Hospital breech birth

Everlee's Birth Story

Photos: sarahbranionbirthstories.com
@sarahbranionbirthstories on IG/FB

My sweet Everlee,

I have thought so many times about how I would tell you the story of the day you came into this world. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to write it down for you—not just so you would know how you were born, but so someday you would understand just how much thought, love, fear, faith, and excitement went into bringing you into this world.

Your birth story really started long before August 10.

For most of my pregnancy, I had a pretty normal pregnancy with you. I had regular appointments, I was working full-time, and I was also chasing around your big brother, Cameron. Life was busy, and this pregnancy felt very different from my pregnancy with your brother simply because I was already a mom and had a toddler running around.

Then, at my 32-week ultrasound, we found out that you were breech.

At first, I wasn't overly worried. I remember thinking that there was still plenty of time for you to turn. Cameron had been head down by that point, and I had read that most babies were head down around 32 weeks, so naturally I started to wonder why you were doing things differently. Your doctor wasn't concerned and reassured me that there was still plenty of time. She mentioned that I could try some Spinning Babies exercises if I wanted to encourage you to turn.

Immediately after that appointment, we left for a family vacation to North Carolina. I had every intention of doing all the exercises I had read about while we were there, but let's be honest—we were on vacation. I think I did maybe one or two inversions the entire week. I wasn't taking your breech position too seriously yet.

When we got home, I started going back to see Dr. Finden, the chiropractor I had seen during my pregnancy with Cameron. I wasn't going nearly as regularly this pregnancy because I was working full-time, had a toddler, and was just exhausted. Dr. Finden started doing special adjustments for breech babies.

At one appointment, she felt my belly and thought you might have turned. She said your bottom seemed to be up underneath my ribs. I was thrilled.

I also started Googling everything—which, as you will probably learn about your mother someday, can be both helpful and dangerous.

I noticed that your heart rate was being found lower on my abdomen, which I had read could mean you had turned. At one of my regular appointments around 34 weeks, the provider felt my belly and also thought you had flipped. Your heart rate was low on my belly that day too.

But I had a gut feeling you hadn't turned.

I could feel a hard, round thing low in my belly, and something just didn't feel right. So your dad and I decided to go to one of those private ultrasound boutiques to find out for sure.

The woman doing the ultrasound took one look and immediately confirmed it:

You were definitely still breech.

She was incredibly kind and even offered to take some 3D pictures of you, but Dad and I declined. She ended up not charging us the usual $70 because she felt bad that she couldn't give us the pictures we were hoping for.

I was so disappointed.

It had already been a rough day at work, and when I got home, Cameron was having one of those toddler days. He was screaming on the driveway because he didn't want me to get him out of his car seat. I remember sitting on the porch by myself afterward, crying and having a little glass of wine.

And yes, Everlee, you turned out just fine.

Once we knew you were definitely breech, Dad and I started researching everything we possibly could to get you to turn.

We tried everything.

I went to Dr. Finden two or three times a week, even though she was about 30 minutes away in St. Paul and I was usually going after work in traffic. I started acupuncture, even though I don't particularly like needles. We did inversions and a full Spinning Babies routine every night after putting Cameron to bed. Sometimes Dad and I would spend an entire hour doing exercises with you.

We tried ice packs.

We went to a bodywork specialist.

And then there was moxibustion.

Dr. Finden gave us an herb that we burned near my pinky toe every night. Dad and I would sit on the couch after doing all of our exercises, holding the little burning herb near my toe.

It looked like my pinky toe was smoking a cigarette.

We did all of it.

And you didn't turn.

At 37 weeks, we decided to try an ECV, which is when a doctor attempts to manually turn the baby from the outside while watching with ultrasound. I had read about it and was terrified. I had read stories online about how painful it could be, and I knew there was only about a 50/50 chance that it would even work.

We scheduled it after work so I wouldn't have to take PTO. Grandma watched Cameron, Dad came with me, and my doula was there too.

The doctor tried three times.

You didn't budge.

I remember feeling so discouraged, although honestly, I had a feeling going into it that you weren't going to turn.

After the failed ECV, my regular OB essentially told me that my only option was a C-section. They wanted to schedule it for 39 weeks.

