Taking a deep breath, I gathered all my strength together before channelling it downwards. Nothing happened. No movement, no change, no progress. Frustrated and exhausted, my body gave up and sent me collapsing backwards against the side of the bathtub in which I knelt. Folding in on myself, I closed my eyes and knew that I was done. I felt too tired, too sore and too old to be doing this again. I let all the turmoil rise up inside of me, feeling the self-doubt, the fear, the pain and above all the overwhelming sense of powerlessness. And then I let it go, opened my eyes and smiled. Because there, sitting right beside me, was my nine-year old daughter Indie. And she watched with her tired eyes full of wonder as she waited for me to bring her little brother into the world.

Involved from the Start

We had spent months talking through the process of giving birth, watched endless birth videos together and changed our minds countless times before my partner and I finally agreed to her request to be with us at the birth. The oldest of three children, she had already been a huge support throughout my fourth pregnancy, attending my midwife appointments with an excited curiosity. A little hippy child at heart, she had always been captivated by the magic of mother nature and wanted to learn as much as she could about the pregnancy as it progressed. 

She followed with interest as her new baby brother grew from a seed into a little person that kicked with increasing strength against the side of her face as she lay with her ear pressed against my belly each evening before bed. She would laugh as she talked to him about her world, telling him stories about the younger sister and mischievous little brother that she already shared her life with. As the months passed and the last few weeks rolled in, she sat by with frustration as I experienced frequent periods of false labour, impatient to meet this little person who was already keeping her mama up all night.

The Onset of Labour

My true labour pains started on the morning of my due date, slowly progressing throughout the day. By the time night fell, my contractions were about five minutes apart. Knowing that I probably still had a long way to go, my partner took the kids to bed, promising to wake Indie when I was close to giving birth.

Due to an inherited pelvic issue I carry all my babies in a posterior position, which makes my labours extra long and painful. I knew that for the coming hours I would need to give my full attention to myself and didn’t see any advantage in my daughter being by my side, until most of the hard work was done, and I was ready to push. The pushing stage was different; that was the part that I loved. The feeling as my body opened fully, my babies turned into a better birthing position, and my body started to surge with the most intense contractions which made pushing seem easy.

Indie Joins the Birthing Team

The intervening hours passed quickly and by 4am we were ready for Indie to come and join us again. So far everything had gone perfectly. Thanks to the use of hypnobirthing techniques and to the amazing support and guidance of my doula Melissa, my labour had changed from something I had dreaded to an enjoyable and deeply transformational experience. Knowing that I now had full opening and was ready to push, my partner went and woke Indie gently, following behind her in silence as she quietly entered the room.

Her arrival brought with it a change of energy; everything suddenly seemed much calmer and more peaceful. I greeted her briefly as she took in the scene around her. The gentle glow of the candles, the soft hum of my birthing music and the presence of my midwife and doula as they sat quietly waiting. Seeing my full birth team around me for the first time gave me a boost. I was ready to go.

Her arrival brought with it a change of energy; everything suddenly seemed much calmer and more peaceful.

Overcoming Difficulty

As time passed however, I began to realise that something wasn’t quite right.  I was trying to push but was getting nowhere. This was supposed to be the easy part: a few strong pushes and I could finally hold my baby in my arms. But where were my awesome pushing contractions? Where was the sensation of my baby’s head upon my cervix? Why wasn’t I rocking this?

Tears ran down my cheeks as I let myself fall backwards into the warm support of my man’s arms. I heard myself tell him that I couldn’t do it and felt him tense up behind me. He had watched me give birth three times before. He knew what I was capable of, the strength I had. Seeing me give up like this was scaring him. And I knew that of course. I felt his fear as well as my own, but I couldn’t lose myself in it because I had someone else to consider. I could feel the calm energy of my daughter beside me. I did not want her to be afraid, so I opened my eyes and lied to her, promising that everything was ok. Her face brightened into a gentle smile and I immediately knew that I had to turn that lie into the truth. Somehow I had to make this OK.

Working without the power of pushing contractions to guide me, I delved deeper into myself to find the strength I needed. I pulled myself together and pushed down with all my might. Suddenly I had contact. I could feel the baby’s head on my cervix! As I pushed again, I realised with a sense of dread what was wrong. Baby was still posterior. He hadn’t turned and his head wasn’t presenting correctly on my cervix. That was why my body wasn’t producing the pushing contractions that I so badly needed.

How My Daughter Helped Me

I had a moment of panic as I realised that I had been here before. One of my other children had been born in a posterior position. My firstborn, the beautiful daughter that now sat beside me cheering me on. Her birth had ended in an emergency episiotomy and vacuum delivery as her heartbeat plummeted. But this time would have to be different. There was no back up plan – no team of medics on standby nearby. I would have to do it alone.

Wrapping my daughter’s hand in mine, I withdrew inside myself until I found what I was looking for – the belief that I could do this. Beads of sweat gathered on my forehead as I reached into the very core of my being and gathered every last bit of strength that I had in me. Taking a deep intake of breath I released a deep primordial groan as I focused on the baby and pushed. My midwife assisted, helping my baby’s head through my cervix. Pain rocketed through my body but there was movement! Definite movement. Pausing before my next attempt, I smiled again at my daughter and heard her whisper, “You’re doing great mama!”. We went again. And again. And on and on for what felt like forever, until finally he was out and swimming his way upwards through the water and towards his first breath.

She hugged her daddy and told him, “Papa, that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” 

Resting him safely on my chest with his head against my heart, I lay back and looked up at my daughter, her eyes filling with tears as she hugged her daddy and told him, “Papa, that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Then everything was quiet and we sat holding each other as we basked in the warm afterglow of birth. Thankful for the safe delivery of this new life, we felt the love flowing and growing between us, knowing that our family was now complete.

Hazel West’s doula Melissa Kane can be contacted via her facebook page.

photo credit: Hazel West

The post Birth Stories: My Daughter Witnessed the Birth of her Brother appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

A Special Story

A few days after the birth of my son, one of our midwives came back for the usual check-up and asked what our family in France had said about our experience. “Are they still talking about it?” she asked. “Yes! In France, it could have been in the newspapers!” I replied. So they were still talking about it, as were the midwives apparently. Then she said something I still remember: that I had a story to tell and that, for once, it was a positive story. I liked the idea of that.

