Warren’s Birth Story: An Unmedicated 2VBAC
There was a time I didn’t understand the sharing of birth stories. They felt incredibly intimate, and I’d always been raised modestly. I didn’t think any woman should want to give the world the mental picture of herself so vulnerable and exposed.
As I’ve become a mother myself, I have to say… I get it now. Birth leaves no woman like it found her. There is a “becoming” in those long hours of labor. The sharing of a birth story is less about documenting the hours it takes a cervix to dilate and more about the making of the mother through those very same hours. The billowing of each contraction brings up the things she believes about herself and the world around her like sediment stirred up by the waves of a hurricane. Remembering the truth of who she is and what she is made for can feel like fighting through murky waters at first. Fear creates tension and tension causes pain, so every surge becomes about addressing what she truly believes. No one else can do this work for her. While her body begs her attention, a mother must go inward to understand she won’t be overtaken. The very Savior who walks across stormy waves lives within her. With Him, she is empowered to lay down her own body in sacrifice and be submerged into these waves to partner with God and bring new life into the world. Birth becomes sacred and, with that belief, she surrenders to it. Only then can the waves that once threatened to pull her all the way under now crash and break beneath her. They become the broken waters that her child rides out into this world on.
Before I can get into Warren’s birth story and my own becoming, you would have to understand my two previous births. I’ll give you the quick recap…
Savannah was born in 2019 by planned c-section to avoid putting any unnecessary strain on a heart already weakened by multiple congenital heart diagnoses. She was delivered by a doctor chosen for me (because our delivery plan changed so late in pregnancy that not a lot of doctors had availability to take me on as a patient) in a town far from home and away from family. Savannah was not even lifted above the drape for me to see in the operating room before being whisked away to a nearby children’s hospital for immediate intervention. This birth story marked the beginning of a motherhood journey in which many decisions were made by medical professionals. My motherly intuition suffered for it- especially as a first time mother. My role felt more passive than powerful or purposeful.
Charlotte’s birth was in 2024, almost 2 years to the date of Savannah’s passing and 1 year after miscarriage. Pregnancy after so much loss is complex. There is joy and gratitude, but there are also fears you didn’t even know to have in past pregnancies. Justin and I were so intentional in preparing for this pregnancy- mind, body, and spirit. We worked with a grief counselor, functional medicine practitioner, and trusted spiritual mentors and prayer warriors. We assembled a birth team we felt confident with, including an OB who truly seeks to know his patients and partner with them in their desires for birth, a doula equipped with strategies for supporting physiological birth and knowledgeable of the barriers that exist within modern maternity care, as well as lactation and chiropractic support. I read so many books on physiological birth and medical studies on VBAC’s, and I prepared a detailed birth plan based on this research.
At 40 weeks I advocated to wait until 41 weeks for birth to begin naturally versus being induced. And then, at 41 weeks, as a hurricane prepared to hit our beach town, I had to learn surrender. If I stayed home during the storm and went into labor on my own, it’s possible that I would not have been able to make it to the hospital. Justin had been comfortable with the idea of VBAC, but had expressed a desire to have me do it in a hospital setting because of the associated risk of uterine rupture. So, I allowed my water to be broken in order to induce labor, but held my ground for no other interventions.
I came to this birth with a lot of medical trauma after living in an ICU and losing Savannah. Part of my birth plan had been to have the sound on all hospital monitors turned down or off. However, as the power flickered in and out and back-up generators kicked on, alarms sounded on every machine as they turned back on. Also, because I was considered high risk as a VBAC patient, there was the aforementioned risk of uterine rupture- a serious medical emergency for both mother and baby. I knew the risk was relatively low- less than 1% and only slightly higher than some of the big risks associated with repeat c-sections- but it remained on my mind as all the hospital staff treated me so delicately. By the time I finally allowed myself to be checked, it was evident that my body had stalled in fear. God has made our bodies so wise. They will act protectively to ensure a baby won’t be born into an environment that the mind deems unsafe. Sometimes cervical dilation has even been documented to regress in situations of high stress. To help myself endure against my own trauma, I accepted an epidural and went on to have a successful VBAC and beautiful golden (two) hour experience.
Although it was not the all natural birth I had hoped for, it was still the redemption I had prayed for in so many ways. I had taken back so much ground in my motherhood journey.
All of this brings me to Warren’s birth.