I cried.

I didn't want a C-section.

There was nothing wrong with having a C-section, but it wasn't what I wanted for myself or for you. I had delivered Cameron vaginally, and while labor was painful, it was also one of the most special experiences of my life. I knew you might be my last baby, and I wanted the opportunity to experience labor and vaginal birth again.

I also didn't love the idea of major surgery and recovering while taking care of a two-and-a-half-year-old who still needed his mom to pick him up.

I kept thinking that if there was another option, I owed it to myself to at least learn about it.

That's when Aleida, our doula, told us about a doctor in Wisconsin who specialized in vaginal breech birth.

At first, Dad and I thought there was no way. We had been told breech vaginal birth was unsafe. We had heard all of the scary things.

But we decided to at least talk to him.

At 38 weeks, on a Monday morning, Dad and I drove to Wisconsin to meet Dr. Hartung.

He was kind, calm, and honestly a little bit hippie-like—which I think helped because I was incredibly stressed out by this point.

He asked about my previous birth with Cameron. I had a normal vaginal delivery, no major complications, no Pitocin, and Cameron had been a normal-sized baby.

He felt my belly and told us he didn't think I was carrying a big baby.

Then he explained everything to us.

The risks.

The benefits.

What could happen.

What we needed to be prepared for.

And suddenly, we were faced with an enormous decision.

That same day, Dad and I talked with Aleida, and we were actually leaning toward the C-section. We were scared.

What if something went wrong?

What if we made the wrong choice?

What if something happened to you because we chose to try for a vaginal breech birth?

Those thoughts were terrifying.

And, honestly, we had already gotten pretty far down the C-section path. Because C-sections are scheduled for 39 weeks, we actually had two C-sections scheduled at one point. We had one scheduled for July 27 and another for July 29 because we couldn't decide which hospital we wanted to have you at.

So, for a little while, we literally had two C-sections sitting on our calendar.

When we met with Dr. Hartung at 38 weeks that Monday, we had a C-section scheduled for the following Monday at 7:30 in the morning.

I was also completely exhausted. For weeks, I had been trying everything to get you to turn. I had spent so much of the end of my pregnancy worrying about your position that I felt like I hadn't really gotten to enjoy being pregnant with you.

After the failed ECV, I actually took about a week off from the chiropractor and all the Spinning Babies exercises. My body was tired.

A C-section started to feel easier. You go in, they get the baby, and you know exactly what is happening.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't how I wanted you to be born.

So I reached back out to Dr. Hartung.

On Wednesday morning, he called me while I was home alone.

I asked him, honestly, how risky a vaginal breech birth really was. I asked him what could happen.

And he explained something that stuck with me.

There are risks with every birth.

There are risks with a C-section.

There are risks with an induction.

There are risks with spontaneous labor.

There are risks with a head-down baby.

There are risks with a breech baby.

There is no birth where someone can promise you that everything will be perfect.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like someone was actually listening to me instead of telling me what I was supposed to do.

And somewhere during that phone call, I made my decision.

I decided I wanted to have you vaginally.

I hadn't even talked to Dad yet.

I just knew.

I knew I wanted to trust Dr. Hartung.

I wanted to trust myself.

And I wanted to trust you.

It felt like the first really big decision I would ever have to make for you as your mom. And I wanted so badly to make the right decision.

I called Dad afterward and told him how I was feeling. We talked about it, researched like crazy, listened to podcasts, and tried to make our decision based on actual evidence instead of scary things we found randomly on the internet.

Dad was especially good at this. He could find a podcast about literally anything.

Eventually, we decided together:

We were going to have you vaginally.

We told a few people we were close to, but we intentionally didn't tell everyone. We knew some people would think we were crazy or would try to convince us we were making the wrong decision.

We didn't need more opinions.

We needed to trust our decision.

I still had to go to my regular OB appointments because I needed weekly monitoring. At one of those appointments, I told them about our plan.

Unfortunately, Dad and I did not feel supported by the providers there. We felt judged and disrespected, and it was really hard.

We were already nervous.

Every day that you stayed inside gave us another day to second-guess ourselves and another day to read something scary.

But eventually, we decided we weren't going to give those feelings any more energy.

We had made our decision.