The Waters Break

I was 38.5 weeks pregnant when, at 5:30pm, one Thursday evening in January, my waters broke. I was at home, and I knew that my son’s head was already engaged, so I wasn’t too worried. I felt a pang down below, and soon after felt liquid coming down. Thinking that it was probably my waters, I went to the toilet with a plastic jug and let the waters run into it  – you don’t have much choice, it keeps coming! I checked the colour like I was told and called the midwife. It was water with white bits in and a tiny bit of blood, plus something a bit pinky brownish and transparent, probably the mucous plug. Fine.

Then I waited for my husband to get home. I didn’t call him because I knew he must be on his way and I didn’t want him to rush. When he got home, I was sitting on the couch with my big belly. I very quietly said: “Oh, my waters have broken”.

As we waited for the midwife to come, my husband cooked some pasta. The midwife came, agreed it looked like the waters but didn’t check my dilatation to avoid infection, since there was no protection for the baby anymore and the contractions had not started. It can take a while and sometimes they have to induce.

The Contractions Start

By 8pm, the contractions had started. I changed into my nightgown and prepared to go to bed to rest, as we had been advised, before the Big Day and the Big Work. We were told it would take time and I should rest while I could to save my strength. The bag for the bevalcentrum in Sint Lucas was ready. We had our birth plan. It was on! Oh my God, our baby was coming!

The contractions rapidly became closer and stronger. I couldn’t stay in bed, I had to move!

At 10pm, the midwife came back after we’d called because the contractions were almost every minute and lasted for 45 seconds to a minute. They were very painful and she showed me how to breathe to help: in by the nose, out the mouth, and relax the back and below. She also made me take a shower, which didn’t help at all. Then we took the TENS (it stimulates our natural painkillers in the back) that we had gotten through our insurance, put it in place and I started crouching on the side of the bed or on the skippy ball and using the TENS to deal with the contractions.

10:45pm: 1cm…

At 10:45pm, the midwife checked my dilatation: 1 cm… “It will take time madam, go to bed. Rest.” But I couldn’t imagine dealing with that for ten hours! The midwife left to come back at 1:30am, and we carried on.

The contractions were every minute or closer and very painful. I didn’t have time to breathe in between, like I was told I would. They were close, painful, too painful for the pain to completely recede inbetween. So I was yelling that I wanted to go to the hospital, that I wanted an epidural, a C-section – anything! Poor neighbours.

Around 11.30pm I had started losing blood, which was normal apparently. My husband sent a message to the midwife with a picture of the blood loss. The picture went into the spam file. The midwife called back and heard me in the background: I was starting to push. “I’m coming,” she told my husband.

12:30am: 10cm!

At 12.30am she climbed the four floors to our apartment, saw me panting in the bedroom, my behind in the air, and asked if I was pushing. “Yes!” was all the answer she got. So she put me on the bed (good thing that we had protected the mattress in case my waters broke in the night, like my mum’s did) and checked the dilatation: 10 cm! In 1 hour 45 minutes! No wonder it was painful. In a bit of a daze, I said, “We don’t have the time, the baby is coming!” and I was so relieved when she said yes. It was almost done.

Down she went to her car to get her things (she never imagined she’d have to do it so soon), telling me not to push! How are you supposed to do that? Cross your legs?! Then she called our kraamzorg company, told them to “send someone NOW!” my husband overheard. We knew the midwife was used to delivering at home, but a kraamzorg had to be there to assist.

It hurt but I was calm. The baby was moving – he was coming. The midwife asked for the kraampakket and we got down to business, on the bed to slow down the process. “Push – don’t push – breathe this way – that way!” I crushed my husband’s hand.

“He’s coming! His head is showing!”

“I can’t close my thighs! It burns!”

“It’s normal…Continue, you’re doing really well.”

“Don’t shout, you lose energy, breathe deep and push.”

“Stop pushing. Pant like a dog.”

The midwife kept checking the baby’s heartbeat between the contractions, which worried me a little, but I didn’t have much time to think about it. It was all right: my husband had plenty of time to worry for both of us, he said later. What would we have done if there had been a problem? When it’s that fast, it usually goes well, the midwife had replied when we’d asked, during the pregnancy. It slows down if there is something wrong.

In one long last push, his head and shoulders were out. He cried straight away – it is such an amazing sound! He was out at 1am. The midwife put him on my chest straight away and, soon after, to my breast. His head had a strange shape, due to the speed of the delivery (in 2 days it was round). His cord pulsed, he cried and he peed! And we laughed!

The Kraamzorg Arrives

The kraamzorg arrived five minutes later to take pictures, help my husband with the after-delivery and to prepare the room: his cradle wasn’t even ready yet, for superstitious reasons. A few stitches (with painkillers this time) and a shower for me, papers for the midwife (I kept repeating how happy I was that she’d gotten there on time! She said she was too), and three hours later we were all in our beds, the cradle next to our bed, my husband and I listening to our son’s breathing. It was good… No rush in the cold winter, no taxi at 5am.

Checking with my family, I later learned that my maternal grandmother had given birth four times as fast as I had, though for my mum it had taken 12 hours both times.

The kraamzorg told us that it had been the most peaceful birth she’d ever witnessed in five years of work – although she hadn’t been there the whole time!

17 Months Later

Now my son is 17 months old and a couple of weeks ago I met one of my midwives at a playground. I said: “Hi, maybe you remember me: the French lady who gave birth in less than two hours?” “Yes,” she said. “We all remember you very well.”

Later on during the week, we undid the Sint Lucas bag, with the baby clothes, the chocolate and the magazines I had planned to eat and read there with my husband during the delivery, which was supposed to take 8 to 10 hours. I had gone, 36 weeks pregnant, especially to Schiphol to buy French magazines and Cadburys. It took me some time after that, and a few cries in that first week, to realize and accept that I wasn’t pregnant anymore – it had gone so fast and before the due date – and that, although it hadn’t gone at all the way we had planned it, it was good. In fact, it was so much better than good.

photo credit: flickr via photopincc

The post Birth Stories: Not to Plan but Perfect appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

It was a normal Friday like any other. I was 26 weeks pregnant and expecting my second boy in early October. Nothing special or exhausting was planned for the day. My son was having his afternoon nap when I suddenly felt a constant flow of water and it hit me like a train collision – total panic – my water had broken!

