The Story of Her: The Girl with the Hair

I’ve been writing and rewriting this post in my head since the moment I first held her close to my naked chest almost six months ago, my heart pounding and singing in my ears. I have been mincing my words between my fingers – like the most fragrant mix of spices you’ve ever smelled – and yet no combination of words ever seemed to work just right. No words have seemed adequate enough to describe what happened to me, to us as a little family, the day we met her. Tori Eve. The Girl with the Hair.

Before I tell you about the 29^th of August 2013, I want to go back (briefly) to the 19^th of April 2011 – the day he arrived. Eli Hunter. It was hands down one of the best days of my life as I stared down into his big eyes, his small body drowning in his red dinosaur baby grow, and I just knew without a shadow of a doubt that this little boy is going to teach me everything I thought I knew about life. The good and the bad. He was going to expose me – my strengths and my weaknesses. After all, he made me a mother.



The day Eli met Tori. And vice versa. Pure magic.

But sadly his birth wasn’t the magical affair I had dreamt about for 9 months. Quite the contrary. I felt robbed and I honestly felt butchered. Misguided. Absolutely devastated. There’s a huge gap in the show reel of “Eli’s Birth”. A few pieces of the puzzle are completely missing and the only people who really know what happened in that theatre, what his first cry sounded like, are the people who were present (I was there, but I was under general anaesthetic). An uncaring doctor and some nursing staff. People who are of no consequence to my son.

Now let’s go back to Tori’s birth. I’ve had 2 years and 4 months to prepare myself both mentally and physically for the onslaught. Of course my guard was up since the moment I found out I was pregnant with Tori, but only because I knew I would fight tooth and nail to have a different birth experience. And I did.

Needless to say, I changed gynaecologists and went to a wonderful and well-respected doctor with whom we had walked a very tough road after I had lost a baby in 2012. He knew me and I knew he was a good man. Plus, I love his sense of humour. I can clearly remember the day I told him that I am not going to opt for an elective Cesarean (the obvious choice after a previous C-section), but rather a VBAC (Vaginal Birth after Cesarean) delivery. He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but hardly looked up from where he was busy making notes. I knew I probably went against the grain of everything that he believed in, being a very traditional and Orthodox Jewish man in his late 60s/early 70s. But kudos to him for not once trying to talk me out of my decision in the 9 month road I walked with him, or for trying to use the silly scare tactics that so many doctors use to get their way. I have nothing but the utmost respect for him.

The months rolled by and Tori was growing beautifully – I couldn’t have asked for a healthier pregnancy. She was so gentle on me. I felt fabulous. I felt the glow that everyone was talking about. By the 6^th month, Tori was lying in the anterior position with her head down and I felt such a sense of satisfaction – my clever girl was doing exactly what I expected her to. At every appointment with the gynae, I almost had to “remind” him that we were planning for a VBAC and then he would almost remember all over again. I put this down to the forgetfulness that comes with old age. He did mention a few times that Tori was probably going to be a “big baby” (about 3.5kgs), but I just smiled and nodded because I knew from doing extensive (and borderline obsessive) research that having a big baby is not a good enough reason to have a repeat c-section.

Come the final month of my pregnancy (August), everything was still on track for my VBAC. Tori was still in position and I was feeling huge. But even my discomfort wasn’t enough of a reason to deter me from the original plan. My Dr “provisionally” booked the theatre for a c-section should we need it, as he said it’s better to plan for the unseen and we could always cancel the theatre. 14 August – "Not C-Section Day" in my mind - came and gone. My response: she’ll come when she’s ready.

Twelve more days went by, which equals about three years in late-pregnancy terms, and still no sign of Tori. I was over 40 weeks pregnant and my patience was really wearing thin. “Good thing it’s a due date and not an expiration date,” I told myself. I saw my Dr on Monday the 26^th of August and he was just as shocked as the rest of the world that I was still pregnant, as he had really thought that she would be here already. He was willing to let me walk till the 29^th, but not a day later. 41 weeks was his cut-off point, as no good would come from going longer. If she didn’t come in the next 3 days, I needed to be at the hospital on Thursday for an induction.