You were going to be born in Wisconsin.

I told Dr. Hartung that I didn't want to go past 41 weeks. It was summer, I was very pregnant, and I was ready to meet you.

So we scheduled an induction for Monday, August 10.

Your birthday.

But as that week got closer, I started changing my mind about the induction.

Dad and I talked about it around 40 weeks and four days. I didn't really want to be induced. I wanted you to decide when you were ready. I wanted spontaneous labor. I wanted the surprise and excitement of not knowing exactly when we'd meet you.

I had even read that induction wasn't necessarily ideal for a vaginal breech birth.

So I messaged Dr. Hartung.

He called me that Friday while I was at the chiropractor getting an adjustment and acupuncture.

He explained that his schedule the following week was difficult. If I didn't induce Monday and I went into spontaneous labor later, he was worried he might not be available.

And because you were breech, having an experienced provider available was especially important.

I was upset.

I felt like this was something we should have talked about at our first appointment. After spending my entire pregnancy advocating for my options, I suddenly felt like I was being forced into an induction at the very end.

I called Aleida.

I called Dad.

I was upset.

But over the weekend, I came to terms with it.

At least an induction still meant I could have the vaginal birth I wanted.

And I would probably get to meet you Monday.

We kept the induction mostly secret. I told work, my sister Lucia, and my dad, but we didn't tell many people.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted it to feel special.

And, secretly, I still hoped you would decide to come on your own.

That weekend, we tried to enjoy our last few days as a family of three.

On Saturday, we went to Lake Calhoun and rented a paddle boat with Cameron. The boat wasn't working very well, and I was grumpy about it, but the weather was beautiful and we had a nice day together.

At one point I joked about taking castor oil.

I had done that when I was pregnant with Cameron because I was trying to avoid an induction. It resulted in some pretty awful, painful pre-labor, although it eventually worked.

Dad was not exactly thrilled about that idea this time, so I let it go.

On Sunday, we went to the farmers market and then to the Como Zoo with Cameron. We walked around, did some rides, and after his nap we went swimming at the outdoor pool.

Later, we went to Target to get some last-minute comfortable pajamas and hospital things. I mostly just wanted to walk around because I was anxious about the next day.

And, of course, because apparently we needed one more little adventure before you were born, I forgot my keys at Target.

I retraced my steps and called Dad. Cameron was asleep, so Dad drove up with the spare keys. I left my phone number with Target and headed home.

They called later that evening and told us they had found my keys sitting on top of the little mini fridge next to the self-checkout.

Dad had to go back and get them after Cameron was asleep.

We decided it was probably good luck.

That night, Aleida and I talked about when she should come to the hospital. Since inductions can take a long time, we didn't want her sitting there from 7:30 in the morning if nothing was happening yet.

We decided we would call her after we knew what my cervix was doing and what the plan was.

We had Thai food for dinner, although it wasn't our favorite because our favorite Thai restaurant had closed.

I had some wine.

I did my stretches and acupressure.

And I had some Braxton Hicks contractions.

I kept wondering if maybe labor was actually starting.

That night, we put Cameron to bed, knowing it was his last night as our only child.

I slept terribly.

Around 3:00 in the morning, I woke up because my entire belly was tightening. These contractions felt different from the Braxton Hicks I'd been having. They weren't terribly painful yet, but they felt more like period cramps.

I couldn't fall back asleep.

I told Dad that I was uncomfortable and having contractions. He wasn't too concerned because I had been sleeping terribly for weeks anyway.

I got up and walked around.

The contractions didn't go away.

Around 4:00, I started timing them.

They were about eight to ten minutes apart, sometimes six minutes apart, and I could still breathe through them.

I took a warm bath, lit a candle, and read my book while I continued timing.

After my bath, I got dressed and went downstairs.

At that point, I was pretty sure.

I was in labor.

The contractions had been consistent for about two hours and were getting more painful.

When Dad came downstairs, I told him I'd been timing them.

We decided we should leave earlier.

Before we left, I went into Cameron's room.

I remember lying in his bed with him and thinking about how this was the last time I would ever lie there with him as my only child.

I told him we were going to the hospital to have his baby sister.

I cried.

