My Second Birth Experience (and My Experience with PPD and Suicidal Thoughts)

 You may have read about my first birth experience in this post here. My second was very different, and there are a lot of factors that went into that.

My first birth was very fast - my water broke at noon and I delivered at 6:34 pm. I was constantly slammed with contraction after contraction with little to no rest in between. It was utterly exhausting, and, since it was my first birth and I had no firsthand experience about what to expect, it was terrifying. But I had an amazing birth team, an incredible birth partner, and, at the end, a very healthy baby boy.

My second birth, however, was completely different.

Coincidentally, my water broke at noon - but that's the only thing that was the same.

It was a Friday and I was at work. I'm a teacher, for those who don't know. I was on my lunch break and walking back from the bathroom when I felt a tiny gush. I was a week out from my due date, so I'd been wearing a thick cloth pad to work every day in expectation of my water breaking. I turned around and went right back to the bathroom to assess the situation.

There was fluid on my pad, but nowhere near the amount I would expect. I hadn't felt any contractions at all, so I decided to just keep working and see what happened. I texted my mom and my midwife just to give them a heads up, but none of us were overly excited about it.

As I continued the day, I felt a few more of those mini gushes, but nothing serious. I also started having obvious contractions, but they weren't painful at all. At first, I thought I was controlling the pain better because I was breathing through each one (yes, even the middle of lessons) like I'd learned in my HypnoBirthing courses.  But by the time I got home at 4:15, they had stopped entirely.

My midwife arrived around 5 and checked me. I was 2 cm dilated, and she did a few tests to confirm that yes, it was amniotic fluid in my pad, so my water had broken and "the clock has started." Technically, if you don't deliver within 24 hours after your water has broken in the state of Alaska, you have to go to the hospital. We were 5 hours in and nothing was really happening, so my midwife gave me a list of things to do to encourage labor. I started on a schedule of blue and black cohosh and was instructed to begin castor oil if I wasn't in active labor within the next 12 hours - in addition to all the exercise I could muster.

We tried everything to get me in to active labor. 

Nothing worked. Rosalie simply didn't want to come out, despite being in the optimal position with her head so low and engaged we couldn't see her face on the ultrasound and you could literally feel her ear through my belly. She was aligned perfectly. My uterus just didn't want to let her go.

At the 24 hour mark, other than the fact I wasn't in labor, everything was fine. I felt fine. Rosalie's heart rate was normal. There were absolutely no signs of distress. Besides my water having broken and some light contractions (going in and out of consistency), everything was totally normal.

I refused to go to the hospital. While we were on the tail end of COVID, there were still limitations on who could be in the room with you, and my midwife wouldn't be one of them. Since she was only a direct entry midwife, I'd be passed off to someone else with hospital privileges, and, quite frankly, there was no one else in the state I trusted to deliver my child. I said if there was a true concern for my life or the life of my baby, I'd go, but as long as everything was normal, I'd continue to refuse the hospital.

As the day turned into the evening, I still wasn't picking up. Castor oil and cohosh turned into an enema and literally running stairs. But nothing. I think I may have dilated one or two more centimeters in 24 hours, and most of that was due to my midwife periodically stretching me (a terribly uncomfortable experience). 

My midwife could feel a small bubble of amniotic fluid just inside my cervix. She thought perhaps my water had broken near the top, and due to the fact Rosie's head was so low, perhaps it was creating a sort of plug effect, keeping it from truly bursting and putting me into active labor. 

Since my water had broken - we had confirmed the leakage was amniotic fluid - we were in a situation where labor had to begin or I'd likely be given an induction and probably a c-section at the hospital. In a final effort to avoid that, my midwife used a tool that looks similar to a crochet hook to "snag the bag," and break my water. Fortunately, you can't feel that, unlike being stretched.

What I did feel was the immediate, wet warmth as my water fully broke. Luckily my mom was right there with towels - it was a huge mess. But that did the trick. This was somewhere around the 30 hour mark. Active labor kicked in right after that.

