Why not an OB/GYN?

Originally titled 'Why the Midwives?' but the post became far longer than anyone would be willing to read... So I broke it into two posts.

Today, part I: Why not an OB/GYN
Tomorrow, part II: Why the Midwives

Enjoy!

Oh! Wait. Warning... I talk about pregnancy and childbirth, so if you are, say, my brother in law, I'm not sure this series is for you :P

****

When we found out we were expecting with Jonathan we were in Ecuador. Using Skype and a shaky internet connection I was able to phone an obstetrics office in Montreal near where we were planning on moving back to. I was *thrilled* that I got in with an OB/GYN. With modern medicine as advanced as it is, it was the best possible hands we could be in, right?

We were less than impressed with our first visit. After finally returning to Montreal and *finally* getting to go to our first pre-natal appointment, we were surprised at how rushed, routine, and un-special we were. A waiting room full of women, pushed through the routine one after another. When we finally got into the doctors's office and she came in, she never sat down. Keeping her hands on the door she handed us a pile of brochures and said "Please don't ask me any questions. The answers are probably in there. Book again for 5 weeks from now." And left.

That was our introduction to the medical system and pregnancy. And things just continued on par with that until delivery. Routine, un-personal appointments and very unwelcoming to questions (Who do you think you are, asking questions? She's the expert, your just the vessel).

With Jonathan I had oliogohydramnios (low amniotic fluid levels) which added stress to the end of the pregnancy. The baby needs a certain amount of amniotic fluid to be considered safe. In the final weeks leading up to delivery, we were undergoing ultrasounds and non-stress tests to see how baby was doing and how much fluid was left (as it naturally declines as due date approaches). Eventually the fluid level went under the 'critical threshold' and I was admitted for an induction. Based on an OB consult, maternity ward staffing levels, and scheduling - voila. Baby time. The decision was made for us and we, naive and oblivious, happily went along with it. The stress of 'is baby okay?' was going to be over. The unknowns answered, and baby's arrival would be soon.

I was given cervadil that afternoon to start the process and ripped my nethers and kept it in until the next morning. They then started a pitocin (synthetic oxytocin) drip shortly after 8:00am to quicken things along and, as a 'favour' broke my water right after that so 'I didn't have to be labouring all day'. Between those three interventions in such a short period of time, my body was thrown directly into fast and furious labour. Contractions started at 3 mins apart, lasting for a minute. My body progressed rapidly but my mind wasn't able to keep up. I thought we were in for a 12+ hour day, with most inductions failing the first try. I wasn't sure how I was going to keep coping for another 12 hours or so. The nurse kept suggestions an epidural. Pushing it, even. Because 'the anaesthetist can't just some on a whim, he needs warning so you need to consider if you'll need one later'. I figured she knew better than I did about what was going to happen... So I complied with her wishes for me to have one.

Everything happened so fast. By the time I got out of the tub, the anaesthetist was there (with his student) and there was no time to check me for progress before a stab in the back, which was just so important to everyone else in the room. After things were all set up, the nurse finally checked me. Well, waddaknow, I was near 10. Already transitioned on my own and pushing was next. But of course we needed to wait until the doctor was ready.

With shouts and jokes of breaking records (it was almost 11:00am now.. just under 3 hours of labour) and a comment of 'of course she'll need an episiotomy, it's her first' Jonathan was born after being shouted at to 'PUSH! Don't grunt, do this, not that..." and a slice at the doctor's discretion. While I lay flat on my back in the most unnatural position for the labouring woman (but most convenient for the doctor).

After Jonathan was born the flurry began to die down, and my epidural started to really take effect. I fell on the nurse trying to transfer to a wheelchair to be taken to the postpartum ward. No one helped with breastfeeding, I was lost as to what I was 'supposed' to be doing with my baby. They had other patients to attend to.

The following night wasn't much better with a formula pushing nurse and little breastfeeding support. I was told that I wasn't making enough milk... Through my tears of frustration I responded with "It's only been a few HOURS!, I'm not supposed to have milk yet!"

Although I'm thankful for hospitals and available, affordable health care... I can't say I was impressed with having an OB/GYN nor the hospital birthing experience itself. I suppose it all depends on scheduling, which nurse you have, and your personal perspective, but let's be honest: Decisions are made based on scheduling, what's most convenient for everyone involved, and standards of practice. The 'magic' of the birthing experience is lost, becoming just another momma-baby duo that they push through the system. The nurse I had doesn't' remember the birth of Jonathan. It simply didn't mean a whole lot to her nor the OB that was paid to catch him. He was just another baby, and I, another labouring woman.  But that event and day will forever be engrained in my mind and it is the only birth that Jonathan and I get.