In an instant, I remembered a moment earlier in the week, when we had hit the 26-weeks mark in the pregnancy. My husband and I had high-fived each other that now the baby would be viable when he was born. It has seemed like just a silly milestone in the pregnancy and at that time, I did not realize what this would actually entail.

The midwife came, told my husband to pack some stuff “for a few days” and sent us to the AMC. I remember asking her why we weren’t going to the OLVG since that was closer to home, and she explained that once the baby was born it would need very special intensive care, which only a few hospitals in the Netherlands can provide. There was no room for my unborn child in the NICU at the AMC, so I was taken to a hospital in Rotterdam instead. The urgency of the situation hit me more and more with each minute as we drove to the hospital.

I had lost quite a lot of fluid and there was a 50% chance that the labour would start within the next 7 days, so I was given medication to help mature the baby’s lungs. In order to be effective, the medicine needed at least 48hrs, so I was also given something to slow down my contractions. It soon became clear that “a few days” actually meant ‘the rest of the pregnancy.’

And then, nothing happened…. I counted days. Each day would give my unborn boy a better chance of survival; each day would help him become healthier. I started to feel safe in the pregnancy again, thinking that this little boy would stay with me for another 14 weeks…

Two weeks later, I somehow became more anxious: What if he was born premature? He would have to stay in the hospital for a long time… and what about me? Mothers are discharged 4 days after the birth, how would I manage with my family and eldest son in Amsterdam and a baby boy in Rotterdam? I asked for a transfer back to Amsterdam so that I could at least be close to both my sons, either at home or in the hospital.

Not more than 24 hours in the AMC, with no warning whatsoever, I started having contractions and there was no turning back. I was giving birth at 28 weeks. But now I felt calm and confident that this child wanted to come out and there was nothing I could do about it. I had kept him safe for as long as I could and now it was up to him and the doctors.

They called my husband and told him to rush to the hospital. The moment he arrived, they brought me to the delivery room and within the hour and at 9 centimetres, I was allowed to push. I remember thinking: ’what do you mean? I thought I had to push at 10 cm??!!’ It’s funny how certain moments remain crystal clear in your memory, and how your mind works to even make the potentially worst moments in your life (like giving birth way too early) special and funny instead.

At 3.30 am, our tiny little guy was born, weighing 1200 grams and 35 cm. They showed him to me by holding him up in the air, and then immediately took him away to check him and take him to the NICU. My husband went with him and I was left, shivering and alone in a delivery room, with an empty belly and still in shock about what had just happened.

Later that early morning I got to really see him for the first time. He was beautiful and thank god, very healthy and breathing on his own. But he was also so tiny, with such small feet and hands. It took 8 intensive weeks, full of ups and downs, before we were finally able to bring him home, weighing 2400 grams and 47 cm.

People often ask me: Do you feel guilty for giving birth so premature? Do you miss a connection with him because you couldn’t hold him directly after birth or breastfeed him? And my answer is, no, I don’t.

I feel proud of this little big boy. With a strong-willed personality, he is a fighter and an inspiration. And I certainly don’t feel like we are missing a connection – our connection is so good and so strong, that we decided to cut the umbilical cord just a bit earlier.

The post Birth Stories: Birth at 28 Weeks appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

An Unexpected Pregnancy

December 5th 2011: Sinterklaas. I was late, but I’m never late, even after the delivery of my first son, 9 months before. It had taken more than three years to get pregnant the first time. I only have one ovary left; one was removed because of cyst & endometriosis. After the birth of my child, I had been very sick every single month making me think that my endometriosis had maybe started again and was getting worse. In October my doctor sent me for a check-up at Sint Lucas, where I had an echo and spoke to a gynaecologist. I didn’t get any concrete answer as to why I was so sick, but they assumed that it could be endometriosis and they advised me that I should either start taking the pill or get pregnant again. Since we wanted to have a second child and it had taken so long to succeed the first time around, they advised us to start trying. They gave us the green light even though it wasn’t yet a year from my first c-section. We followed the advice, though not very actively. The chance of a pregnancy was there but was so very tiny!

I decided to take a test that evening before everybody arrived to celebrate Sinterklaas. Negative. Made it downstairs just as guests arrived and didn’t think about it again. December 6th and 7th came and went, both without any sign of my period. Together with my husband and son I took a new test first thing on the morning on the 8th of December (which in Catholic belief represents the day of “Mary immaculate conception”), the three of us sat on the bath waiting for the time to pass. It was the kind of test which lets you read the result in words: “Zwanger”. We read it a few times in disbelief! I was happy, but I would only fully believe it after seeing the foetus during the echo and hearing the heartbeat. We had to wait till January 6th for that, but it was there…I was expecting our second baby! Total happiness, even though I had some concerns about how close it was to my first son, considering that it had been a very tough year, adapting to life changing motherhood and grieving the loss of my dad at the same time.

Unexpected Complications

As my belly grew my first son’s understanding did too, and he started touching my belly very sweetly and said “baby”, when I asked him who was in there. Physically I had been mostly fine, though my HB level was always very low, making me really tired and giving me headaches. At around week 30 my HB was so low that my Italian uncle (blood specialist) recommended an immediate transfusion to avoid risks for the baby and me, also because I have Mediterranean Anemia with small red cells (meaning my blood already transports reduced amounts of HB). I was so upset. If there was one thing I didn’t want, it was a blood transfusion. Luckily, however, the Dutch gynaecologist didn’t think it was necessary at this point preferring to be able to do a transfusion closer to the birth, if at all. I was relieved! Now we could enjoy the 3D echo that we had booked for the day after. At least so I thought. Instead, the echographer had to quickly disappoint us, saying that it wasn’t really possible to see the baby because the placenta was laying in front of him and quite low. She was sure I had a placenta previa marginalis and asked us whether this was not already noticed during 20 weeks echo. We all agreed it was strange since I had a medical 20 weeks echo at the VU.

While I had been doing everything up until a few hours before that echo (including flying back from Italy three days earlier), I went instantaneously into “I shouldn’t move from the couch” mode. It was actually then that I came across the Amsterdam Mamas group. I was asking other mums for their experiences, and one of them told me to join the Facebook group since “they seem to always have an immediate answer for every question”.Immediately a few mamas started sharing their experiences and their success stories and it made me feel better. I had more echoes done and the placenta kept moving down instead of up until it became “complete”. Despite wanting to have a natural birth this time, we had to schedule a c-section for the 8th of August.

