually, “The baby will be there tomorrow.”) Then there was the beautiful sunshine coming in the window onto our little corner; the ease of the water birth; and the peaceful, gentle awakening my second little son had. His cord, his breath, wasn’t cut off; he wasn’t wrenched away from us; he wasn’t poked or prodded, Apgar’d and assessed, isolated in an oxygen bassinet and left to cry in fear “for his own good, just to be safe”. I felt right from the start that he knew me better than I knew him – he looked at me with such calm assurance from those newborn eyes. He smiled when he was three weeks old – I think he was smiling before that, but I couldn’t absolutely confirm it. I asked a UC friend about it, and she said her baby smiled right from birth, and there was no question about it, because he made very deliberate eye contact. It makes me sad to think of all the tiny babies that don’t have a smile in them for weeks and weeks after they’re born, now that I know they’re supposed to be happy to be here right from the start!

 

My ideas of responsible birth now:

• Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths
• Avoiding a medical prenatal care model at all costs
• Preventative diet
• Self-education and support from like-minded women
• Knowing where to find calm, rational information about the things you question
• Applying Scripture, sound information, and solid emotional support from people you can trust to the situations you are fearful of, before they happen
  

What I wish I’d known for this birth:

• The only thing I would do differently is to remember how I react to transition!
  

 

~ read story of brother Peter's hospital birth ~

 

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