This is the story of Vivian Jade Cox and her journey to join the earth army. We were very close to staying a family of three, with no set intentions on bringing another human on board, but it turns out we were willing to gamble with the birds and the bees. Last fall, in 2021, I was on a bit of a crusade to bring people together around the topic of freedom and I hosted a women’s event to discuss medical freedom, school choice, and firearm instruction. I didn’t know it, but Vivian was already sprouted and along for the ride; and she continued to bang the drum of freedom and choice the whole way here!
With no surprise to me or Danny, I spent the greater part of nine months whining and miserable and irritated about being pregnant. I am amazed by women who enjoy pregnancy - I only have a brief window in the middle where I feel “normal” and the end especially ramped up for me on this one. Both mentally and physically I battled through the last eight weeks pretty hard, then sprinkle in some deeper spiritual work that I thought I already had figured out and I was a bit frazzled and fried.
Throughout the first six months everything was straight forward and things with my midwife were pretty hands off, going six to eight weeks between appointments versus the typical four weeks in between. I even chose to forgo the ultrasounds and all the other clinic required tests. Around 32-34 weeks though, things started to shift. Baby girl was presenting in a breech position but was still moving and rotating quite a bit. We discussed that breech birth at home was possible in a specific position of the baby, and overall shrugged the whole thing off as “she has plenty of time to turn” and talked about some things to do to encourage her to flip head down. At this time things started to get more challenging physically because of her position; I struggled with soreness and tenderness in the way her head pressed on my abdomen and my hips and pelvis were constantly out of alignment from all the standing happening at the salon all day.
Looking back at the timeline I can see where the fear and stress started to creep in around this time when I was sharing my journey with friends, family, and clients. Also I can gather that my midwife may have begun her apprehensive approach as well - more on that in a bit! First, I have to recount the stress kickoff point where I landed in the emergency room with chest pain, extremely low blood pressure, and bad iron regulation/anemia. I woke up the morning before I hit 34 weeks and I thought I got hit by a bus. I had an adjustment by the chiropractor the day before so I thought maybe something got weird and I would head back in to get re-adjusted. I canceled my morning clients at work and my mom *intuitively* decided to drive me to my appointment (she is good with that damn gut feeling of hers!). As soon as my chiropractor walked up to me at my appointment to start talking to me, I instantly started crying and went into full nuclear meltdown mode.
I am forever grateful for having people in my life who I trust and have the ability to hold space, listen, and communicate with me when it matters most. That day, it was Dr. Sweet and the team at the office. There was maybe a bit of shock (even to myself!) about the mental breakdown that occurred, but there was NO judgment. The miracle that my mom was there to be witness to what was happening was probably the universe giving me a hand to hold. She continued to show up in support and understanding the rest of the way to the finish line because of what she saw that day in the authentic struggle I was having. No one else fully understood from that day forward what was truly happening for me underneath it all, even multiple people going as far to say “I bet you just had Covid” Last time I checked, Covid didn’t come with a mental breakdown/anxiety attack or chest pain, but ok sure! Let’s blame everything on Covid - that’s what we do now in 2022. *insert melting face emoji here..sigh..*
I feel like I’ve hashed the saga of the emergency room so many times that I don’t even want to include it in here, but Vivian will want to read this one day so this is for her. We finished at the chiropractor and I started hurrying to get out of there because I felt pain similar to heartburn in my upper abdomen/chest. I assumed this was a cue for hunger and wanted to go get some food. As we drove to Taco Time (which is hands down superior to Taco Bell…) the pain started to increase and become stabbing. I tried to stay calm and even attempted some bites of a taco which just resulted in me spitting it out and heavy breathing and pacing outside my mom’s truck for a few minutes. I finally decided this was not ok and the pain wasn’t letting up so I called my midwife to tell her what was happening. She told me chest pain was nothing to mess around with and she advised me to go to the emergency room.
THE EMERGENCY ROOM. The last place on earth that I want to go is where I have to go. The pain was probably increasing at that point, thank heavens my mom was my chauffeur, as there was no way I could’ve driven anywhere myself. I threw up all over the outside of mom’s Raptor on the way there, sorry mom! I was admitted into the ER while breathing through the pain, they stamped my case with “put a rush on it, she’s pregnant!” and I was served pretty quickly - at first. They ran an EKG, did a blood draw, put me in a shared room with a chair and no bed, and eventually hung some fluids. They brought me a paper shot glass filled with a concoction of lidocaine and maalox just to see if it would offer relief to the pain, and after about 20 mins it receded. Then the wait began.