With some time to reflect on the differences between Savannah and Charlotte’s births (as well as some of the birth stories shared with me) I remain convinced that a physiological birth, as free of routine medical interventions as possible (including continuous fetal monitoring and regular cervical checks) is the safest, most ideal way to bring a child into the world. I have heard some mothers say that they would only feel comfortable delivering with the same OB again because he or she “saved them” from some emergency, not realizing that the doctor’s disregard for birth’s natural and unhurried timeline and the aggressive use of unnecessary interventions which followed actually caused said emergency. (I am not denying that there are specific circumstances where interventions are necessary and even life-saving to mothers and their babies, but I do hope to emphasize modern maternity care’s elevated c-section rates and maternal mortality rates as a result of their “cascade of interventions.”)
Because of this, I didn’t need to do a lot of research or make a new birth plan for Warren. I knew what I wanted… with one exception. The epidural. I went back and forth on this one decision. I knew the associated risks- the way it could slow labor if started too soon, elevate maternal blood pressure, affect fetal heart rate, nudge a mother ever closer into that notorious cascade of interventions. It also made me feel detached from my own body to have to ask a nurse when I was having a contraction so I could coordinate my own pushing. I didn’t like feeling detached from any part of motherhood after my first birth experience. On the other hand, I knew the way an epidural had helped me past my own hurdle of fear in the last birth. What if that fear rose up again? Deep within me remained a lot of self doubt about whether I could really do an unmedicated birth. If I’m being honest though, it wasn’t just self doubt related to birth.
I still held a lot of blame for Savannah’s diagnosis and passing. I was self conscious about the years of my life lost too- years I once held so many big dreams for. I was sitting in the shattered pieces of what I once thought would be and I didn’t know how to get back to my feet. Even Charlie’s birth and first year- though it brought so much joy-introduced an unexpected layer of grief. As I saw what it looked like to raise a healthy child in comparison to a child with congenital heart disease, I had to work through things I hadn’t even considered before. Through it all, I had stopped seeing myself as the strong, confident, and capable person I once had been.
…..
Monday, April 20th was Warren’s due date. I’d had some Braxton Hicks contractions for a few days prior, but I didn’t expect anything to come of it since Charlie had been born at 41 weeks and 2 days. When others asked if I was feeling anything yet, I’d joke that this one was going to make me go the long haul like his sister. I figured it was better to prepare for that mentally and be pleasantly surprised if he came sooner than to sit and wait for him, feeling frustrated with every day he didn’t come. At 1:00 am on Tuesday the 21st I woke with my usual insomnia and headed downstairs to avoid waking Justin up too. Since I was finally 40 weeks, I felt okay with getting my breast pump out. I pumped and immediately triggered contractions. By 3:00 am, the contractions were consistent and I had lost my plug so I went upstairs and laid beside Justin in bed. He stirred and I asked, “What are your plans for the day?” Confused, he wiped sleep from his eyes and sat up to look at me, “what?” I leaned in close and whispered, “Wanna have a baby today?” His feet found the floor so fast I laughed out loud. “Well not that soon! Come lay down and email work from your phone.” Since I’d never had the opportunity to labor at home before, I wasn’t completely sure that this was it, but something deep within me knew that I wanted Justin home and that was the instinct I followed.
All morning and early afternoon I continued to have contractions. My full belly would tighten, but the contractions never strengthened in intensity or had any consistency in timing. We had a restful day home. Justin cooked breakfast and lunch for us, and I spent time with Charlie reading books, playing games, and talking to her about becoming a big sister. When we put Charlie down for a nap around 1:00 pm, I noticed a shift. I was becoming more uncomfortable.
While I had loved having Charlie near me all morning, I warned Justin that he was going to have to take the lead with her once she woke. I’d sit on the couches nearby and be present, but I didn’t think I could play as actively as I had been before.
I felt disappointed by that because, though my contractions were strengthening, they were only uncomfortable (not painful). They still weren’t consistent either. I thought this to be false labor, and I knew some women could be in false labor for days. I was disappointed that my discomfort probably wasn’t even productive and yet it was keeping me from my daughter. It was also hard to think that Justin was wasting one of his precious days off work for false labor because it meant one less day he’d have home on the other side of Warren’s birth. Still, I was so glad to have him home with me. In all the slowing down of third trimester, I’d had the strongest maternal desire for my family just to be together. I missed Justin every time he left the house for work. So, for the rest of the night, I sat on the couch admiring him and Charlie playing together, and soaking up this last little bit of time as a family of 3. We went for a short family walk while it was gorgeous and breezy out.
