5 Things I Learned Coping With A Failed Birth Plan

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Birth takes a woman’s deepest fears about herself and shows her that she is stronger than them. - Unknown

My birth story

“Okay, I’m ready.” I was feeling heavy, tired, and ready to not be pregnant anymore. I glanced over my birth plan. Lamaze classes: check. Hospital paperwork and notes to OB: check. Activities for early labor at home: check. Tell husband not to give me an epidural no matter what I say: check. I skimmed the list. Check. Check. Check.

I decided that I wanted a natural, unmedicated birth early in my pregnancy. I wasn’t trying to be a hero - I actually didn’t want an epidural birth because a) a big needle in the back, b) a catheter in the…, c) you can’t feel anything from the waist down, and d) I read about many benefits to a natural birth. (You see my priorities here.)

My husband trained to be my birthing coach (no idea what he was in for), and we studied a great book about natural childbirth to prepare for our little boy’s arrival. We memorized pain management positions, practiced breathing and relaxation techniques, watched natural birth videos, and signed ourselves up early for the natural birthing center at the hospital.

Husband Coached Childbirth in the background. My belly covers my shorts here…2 weeks to go!

I also planned my labor schedule. For the first 6-12 hours that is typically early labor, we would take showers, finish packing our bags, and snack in between contractions (which are sometimes 30 minutes apart at first, right?). Then, once we could tell I was in active labor (the part right before the most painful phase, transition labor), we would make our 20-minute drive to the hospital.

I had an app on my phone to time contractions and planned to follow the 5-1-1 rule (contractions less than 5 minutes apart lasting 1 minute each for 1 hour). If we arrived at the hospital before I was dilated 5cm (the threshold for being admitted), they would just hold me in triage. Triage rooms are usually the size of a half bathroom, but worse case scenario, I could tough it out there for a bit.

I had the jitters because I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I was also confident - we had trained for this marathon. We were thankful for good news throughout my pregnancy (other than a flirt with gestational diabetes, which I did not end up having). I had every reason to believe that our labor and delivery would be textbook.

From the time labor started, nothing was textbook.

My water broke first around 3:00am five days after my son’s due date. For a first baby, he was right on time. I went into the bathroom and started to pull things together, excited that he was on his way. Should I jump in the shower or eat something first? Hmm, what to do… But waves of contractions started crashing in on me. They were only 4-5 minutes apart that first hour, and the pain and frequency caught me by surprise. Apparently, he was in a hurry to get out of there. This is happening too fast, I thought, and when I made eye contact with my husband, I could tell he was surprised too.

He scurried around getting towels for cleanup, gathering bags, and coaching me (still with a concerned expression) at the same time. I practiced the Lamaze positions and breathing, and in the third hour, my contractions were lasting a minute each and happening every 4 minutes. We left for the hospital by 6:00am. In class, my Lamaze teachers had joked that television shows don’t give an accurate portrayal of childbirth: “Less than 15% of women have their water break before labor begins, let alone first thing. But on most shows you see their water breaking then they’re rushed off.” Yet here I was feeling pretty close to every laboring woman I had seen on t.v.

When we checked into the hospital, I was dilated 4cm, so the nurses held me in a claustrophobic triage room. At almost 7cm, they realized how quickly I was progressing and moved me to a different room (perhaps even smaller than the first). Also, they noticed something - but what, they wouldn’t say. They laid me flat and hooked me up to monitors, and it occurred to me through contractions that I wasn’t in the natural birthing center where I was supposed to deliver.

My husband was torn between getting information from the nurses and staying by my side. The only technique I could rely on from my training was patterned breathing, but as the contractions closed in and the nurses whispered in the hallway, I was beginning to lose control of it. I could feel myself hyperventilating, the pain too much, and I told my husband I would need an epidural if they didn’t take me off monitors soon.

Bless him. He remembered from my birth plan that I did not want an epidural. So, for OVER AN HOUR, he told me that the nurses were moving me to the natural birthing wing in 10-15 minutes. I’m not sure if he was lying well or if I was just so out of it. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spelled out this scenario in the birth plan…Please do not give me an epidural if I ask for one, UNLESS our whole natural birth plan falls apart and I end up stuck to a bed like a bug on a fly trap.

Next, they moved us to a regular birthing room, and I knew that if I didn’t gain control of my breathing, things might not be okay. I didn’t notice at the time, but my husband began praying hard. In that room, I finally caught my breath. In and out, out, out. My husband was coaching me, comforting me, probably wishing we had hired a doula (or two) at that point.