Round one of the labs showed super low anemia numbers and I was having really low blood pressure 84/50. Their assumption was that I might be experiencing a blood clot. I had to consent to an xray and a CT scan, they performed two non stress fetal tests, then at one point they even performed a rectal exam to see if there was internal bleeding. None of these tests produced any results that anything was wrong, everything was totally normal and healthy. Sitting in the chair for an extended amount of time was starting to kill my low back, so I tried my best to pace the hall in between procedures and checks. Finally my mom was able to join me, as this entire time she had been sitting in the truck with Thomas! He had a taco, his kindle, and he even got to pee on a tree (quick thinking by Grammy when he announced he needed to go out in the parking lot!) He got scooped up by Papa Mike since Danny was at work and couldn’t come, and they cared for him for the next couple days.
By this time, I had been at the hospital for about 3-4 hours. The waiting for nothing was becoming very painful sitting in the chair and two more hours went by. The CT machine had a long line that was causing the delay and that scan was the worst part of the whole ordeal, it brought back all the chest pain again. The anxiety of having the radiation exposure and having to consent to the dye injection, then actually experiencing the injection combined with the claustrophobic chamber - woof. Some more tears were shed at this point and it was getting later and later in the day. They announced there were no findings, they were about to have a shift change, and they suggested I stay overnight for observation. My first thought is: “you just want to bill my insurance for a hospital stay”… but also I have to believe they truly think they're doing their best and they want to make sure I am ok.
Being admitted past the ER in the year 2022 is a dicey move. Anyone who has been paying attention or had countless friends, family members, or acquaintances be admitted into the hospital knows the horrors and stories that emerge from these admissions. Unnecessary interventions, uninformed consent, and no advocacy from a trusted loved one is allowed. After a few questions on what the protocol is for admission, we had a lot to discuss and weigh our options and then ask even more questions.
The first thing they wanted to do was administer a Covid swab test in the nasal cavity. I said I do not consent and I was willing to have them perform a different test to see if I was covid positive; of course they had no other type of test available. If I did not comply with the test but still wanted to be admitted, they would treat me as a Covid positive patient for the duration of my stay. Between not wanting to be a statistic contributing to false covid numbers and not wanting to be masked, isolated, and treated like a leper for the next 12-24 hours just for observation, I denied allowing this as well. In concurrence with all of this, the shift change brought in a whole new team of nurses and a new doctor.
The new doctor would not listen to my wishes and three separate times came in and started talking about my case and what would happen overnight; I kept repeating that I would not be staying overnight because I did not consent to their protocol. When I denied the covid test, one of the nurses became extremely rude, and finally the doctor dumbfoundedly asked “why won’t you just do the test?” To which I just said “it goes against my beliefs.” Just about this time, they checked my vitals one more time and low and behold my blood pressure stats had all returned to normal range. I told the nurse, “You should’ve suggested the Covid test hours ago, I would’ve raised my blood pressure then!” The doctor came in one last time and asked me to sign an AMA that declared I was leaving the hospital AGAINST MEDICAL ADVICE and basically claim I wouldn’t sue them if I died. *insert eye roll here*
To add to all of this and a lot of what contributed to the ultimate decision to leave was, in the nine hour span that I was in the ER I was only given two cups of applesauce and four saltine crackers. I was offered a sprite and hearty jello cup filled with red 40 food dye, but I decided to pass on those. I had only been able to sit in a chair, no laying down to relieve pressure off my low back and minimal walking in the hallway to try to stay limber. If I had stayed overnight, I never would’ve received any other food until the next morning when the cafeteria reopened. Last time I checked, pregnant women can’t sustain life on crackers and applesauce. I definitely would’ve tanked and crashed in the middle of the night had I stayed, and where would that have gotten me? In an emergency c-section? And where would my advocate have been? Nowhere. I was told I would not be allowed an advocate until visiting hours that began at 6am. Then to boot, if I had been labeled Covid positive, they would not have given me my baby. The possibilities of unnecessary trauma and intervention that could have occurred had I stayed were very scary.
