The other day my son asked me about his birth. He said "I know I was in your belly, but then how did I come out?" In other circumstances this would be the perfect opportunity to discuss childbirth, how babies are born, how they come out, etc. However... my son was born by cesarean. So, what do you tell your child when they were removed by c-section? Do you tell how most babies are born, then tell them that they had a little extra trouble? How do you make it special and loving even if it might have been a traumatic event for you? I personally had a very long labour, 48 hours, which just didn't seem to progress. However, I am lucky to be able to say my labour and subsequent section weren't particularly traumatizing- I was well treated and respected by the medical professionals and I never felt pushed to have a cesarean. I was able to tell my son very honestly that his birth day was a happy day for me. I was able to tell him about the deep deep snow falling outside, the way he sounded when he first cried, what it felt like to first look in his eyes. I showed him the scar of the incision through which he was removed. I told him how happy I was to have him. How incredibly happy he made me. What's that corny line? "You complete me." So, how do you explain a traumatic birth to your child? Do you focus on the positive, talk about how their daddy held them first, how you came to name them? Is it something like a disasterous wedding followed by a blissful marriage? How do you create the Story of When You Were Born?
I was so pleased to come across a beautiful set of two photographs on the blog Birth Without Fear. These are two caesarean section birth photos. I found it very impressive that they took the time to honour those of us who have had a caesarean birth by posting these photos. Despite the pain, the trauma and the difficulty resulting from a c- section, it's nice to know that people recognize that the event is bitter/sweet and complex, much like motherhood it'self. Please share your experiences in the comments section. I would love to hear about how you told your children their birth story, even if (especially if,) it wasn't perfect.
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6:00am- I wake up. I start a pot of coffee then wait for my first daycare client to arrive at 6:15.
6:30am- Husband wakes up. Daughter wakes up. I spend time getting my daycare client settled, getting her a bottle, etc. I cuddle my daughter, as she's slightly peeved at the daycare client's early arrival. My husband goes to work. I realize he's taken all the coffee for his thermos. DEVESTATION! I look in the cupboard and see that the ground coffee has run out. We have a massive bag of beans in the back of the cupboard, so I take it out and put it on the counter. Next thing I know it's 8:00am and my second daycare client has arrived. I spend some time getting her sorted, prepare everyone some breakfast. I notice the coffee beans on the counter. I search for the coffee grinder. Daycare client #1 spills cereal on the floor. I clean it up. Daycare client #2 needs a diaper change. I oblige. I look at the clock... 8:30am I get my kids dressed, clean up some milk from the floor, and notice that all the teddies of the whole house have been thrown down the stairs. I open the baby gate and go get the teddies. My daughter slips by me and hurries downstairs. Now I'm not worried about my daughter going downstairs, she's two and a half and is in no danger. She, however, wishes I would show more concern and begins to call me from downstairs. I tell her to come up, she insists I come down and get her. We're butting heads. I begin to grind coffee. When I stop I notice a change in my daughter's calling, and take a look downstairs. "Mama! I peeeeeed!" Sure enough she had taken her clothes off and peed on two of the raincoats in the entrance. I get a towel and some cleaner, mop up, put the raincoats in the washer and retrieve my child. I look again at the coffee grinder. 9:00am- I once again resume grinding coffee. I'm insistant that this time I will have my cup of coffee. I grind away oblivious to sounds around me. When I turn around I notice that the kids have spilled red river cereal all over the floor. I ignore it, and crunch over it in my determination to make it to the coffee maker. I fill the pot. I put in the coffee. I press "on." Thank God. Midwife assisted homebirth with birthing pool. This is what is called a VBAC- Vaginal Birth After Caesarean. Krista is a natural birth advocate and chapter director for the organization ICAN- International Caesarean Awareness Network. I'm posting this in honour of little Colum's 6th birthday today!
