Why We Chose Homebirth

In the United States today, the desire for home birth is increasing rapidly, more rapidly than it has since the initial home birth movement that began in 1971 by Ina May Gaskin. If you do not know who Ina is, she was a pioneer for low-intervention, natural birth. Her outcomes were incredible. She has given many lectures to both midwives and physicians on the process of birth and has created amazing methods for dealing with what the majority of society would call complications, coining the term “variations of normal” to refer to these situations.
I studied her practices, history, and the scope of practice of midwifery today in depth before choosing to have my son at home. I was under the impression that with a low-risk mom and baby, any unexpected complications during labor could easily be alleviated by a highly trained midwife. When I found out I was pregnant, I began researching midwives to decide who may fit the bill.
I loved the idea of my baby being born at home. I had never been admitted to a hospital previously, had no prior medical history that needed emergency attention, and felt like I was the perfect candidate for this type of birth environment. I had a Plan A which was having the baby at home, a Plan B which was to go to a hospital that allowed midwives privileges to deliver (in case of prolonged labor), and a Plan C which was to call a friend who is an OBGYN and who had offered to come into our local hospital and handle our care if there was a complication toward the end of labor. I was very comfortable with this plan, and made sure our midwife was fully informed of my wishes in any of the mentioned situations. My main reason for having a homebirth was because I wanted to be able to focus on the birth process, rather than having to spend my energy doing that on top of fighting for any positions or wishes I had for my baby and me that conflicted with the medical institution (there are a few). Also, hospitals give me anxiety! I didn’t want be in a room with machines and florescent lighting or with people on the other side of the walls screaming (or so I had pictured). Like many mothers, I wanted my process to be peaceful. I wanted my baby to come into this world in the environment in which we had prepared to raise him. I wanted that to be his first impression of being in the world, independent of Mama.
I felt that although there was always the risk of complication at any point in pregnancy, even low-risk pregnancy, with my three birth plans and decision to choose a midwife who had first been an RN and now CNM and had worked both in hospitals and in homes, we would be fine. I trusted that the midwife we chose would recognize signs of distress, in both myself and my son, and act accordingly if our risk increased.
Unfortunately, my hopes dwindled rapidly after my son was born. He was born with respiratory distress and was unsuccessfully resuscitated by the midwife, emergency responders, and hospital medical staff. Ultimately, he passed away at the hospital. Now looking back, many signs of distress were there. It took me about three months after our son passed to come out of the fog of shock and take a hard look at the care we were given. Initially, our midwife had me convinced of her opinion that our son had a genetic issue that cause his death. She actually told me afterwards during the one time I began to question her about fetal monitoring, my temperature, and all the other things that I was wanting to inquire about, my son was “incompatible with life.” That was a hard pill to swallow.
We were told by this person that we should pursue genetic testing and reconsider procreating in general because there was a 25% chance that this would happen to every baby my husband and I created together if Ira was in fact, “incompatible.” This shook us to our core: were we created with a genetic deficit? Was the combination of my husband’s DNA and my own “incompatible”? The midwife highly suggested that we pursue genetic testing, so we did. We trusted her. We paid out of pocket to find out what had happened to our son with the expectation of answers. We had a thorough autopsy, including toxology, elavulated by a pathologist. After all of the testing, we were still left with no answers. The only thing that was indicated in all of the testing, was that one lung, most likely, had not received oxygen. I now know that healthy babies are born with respiratory distress often, for a variety of reasons, and when tended to according to protocol, the survival rate is very high. Our minds began to race. What happened to Ira? Why did he die? With all my planning and a skilled CNM, how could this healthy eight-pound baby die?
It literally makes me physically ill typing this. I wish my story were different; I wish the truth intensifying our grief over our son’s death was not what we have discovered in the past four months. I’m breaking our story up into chapters because writing it in one sitting would suck the life out of me, and I still have a full work day ahead of me. So, that being said, stay tuned for chapter two.