Instead! I went home, was able to cook homemade oatmeal (brat diet in case of anything happening), make myself a 1st phorm protein shake, and took all of my supplements and vitamins. After being in such a deficit all day and extreme pain, my body needed true rest and recovery. There was no way I would’ve received any of this in the hospital overnight. Rehashing this entire tale is long winded and not my favorite, nor does it have anything to do with my labor or birth. This part of the story is just the depth of things that I traversed during this pregnancy journey and part of my evolution as a mother; as a human. It serves as a reminder that you should listen to your gut, stick to your values, and don’t sacrifice your truth when things get scary or challenging.
The following six weeks after this ridiculous side-quest were just as topsy turvy. First, as I recovered and was trying to figure out my next steps, it became clear that part of this hospital event happened because of stress, work, and trying to do too much. I emotionally and painstakingly battled myself and my family on if/when/how I should close up shop on work. It was a month ahead of what I had planned on for my clients and income. There were a lot of emotions about both of those things! I take pride in my relationships and service to my clients, and I had a calculated plan for my income in preparing to be on maternity leave. This also left a void and large amount of doubt in my return to work as well. I basically just had to make a decision for the exact moment versus trying to control or calculate all the unknowns; the decision was to let go of work until Vivian arrived. It was the only way to avoid stress and worry at the time, to put a hold on work until I could see a clear path forward.
Visiting with my midwife in the days following the emergency room trip, we discussed a lot of options about Vivian being breech. She told me that the only position to safely deliver a planned breech was in the position of “frank” breech. There were still hesitations and a lot of fear being sprinkled in around that possibility, so the conversation led to “we need to flip her.” So I bravely started doing everything possible to get her to flip! I walked everyday, I hung upside down off my couch over and over, I got a second chiropractor that specializes in breech method adjustments, I took certain supplements to help relax my ligaments and muscles, I meditated and talked to the baby, etc etc etc. NOTHING. Nada, zip, zilch, zero, STILL BREECH. And Vivian was PISSED. I was having extreme pains in my cervix because she was kicking and rotating and couldn't move. My neck and pelvis were completely jacked up and my chiropractor was starting to really question if we were doing the right thing. Meanwhile, the days are ticking by and the 38 week mark starts looming.
During this time, I consulted with a doctor in Centralia around 36 weeks to understand my options in case of an emergency and what a surgical birth or cesarean would look like. Of course, it was all the same hospital jargon; Covid tests and masks and intervention and epidural and lack of advocacy. All of that sounded traumatizing and downright awful. The doctor even had the guts to ask me if I wanted to just go ahead and schedule my c-section before I leave the office. WHAT?? I’ve got four weeks left before this baby is done cooking, what in the world!?
So two weeks later at my home visit with my midwife, I had decided on a last ditch effort to consult another OB/GYN about doing an External Cephalic Version (ECV) where they push and rotate the baby from the outside of your belly. I got the appointment scheduled and headed to Tacoma to consult about how and what this would do for getting Vivian to turn.
The appointment began with the medical assistant being very judgemental and visibly bothered that I had no pap smear in the last 5+ years, I had no Covid vaccine, and that I hadn’t done any regular ultrasounds throughout my pregnancy. I was also lucky enough to have to sit in a room with vaccine posters on every wall saying how “safe and effective” they all are for pregnant women… Anyway! Next, I got to visit with the doctor and discuss what an ECV procedure would be like. He told me that in order to do the procedure, I would be given an epidural and we would be in an operating room so in the case it didn’t work, we would just move forward with a c-section the very same day.
Whoa whoa whoa, what? That sounds entirely positive, right?? There is so much incentive to achieve the desired result of flipping the baby that we’ll have a $30k back up plan lined up just instead!
I remained calm. He says that we need more information on the position of the baby before we can schedule the procedure, so we went to do a quick ultrasound. As he is looking at blurry black and white imaging on a computer screen that I can tell heads nor tails of, he asks me, “so did you do any genetic testing?” I reply with “no, why?” and he proceeds to tell me that “one of the reasons breech babies don’t turn is because there is a genetic anomaly…I’m not saying anything is wrong, but we need to do a more thorough exam to rule things out.” I process what he said… He just told me that my baby probably has something wrong with it. I still remained calm. I asked if we could figure it out TODAY. So he leaves the room and comes back and acts like a savior because “it just so happens there is an opening in an hour with the ultrasound tech.”