Then we dropped him off with Grandma Durga.

I cried again.

And then Dad and I started driving to Wisconsin.

The contractions got stronger on the drive. I rolled the window down, breathed through them, and arched my back while Dad drove.

They were still about six to eight minutes apart.

I didn't even feel the need to call Dr. Hartung because we were already on our way for the scheduled induction.

I texted Aleida and told her I was having moderate contractions about six to eight minutes apart.

I didn't want to alarm her or have her come too early.

She told me to keep her updated.

After we dropped off Cameron, I felt like I needed to pee every time I had a contraction.

We were about 20 minutes from the hospital, and I asked Dad to stop.

But we decided we should just keep going.

We arrived at the hospital around 7:15 a.m.

I checked in as though I was there for my scheduled induction.

A nurse came out and started asking me the usual questions.

Then Dr. Hartung came in.

He had seen my message from the weekend and said that if I really didn't want to be induced, we could figure something else out.

I looked at him and said, "You know what? I'm all good. I'm pretty sure I'm having contractions. Like, I think I'm in labor."

He could tell I was uncomfortable, so they hooked me up to the monitor.

Sure enough, I was having contractions.

They checked my cervix.

I was 3 centimeters.

I had been 1 centimeter before, so I was thrilled.

Things were happening.

The nurse said you were still pretty high and showed us some exercises to help bring you down.

She messaged Dr. Hartung, and he decided to hold off on the induction medication and let my body continue laboring on its own.

We might break my water later.

Dad and I decided to walk to the cafeteria for breakfast and call Aleida.

I didn't want them breaking my water before she got there.

Walking became harder and harder because the contractions were getting painful. I would have to stop and bend over through them.

But I still thought I had plenty of time.

I was only 3 centimeters.

We ordered breakfast, but I quickly became overwhelmed by being around other humans while having contractions.

So we had breakfast brought back to the room.

We called Aleida.

She told us not to let them break my water before she arrived. She was going to have her husband come home and then she would drive to the hospital.

I remember having to step away from the phone in the middle of the conversation because another contraction hit.

And then everything changed.

I went into the bathroom and had a really strong contraction.

Then I felt a gush of fluid.

At first, I wasn't sure if I had just peed myself.

But the fluid kept coming down my leg.

The nurse came in and determined that my water had broken.

The fluid was brown-tinged, which meant there was meconium.

Things started moving very, very quickly.

I had always been very clear that I wanted an epidural.

I knew I wanted one, and I knew I didn't want to wait until it was too late.

But before I could get the epidural, I needed an IV.

The nurse was working on getting the IV in while everyone was trying to get the anesthesiologist.

Dad was texting Aleida, but I was completely consumed by labor. I don't think I picked up my phone again until after you were born.

I remember screaming.

I remember saying, "I can't do this."

"I don't want to do this."

The contractions were intense.

I kept thinking, "How am I going to do this?"

Our regular doula, Aleida, lived more than an hour away.

Thankfully, our backup doula was able to come sooner and be with us until Aleida arrived. She had also planned to photograph your birth because she had never photographed a vaginal breech birth before and wanted to document the experience.

She arrived around 9:30.

Then the anesthesiologist finally came.

I remember thinking the epidural was taking forever compared to my epidural with Cameron. His had worked almost immediately.

This one felt like it took forever.

Even after it was placed, I was screaming that I needed more medicine.

The anesthesiologist kept telling me it needed time to "marinate."

Apparently, epidurals need to marinate.

Eventually, it worked.

And it worked really well.

Around 9:30 or 9:45, I couldn't feel my legs anymore.

During one of the contractions before the epidural was fully working, the nurse asked me if I could feel you moving down.

She checked my cervix.

I don't remember hearing what she said, but Dad saw her call Dr. Hartung and tell him that I was about 8 or 9 centimeters and that he needed to come.

I think I was still standing at that point.

Everything had happened so fast.

I had arrived at 3 centimeters, and only about an hour and a half later, I was almost fully dilated.

Dr. Hartung came in.

I told him I was scared.

He asked me why.

I told him I didn't know.

I was just scared.

I had spent weeks reading about vaginal breech birth. I had spent weeks worrying about every possible thing that could go wrong.