Induction. That dreaded word. The reason Eli’s birth turned out the way it did. I went home and cried a bit. I spoke softly to Tori. I prayed that she would come out of her own and that we could avoid an induction. I went for a session of intense reflexology to help the labour process along. I walked (OK, waddled) kilometres around the block. I prayed some more. Nothing. So I found peace in my heart, packed my last few things, had some sushi and frozen yogurt with my adoring husband the night before and I went home and waited the last few hours out.

It’s August the 29^th. We drive to the hospital while it’s still dark. I am excited and nervous, but mostly I feel ready. I remember praying that I could still have a natural delivery, and all I heard was God saying to me, “Your daughter is being born today. Let’s dance.” That last phrase spoke to the very depths of my soul and told me that it was a day of celebration, and that nothing else really matters. I had already won the battle.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the next 14 (yes, 14) hours that was my labour, but let’s just say it was intense and slow. And curiously satisfying. Empowering, even. My Dr popped in every now and again, always cracking jokes and laughing, but other than that I was left in the capable hands of Nurse Dumi, my doula Zaheda and my Adam. Time didn’t matter to anybody. I walked around. I squatted. I bounced on the ball. I cried. I swore. I got foot and back rubs. Things were happening…things were really happening. And when things slowed down and I got really despondent, I was put on a Pitocin drip (to help speed things along). But not once did anybody mention the dreaded c-word.

Around the 5cm dilated mark, I couldn’t take the pain anymore and I opted for an epidural. Life-changing stuff that! Immediately, my whole demeanour changed and I went from feeling like a rabid animal, to a relaxed and calm state of mind. I quickly dilated from 5cm to 8cm while talking to Adam, smiling, fixing my hair and even redoing my makeup - and this after I had been ready to give up a few hours earlier because I couldn’t handle the pain any longer. Everyone was just about ready for the action to start happening – I was merely minutes away from being wheeled into the delivery room to meet Tori.

And then all my contractions stopped dead. Tori’s heart rate started dropping. The Dr examined me and what I saw on his face was bad news. My labour was literally regressing – I was back to being 6cm dilated. He went from being this happy-go-lucky Dr, to the Professional we had placed our lives in the hands of. I needed to have a Cesarean. No questions asked and no hesitations. I was so extremely disappointed, but so was my Dr. He just kept on saying, “I’m so, so sorry”. And that’s when I knew this was the right thing to do. This was the key, differentiating moment. Peace washed over me as Adam and I and even the doula wiped our tears away. Everyone was praising me for how incredibly brave I had been, and I knew it wasn’t just words. I had tried my heart out. I felt it.

Moments before Tori was born.

 

“Your daughter is being born today. Let’s dance.”

And there she was. At first a muffled, and then a resounding cry. The art of being born. The most electric and defining moment of my life. Witnessing the birth of my daughter in the present tense.

I rotated this picture so that you can see Tori's face. This picture takes my breath away.

All I remember was the Dr commenting on how incredibly tangled Tori was in her umbilical cord – it was properly wrapped around her torso like a seat belt and bunched around her shoulders. Thank God for his protection over her life. She never would have come naturally given the circumstances. Like I even cared in that moment.

The paediatrician – who literally only gave Tori a once-over before placing her on my chest, no checks and tests – commented on how much hair she has. Everyone commented on her beauty. Everyone was in awe. Everyone was just about in tears. I couldn’t stop staring at this perfect creature that was lying all cuddled up on me, sucking on her little hand. The way she looked at me – we knew each other. The way she smelled – like the earth, like life and like the sweetest fragrance I have ever smelled. The look in Adam’s eyes will stay with me till the day I die – a look of pure adoration, pride and love. I had done well.

My girl weighed in at a massive 3.97kg and 53cm and she was the most perfect and beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. Tori Eve – Victorious Life – the one person who taught me even more than Eli did when he was born. I felt no disappointment, no anger and the “ifs, buts and maybes” of that day blurred into obscurity and faded into nothing when compared to the pink rosebud that is her mouth. I had done well.

Tori Eve. The Girl with the Hair.

The absolute high of Tori’s birth has of course worn off over the last few months, but all I have to do is look at her, still with her beautiful head of hair, the most beautiful big blue eyes I have ever seen, her adorable, loving nature and I am transported back to that place. Back to where God gave me what I needed on that day, and not necessarily what I wanted. And in the end, what I wanted was exactly what I needed.

My heart needed healing, and only the Girl with the Hair could do that.