"I can't do it anymore" I walk outside. It's light out, past dawn. Birds are singing. One of our neighbours is backing out of their driveway. There is dew on the car. I am blind with tears and pain and despair. I make it out to the car and then another contraction hits. I'm standing at the car, crying. "I'm DONE. TAKE ME IN. Brett, please... I'm so exhausted, I can't do it... please just let me go in, I'll just have an epidural". I am lying. I know what is going to happen. I am going to go in, get some drugs, and then give in to a caesarean. And then I am going to wish that I would die during the surgery, and I will never recover. I will decide never to get pregnant again, I will have to renounce my faith, never speak to any of my friends again. "I will regret it for the rest of my life. But I don't care. Please let me go." AUGHHHHHHH Breathe Brett says "okay. Just let me go get a couple of things from upstairs". He leaves and I'm left at the car, grabbing the windshield wiper and banging it down on the windshield. I consider ripping it off. I consider making a dent in the hood of the car with my head. Oh God, here comes another contraction ohhhhAAAAAAUGHHHHHHHHHHHH I CAN'T DO THIS!!!!!! Brett comes back down the stairs. He comes outside. Lauren tells me later that he is crying. He takes a deep breath and says "It's not time to go yet." What? "No. It's not time to go. No." Brett wasn't listening to my words. He was responding to what I needed instead of what I was asking for. And there is no doubt in my mind that this prevented me from sitting here typing with a second scar on my belly. Here I was, giving up, his only fear about my labour. And he didn't give up on me. He didn't give in to me. He said no. So I'm grabbing onto the car windshield wipers, crying, begging Brett to change his mind. "You don't understand, I really can't do this" I whined. "Doesn't he GET IT" I scream in my head "I SUCK AT THIS!" I am caught. The contractions continue to be unbearable and I am fighting them and angry and this is definitely not helping. I hang off of Brett. My tears are falling on his tee-shirt, I grip him, hold him as if his body alone can keep me aloft on the terrible waves. I love him so much. I am so mad at him. Deep down, so deep down that I can just barely recognize it now as I remember that day; I know that he is right.... that we shouldn't go. I flop down on the futon and Meg checks me. This part I don't remember clearly, it goes something like this in my head. "You're almost [AUGH PAIN!!! PAIN] complete, it feels like there's a bit of a [CAN'T DO THIS I CAN'T I CAN'T] lip I'm going to try and hold it [PLEASE GOD SAVE ME] back and YES! You're complete, go ahead and push! Once I heard those magic words that I was complete, I starting pushing. The support and love that I got from Brett during this horrible pushing.... I have to pause for a minute just to see if there are words to speak of it. I don't think there are. He believed that there was a baby. He believed that I could do it. I was lost in my self-centered world of pain and agony and despair and self-doubt. But he wasn't. And it became enough for both of us. He carried me until I could do it. And then, I can't quite put my finger on it, but something changed. A realization came upon me. And it went something like this. No one else can push this baby out for you. No one else can push this baby out for you. You have to do it. The only way out is through. You have to do it. I have to do it. Me. No one else can do it. It has to be me. I still didn't believe it. But I knew it had to be me. So I pushed. I pushed through that pain. I now understand exactly what that phrase means. I want to go back and read through all those birth stories I read when I was pregnant the first time and jump up and down and point and say YES, YES I know what that MEANS now, I really KNOW! I know what it means to push through the pain of a contraction. I did it. No one else but me. My baby. There's a baby on my chest. I can't..... I did. Who did? Someone pushed a baby out of me, but it couldn't have been me. I give up, remember? I quit when things get hard. I never finish what I start. I'm too much of a suck. I can't do it. I could never do it. Who did it? I'm in surreal land. I've birthed my baby. This was probably the most difficult story I received for the Madonna and Child Project. It describes the death of a baby, and I cannot read it without crying even today. It's an incredibly beautiful, sweet and touching account of loss. My son was born on June 1, 2010. Exactly twelve weeks before his August 24th due date. Because of his prematurity, my beautiful Sawyer was unable to even have a chance to fight the congenital heart defect that was diagnosed shortly after his birth. It is amazing to me and a testament to his will that Sawyer survived long enough for his father and me to hold him and say goodbye. He fought harder than any of us could have imagined, especially given his diagnosis of a severe form of Tetralogy of Fallot with Pulmonary Atresia - a defect in which his pulmonary artery never formed. At my twenty week ultrasound, Sawyer was positioned in such a way that the ultrasound technician was unable to get any scans of his heart, kidneys and bladder. We were scheduled to come back at 24 weeks to complete these scans. Nothing was out of the ordinary and we were thrilled to be welcoming our first son - and a new little brother for our two-year-old daughter, Sadie. The month of April soon arrived and during my ultrasound scan at 24-weeks the technician simply said, "Are you here because your fluid is so low?" I shot straight up and asked what she was talking about, and she ignored my questions as she went on to complete the ultrasound. We then had to wait nearly