Once Charlie was in bed, Justin and I settled onto the couch with blankets and pillows for a middle school style sleepover. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get comfortable in bed- I had been waking up in the night and coming down to the couch for days now- and Justin wasn’t willing to leave me downstairs alone though I insisted this wasn’t real labor. I think sometimes he must just laugh at me in his head when I’m insisting on something that he knows isn’t right. He doesn’t challenge me in the moment but he does love to give me a certain, knowing smirk when I’m shown to be in the wrong or when it comes up in conversation anytime after that.
By 11:00 pm, I was starting to feel discouraged at the idea of spending maybe another whole day in discomfort while things continued to progress. My contractions were strengthening but still not consistent. I was beginning to need to apply counter pressure through them. I was tired but unable to get comfortable. Justin tried to get some sleep near me. I laid awake, rubbing my knuckles into my lower back with every surge.
There had been a moment during Charlie’s birth that I had thought I progressed into active labor because the pain had intensified so much. After a cervical check revealed I had made no progress in almost 18 hours of labor, I realized I had gotten caught up in the fear-tension-pain cycle. This was when I accepted an epidural. This memory replayed in my mind as I applied counter pressure there at home. “This probably isn’t even active labor,” I told myself. “You just need to be tougher.” In His kindness, God would show me the harshness of my own thoughts in these moments and help me to take each one captive and renew my mind to truth. While my body was experiencing intensifying surges, my mind was wrestling to keep hold of what He said about me instead…
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” -Philippians 4:13
“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness…’” – 2 Corinthians 12:9
“And the LORD, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.” – Deuteronomy 31:8
Around 1:00 am I started to cry because I just wanted to sleep but I’d wake up with each contraction, hit the timer on my app, and fall back asleep by the time the contraction had ended so that I forgot to shut the timer off. I had no idea how consistent the contractions were or how long I was actually sleeping between each one. I just knew I was exhausted. Justin agreed to lay awake, watching videos on his phone between contractions so he’d be awake and ready to start the timer for each one before rushing over to apply counter pressure for me. I was no longer able to rub my own back. It was taking everything I had to keep my mind on God’s truths through each surge.
Over the next hour, Justin clocked contractions at 6 minutes apart and lasting anywhere from 45 seconds to 1 minute. We had checked in with our doula earlier in the evening and she advised us to reach out to her and head to the hospital when contractions were 5 minutes apart and lasting 1 min. I was so set on these exact numbers that I still argued this wasn’t it. Justin begged me to look at the big picture. “It’s close enough, Nicole” he said, “I’m calling your mom to come sit with Charlie so I can take you to the hospital.” I resisted him for another half hour at least because nothing in me wanted to go to the hospital too early, have the birth process overmedicalized, and end up with a stalled labor again.
When we got to triage, it was 3:00 am. The nurses seemed less than thrilled to hear that I had been having contractions for 24 hours as a VBAC and was only just now coming in. They told me they could have been monitoring the baby the whole time and worked quickly to get him on the monitor so they could assess heart rate. Heart rate is a big factor in determining whether there’s been uterine rupture. While I knew I’d be treated just as high risk as the first VBAC, I also knew God had proven my body capable of natural birth. I’d had peace to labor at home as long as possible. They took down the details of my previous births, gave me a hard time about going to 41 weeks as a VBAC for my last birth, and acted slightly irritated when I said I needed to sit upright through contractions because they could only keep the baby on the monitor while I was leaned back. (Sadly, these are some of the realities of choosing a more physiological birth in a hospital setting. You see some medical personnel assert their dominance when you really haven’t even said much to advocate for yourself yet. They see it coming and harden, wanting you to know they are the professional in the field. It’s an unspoken bias.) When they finally checked me, I was 8 cm. I felt like I earned a little more of their respect after that. By 4:00 am, another nurse came in to take me to my room in labor and delivery and she said.. “They told me you were an 8 but you came in smiling and talking with them?! I don’t know how!”
Justin is always one of my biggest supporters so, when he heard that I was 8 cm dilated, his jaw fell wide open and he immediately began to encourage me. “You’ve always wanted a natural birth, and you’ve already done so much of the hard work. Let’s finish this! You’ve got this!” And though I still hadn’t been strongly decided one way or the other, with Justin’s belief in me, I decided to believe in myself too. I made the decision to finish out this birth unmedicated.