For an hour, I was an emotional basket case inside my car in the parking lot. I was angry and I was scared and I was mad hot crying and I was devastated. At that point I was all but convinced that my baby could be mentally or physically delayed/handicap and I would have to have her cut out of me. I look back now and see how INSANE all of that is. How criminal is it to lead a woman down that path of fear and worry?? I gathered my courage and got my shit straight in my head and returned to do the in depth ultrasound.
Vivian was fine. In fact, she was great! She was healthy, estimated about eight pounds, great heartbeat, and she was in FRANK breech. I felt total and utter relief. Then I put my armor back on and a layer of frustration settled in. The doctor came back into the room and asked what day we should schedule the ECV, and I told him, “no thank you, my midwife will deliver frank breech at home.” Then I sat through a lecture on how unsafe vaginal breech delivery is and listened to dated statistics from ONE study in 2003 that showed cesarean was slightly more safe than vaginal delivery. If I attempted a home delivery with a breech baby my baby would die or I could bleed out, yada yada yada… Seriously, what in the fuck is going on with these doctors?? I mean, do they actually believe they are helping women? Or do they just want the payout from the insurance? ESPECIALLY knowing what I know now, I think the hospital birth system is extremely misaligned with what women’s needs and true power is. Hhhhhh…..I digress. This isn’t an opinion piece on how royally effed up our birthing culture is in the US, it’s supposed to be about Vivian’s journey earthside.
And well, that is part of her journey, right? It’s already part of her story. It’s her modality to be an example of truth, and the freedom to choose. It’s exactly what she did and what she reminded me I’m capable of as well! Moving forward, I threw myself into research mode for days with videos and testimonials about vaginal breech birth. I was harvesting my confidence with the brave stories being shared by countless women who achieved vaginal breech delivery. I stood strong and unwavering after that breakthrough at 38 weeks, I was joyful and looking forward to tackling this breech experience head on. I had shared my results with my midwife about Vivian being in frank breech and didn’t receive a lot of feedback from her. I see this now as a sure sign that something was about to shift. I met with her the next week and we discussed what breech birth delivery with her meant. We discussed that it would cost more, as insurance would not cover the cost from lack of malpractice coverage; it would also cost more to pay a second licensed midwife to attend due to safety factors. I didn’t care how much it cost, I was ensuring the birth I wanted for myself and for Vivian; at home, no intervention, no trauma.
The challenge arose in finding the second midwife to assist in the birth. My midwife explained that there was a limited amount of options for acquiring the other practitioner, due to a myriad of reasons. So I waited to hear for an entire week, with nothing but radio silence in between, to see if there was another midwife that was able and willing to assist in my homebirth. My 39 week appointment rolls around on a Tuesday, two days before my due date. My midwife says “I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that I found a midwife to do your breech birth, the bad news is that I will no longer be able to do your birth.” I remained calm. She launched into a lot of explanations (excuses) on why she could no longer be my midwife and gave me the phone number of a midwife named Kara, and told me to call her to set up an appointment.
That was it. That was the end of my time and experience with my midwife. So I went to my car. I call Kara. She answered right away and told me we need to meet as soon as possible, so we scheduled an appointment for the very next morning. A couple hours later she ended up calling back to reschedule for that night! So I drove back to Yelm that very same day to meet my new midwife; two days from my due date.
Meanwhile!!! Before I knew I had that meeting, I had to process what the hell just happened. I had a 45 minute drive back home and all I have to say is that it was a spiritual experience. I felt clear, I felt gratitude, I knew at that moment that I was truly in the “in between” and that I had to fully surrender to the divine. Getting angry wasn’t going to help anyone, being sad or worried or frustrated was a complete waste of time. The only thing to do was LET IT GO. Let it all go! So that’s what I did with my music cranked as loud as possible and tears rolling however they needed, just surrendering and telling Vivian “thank you” … See, I’ve visited this lesson a time or two before, but the creator must’ve known I needed it to be solidified and retold because I had forgotten. I feel that in the moment, Vivian was that bridge to the universe and all of its magic, she was connecting me to my true self. The self that deeply trusts and intuitively knows all the answers, not the ego that operates in the meat suit!
Whatever is destined to be, will be. When we follow our innate wisdom, God will answer with his blessings and goodness. Trust and surrender, trust and surrender.
When I had processed all of what happened, I was finally ready to talk to Danny and then my mom. Of course, they were floored. How could the midwife do this?! And I just said “it’s ok.” Also, I told them both not to breathe a word of this to ANYONE.