an hour to see the doctor. It was one of the longest hours of my life, as I was so worried and concerned about our little Sawyer. Would he be okay? What does low fluid mean for both of us? My doctor, an excellent MFM out of the University of Chicago, immediately informed me that I would need to go on bedrest and I received steroid injections to mature Sawyer's underdeveloped lungs in case I went into labor too soon. On June first, four weeks after receiving that news, my water unexpectedly broke early in the morning at four in the morning. I was admitted to the hospital for observation but by four in the evening. That same afternoon I started to bleed heavily as my placenta began to detach. Within a few short hours, I had an emergency c-section under general anesthesia. Sawyer was born at 8:13pm, limp and gray. He had no heartbeat. His premature body had no idea that labor was in progress and it failed to complete many important tasks that babies do naturally before being born. I could not imagine being awake and in that room - knowing that my baby was born dead. A team of doctors and nurses diligently worked on Sawyer, stabilizing him enough to transfer to the NICU. At that moment, we had hope. Not even two days later, on a beautiful, late-spring morning we were told that our beautiful baby was losing his fight. His neonatologist quietly whispered to us that “there is only so much we can do.” We called for a hospital chaplain and in the dim light of the NICU his father and I each took hold of Sawyer‘s tiny hands and lifted them up toward God as he was baptized. Many nurses, doctors and staff surrounded Sawyer in his tiny isolette as we all said an “Our Father” and turned off the machines. Sawyer’s heart slowed over the course of an hour but he continued to fight. Even as he struggled to breathe Sawyer let out a tiny coo for us to hear. The beauty of this moment, is indescribable. His nurse pushed me in a wheelchair to a private room as I held onto Sawyer. She stopped in a brightly-lit hallway and motioned for someone to open the door toward a courtyard. “He’s never felt the sun,” she said with tears in her eyes. It was at that moment, with rays of warm, morning sunlight shining down upon us, Sawyer died in my arms. Angel, you were born to fly. I love you Sawyer - for all eternity. Michelle wrote me with an update- "Landon Sawyer Williams born June 30th, 2011 @ 5:10 p.m. - 6lbs 7 oz, 20 inches long. This is my favorite picture of him from the hospital. You can see Sawyer's necklace in the photo...Sawyer in my heart and Landon in my arms. Bittersweet, but we are overjoyed."
This weekend I was lucky enough to be asked by the Comox Valley Arts Council to participate in something called "capturing the spirit." I was asked along with several other artists to come to the Vancouver Island Music Festival and park myself somewhere in the fray to make art. I received a weekend pass to the festival in order to "capture the spirit" of the event. At first I have to admit I was a bit reluctant about the whole thing. I have difficulty even letting my husband see my work in progress. I hate for anyone to look over my shoulder or comment on my work as it's being made. I would almost prefer that my work appear, almost as if by magic, rather than give any impression that someone was creating it. As you can imagine I approached the job with some trepidation and nervousness. I had slept only four hours the night before, (an excellent tactic for anyone starting something new, don't you think?) and was feeling frazzled and unhappy about setting up in public. However I was surprised by how quickly I relaxed and adapted. People seemed to understand that I needed a bit of space to get started, and I had about four glorious hours to get started on my work with no interferance at all. I had set up the largest easel you could imagine. The saying "go big or go home" comes to mind. My mother was there with me, and she had bought my children two sets of fairy wings, which they promptly put to good use. As you can see I added my daughter to my drawing initially: As the day progressed I became incresingly interested in the festival and the music. I also took a little tour around the site to see some of the other artists involved in Capturing the Spirit. Here's my final piece: Here is a video from 2009 about the program: I wanted to share some of the opening night photos from Friday Night. It was such an amazing night. I was so happy to see friends and fellow artists, derby girls, and also meet new and interesting people. Seeing the Madonna and Child Project up in that space was incredibly gratifying. The Muir Gallery is perfect for my series, partly because it's a small and intimate gallery with seperate rooms to wander into. I think it helps to make the view feel like they're a part of the experience, included into each mother's story as they wander around. Photographer Ron Pogue also took some amazing photographs of the evening. I think they really captured something of the atmosphere and feeling of the show. Photos Courtesy of Ron Pogue One of the best parts of the night was when I got to meet one of my models! I had met her once before very briefly when I had a table at the Bellies Birth and Babies festival in Courtenay, but most of our correspondence was by internet. Carla Voyager lives all the way up north in Kingcomb Inlet, but took the trip down with her whole family- her husband and four kids, just to see her portrait in my show. Best moment ever was getting a photo of her and her (much bigger) baby beside my portrait. My exhibit will be up at the Muir Gallery until the 25th of June. I will be giving an artist talk on the story behind the Madonna and Child Project on June 18th, at 1:00pm. Please stop by and see it!
