Jen’s Story

If something needs done, my husband and I can usually scrape together the skillset to handle it ourselves. Thus, when I got pregnant, it stood to reason that we could DIY that, too. Our family and friends fretted about our choice to home birth, but we felt confident that all would be fine. I was strong and healthy, after all, running chainsaws throughout my pregnancy. There was nothing my body wasn’t capable of.

When I went into labor, everything progressed perfectly. I was able to walk through the woods during the day and pace the wood floors after dark. The moon shone through our cabin window. Candles were lit. I was home, at peace.

And then my labor stalled out. I should have felt the urge to push, but instead there was nothing but pain. So. Much. Pain.

Twenty-four hours later, when my labor was still an excruciating kind of stasis — with my consciousness dipping out toward a place less painful — we made the decision to drive to the hospital. It was the longest 40 minutes of my life. Thank goodness another hour was not appended on that journey.

Once at the hospital, the staff gave me Pitocin to try to move the labor along, but to no avail. Dr. Dr. Huntsberger gently but forcefully recommended a Cesarean — that dreaded procedure I was dead-set on avoiding. I wearily acquiesced. No good would come from toughing it out.

Upon administration of the spinal block, the world swam back into focus. As Dr. Huntsberger leaned over me before surgery, I looked at her face, and with all the force a grateful heart can muster, I declared, “You have the most beautiful eyes!” Because she does.

Sylvie was born shortly thereafter, a dent in her forehead where it had caught on my pelvic bone. It turns out that Cesareans are not the worst outcome. In fact, the procedure saved my baby and me. BGH is the reason we’re here today, my body still capable of so many things.

—Jen