7 Words I Don't Want to Hear in Labor
“I couldn’t have done it without you!”
If I had a dime every time a new parent looked into my eyes and said, "I couldn't have done it without you"... Well, I'd be rich, but I’d still be here because I love what I do.
Picture this. Your baby is being dried off on your naked chest. You’re still breathing heavy, sweat still glistening on your brow. Your partner is darting around the room to capture the best image to post on social media. And the first words that come to your mind when your eyes meet mine are, "I couldn't have done it without you."
This sentence doesn't always come immediately after birth. Sometimes it comes after an epidural calms things to allow your “feels” to rush in. Other times it's spoken to me in a quiet moment during labor. When you combine the sense of safety that doulas provide with the feelings of love that oxytocin elicits, theses peaceful moments make perfect sense. Quiet times can be boring. It’s our nature to fill those moments with words.
Let's think about this statement for a moment: "I couldn't have done it without you." You're very deep into the experience of birthing your baby. You're walking laps around your back yard, stopping to lean into your partner or doula with every wave. Or, imagine you're in the shower, swaying your hips as the water runs over your bump that will be less firm very, very soon. Or, like the example above, baby lands on your chest, naked and wet. You look at everyone around you, and the first thought that comes to mind is to give credit to someone else. "I couldn't have done it without you."
Why do we do this? Why do survivors "beat cancer," but our providers "deliver" our baby? Where is the person who did all the work in the phrase, "Oh, I love Dr. Jones. He delivered my baby”? In every other form of medicine, we "beat" things. Why, then, are we so willing to hand the grand accomplishment of childbirth over to someone else? We do this nowhere else in medicine, besides birth.
I have personal lessons in this from my own life. My daughter was diagnosed with Lupus at the tender age of 12 years old - extremely young for this diagnosis. She was frail and pale. A kid who never napped suddenly would crash as as soon as she got home from school. Her hair was falling out and her hands hurt all the time. Her poor face and back was riddled with acne that went far beyond typical puberty symtoms. I put my RN hat on and kept driving for answers. I wouldn't accept the response, "It's normal at her age," and the diagnosis of anemia wasn't ringing true for me. Lupus, with its vague symptoms, can take over a year to diagnose. I had to work hard to get a diagnosis within 3 months. It was the hardest 3 months of my life watching my baby shrivel up before me, but I refused to stop pushing for answers.
Once diagnosed, replaced my RN hat with my doula hat. My daughter and I worked together to find ways for her treatments to be palatable. When one thing didn't work, we tried it another way. She fought me with every weekly injection I gave her. She negotiated to try this injectable medication orally, which I agreed to, with the caveat we'd go back to injections if her numbers fell. P.S. she's still taking that medication in pill-form 5 years later.
I watched my baby bravely put on a bathing suit at a party when she had a horrible rash all over her body due to immunosuppression. I watched my tiny girl gain 30 pounds of steroid weight over the summer caused by the mega doses needed to quiet her over-active immune system. I watched helplessly as she walked back into school that fall, looking nothing like she had when she left school in the spring. The kids were cruel. The comments, unfiltered.
Her current school was not meeting her needs, and she decided to transfer, trusting that there was a better environment for her elsewhere. She is now attending a charter school and thriving. She knew there were kinder kids out there, and she never gave up.
During this time, she joined a competitive dance team. Dance filled her soul and gave her something to be proud of. However, she didn't have the stamina and flexibility for the level of dance that this team required. Her body betrayed her best efforts. Her awkward nature frustrated her coaches and teammates. She struggled to gain acceptance, but with hard work and perseverance, she eventually did. She knew she wanted to dance, and she would not give up
Her Lupus journey has been a 5-year "labor." And ya know what? Never ONCE did she look at me and say, “Mom, I couldn't have done it without you.” This would be the perfect place for such a sentence. She's my baby. No one could "doula" my baby through this better than I. Heck, if I hadn't pushed so hard for a diagnosis, who knows what condition she would have been in when we finally figured it out. She had a huge sack of fluid around her heart by the time an X-ray was ordered. That alone could have ended her life!
She really couldn't have done this without me. And while we both know it, neither of us believe the credit lies with me. While she doesn't shout it from the rooftops, you better believe I sure do. She fought this disease, the recovery, and the social reclamation of her life, all 👏🏻 on 👏🏻 her 👏🏻 own 👏🏻. Her doula/RN/mom couldn't do that part for her. I'm her fiercest advocate, and she is my biggest hero. The only thing I did was hold doors open. She had to find the courage walk through them.
She also had the right to stop and freeze. But she never did. She fought for compromise when I took on the role of a provider more than doula. She knew she needed medical intervention, but it was always going to be on her terms
Are you catching the similarities here? I hope you are because they are palpable. My daughter owns every single aspect of her illness and recovery. The only person who got her to the place she is today—a beautiful young woman whose heart is still 3 times too big—is her. She was strong. She was brave. She endured the pain. She consented to every treatment that brought her to the calm, confident place she is today.
I was the mirror to show her that she was tackling challenges most kids will never face. I was the water taking her boat though rapids she never signed up to ride. Sometimes she hung on for dear life, and other times she paddled like hell. The rocks and narrow banks that create those rapids inevitably lead to calmer waters. My mommy years of wisdom knew the rocks would become less clustered. I knew the banks would widen. I leaned into my experience with childbirth and trusted that things wouldn’t always be so hard. We both took turns being strong.
Recently, a client was laboring on the toilet at her birth facility. She was on Pitocin, about 6cm dilated, and her partner was sitting on a stool in front of her. I assumed my favorite position on the floor next to them, reminding her of her strength with each surge.
I looked up at her with admiration. I love looking "up" at my clients in birth. They are on a theoretical mountain top, and it can be very lonely up there. Our providers are present only a handful of times. Our nurses have many tasks on their plate. Our partners love us, but they're in it with us. They often struggle to be our carabiner that keeps us from falling off the side of that mountain.
After one big surge, I looked up at her with simple awe in what she was doing. She shook her head and quietly whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you. I couldn't do this without you.” As I sat on the bathroom floor while she labored on the toilet, my response was simple: "Sure you could. You're doing it right now. I just make labor more fuuuuun" 🙄
She smirked. Too tired for laughter but acknowledging that I was right. You are doing this. You are making the decisions. You are enduring the intensity of labor. Your brain is releasing those hormones. You and your baby are working together. Just you two. No one else.
Doulas get to sit in awe and watch you labor while reminding you that we believe in you, even if you don’t. I know that phrase uttered in birth is a sweet way of saying, "Thank you.” My goal in this work is to hear women own their birth experiences. You're feeling gratitude in that moment when you tell your doula you couldn't do it without them. Share that gratitude while still holding onto your accomplishment.
“Thank you. I’m so grateful to have you by my side.”
To quote my muse, Rebecca Dekker, RN, PhD and founder of Evidence Based Birth®, "Babies are not pizza's. They're born, not delivered." Mothers birth their babies. Doulas look you square in the eye and say, "I believe in you." I wouldn't be sitting on a bathroom floor at 3am if I didn't believe you could do it.
Words have power. Don't give your power away in birth. Next time you're compelled to thank anyone in your birth experience, simply say, "Thank you”. It will always be enough.