Unexpected Turn of Events

July 12th at the end of week 35: Since I was totally tired of being home waiting for something to happen, I decided that I could go out. My husband agreed to drive me to a mom’s group in Amsterdam. My mum was arriving later, so we decided to first drive to the airport to pick her up. As we arrived and parked outside waiting for my mum, I felt I needed to stretch my legs and get out of the car. As I got out, I felt an amazing warmth between my legs and exclaimed, “my water broke!”. My husband thought I was kidding and said “really?!” over and over again, to which I replied, “yes, yes, quick, take a picture before my belly shrinks!” Obediently he snapped a photo and then said, “Shouldn’t you check if it is really water and not blood instead?” Excellent point, why didn’t I think of that?!? One look and we knew that my water didn’t break, I was having a haemorrhage right there at the airport. While I repeatedly called my mum to see where she was, my husband called 112. They advised that I should lay flat (which I did in the car reclining the front seat) and then kept changing their directions on what to do next until they finally concluded we should drive to the nearest hospital. We were also facing a dilemma – should we wait for my mum or let her take a taxi (without her speaking a word of English or Dutch and not even knowing which hospital we were going to go)? Adding to that was the fact that my mum was supposed to watch our 18-month-old son while we were in hospital. Eventually, my mum made it out with her luggage, had to climb over my reclined seat and squeeze herself in the little space left between me and our son’s car seat.

Just after we had left we were called and asked to stop, since the ambulance was arriving. However, in the Netherlands, the ambulance cannot take people to the hospital unless police come and check on the scene first. So as we stopped on the side of the highway, the police arrived. And that was the moment my 18-month-old son woke up to see his Italian grandma squeezed between him and his mum, our car on the side of the highway with lots of cars going by, a police motorbike in front of our car and a police man and woman both reaching into the car. The police woman put on blue mono-usage gloves, leaving me to wonder what plans they had, and then asked me sweetly, “Hoe voel je je? Wat hebben wij hier?”. I was then carried onto a stretcher, while the paramedics were discussing how serious the bleeding was and which hospital we should drive to, VU which was closer or Sint Lucas where I was being monitored and had previously delivered. I really wanted to go to SL, but the paramedics decided there was no time to take the risk. So off we went to the VU, only to be refused because their baby post-natal care was full, and being forced to drive further to Sint Lucas.

I can’t fully recall all the thoughts and emotions I experienced, as I lay in the ambulance, but I was worried, as I didn’t feel my baby moving. While riding in the ambulance they couldn’t do anything; I was expecting echo, heart monitoring, first intervention, but all they did was to prepare a needle hole in my arm. I kept praying and repeating the yoga mantra “ik ben rustig”, breathing deep in and out to calm me down.

Finally, at Sint Lucas, I was taken into a delivery room ,coincidentally, the same one where the delivery of my first son had started. They immediately did a very thorough echo, which seemed to take ages before they finally confirmed the heartbeat was there and the baby was fine. For a few hours it still seemed as if they were considering an emergency delivery, but then eventually the haemorrhage stopped and they decided not to intervene.

They hospitalized me and the following morning during the doctor visits, the very same gynaecologist, who during my first labour 18 months before had told me, “sorry things aren’t going how you planned, so we can’t go ahead with your birth plan, you need an emergency section now!”, told me with the very same with a smile: “We have thoroughly discussed your case with the other doctors and we cannot let you go home. We believe that your placenta has nestled into the scar from your previous c-section. It will require a special c-section to deliver your baby, which we prefer to plan in and do with the right doctors instead of sending you home and then you having to come here again in an emergency. So we will keep you here, give you a hormone to help with your son lungs’ development. We will plan a blood transfusion for you and then do a c-section at completion of week 36…say next Wednesday? How about that?” Once again asking me as if I had any choice or saying in it. I had to stay a week in the hospital. It felt like a long time to be away from my first son, but we managed with daily visits until he got a double ear infection and we had to Skype instead. Two days before the operation, I received a blood transfusion, and the evening before the birth, the gynaecologist who was going to operate me visited and explained how the operation would take place considering the placenta complications.

An Unexpected Celebration

On July 18th at 8:22 I gave birth to my second son, on my birthday. It was quite a strange feeling and a mix of emotions, a virtual connection to my mother delivering me 34 years before, and surely a unique way to celebrate my birthday! The operation went smoother than expected. I lost very little blood and my new son, who was also at risk since they needed to cut through the placenta to reach him, didn’t need any of the blood they had prepared in advance. I was able to hold him for a few minutes (during which the hospital took a photo of our family), before they had to take him away for further tests. In the meantime, they completed my operation and then kept me under observation for an hour or so, all the while I could look at two photos of my new son, which they had printed for me. Finally a few hours later, I could hug my new son again and get started with breastfeeding. At only 36 weeks, he was very small (only 2,235 gr) but very healthy, only requiring incubators for a few hours to help maintain his temperature.

Two days later my first son had recovered enough from his ear infections and could come and meet his baby brother for the first time. So there we were, me and my whole family cherishing this special moment, when an unfamiliar woman walks in the room with a big bag in her hands. She was an Amsterdam Mama responding to my post earlier that day in the Facebook group asking if anyone in the area had baby clothes size 44. I cannot describe how much that gesture meant to me. That day it was exactly 10 years since I first arrived in the Netherlands to start an internship. 10 years before I had experienced loneliness, as I knew no one here, even my family didn’t even know where exactly in Amsterdam I was. Now instead I was surrounded by the love, warmth, and support of my closest family and that included Amsterdam Mamas! Thank you K. and thank you AM all for being there!

 photo credit: dMad-Photo via photopin cc, jaime22 via photopin cc

The post Birth Stories: An Unexpected Turn of Events appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

Hi, my name is Ruth and I had a home birth. Before you start thinking of me as a granola-eating, placenta saving hippie, please know this was not part of The Plan. Being an American and a first-time mom, the idea of a home birth was more than a little crazy to me.

I had heard the statistics that 30% of women in the Netherlands give birth at home, but I was concerned about something going wrong and not having emergency assistance ready. I did like the idea of trying for a birth without pain relief though, so we decided that the birth center at Sint Lucas Andreas hospital would be the best option for us.

So how did we end up staying home?

Well, my son was due the 5th of May. When the technician stated that due date at our ultrasound, the first thing out of my husband’s mouth was “What if he’s born on Queen’s Day?!” At that time, we lived on the Singel canal near the Jordaan. It’s the craziest part of Amsterdam during Queen’s Day. The streets and canals are packed shoulder to shoulder with revelers. What could we do but hope for the best?