Shortly after this, my husband made everyone coffee. That's not relevant to this story, really, I just remember being in the throes of a full contraction and being stared at by three people sipping their coffee. The things that stick with you!

Up until that point, my contractions were completely manageable with little effort. But fully breaking my water made them amp up. I tried my best to continue breathing through them, but eventually it got to the point where my body was simply done. I'd slept alright the night before, but by 1 am on Sunday morning, I'd been in labor for well over 24 hours and I was simply over being in labor. It was around that time, perhaps a little closer to 2 am, that my midwife had the chat with us that if the baby didn't come within the next few hours, she no longer felt safe, and we'd have to go to the hospital. 

It was about that time that I began to panic. I remember, after one particularly long contraction, starting to cry. My mom thought I was in pain, but I was crying because I felt that I had failed. I felt that if I had to go to the hospital, I was a bad mom, because I couldn't give birth at home like I had the first time. I was also terrified of the hospital because I didn't want to be given drugs, and I knew that if I was in the hospital I'd be forced to take them - at this long since my water breaking, the doctors would take over and deliver the baby for me. A non-natural birth would be a failure for me, and I was terrified of having the choice taken away.

I didn't see it because I was growling my way through a contraction, but my midwife looked at my husband at this point and asked him how he felt. He looked at her and apparently they had a silent communication moment before he said he thought it was just about time to go to the hospital. 

My midwife had been making me stand up during contractions, trying to use gravity to pull things along. I remember hating her for it. I was so exhausted. The second a contraction would end, I'd lay down and curl up into a ball. I definitely fell asleep a few times between them.

One thing I remember very clearly from my first birth was transition - when your uterus changes from opening your cervix to a vertical contraction that actually pushes your baby down the birth path. During my first birth, this drastic change scared the crap out of me and I remember jumping up (I was laboring in our soaking tub) and shouting that something was wrong. My midwife had been perfectly calm, asking why I thought something was wrong, and when I explained my contractions felt different, she calmly told me that meant it was time to push.

With my second birth, I was ready for the change. I was standing up, leaning forward onto a stool, when it hit. I vaguely remember shouting "I transitioned," or something like that, and saying "She's coming, she's coming." It was such a strange feeling; perhaps because it was my second birth, perhaps because she was already so low, or perhaps a mix a both, I could truly feel Rosie's head move downward, out of my uterus, and into the birth canal. My midwife asked me if I wanted to deliver like that and I panicked, practically throwing myself onto the couch. I was on all fours; I didn't really want to deliver like that, like my body seemed to lock itself in that position and I couldn't move. Four, maybe five more contractions, and she was out. From the time I shouted "She's coming," to the moment my midwife laid Rosie on top of my belly, a whopping five minutes (maybe) had passed. I'd heard my mom talk about second and third babies just "falling out," and that's really the best description I can come up with.

When my son was born and laid on my belly, I remember saying "Hello, baby," over and over again. It was a few months before my husband and I felt like he was actually our child. We kept feeling like we were just borrowing him and someone would come take him back soon. 

But with Rosie, it was quite different. One reason I think it was different was because when I was pregnant the first time, we always referred to our son as "the baby," even after we'd decided on his name at about 5 months along. But with our daughter, we decided her name before I was even pregnant with her, and we called her Rosalie for the entire pregnancy. So when she was placed on my belly, instead of saying "Hello, baby," I said, "Hi, Rosie, we are so glad you're here." My midwife started crying when I said that, and I tear up when I remember it. Especially considering I struggled so, so much with postpartum depression after my first, and how much my marriage suffered because of that, saying (and truly meaning), We are so glad you are here, was impactful. 