A nurse eventually told us that they were watching my baby’s heart rate on the monitors. It was dropping whenever I had a contraction, and they were concerned it could mean fetal distress. They were also trying to reach my OB, who was delivering elsewhere. I labored that way, flat on my back and tied to machines without pain meds, until I was dilated almost 9cm.

When my OB arrived and I was finally admitted to the natural birthing room, I headed to the laboring tub where I stayed until I felt the urge to push. With a lot of support, I climbed out of the tub and onto the bed. I pushed for about 45 minutes (which is nothing compared to the 3 hours some women push). All the preparation for months could not have prepared me for how it actually felt. A nurse offered me nitrous oxide (laughing gas), but it made me loopy and weak, so I nudged it away.

When the OB and nurses saw my son’s purple face and the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, they urged me to make this push the last one. I didn’t think I had the strength. I couldn’t do it. But then…I heard a faint cry and relief flooded my entire body. They handed my little buddy to me, and the whole world melted away. His skin was a shade of purple, and he was clearly very tired. But he was beautiful and big, a hearty 8lbs, 12oz. I nuzzled his bare body against mine and cried along with him. I have never felt more emotions at once than in that moment.

the death of expectations hurts, but Perspective is everything.

After his birth, I didn’t have symptoms of PPD, but I did have the baby blues that often accompanies those first few weeks - random crying as hormones level out, dreading nighttime because you hardly sleep, and anxiety over caring for this new, tiny person. Thankfully, those things passed rather quickly. What stayed with me was this mild version of PTSD. I would wake in the middle of the night to the sound of crying out. Except the house was quiet, the baby was actually sleeping, and my husband hadn’t even stirred. I would hear those muted screams and have flashbacks of my labor for months before it subsided.

One of the most difficult things to come to terms with was how unmet my expectations were when it came to our natural delivery. When I look back, I’m incredibly grateful that I delivered a healthy baby boy and left the hospital with him 2 days later. He makes our lives undeniably sweeter and so full of love. I feel like I practically dreamed him into life. I’m also thankful that we were able to carry through with our plan to have an unmedicated birth. That was important to me (even if I don’t do it the same way again). But I’ve had to process all the ways his labor and delivery surprised me and make peace with the memory of that experience.

Lessons Learned

If you had a birth plan that didn’t go as planned, here are 5 things I learned from the experience:

1. it’s okay to grieve.

Without meaning to, people will minimize your experience by saying, “Well, hey, it all worked out and your baby is okay.” They are well-intentioned, and…they are right. BUT you can leave room to grieve that you didn’t get to bring your child into the world the way you wanted or expected. I’m not suggesting that you should dwell on it. I’m just giving you permission, as someone did for me, to work through the disappointment.

2. my baby and I have a life together because someone intervened.

We’re really so fortunate for the progress humankind has made when it comes to childbirth and hospital procedures. C-sections, vacuums, forceps - they’re scary-sounding and come with their own unique recoveries - but in life-threatening circumstances, they can literally save mom and baby. I hate that I was held so long for monitoring - it changed everything. At the same time, had anything become dangerous (such as my son’s fluctuating heart rate), the nurses would have been able to alert my OB, who I actually trusted to make the best decision for us. (If you didn’t trust your OB, don’t use them again. Period.)

3. I may have permanent scars, but I will heal.

I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to have a C-section instead of a vaginal birth. As painful and scary as it was at times, I did end up delivering my son vaginally. I can only share second-hand from a friend’s stories that it’s disheartening because many moms expect, or at least hope, to deliver the natural way. I do empathize with the sadness of this kind of disappointment…When I couldn’t breastfeed my son after over 3 months of trying, it was more upsetting than I thought it would be. It was not the natural way of things, and I had to grieve the death of my expectations around how I would feed and bond with him. But dealing with these things will teach you that you are much stronger than you realize. You will bounce back, mama.

4. It prepared me for next time.

Having things unravel the way they did taught me to stop holding so tightly to my plans and expectations. Particularly with childbirth, there are so many unpredictable factors and surprises. It’s healthy to set goals and be optimistic while also holding loosely to your arrangements and best-laid plans. Study more alternatives, ask more questions, and listen to more stories. Things are always hardest the first time.

5. It prepared me for motherhood.

Nothing about parenthood is what I expected since the moment I went into labor. Even the kind of mom I expected to be has changed and been challenged. Ultimately, it’s a good thing. It teaches me over and over that my control over things is an illusion, that everything does not have to go according to plan to be good, and that the grace I receive each day is sufficient. Being a mom humbles me, grounds me, and schools me. It makes me a better person, and that’s what my son needs more than anything - the best possible me.

Here’s the most important part: ultimately, it’s not about HOW you gave birth but WHO came from those hours of laboring and birthing and how worth it the experience was because there is nothing in all of life like being a mom.