The morning of Queen’s Day my mom and I walked around the Jordaan before the crowds were out. She had only arrived the day before. I woke up that day feeling like things were different, but I wasn’t going to read too much into it since I had already been having some Braxton Hicks earlier that week. We had planned to spend Queen’s Day at home, but I didn’t want to miss out on the festivities. So we invited many of our friends to stop by our place for drinks and snacks. While 25 people were partying in our little 3rd floor apartment, I started having light contractions! Our friends left around 3 pm and by 4 pm I was having regular contractions that I could time.

At 7:30 pm my husband thought we should call the midwife. “No way!” I said. “I don’t want to be that person who calls too early.” I had been steeling myself for a lengthy labor, so I figured I still had a long way to go. Besides, my water hadn’t broke and the contractions didn’t quite meet their guidelines of when to call. My husband persisted and rang the midwife on call (which happened to be the only male midwife in all of Holland!) and the midwife said he’d come by just to check in. He got there at 8:15 pm and I was dilated 4 cm. The midwife encouraged us saying we’d have a baby in our arms by tomorrow morning. My water then broke and I went to 6cm in one contraction. By 8:40 pm it seemed like things were happening at high-speed. The contractions were almost impossible to breathe through. The midwife said that if I wanted to give birth in the birth center then we needed to leave right then.

By this time, I was laying on our bed. I started to have doubts about transferring because the contractions were so intense. I could not imagine walking down all our stairs, but I still felt like being at home was crazy talk. My husband went downstairs to discuss our options with the midwife and my mom stayed with me in our bedroom. I had a really difficult contraction and they heard me downstairs. The midwife looked at my husband and said there was no way they should move me. At the same moment, I was telling my mom “there’s no way I can go anywhere!” My husband fully supported the decision, but he did have a momentary pause when the midwife straight away asked my mom to boil some water. It was like living the Little House on the Prairie!

I took a shower while they started to get everything ready for a home birth and I could hardly stand. I felt the need to push so everyone scrambled to get the birth chair set up. The midwife used a hand-held doppler to check the baby’s heartbeat. I pushed for 10 minutes and the midwife guided my beautiful son right up to my chest as he was coming out. How can you describe that feeling?! It was such an amazing moment.

I know 10 minutes is nothing, but that was definitely the most intense, painful 10 minutes of my life. I did tear and had to get 6 stitches, but that was probably due to my son having his hand by his face as he was coming out. The midwife used a local anesthetic to stitch me up afterward.

My son was born at 9 pm, 45 minutes after the midwife arrived. We had taken all these yoga laboring classes and we hardly had the chance to use any of it! The kraamzorg that usually attends home births to assist the midwife didn’t make it until after he was born. So my mom got to act as the midwife’s assistant which was very special.

After he was born, the three of us laid on our bed and there was such an atmosphere of peace. We were completely oblivious to everything outside of that bed. I remember having this completely zen moment as a new family in our quiet room and then hearing the party boats blasting house music outside! Oh yeah, we remembered, it’s Queen’s Day!

People are always concerned about the mess with a home birth, but there wasn’t much. We had the kraampakket from our insurance company, which includes everything needed for a home birth. While my husband and I nuzzled our new son in bed, the midwife and kraamzorg quickly cleaned up.

It was so restful being in our own home. As soon as I put away my pre-conceived (no pun intended) notions of how labor was supposed to be managed, I felt completely safe and comfortable. I definitely was not planning on having a home birth, but it turned out beautifully. And now I couldn’t imagine doing it any other way.

The accompanying picture was designed by Ruth’s husband for the birth announcement.

The post Birth Stories: An Unexpected Home Delivery appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

When we arrived in Amsterdam, I was 5 months pregnant. I had heard home births were common here and, while I liked the idea, my initial preference was to give birth in the hospital. Things did not go as planned with my daughter’s birth, so I figured a hospital birth would be safer.

However, my biggest concern for the birth was leaving my little girl Penny. She would be 18 months by the due date of her little brother. If we had been back in Scotland, we would have had a close friend come round when required until a grandparent could be bussed in. Here in Amsterdam we had no one close by. We had friends living in Den Bosch at the time who agreed to come if we needed them, which was great, but I was all too aware that the timing could be all wrong – I could not realistically expect them to leave work in the middle of the day.

I started worrying about the birth of my son becoming a traumatic event for my daughter should I have to leave her for any length of time; particularly given that I would have to leave her with people she barely knew. She had not even been left alone with her Dad for more than a couple of hours, or even put to bed by him since we moved here, let alone anyone else. I would never want her to associate her brother’s arrival with me not being there for her.

It became clear that one way to avoid leaving her was to have a home birth after all. This way, I would know her Dad could be with her and she could see me whenever she wanted to. It would be a bonus, of course, if our friends were able to come to help, but in the event that we were on our own, I made it clear to my husband that if I had to go to the hospital I would go on my own. It was more important that he stayed with Penny.

So the little guy’s due date arrived and that evening – Saturday – what I believed to be contractions started, and continued through the night, 5 minutes apart. They were never too painful but enough to stop me from sleeping. The next morning, I rang the midwife and when she came to check me the contractions had pretty much stopped. It was disappointing, of course, especially having had no sleep, and I did feel pretty stupid. Then on Monday night the contractions started again. This time they were more painful but still they never seemed to increase in frequency. They kept me up all night but by 5 a.m. the next day had stopped again. I was exhausted by this point and pretty fed up, assuming it was all for nothing.

I had a routine midwife appointment that morning and cycled there with my daughter as usual. She checked me out and told me the good news that actually it was not all for nothing this time, I was 3 cm dilated already. By this point I was already in tears explaining how tired I was. The midwife told me she could break my waters any time if I wanted to get things moving faster, or I could wait another night and hope I got some sleep. I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible but, thinking of Penny, I agreed with the midwife that she would come at 7.30 that evening once Penny was in bed. That way we could get it done – hopefully – while she was asleep.

I cycled home, relieved to have an end in sight, called my husband who then called our friends. They planned to get away from work early to get to us by 7pm to be there if needed. It sounded like things were going to work out fine in the end. There was always the chance I may end up in the hospital but at least someone would be there and if Penny woke up my husband could go to her.