****The rest of this post is about my experience with PPD and suicidal ideation. If that makes you uncomfortable, stop reading here.****

Early in my pregnancy with Rosie, I was still recovering from PPD, and it terrified both my husband and me that I might fall into that hole again. The first seven months of my second pregnancy were the worst time in my life and the worst time in my marriage. I remember curled up on the floor more than once, crying that I did not want to have this baby. It wasn't that I didn't want Rosalie - I'd dreamed of having a daughter for years - but I didn't want to be depressed again. The fear of becoming depressed was making me depressed - to the point I considered suicide, once.

My husband and I were having a fight in the car and I remember looking out the window, crying, when suddenly a thought popped into my head. I thought, this is it, Colin is going to leave me over winter break (we are both teachers). He will take my son, and I will have nothing to live for. When he leaves, I am going to shoot myself in the head.

Immediately after having that thought, I realized, I can't kill myself! I'm pregnant! What was I thinking??

And then. in the next heartbeat: I will wait until Rosalie is born. I will give her to Colin, and then I will shoot myself in the head.

I still tear up when I remember this day - not because I thought about killing myself, but because I finally understood how terrifying suicidal thoughts are.

It took about five seconds for me to have all of these thoughts, and right after they crossed my mind, I was utterly horrified. I was not suicidal. I did not want to die, or give up my children, or lose my husband. But the thoughts had simply wormed their way into my head without my consent. 

I cried even harder because I was afraid. I knew that people aren't born suicidal, they become that way somehow. I thought, what if this is how it happens? What if you just start having the thoughts without your consent, and you keep having them until you believe them? The fear of potentially becoming suicidal was the worst part. I could brush away the random thoughts, but I couldn't brush away the terror that they might become constant thoughts.

A long, long time ago, I remember watching an interview with a guy who survived jumping off the Golden Gate bridge. In the interview, he discussed how the second he left the bridge, he realized all of his problems were solvable and he regretted jumping. I don't remember who it was - as of writing this blog post, 35 people have survived this jump - but I remember his words: "I realized all my problems were solvable." What happened a week after my own suicidal thoughts is what I now refer to as my "bridge moment."

Colin and I were having yet another fight, but this was the worst one we've had to date. It was the night he told me if I got depressed again, he was going to leave me, and he was going to take both kids (Rosie wasn't born yet). It was the night he basically said (without using the actual words) that he didn't love me anymore. He said if it weren't for the kids, he would've left me already. He said I was emotionally abusive. 

Hearing him say all the things I'd been saying about myself out loud was like a blow to the head. I'd been telling him to leave me for almost a year - but hearing him say he was actually going to do it was like jumping off a bridge. I immediately realized I did not want my husband to leave me, I did not want to lose my kids, I didn't hate myself, I wasn't a bad person. I remember I had been crying profusely, but I suddenly stopped. I felt something physically snap inside me. I was suddenly committed to being better. It took me a long time to convince my husband of that, but I can happily say we are still together and just celebrated Rosalie's first birthday. Ever since that night, we've continuously been doing better and better. We just got an offer accepted on a house. We're planning our next Disney trip in spring of 2024, and we're going to Switzerland this summer for a wedding. 

We wouldn't be doing ANY of these things if it weren't for that low moment. It was truly hitting rock bottom for me; realizing there was no lower I could go, and suddenly having the psychological energy to begin the climb out of the hole. And, more importantly, I was committed to never falling in the hole again.

Since that day, I have definitely had low moments, and we have certainly had fights. But the key difference I notice now is that when we have a fight, I am able to let it go. Sometimes I hold onto it for a few days, but it doesn't permanently etch itself into my soul anymore. When I get angry with my toddler, the anger is more of a wave that passes over me and subsides, compared to how it used to be; like a barbed thorn that dug itself into my side and would need to be surgically removed. It's a lot easier - and more psychologically comfortable - to ride the anger wave instead of feeling the pain for weeks and weeks. 

Moreover, my marriage is stronger. I truly feel we have been through the deepest waters and come out not only okay, but better than we started. Maybe we didn't weather the storm very well, but we did weather it. We're past the newborn phase with both children and we've gone through PPD together. We're out on the other side, and we're healthier and happier than ever.