The Birth of Atlantis

“Puedo tener mi placenta por favor” Can I please have my placenta?

“I don’t think so. We may need it. What do you want it for?”

“First of all, it’s mine. And I don’t think you will need it. You will probably just throw it in the garbage. It has been part of my body for the last 9 months and has the tree of life inside of it.

By this time, I was exhausted and literally falling asleep every few seconds. It took every ounce of strength to have this conversation with the doctor. Although I was not given a full body anesthetic (just the waist down) I had to fight to stay awake and present with what was happening to my body.

…

12 hours before, I gave birth to the most magical little girl. She was born in our home in Teotihuacan. After a full day of labour, we received her just minutes before midnight. It was a beautiful birth. My husband sang, stroked my hair and played the flute. My midwives massaged me, and told me how strong I was. They reminded me to push with love and to be conscious of my relationship to pain. How was I welcoming my daughter with my energy.

The Beginning

In the last few weeks before birth we prepared the alter for our baby. It consisted of fresh flowers, crystals, her first rattle, her first clothes, her first diaper, and lots of loving thought and care. When my contractions started, we lit the candle to help guide her way to us.

“¿Has visto el cielo?” Have you seen the sky? My midwife said as she arrived in the early morning. It was still dark and a heavy white silver fog covered the valley. “All of the ancestors are coming to welcome the baby. This is a very special child.”

Oh yes she is. She really is.

My partner and I decided to have children the night we first kissed. There was never much pretext between us. We had the ‘big conversation’, put everything on the table and decided to walk through the door hand in hand. The next day we were discussing what country we should live in. He is Mexican and was visiting Canada for a summer. We laughed and said that we would figure it out along the way.

When we decided to start ‘trying’ to have kids, (aka stop using protection), I was surprised at how long it took. I always thought that the day I decided to have children they would just come. I didn’t realize that fertility and timing are sometimes finicky. (Oh my younger self was so paranoid.)

While we waited, we began to ask for permission from the spirits to invite a child into this world. We made offerings in sacred places and asked for guidance as to be good parents, to be communicative partners and to raise this special soul en una buena manera.

I smiled as I thought about the events that led up to the present moment, the awaited birth of my first child

I greeted my midwife and gave her a big hug.

“¡Gracias para venir!¨Thank you for coming

The Journey

“She probably wont come until the evening. Most babies like to come in the early morning or at night. Very few arrive in the afternoon. It has something to do with the light. Get some rest if you can. It is going to be a long day.” Said my midwife at high noon. She was correct, by night fall, my contractions began to intensify.

At 11:47 we received Atlantis. She arrived completely in her amniotic sac, a caul baby or mermaid baby. My mum later told me that these babies are so rare that most OBGYN’s and midwives will never see one during their careers. I call Atlantis my little fairy baby, who arrived in her magical bubble to bless us. Our midwife sounded the Conch shell to summon the ancestors to welcome the baby. With tears in our eyes from joy, we cleaned her and presented her to the four directions as one of creators children.

Biologically, caul births are dry births. They are also extremely painful as there is no lubrication. Your water doesn’t break. When we met our midwife at the beginning of this journey, she instructed us to prepare emotionally and energetically to receive this child. She invited me to examine my relationship to pain and lean into it instead of away from it. Our first homework assignment was to talk to our mothers about our own birth story and get a sense of how we entered this world. How did our mothers recollect the physical pain of our births.

In my case, the placenta didn’t follow. It is probably because there wasn’t enough juiciness to push it out easily. My contractions mostly stopped and I was too exhausted to keep pushing. After all, I had my baby in my arms. She was beautiful.

After a period of time, my midwife had an alarmed look on her face. She told me that if I didn’t push out the placenta in the next half hour, we would have to go to the hospital. Panicked, I began to push and push and push. But there were no contractions. I couldn’t go to the hospital. The idea of having to put a mask on and and be hooked up to a machine made me feel sick. I couldn’t bring my precious baby to a place like that. Sterile, full of florecent lights. Filled with anxiety, I pushed harder and became more exhausted..

My partner looked at me with soft eyes and said “Descansa mi amor.” Rest my love. You need to rest. Holding our baby between us, we slept on top of towels between our blood soaked sheets.

When I woke up again, I looked at my husband, my baby sleeping tenderly. I felt into my body and took a deep breath. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go to the hospital. Hearing me stir, the midwives rushed to the room. “¿Como estas?” How are you? Did you rest?

I didn’t realize how small our town was until we arrived at the 24 hour hospital to discover that it was closed until morning. We followed up by checking in at a private women’s clinic. Though they didn’t have an ultrasound on site to examine what was going on. We were instructed to go to Mexico City to a large hospital as they certainly have the staffing and the expertise to support us. After half an hour of bumpy dirt roads and speed bumps, I was relieved to get on the highway. Off to the city we went.

The Hospital

It was sunrise by the time we made it. Traffic was just getting started and the familiar sounds and scents of Tomales, Atole and Tortas filled the streets. I waddled out of the car in my adult diaper dripping blood and with half an umbilical chord still attached and intact.