However, once home the contractions started again, getting stronger and stronger. I remember giving my daughter her lunch while bent double, trying to appear like nothing was wrong! I rang my husband and suggested he come home as soon as possible: I was going to have trouble getting through the afternoon on my own.

He arrived home at about 2.30 p.m. and the midwife came to see us around 3 p.m. My contractions were quite debilitating by that point. The midwife offered to stay with me if I wanted but I said ‘No, I hadn’t had a chance to get myself together yet for this’. I needed some time on my own to find some calm and get my head around this birth, so she left us to it.

I headed upstairs, put on a CD, piled the cushions high on the bed and did indeed find myself some kind of calm to carry me through the contractions. Meanwhile, my husband entertained my daughter downstairs. I have to say, given he was with me all through the birth of my daughter, it was quite odd to be up there on my own. Anyway, the contractions got much, much, harder to bear and I began feeling sick and was really struggling. It was about 5.30 p.m. and I felt like I could not wait until 7.30 p.m… I would be no use anyway getting Penny to bed!

I asked my husband to ring the midwife to come immediately. I could barely speak to her on the phone but she got the message. She arrived at 6.10 p.m. and broke my waters at 6.20 p.m. Then she gave me the bad news: There was meconium in the waters and I would have to go to the hospital. She began ringing an ambulance and the hospital and I, well I, was falling apart. The strength I had found just shattered and I lay there feeling all the pain and so upset about going to hospital. I desperately did not want to go: I could barely imagine even getting down the stairs to the ambulance in the first place, and I did not want to leave Penny.

But then the midwife told me the baby was on his way; he may well come sooner than the ambulance. He didn’t quite, but when the ambulance came, the paramedics were asked to wait.

Now, I just had to get that strength again and push. A second midwife had arrived as they were due to change shifts, the kraamverzorgster had not yet arrived but there were two-ambulance crew in the house, too. Downstairs, of course, were my husband and Penny. My husband was running up as often as he could to keep track of things. The midwife sent for him to be with me for the final pushes, while the ambulance driver entertained Penny downstairs with surgical gloves blown up as balloons! And we made it! It did not take long: 6.44 p.m. he arrived, my little boy. I was so very happy and so, so, relieved. It was just amazing to meet him. ‘His name is Joe’ I said proudly.

When the baby and I were cleaned up and settled, my daughter came up to meet him. It was so wonderful to be all together in our own home.

Once Penny was ready for bed, I even managed to hobble through, read her a story and tuck her in as usual. So after all my worrying for my little girl it was a pretty ordinary day except Daddy came home early; lots of people turned up at the house; and a baby turned up upstairs. It all worked out pretty well in the end!

I am very grateful to the wonderful midwives who got me through and were so supportive not only at the birth but in my pregnancy; the ambulance crew for babysitting; and to our friends – although they arrived 15 minutes after Joe, the very fact they were willing to drop everything to come help us means so much.

Photo credit: Liv

The post Birth Stories: An Ordinary Day appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

After a little wait, all Frederick needed was a little nudge on Friday from the midwife to get him moving and then a last minute decision that Saturday was a better day to arrive into the world!

Frederick Charles Osborne was born at 00.25 on Saturday 21st May 2011, weighing 3.015kg. Duncan and I are both so pleased!

If you want the full (gory) details: At 41 weeks and 1 day (Friday 20th) I had a membrane sweep at the midwife’s at 12.45 p.m.  At about 14.00, I started having very mild aches (like period pains) which carried on till about 18.30, during which time Dunc and I had a walk round the Museumplein and bought some dinner at Albert Heijn.  Quite rapidly from18:30 onwards  (over a 30 minute period) I started having contractions, which consisted of heavy lower back pain and lower tummy pain lasting about 1 minute with about 1-minute gaps in between.  I found that standing in the bathroom over the sink (as I was nauseous and sick) and doing hip rotations while concentrating on the deep breathing was my favoured position.

For the next hour and a half, the contractions carried on the same and I said we should wait till 21:00 before calling the midwife as that would be 2 hours of regular contractions.  However, as I was only getting 1-minute rest between them, Duncan called the midwife (Loes) at 20.30 and told her what had happened.  She came round within 30 minutes and said I was 5cm dilated and we should go straight to the Vu hospital which was our first choice and they had space.  We did this and met Loes there.

We got to the hospital about 21.45 where I carried on with standing and hip rotating whilst deep breathing as the contractions got more painful.  All I wanted from Duncan was a cold flannel on the face and neck between contractions, as I was really hot and any massage just made me feel hotter.  Sipping some cold water through a straw was also nice, and he and Loes kept telling me I was doing really really well, which was good to hear!

I got on the bed then and Loes said I was 10cm dilated. At 22:30 they broke my waters and I started pushing at 22:50.  This was the hard bit for me as I think at the beginning I was still trying to breathe through the contractions to control the pain.  After about half an hour I said I would try standing again to push but that didn’t work as it made it harder for them to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.  Loes suggested I try to just wait for the urge to push rather than forcing it and also to have a wee so I went to the toilet and nothing happened.I think this did focus me a bit more so I went back on the bed.

After some more pushing and lots of encouragement from Dunc and Loes, the head was crowning but still not coming out.  After an hour and a half of pushing the midwife said that if nothing happened in the next ten minutes then she would need to get the Gynaecologist involved as I may need some assistance.  At that point I just gave a few almighty pushes and his head popped out facing down, then he span round to face the sky and then another push and out he popped. This caught the midwife a bit by surprise so I did get some tearing, but it was just the best feeling that he was out then, just 25 minutes into Saturday morning.

So my stats in total: not much prelabour, 3.5 hours active labour, 60 minutes transition, 95 minutes pushing, 48 minutes for delivery of the placenta (with oxytocin injection) and about an hour of stitching.

Best Friday Night Ever! After everything was done, we had some food and were told that the 3 of us could stay until 6 a.m. at which time they needed the room back.  At 5.30 a.m. they took my blood pressure again, which was a little high and they wanted me and Frederick to move to a room and sleep for a few hours while they did some blood tests and redo my blood pressure at about 8 a.m.  Dunc went home for a couple of hours and then came back in the morning as my blood pressure was back to normal. However Frederick’s temperature was slightly low so they got the hot water bottles out, had a cuddle and we stayed until about 12 p.m. before the hospital midwife signed us both off and we came home.

