First Catch

Had kind of an exciting night tonight.

My doula client called me at about 3:30 this afternoon to say she was starting to have contractions but they weren't painful yet. We chatted, I thanked her for letting me know, and we went about our day. At about 5:30, her husband calls me and says the contractions are just starting to get more painful. I ask if they are ready for me to come yet, and he kind of hems and haws and then says okay. I tell him I'll take my time but that I'll be there within the hour (they're about 25 minutes away).

Forty-five minutes later, I'm on the road and just minutes from their house when he calls again to say her water just broke and there's lots of yellow stuff. I can hear her hollering in the background. Crap! I weave and speed my way to their house. From the street, I can hear her screaming, so I don't even grab my purse from the car. I get my birth bag from the trunk and run into the house. She's naked on the toilet, having a miserable time.

There's thick meconium, so I grab my doppler to listen to the baby's heart tones. If they're bad, I know we'll be heading to the hospital immediately. I gel up the doppler, place it on her belly, and . . . nothing. I turn it off, move it to another spot, and still . . . nothing. Oh. My. God.

The next contraction hits, and it's clear that she's starting to push. I grab a towel off the rack, lay it on the floor, and tell her to lie down. I run to my bag to grab a pair of gloves. As soon as I'm back in the bathroom, the baby's head is visible. I tell dad to call 911, while I get my gloves on. I hear him say to the dispatcher as they try to tell him how to deliver the baby, "it's okay, we have a midwife here." Ha. Inside, I am freaking out. Is this baby even alive?

Another contraction. She's crowning and I'm praying. I don't even realize I'm praying, but I am so strongly willing this baby to be okay, rubbing it's scalp saying, "come on baby, come on baby." She asks me if he's okay and all I can say is, "he's coming, he's coming." Finally, we can hear the ambulance siren and then the bathroom is full of big, male paramedics. With my hands on the baby's head, I introduce myself as a licensed midwife acting as a doula at what is obviously an unplanned home birth, and I start barking out directions to the EMTs. I look up and bark, "stand by with O2, get ready for a resus. I need a blanket and a bowl for the placenta." Thankfully, they respond.

Next contraction and the baby's head is out. His body hasn't even cleared the perineum yet and already he's screaming. Thank you, God. He's crying a nice, strong cry and I put him on his mother's chest and start wiping him down. He's okay. He's okay. Oh my God, he's okay.

I am handed a cord clamp and then the dad appears, holding a scalpel from the paramedic. He slices the cord and then lifts the baby, but not before baby boy pees all over the place. Another sigh of relief. I ask again for a bowl for the placenta. Paramedic to my right grabs the toddler's potty chair and asks if it will do. Oddly enough, I say sure. Fortunately, someone runs to the kitchen for a glass bowl. I safely deliver the placenta without any bleeding (another silent prayer) and rub up her fundus, which thankfully stays nice and firm. The whole time, I'm talking her through it and reassuring her that's she's good. Inside, I'm still freaking out, but I really have no choice but to just do it.

The paramedics want to load her into the ambulance, but first she wants to put on her underwear. As I help her, I ask her where she keeps her pads. She tells the paramedic where to find one and he comes back handing me a box of panty liners. LOL. Seriously? I go, "uh, never mind, we'll just use a chux."

Once she's loaded in the ambulance, I grab the placenta bowl and run out to hop in the ambulance myself. First, I remember to get my purse from my car, except that I'm still holding the placenta bowl in one hand while the neighbors are crowding around me to ask if she's okay. Oops.

The ambulance ride seemed to take forever, but the paramedics who were there were so amazing and respectful. In fact, I asked one of them at the hospital to write down everyone's name so I can write a letter of thanks to them and their boss. They did such a wonderful job.

At the hospital, the parents and I de-brief while mom and the baby are checked out. All is well, and the doctor stands around saying something like, "I feel so inadequate. I guess I better go see if I should start a chart or something."

After a couple hours, I ask T to come pick me up, since I know I'll need her to peel me off the ceiling. My clients, as overwhelmed as they are, tell me how grateful they are that I was there. I thank the baby for being head down, and for being okay. I want to cry, I'm so thankful. I say my good-bye with a promise to check in tomorrow.

T picks me up and immediately takes me out to dinner, as I spill the story. She points out that the reason the paramedics even listened to me was because I must have given the impression I knew what I was doing. Oh yeah? Well, that's good. She's so awesome.

It's almost 5 hours later now, and I'm still shaking. As soon as the adrenaline high wears off, I know I'll be exhausted. I cannot believe it. My very first home birth catch all by myself. I definitely had someone watching out for me tonight. Oh my God, I did it. He's okay. She's okay. We made it.

Yeah, I think I'll go fall apart now.