A New Life Emerges From The Chaos

Liz Laing

My first daughter was born during the Los Angeles riots, a time when civil unrest and violence took over the city for nearly a week. In late April of 1992, racial tensions were rising and people’s anger exploded, following the verdict of the Rodney King trial where four police officers were acquitted after excessively beating Mr. King. A massive protest against police brutality and racism began. Hundreds of fires burned throughout the city, as people rioted, looted stores, and assaulted each other. As a way to control the chaos, a city-wide curfew was mandated and people were told to stay home from dusk until dawn. The National Guard was called in to help restore order and guards were even posted outside our favorite neighborhood mall, the Westside Pavillion. It felt like a war zone, and then I went into labor. 

As I watched the local news at home, my contractions began and I thought, ”How can I bring a new life into this violent world we’re living in?” I was scared on many levels – afraid of the birth and becoming a mother for the first time, not to mention the current situation that surrounded us. I worried about how we would get to the hospital, especially since it was past curfew. I became further worried when we were driving to the hospital and my husband said he needed to go to the ATM to get some cash for the hospital parking. WHAT?! I feared that he could be attacked at an ATM (as many people were at that time) and that I would end up having our baby alone in the car. This was before cell phones, so there wasn’t a way to call for help. Fortunately, he got the cash without incident and we made it to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Los Angeles was in a state of emergency, which I’m sure affected my state of mind. Somehow I had to find a way to focus on this momentous occasion and the arduous task of bringing a baby into the world.

We discovered that I was only one centimeter dilated after my initial pelvic exam, which was rather disappointing after laboring for a few hours at home. In retrospect, I should have gone home and come back later when my labor was further along, but given the circumstances outside, it seemed safer to stay at the hospital. I would later learn when studying to become a Certified Childbirth Educator and doula that I was “on the clock” once I checked in to the hospital, which means a woman’s labor is expected to progress at a certain rate. If it doesn’t, then a nurse will intervene and give you Pitocin to help speed up the labor. I wish they hadn’t “helped” me in that way, as the drug produced such unbelievably painful contractions that it became too much for me to handle. I ended up asking for an epidural, which was something I didn’t want to get when planning my birth. I had no way of naturally managing the pain as I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed and had a fetal monitor strapped to my belly. I felt helpless lying on my back. Being able to walk or change position is crucial when managing contractions, as I experienced in subsequent births at home (leaning over a giant birth ball was my favorite position). Soon thereafter I had an epidural and was very grateful for the pain relief.  

I’m not sure when my doctor showed up. I disliked my obstetrician from the start. Looking back, I wish I had felt empowered enough to change doctors. I was young and naive and didn’t think it was an option with my insurance. During office visits, she always seemed dismissive of my questions or concerns and reinforced the notion that I had no agency when she briefly looked at my birth plan and said she discourages people from making them because plans can go awry. Yes, I know that’s a possibility and a healthy outcome for the baby and mother is the most important goal, but the thoughtful choices in my birth plan all stemmed from that idea and supported that outcome. The many hours I spent researching natural births and birth plans went out the window, as I was hastily dismissed again without an in-depth discussion. She said I was setting myself up for failure. Her words planted a seed of doubt in my brain. Would this become a self-fulfilling prophecy? I was defeated from the beginning, even before I had begun labor. Her negativity seeped into the crevices of my insecurities and part of me started to believe I was a failure and silly for even making a plan. She was the professional, after all. I knew there was no guarantee of having the ideal birth I had envisioned, but it would have meant everything to me to have a supportive labor professional who respected my wishes.

When I was in labor, I think a part of me was afraid to let my baby get delivered by someone I didn’t fully trust. Maybe I was also afraid to have my baby leave my warm safe womb for the scary and chaotic world around us. My subconscious was probably influencing my physiology more than I knew at the time. My mind was perceiving danger and my body didn’t know how to deal with this added stress. The relentless contractions, being sleep-deprived, and being without food and water for over 24 hours were taking their toll on me. I had an IV that was supposed to be providing hydration but later learned that it wasn’t working correctly. I was physically enduring an enormous amount of work, especially when pushing and I was SO thirsty. I was dehydrated and wasn’t allowed to drink any water, only frickin’ ice chips (hospital policy in case you have an emergency c-section and accidentally inhale your vomit while under general anesthesia). My body was showing signs of stress, which meant the baby was showing signs of stress and I knew I had to get her out. 

Somehow I found the strength and pushed for 2.5 hours. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and our beautiful baby was born at last. However, the stress from the labor had caused her to have meconium aspiration and she wasn’t breathing. A team of doctors swarmed into my room and whisked her away to the NICU. I didn’t even get to see or hold my baby. She was in critical condition and had to be intubated and put on a respirator for the first 24 hours of her life. We had to leave the hospital the next day without her and my heart broke. She would spend a week in the NICU, where we visited her all day and I was able to nurse her and bond. Our baby was a fighter and her condition improved enough that she graduated to the less severe room of the NICU and then made it to the next tier a couple of days later. At last, on my first Mother’s Day, we were able to take home our beautiful baby girl! That was the happiest day of my life. The sun was out, the riots were over and it was a whole new world filled with the immense love we had for our new baby. I was anxious to make up for the rough start she had and couldn’t wait to shower her with love and attention at home.

While medical intervention may have saved our baby’s life, I also think unnecessary medical intervention may have caused problems in my labor and delivery. We were lucky that our baby survived, many don’t. Immediately following her birth, I was traumatized and sad to think that I could never go through that again and wouldn’t be having any more children. Fortunately, time heals wounds, as they say. I never had another hospital birth, but I went on to have three home births, supported by a wonderful midwife and felt truly empowered. Loving my babies healed my heart and by educating myself and becoming a certified childbirth educator and doula, I was able to help other women have the births they envisioned. It was very cathartic for me to attend births and support women and their partners at the same hospital where I gave birth, being their advocate and ensuring they had a positive birth experience. My wish is for all women to feel empowered in their childbirth choices, by listening to their inner voices, speaking up, and letting their voices be heard. 

My firstborn not only survived but thrived. When she was a baby, I was in awe of her curiosity, intelligence, and zest for life. As a grown woman, I admire her for being a great leader in our family by showing her younger siblings how to navigate the challenges of adulthood with humor and wisdom. I know she will make smarter choices than I did when she lives out her own beautiful birth story with her husband someday. I remind her that labor is painful but it’s pain with a purpose, a beautiful purpose, and to never lose sight of this.

Liz Laing is a freelance writer and single mother of four who recently earned her Bachelor’s degree in Urban Studies & Planning from UC San Diego. Liz has worked as a Certified Childbirth Educator and doula, travel writer, realtor and marketing manager. She’s now a Community Planner for the Navy in San Diego. In her heartfelt essay, Liz shares her first birth experience emphasizing the importance of self-empowerment.