The Kraamzorg arrived later that day and has been amazing.  We are doing really well with everything at the moment and I feel so fortunate to have had such a good pregnancy and labour.  The aim now is to try and make sure that everything carries on the same way, and Duncan has continued to be the best husband I could ever wish for so am sure Frederick and I will do just fine.

photo credit: FH via Flickr cc

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My birthing story…. It was a challenging time for us. I was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer one month before my due date.

I was the one who detected my breast mass. I don’t do self breast exams regularly but something within me sort of “whispered” and told me to check my breasts February last year. I think it was the second breast exam I had ever had in my whole life. The mass was just underneath the skin and had all the signs of being benign.

Two doctors told me it looked benign until I urged my surgeon to take it out because it was increasing in size as my pregnancy was progressing.  They had planned to take it out after the delivery. So, I had the lump taken out.

They had to induce my delivery so I can undergo surgery and the rest of the treatment. Stella was 38 weeks then. We were told to go to the hospital on Jan 8. It was snowing that day and we went to the hospital as instructed. We did not tell anyone about the induction since we kept the cancer to ourselves until I started my chemo. As for the induction, they inserted a pill in my cervix and checked me after 12 hrs. I had the pill inserted at around 9 in the morning, then I had regular 5 min contractions by 2 in the afternoon.

I was determined to go through labor without any pain meds. Spenz was there the whole time, helping me breathe in and out, counting with me…this went on for 12 hours. Suddenly, I felt warm fluid gush into my lower body – my water broke and I started crying and panicking. The nurse said the fluid was clear and that everything was okay. That calmed me a bit but the pain was becoming unbearable and there was also some bleeding. They checked me and I was only 2 cm dilated!

Then I told the nurse that I was feeling something heavy inside, pressing down. She did an internal exam and gave me a frightened look. She just said that she was going to call the doctor. That made me worry and panic. When the doctor came and did another exam, she said – I just shook hands with your daughter. Stella put out her whole arm out of my cervix.

So after 12 hours of hard, painful labor – Stella couldn’t wait for me to dilate to 10 cm so she put her hand out through her mama’s cervix to wave and say hello. I was brought to the OR, had spinal anesthesia then delivered via C-section. It was an unforgettable and precious moment for Spenz and I.

I was able to breastfeed with just one breast for two months before I had my chemo. It was challenging at first but once you got used to it, latching on became easy. I was even close to tears when Stella wouldn’t latch. It can get frustrating but do persevere… and ask for help.

Stella will be turning 6 months tomorrow. All is well. She is getting more beautiful and lovely every day and it is truly a gift to have been given this chance – a chance to bring life into the world. There is so much to be thankful for.

I have gone through my breast surgery, chemotherapy and am presently going through radiation until August. We are thankful that the cancer was seen at an early stage. We’re doing all that we can to make sure that Spenz and I will be around to witness Stella’s birthing story… We are praying for that.

I haven’t really told people about the cancer. Only a few people know about it. I do have pictures on Facebook where I’m wearing a bandana. So maybe people know that I’m sick but are afraid to ask. I just don’t know how to tell people. I’d rather not give bad news. And I really don’t want to tell the story again and again.

I am okay right now and will be getting better. I am looking forward to wonderful years ahead with family and friends.

photo credit: Chiceaux via photopin cc

The post Birth Stories: The Gift of Giving Birth appeared first on Amsterdam Mamas.

When you’re pregnant in the Netherlands, it seems that the default way is having a midwife and a home birth.  You have to make a special request to deliver in the hospital, and your insurance may not cover it (usually the hospital only deals with medical case pregnancies).

B and I, being new parents with our first child, had already decided that we wanted to have our childbirth in the hospital… you know… to be on the safe side.

Becoming a “Medical Pregnancy”

I had developed gestational diabetes in the second trimester – and, despite the dangers and diet control that it involved, it became a ‘blessing in disguise’, as we automatically got our wish of being able to deliver in the hospital. I started having regular consultations with a gynecologist, a dietitian and a diabetes nurse – funnily enough called the carousel appointment (because you do indeed feel like you’re going around and around to meet different people).

In the 38th week of pregnancy, I complained about uber-itchy feet to the doctor. Having read some of the books, I was paranoid enough to think it could be cholestasis, a gall bladder / liver disease that can develop during pregnancy (blame or thank What to Expect for this information). Sure enough, the blood tests confirmed it, and on a doctor’s appointment on June 23, I was asked to ‘check in’ to the hospital so that they could start the inducement process.

The inducement process was explained (I swear this technical part is important to know so the story will make more sense later on): they’ll insert a hormonal pill up the vagina to jumpstart the softening of the cervix. For this, I only need to be in the ward. When I dilate to 2 cm, they would transfer me to the delivery room and rupture the amniotic sac or break the water. At this point, I get my own room and B could be with me. They would then give me an IV drip to give more oxytocins to help speed up the contractions.As much as possible, they would opt for a natural childbirth.

Weird in the Ward

So B and I happily packed our stuff for the hospital – my clothes, baby clothes, B’s clothes, a baby seat, my laptop (for the movie watching and playlist during labour of course!), DVDs of Harry Potter, a cross-stitch kit and “other essentials” to survive what could be a looong time in the hospital.

We got to the hospital at 3:30 pm. Much to our disappointment, we found out that the ward consisted of being with 3 other women in the room and B was not allowed to stay overnight. So, we addressed our woes by watching Harry Potter: Deathly Hallows 1 while waiting for the doctor. The doctor came at 5 pm and gave me the first pill. They did warn us that the inducement process could take days.

Come evening, little contractions began but B needed to leave as visitors were only allowed until 10 pm. At 11 pm, the doctor came to check and administer the next pill. Even with the minor contractions, I was just 1cm! Unfortunately, as we were moving towards the night shift, the next check-up would only be at 10 am the next day. And of course, I started panicking…

Me: “Um, what if I start having really strong contractions already throughout the night? I was told that as soon as I hit 2cm, they would need to break my water.”
Doctor: “Tell the nurses and they’ll attend to you.”

Right…

Labouring Through

I woke up at around 12:30 am due to the contractions, which started out as if they were the worst menstrual cramps I had ever experienced, and grew to be the reason that I would end up praying the Our Father repeatedly for another 2 hours. I wished I was back home in a bath. God knows how many centimeters I had dilated by then. Being in the ward, I have to say, was a really bad experience – it was dark, cold and I felt extremely lonely and unsupported. There was no way I could have gone through it without B – I mean, all that pain management practice we did!!