The Madonna and Child Project is installed! Everything is ready for the opening reception tomorrow night! My husband and I went in together and thanks to his skill and expertise we were able to install everything in about two hours. I am so excited I can hardly express myself. As every different portrait went up I thought about the models involved, their stories, their experiences. Every one of these pieces means something to me. I feel almost like I have this bond to each and every one of the mothers who participated in my project. Many of these mothers I have never even met in real life. We met over facebook or through blogs, and I learned these intimate details of their lives, their birth story. I almost feel as though they are my sisters on some level. I feel strangely protective of them, as I would a sister. I am so excited for tomorrow night. I'm so excited to share this all with you. Please come to the Muir Gallery at 7:00pm for the opening reception. I was shocked this morning to read a recent article published online by Psychology Today and since pulled. The article was titled "Why Black Women are Less Attractive than Other Women?" The racism of the article was blatant and shocking obviously, but I also found the sexism of the article really appalling. The article blatently declares black women less attractive than other races, on the basis of a "scientific" study based on objective observations of a control group. How a scientific study could come up with such subjective opinions is one thing, but one must question the value of such a study being done at all. Then for a publication as widely read as Psychology Today to publish it is appalling. Please join my fan page in support of banning the publication until they issue a public apology. A portrait in honour of beautiful black women everywhere. I can't believe it's been over a year since I first started having trouble with Facebook. I had several artworks removed from facebook repeatedly, without explanation of any kind, besides the standard form letter. If you wish to listen to my interview with Sheila Coles on The Story From Here, just listen to part two of this link. ( It's at about 19:40.) Since then I've had the extraordinary experience of meeting some of the most amazing, interesting people. I was lucky enough to get in touch with artists Gemma Turnbull, Leif Harmsen and Amy Jenkins, all of whom had had some issues with art censorship themselves, and had some beautiful insights on the matter. I was also lucky enough to meet with some amazing lactivists, such as Jessica of the Leaky Boob. What seemed at first a strange and singular experience with a social network became indicative of a larger social issue- that society takes with breastfeeding and with the human body in general.
I wanted to write this blog post partly to acknowledge that a year had passed, but also as a big huge thank you to all my friends, family and supporters. I can actually chalk up the whole experience as a good one, because I met so many wonderful people, and made some life-long friendships along the way. I feel like I've grown up ten years in this past year. Thank you so much for your support. If you're in my area, (Courtenay BC.) and you're interested in seeing the Madonna and Child Project in full, please stop by the Muir Gallery June 3rd for the opening reception. I will be there 7:00- 9:00pm, and the show will be on display until the 25th of June. The following is a birth story written entirely in the mother's own words, for inclusion in The Madonna and Child Project. I chose this story because I think it's unique and beautiful. I realize that unassisted birth is a controversial subject, and I'm not attempting to either endorse it or deny it as an option. I would be pleased to open a dialogue on the subject, so please feel free to leave your comments after reading this blog post. I hope you find her story as funny, sweet and fascinating as I do. -Kate Hansen Being the 10th baby, you would think it would be textbook. Being the 5th unassisted birth, you would think we knew what we were doing. Being a new State and new adventure, you would think we would be ready. Being it was almost time for Neil to go back to work, you would think this baby would have been on time. Being that none of this is decided by me, you would think I would know better than to try to make it on my timetable. Being that once I gave my fears to God, he was ready....and we were too.
