The night before I went into labor with our firstborn, I asked my husband a really embarrassing question… “Will you give me an enema?”
You see, our baby was several days past due and kept growing by leaps and bounds in utero. The skin of my stomach was beyond taut and I was getting nervous that it had no remaining ability to stretch.
But the reason for my question came from the fact that certain things had stopped happening. I had this instinct that everything in there was just too intensely tight for any kind of movement – the baby’s and other things too.
The mental picture of what I was asking for was humiliating to me. Not at all a cute thing. My husband was really sweet, though, and thanks to his help, a little pressure was relieved.
Our baby must have felt just the slightest bit more freedom because that night I awakened to labor contractions at around 2 AM, so off to the hospital we went.
At 9 AM my contractions turned to grinding pushes, and they helped me into a warm tub of water.
At 12 PM I continued pushing and pushing, as gushes of amniotic fluid flooded the floor where I was pacing.
Exhausted after so many hours of pushing every few minutes, and feeling like little progress had been made, I began to wonder if he would be able to get out of there.
Apparently the doctor did too. She, my husband, and our doula could see his head for quite awhile, but it wasn’t getting any closer to the light of day.
At 1 PM the doctor advised me to accept an epidural in order to rest a bit and then give it another go after awhile. I really didn’t want to go that route, after our months of natural childbirth classes and lovely written “plans” for his gentle birth. We dragged it out a little longer.
I finally accepted the fact that her opinion was backed by more experience than mine. But how do you push once you can’t feel anything anymore? You imagine pushing and you hope that’s what’s happening? Yep.
Not much happened once I was anesthetized. Nothing at all, except a bit of alarm I sensed my doctor feeling as more hours rolled by.
Around 3 PM, I was told by a nurse that the doctor wouldn’t allow me to push much longer. The doctor was delivering other babies while I was at a standstill. She didn’t want our baby’s health in jeopardy since his head had been in the canal for longer than she felt comfortable with. I hoped and hoped that something would change, but since I couldn’t feel anything anymore and the baby just wasn’t progressing any farther, I let it go.
Thanks to modern medicine, we went into the operating room around 4 PM and our first child was in our arms within the hour. I could see the moment I saw him face-to-face that the size of his large, perfectly-round globe was way beyond the expansion potential of my body.
I write all of this because I just know that if I had happened to live in a remote village far from a hospital, our baby and I would have been doomed. He most likely would have died a few days later, stuck in my birth canal. If I didn’t die as well, the pressure of his head would have caused an obstetric fistula, which manifests as a hole between the vagina and the bladder or the vagina and the rectum, which renders a mother incontinent.
About a million women in the world who are far from medical help suffer the death of their child and then incontinence for a lifetime. They cannot control what comes out of them or when, so they continually leak urine and/or feces for the rest of their lives. They are ostracized by their communities for their uncleanliness and forced to live terribly isolated lives if they cannot access medical help.
When I learned about an organization called Fistula Foundation, and that they have clinics and doctors in remote areas who provide surgeries that give women their lives back, I felt so connected to it. If I couldn’t volunteer in an African clinic, I’d like to help support one.
My husband asked me to make a little list of Christmas ideas a few weeks ago. I think he imagined I’d write things like earrings or a sweater. I suggested working on the Africa Mercy Ship as a family for several months. Hmm. How about some other ideas, he said.
My next thought was a donation to Fistula Foundation. And a warm coat at the used clothing store. We’ll see what happens…
In the meantime, if you’re looking for a wonderful way to use your money this Christmastime, go to Fistula Foundation’s website. They have a high score on the Charity Navigator website, which rates organizations based on their financial health and accountability and transparency.
Maybe someday I’ll get to volunteer in a clinic on the other side of the world. Until then, I’m so glad other people are.
Photo of African doctors from Fistula Foundation‘s website