I have to admit, my “asian-ness” or “hiya” (shyness), prevented me from moaning out loud (so as not to wake the other women) or calling the nurse (again, so as not to wake the other women). So, I managed my way out of bed and went to the nurse’s station to engage in what could be the most absurd delivery conversation, they’ve ever had.

Me: “Hi, sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult (as there were just 2 nurses on duty), but I do feel like I have regular contractions every 5 minutes. Is it possible to have a doctor check how many cm I am now?” (hint, hint, so I can transfer to my own room where I can cry and moan shamelessly with my husband beside me?).
Nurse 1: “Is it really 5 minutes? Because sometimes it’s not that regular, it’s 10 minutes, then 5 minutes…”
Me: “Well, I’ve been timing it on my mobile phone, and it seems to be 5 minutes.”
Nurse 1: “Ok. If you are 5 minutes, then we’ll bring you to the delivery. But what you can also do is take a hot shower, that helps.”
Me: “Okay”… and I start to walk away to the shower room, thinking… “wait, what did we agree on?”

After a shower, I crawled back to bed and resumed my silent moans and prayers. Then, a sudden whoosh and gush of what could possibly be my water breaking. I made my way to the toilet and saw that my maternity pad was full on wet with a greenish color. Smelled it (remembering a birth story of how the amniotic water smells like the sea)… and yup, it smelled sea-ish… but I guess, with the baby poop in it. So, I made my way back to the nurse’s station carrying my pad in my hand and resumed another absurd conversation.

Me: “Excuse me, I think my water broke, and I think the um, errm… (pause for contraction)… baby pooed already.”
Nurse: (feeding a neo-natal baby patient in his arms) “Oh, okay, we’ll bring you to the delivery room then.”
Me: “Would you like to see the pad? But I don’t want to bring it too close to the baby.”
Nurse: “No, it’s okay, show me.” (I show the pad). “Yes, that’s meconium already. Please pack your things and we’ll go to the delivery room.”

So, back in the ward, I packed my things. The nurse came in and offered to carry the other things (like the empty baby seat which at that precise moment, seemed like an ever so poignant goal for all that I was feeling). I was determined to power through. We walked through the corridors to go to the delivery room, and the nurse and I made small talk about how I was “this close to asking for drugs”, and he said there was no shame in asking for drugs. I tried to remember the pain management techniques I’ve learned. Just breathe.

Push It Real Good

3 am-ish and finally, my own delivery room, which I celebrated by freely groaning. It was still cold and hospital-like but at least the room was all ours. I called B with the happy news that I’d been moved and that he could now come join the birth party. A nurse strapped me to the CTG monitor and told me that as soon as a doctor was free, they would check on my dilation status. Then we waited for 2 hours for a doctor…

B arrived, and honestly, thank God, Goddess and all the other powers of the universe! I can’t imagine how women went through labour without loved ones by their side. For two hours, B and I handled the labour alone, calling the nurse only to ask questions (she needs to pee, can we take off the straps?). I only remember zoning in and out, B holding and hugging me and guiding me through the breathing exercises, with chanting going “ommmmm…” throughout the contractions — like… “ommmmmmmmmm… fuuuuuck… ommmm”. I had prepared a music playlist for “birthing relaxatoin”. It was of course full of cheesy songs that I have been known to like. There were times I swear I would have lost it, had B not been there. He was amazing, and I have to say, I am in love all over again… but I digress.

After two hours, I suddenly had an urge to poop and we went to the toilet. The strangest sensation happened… when I just connected with my body and knew that this was different, this was not pooping, it could be the primal urge to push already – and I was sitting on a toilet! B called the nurse and for the nth time asked when a doctor would come to check my dilation status. I also tried to explain my poo/push dilemma.

Nurse: “Get back on the bed. I’d rather have you poo on the bed than have the baby on the toilet. The doctor is coming now.”
A doctor and assistant came in, checked my dilation and said, “well, I think you’re ready to push now.”
Me: “Okay, though I warn you, I’ll probably also poop.”
She notices the ugly, but extremely warm, Christmas reindeer socks that I’m wearing.
Doctor: “Would you like us to take off your socks?”
Me: (remembering another birth story of how cold a mama was after…) “No, I feel cold.”

So, we all get into position, a contraction came and I started to push. “Push, push, push. Don’t exhale yet.” is all I hear. B notices that I am pushing with my face sometimes (which I rationally knew was wrong, but couldn’t control myself at the moment) – “Push down, baby” B says – and I held on to him and the thought that the baby was almost out.

Doctor: “Okay, stop. Only push when a contraction comes.”
She notices our music in the background “wow, to be delivering to this music…” I refrain from telling her that I had a separate playlist for “birth power pushing.” Another contraction comes, another push, another pause.
Doctor: “Wow, you’re doing so well, you’re an expert pusher!”
Me: “It’s my years of experience with constipation”. Another contraction. Head crowns and, ladies and gentlemen, the RING OF FIRE is real!
Doctor: “Okay you have to stop pushing now. I know it’s hard, but it’s to stop from tearing.”
Me: “You gotta be kidding me. B, hit her!!”I proceed to make little blows in the doctor’s direction.

Despite the funny banter, I have to say, I felt I really was in the zone. It was a powerful moment, and I cannot remember any other time in my life where I wanted so badly to thrive through it – where I was both in pain and in joy. A few more pushes later, and I felt the baby slip out!! The doctor immediately placed him on my chest, and we got to meet our baby – it’s a boy!! It’s Liam!! Salisbury Hill was playing on the laptop, the birth team was taking our first family photos, and finishing up with the last stages of the delivery. I wasn’t really listening to their talk as I had a beautiful baby on my chest. Sigh, what love can do.

B cut the umbilical cord, and I could not stop crying, shaking and smiling all at the same time. We were now a family of three. And 5 hours after that, we were sent home… and the family life began.

Despite the obvious pain, I must say that I had a relatively fast, albeit highly intense, delivery to have been induced and go through labour with only B. My faith in the Dutch hospital system is a bit so-so now, but I am proud to have gone through the experience, tapped into my own power and discovered that I was strong enough to go on much further than I thought I could. My connection to B has multiplied in ways beyond my imagination and we have a beautiful son, Liam, with whom we are falling in love with more and more every day.

photo credit: photosavvy via Flickr cc

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