I very much felt like a watched pot, having once again gone over my estimated delivery date. This was the furthest though, and soon Neil would have to go back to work. He had taken two weeks off, and we were at the very tail end of it. We had just moved to this new town, new State and new everything, and I was very greatful to facebook for being able to keep in contact with friends and family that we dearly missed, as sometimes I felt very alone. The pregnancy itself was pretty routine, though I did discover things really do get harder when you're over 35! The aches, pains, sciatica, swelling, insomnia and heartburn seemed more intense. That could also have been that we were packing up a whole house to move, driving 19 hours at 35 weeks pregnant (in August!) and unpacking, setting up a house and all the fun that goes with moving 9 kids and a dog to an area that we knew no one. After stressing about having everything ready for the baby, nesting, and trying to keep everything tidy (I need my tidy space!!) and waking up every morning after my due date still pregnant, I had moments that I would worry about the things they tell you will happen if your baby goes overdue; breakdown of the placenta, not enough nutrients to the baby, low amniotic fluid, death, etc. When I had those thoughts for awhile, I was not able to recenter myself. Then with the added pressure of Neil's vacation time coming to an end after two weeks of waiting for this little one to come earthside, I really had to focus on letting go of the stress and the fear and remember that the baby knew. He knew my stess, he knew my fears, he knew my apprehension, and he knew when he was supposed to be born. *I* was the one that needed reminding. I was reminded when I woke up on October 12th with a sense of peace and a feeling that this was the day. The day I would finally meet my child face to face that I had known and grown for ten months. The child that took five pregnancy tests, including the digital one that would finally convince me that YES, that really was a line, and YES, we were really pregnant! Like the births before, I labored inconsistently all day while we got things ready for the baby. I figured once the kids went to bed, my body would kick into gear, just like the previous 4 unassisted births. I was right. Of course, some of the older kids were excited and wanted to stay up, and some were not very interested in the labor/delivery, and just wanted to be woken up to find out if it was a boy or girl. :) After getting the two little ones to sleep, we started the tub, set the candles around, and I got the laptop ready with music. I labored on and off in the tub with Neil and kids coming in and out for a few hours. I would get hot in the tub and then go sit in the rocking chair by the window watching the moon or Aubrey sleeping, knowing that her world would be changing soon. It always amazes me the feelings that go through your core wondering how you can love something so much and how your heart can hold it all... even knowing the love is so encompassing, that as soon as I see that little being emerge from my body that I would sacrifice anything, even my own life, for him. Around 2:30am, October 13th, all the kids were sleeping, and I realized that we hadn't taken pictures, so had Neil snap one before getting back in the tub. I got in the tub again, and Aubrey woke up, so I sent Neil to lie down with her. After about 1/2 an hour, I heard him snoring...lol In a way, it was just what I needed to let myself submit to the contractions and talked to the baby that if he was ready, I was too. I had some big baby-coming-down contractions, at which time, I called for Neil to get up (he felt so bad for falling asleep!) and I wanted to get out of the tub and stand (I have stood for the past five kids) to let gravity help, knowing I was in for another pretty big baby. As soon as I stood, I knew it was only a matter of a few contractions before baby was here. Standing at the counter, with a pile of towels and my husband's hands underneath me, the real work began. I knew he was posterior, or sunny side up, and the first bear down contraction he turned. The 2nd conntraction his head was out, though there was very little amnionic fluid, which was a little concerning, but not much time to worry as he was coming NOW. Next contraction, baby was out, and it was a BOY. I was so excited for Hunter being in the middle of six sisters! Just then, the big girls came in, (yep, my teen boys just wanted to sleep and were content with gender news in the morning!) and welcomed their new baby brother. Time of delivery was 3:50 am October 13th. The same day eleven years earlier I had given birth to a little baby girl (almost half the size of this guy!) Sitting on the step of the stair, he latched on and started nursing like a champ, and we finally got a chance to check him out...this little guy that kept us waiting day after day for his arrival! The kids all checked his fingers and toes while we waited for the placenta. He had very little vernix, but he was pinking up great. After the placenta was delivered, about 10 minutes later, Camryn cut the cord (being they shared a birthday!) and we weighed him with the sling and handy dandy fish scale, and he topped his sister by 4oz, weighing in at 10lb 4oz. |
A blog on art, roller derby and life.
Kate HansenI'm an artist and mother of two in Courtenay, BC. I've completed a project called the "Madonna and Child Project," and I'm now working on a series of roller derby inspired drawings. In my spare time I play roller derby with the Brick House Betties. Archives
November 2012
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