And now the moment was actually here.

There was no more researching.

No more changing my mind.

No more wondering what would happen.

It was time to have you.

Dr. Hartung checked me and told me I was completely dilated.

He could feel your bottom.

It was time to push.

The epidural was so strong that I couldn't feel my legs or even really feel my contractions.

So everyone had to coach me through pushing.

I kept asking if I was doing it right.

They kept telling me I was doing great.

They could see your bottom.

You were right there.

And hearing that kept me going.

Aleida arrived around 9:55 a.m.

Seeing her walk into the room was such a huge relief.

She had been with me through this entire journey.

She looked at me and said, "Oh my God, you're doing it! You're in labor!"

And I was.

I think I pushed for about 20 minutes, although time was a little fuzzy.

And then you started to come.

Your bottom came out.

Then your legs.

Then your hands and arms.

And finally, your head.

Someone told me, "You're about to meet your baby. Her head is right there."

I pushed.

And then suddenly—

you were out.

You were placed right on my chest.

I looked up at Dad and cried.

There was so much emotion in that moment.

All of the weeks of stress.

All of the exercises.

The chiropractor appointments.

The acupuncture.

The moxibustion.

The Spinning Babies.

The failed ECV.

The tears.

The fear.

The research.

The conversations.

The C-section discussions.

The decision.

All of it had led to this moment.

I looked at you and immediately asked,

"Is she okay? Is she okay?"

Of course, I knew that if they had placed you on my chest, you were okay.

But I needed to hear it.

They told me you were great.

You were crying.

Your color looked a little different to me, but everyone reassured us that you were doing well.

Dad and I had talked before your birth about the possibility that you might need some extra help after you were born. We knew there were different things that could happen, and we had prepared ourselves to support each other through whatever happened.

But you came out crying.

You were perfect.

Your eyes were wide open.

And all I could think was:

We did it.

We birthed you.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

I got to hold you for your golden hour, and you stayed on my chest for about 30 to 45 minutes.

Eventually, you went under the warmer for a little bit because your temperature was slightly low, but everything was completely fine.

I remember looking at Dr. Hartung and thanking him.

I cried and told him thank you for taking a chance on us.

Because that's what he did.

He listened to us.

He allowed us to make an informed decision.

He allowed us to come to Wisconsin and give ourselves the chance to have the birth we wanted.

And he was there when we needed him.

Looking back now, I know without a doubt that a C-section wasn't how I wanted to bring you into this world.

I knew my body could do it.

I knew you could do it.

And together, we did.

That day was one of the most special days of my life.

A sunny day in Wisconsin.

Surrounded by the people I love.

Your dad.

Our nurse.

Our doula.

Dr. Hartung.

Everyone there cheering us on.

And you.

You did it, baby girl.

You came into this world in your own way, just like you had done everything else during those nine months.

And I hope that someday when you read this, you understand how loved you were before you ever took your first breath.

I want you to remember something for the rest of your life.

Trust your gut.

Ask questions.

Don't let people scare you into doing something simply because it's what they're used to or because someone says it's the "right" way.

Listen.

Learn.

Ask questions.

And then go with your heart.

I truly believe that you will never make a wrong decision when you are listening to your heart and your gut.

That's what Dad and I did.

And one of the scariest decisions we've made so far in this life was deciding how to bring you into this world.

I can't tell you how many tears were shed over that decision.

Maybe someday it will seem like a small thing to you.

But at that time in my life, it felt enormous.

It felt like one of the biggest decisions I would ever make.

Especially when people were telling us there was a risk of stillbirth or that we could somehow cause harm to you.

That was the last thing your dad and I ever wanted.

We wanted you safe.

We wanted you here.

And ultimately, we trusted ourselves, we trusted you, and we trusted the people we had chosen to care for us.

I knew my body could do it.

I knew you could do it.

And we did.

It was beautiful.

It was scary.

It was emotional.

It was empowering.

And it was so, so special.

I will never forget the day I brought you into this world.

Your dad and I are proud of you every single day.

We were proud of you the very first day we met you.

And we already know that you are going to do such big things in this life.

Never forget that.

Never forget how loved you are.

We love you, Everlee.

And that is your birth story, my love.

Love,

Mom