Our doula met us in the labor and delivery room and I labored there from 4:00 am to 7:00 am before the contractions began to feel big in an all new way. With each one, I’d bury my face into Justin’s chest and brace myself with his forearms while my doula applied a heating blanket to my lower back and encouraged me out loud.
With my face there in Justin’s chest, I’d carry an unspoken conversation with God through each contraction about His faithfulness. He was giving me the very birth I’d prayed for. I’d gotten to labor at home for a long time. My husband was home and my daughter played near for most of that time. I had soaked up their presence as I daydreamed of the life we’d soon be adding. Most of my labor at home had been uncomfortable, but not painful. It was looking like I was going to deliver in the day time so Charlie could come meet her brother immediately and I wouldn’t have to wait all night for her to wake up. And I was doing it unmedicated now. It was everything I’d asked for! I was overwhelmed by the goodness of God, and I did my best to keep my mind focused on that great awe when the force of my body’s surges threatened to overwhelm me instead.
My OB had been on call from 7 pm to 7 am at another hospital in a town about an hour away. I didn’t know if he was coming straight to the hospital I was at to check in on me or if he would be waiting to come in until he was called by the nurses and told I was close to pushing. My doula helped me to steady my mind through my contractions by laying out a few different options and letting me decide which one sounded best. I decided to let myself be checked so they could call and update him and hear his plan. I was feeling so hopeful that the end was in sight when my nurse told me that I was still 8 cm after those 3 hours of laboring there at the hospital. All the memories of stalling in birth with Charlie came flooding back. I was crushed. No part of being in a hospital ever made my body feel calm or safe. I didn’t know how long I could keep going. Each contraction was becoming bigger and stronger than the last.
With my next contraction, I braced myself with Justin’s arms and cried out to God in my mind- “You’ve got to help me. You’ve carried me this far and I know that it’s all been You. I can’t do this without You.” In that exact moment, the force of my contraction broke my water. Rather than understanding my urgent prayer was being answered though, my first reaction was fear because I knew that contractions feel more intense without the cushion of the amniotic sack. Then my body began pushing on its own and it was then I knew that something was different. As I was moved to a pushing position there in the delivery room, I was checked again and told I was at the full 10 cm. Warren was born 18 minutes later.
In our weakness, God is strong.
I wasn’t brave through any part of this birth- at least not in the ways we often think of bravery. Back at home, I’d cried in frustration when I was worn out and couldn’t sleep. I’d questioned if I could do it. I’d released loud guttural cries in those final 18 minutes. But Justin later said that he noticed a sort of smirk across my face just before each primal yell. Something was breaking in me. Long held beliefs that I couldn’t do the hard things I’d always dreamed of. All the concern about what people thought of me that usually kept me quiet and small. The fear of not being able to find God with me in my most urgent moment of need. With every push, I meditated on what God had told me with Charlie- “You are partnering with Me to bring life into this world. What a holy moment.” By the time he was born, scared screams had become proud roars. Transition had brought transformation. I was ready to meet my son- finally the version of myself he would need as a mother.
All of it has got me thinking… maybe bravery isn’t the over confident, unflinching hero of our youthful imagination. Maybe bravery is the average man or woman who shows up scared, a little unsure of him or herself, but determined to try anyway. Maybe that’s exactly what makes bravery such an admirable quality. It belongs to the people who don’t have all the answers or don’t feel all the way qualified, even the ones we might write off in our own minds, and it makes them the example that all things are possible with a big God and a little faith.
Birth is about becoming and, for me, it’s been this process of becoming brave again. Brave enough to abandon common culture and step into all God’s calling me to be. Not one birth has left me like it’s found me.
Savannah’s birth cracked me wide open. It challenged everything I thought I knew about myself and about the world. But it’s only after being broken like this that you can begin to be put back together, stronger than before. Because of her birth, I came to know the sanctity of motherhood and was empowered to rise up on behalf of God’s children.
With Charlotte’s birth, I learned greater surrender to and trust in God’s plan. The threads of perfectionism I’d been slowly strangled by over many years began to unravel.
Warren’s birth was the birth I’d always wanted. It restored my confidence and reminded me I really can do hard things.
… Like raise 2 children under 2 years old. Maybe we’ll just start there. Wink wink.
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