I was scared. Covid restrictions in medical settings meant that you can’t have anyone accompany you. I was sleep deprived, I felt extremely physically vulnerable and although my life is 95% spanish, it is still my second language and sometimes people are impatient with my accent. … But, I needed medical attention. This I accepted.

“Deep breaths Zoë. You are exactly where you need to be.”

I put on my plaid mask and walked in the doors. After my situation was explained I was ushered off to the second set of doors… alone.

… Well, not quite.

Describing the movements behind those doors is like combining a fast food restaurant, a pristine state of the art medical facility, and a busy market on a Saturday morning.

thirty medical attendants rushed towards me, each with a clipboard, each demanding my attention

“¿Como se llama?” “¿Cuantos anos tiene?” "

What is your name? How old are you? What is your address? Where are you from? What is your nationality? What are your symptoms? How many weeks pregnant are you? Where is the baby? Are you alone? Why did you have a home birth? That is so dangerous. Look at what happened to you.

As I finished answering one question, another nurse would come over and ask me the repeated questions. When I paused to answer the sequential attendant, the previous one raised their voice. “Senorita, es muy importante, me contestas porfavor” Miss, I was talking to you, please answer the question.

I was dizzy, frustrated and annoyed to be there. I was not allowed anything of my own. No shoes, no clothes, no cell phone. Nothing. It was cold, busy and chaotic.

After being examined and placed on a rolling stretcher, I was shuffled from one room to another... and then another… and then another. The sequence of busy nurses asking me similar questions continued in each room. I stared at the ceiling, went on autopilot and zoned out. I began to disconnect from my body, from the experience, from my situation. And then I heard it, the screaming groans of a woman giving birth. I was in the maternity ward. A massive open room full of pregnant women in various stages giving birth. Backs against the bed, facing up, feet in stirups, pushing, moaning and screaming with masks on. I could see the crown of the babies head coming out. There were at least 15 medical attendants attending her, giving orders and telling her what to do. I felt crowded just watching. I suddenly felt guilty for staring. This moment was sacred, and should be a private ritual. my heart began to ache. Where was her partner? Her mother? Her sister? Where was her support system? I then remembered my own loved ones, my support system walls away. No wonder I was shutting down energetically. A coping mechanism to disconnect from my body.

I started to pray. I prayed for that woman, for the baby, for her family. I prayed for her healing and her recovery. I prayed that the baby would be healthy, strong and most importantly, loved. I looked around the room and started to pray for the other women in that ward. In between, I prayed for me. For strength, for wisdom and for patience. I had just become a mother. Everything had changed. I longed to be with my baby and my husband. I missed my mom and my sister. I felt so far away.

Acceptance

This permission slip states: Leaving with placenta

As I began to stumble into the path of self pity, I stopped myself. “Zoë, you need medical attention. You are safe. You are being taken care of. If you don’t take care care of yourself, you could be in danger.” I looked down below at the still attached dangling umbilical chord and pool of blood and snapped out of it. I began to say affirmations and meditate. “I am so grateful to be here. I am so grateful that I am healthy, that my body is strong and that I am being taken care of. “ My heart began to fill with love for the people attending me. “Thank God for the medical system. Thank you Great Spirit for taking care of me.” I felt a sense of peace come over me. I could see my beautiful baby sleeping and I knew she was OK. I was going to be OK.

A few hours later, I found myself with my back against the bed, feet in stirrups and an epidural in my spine with a crowd of 15+ medics attending me. I began to laugh. The nurse actually asked me if I had smoked pot before arriving or if I was just like that. I laughed some more.

The doctor never answered me as to whether I could keep my placenta or not. Although apparently it was taken out in a plastic bag and given to my husband in the waiting room. He was told to sneak out of the side door to avoid any questions from the guards.

Recovery

As I waited in the recovery room waiting for the anesthetic to ease off, I thought of Uma Thurman in Kill Bill as she wakes her body up from a paralyzed state by forcing herself to wiggle her big toe.

Enthusiastically I waved a nurse over “Mira! puedo mover mis pies, Puedo salirme por favor.”“Look! I can move my legs! Can I leave now please.”

“Oh, no. Estas muy grave. Tienes que quedarte algunos dias por observacion.” Oh, no. Your situation is very serious, you need to be observed for a few days.”

“Oh, but I feel fine. I feel great actually! I’ve never felt better. Thank you so much for your help. I’m ready to go home now.”

“Oh no senorita, you have to stay. Why don’t you want to stay?”

Sure enough I was being rolled into another room on another floor… further away from my family. As I glimpsed out the window at the city landscapes, I wanted to cry but I felt too alone to start crying. I hadn’t slept in two days. I I didn’t have my phone to call a life line, to reach out for emotional support. I just felt so lonely in that moment. I said a prayer for all the women in that hospital who felt similar to me.

I needed to get home. I wasn’t going to heal in this place. Gracias a dios for su ayuda, but I knew what my body needed. After convincing the resident doctor that they had no right to keep me against my will, I was permitted to sign myself out. Four doctors advised me against this decision and explained all of the complications that could occur if I were to leave. I thanked them for their concern and continued with the process. By midnight I was home.

It had been such an intense way to end such a beautiful ceremony of birth, I wondered why it happened the way that it did.