Accepting the Unexpected: Gabriel’s Birth Story by Grace Guerrero

Empowering, unmedicated home birth that treated birth like a ceremony and a rite of passage into motherhood: this is the dream birth that I began to manifest and work for when I became pregnant in May 2023. I wanted my heart to be ripped open, to feel my humanity and fully experience the deepest intensity that my body was designed to endure. I wanted to be pushed to my limits, to carry myself through the portal of birth and hold space for a time that I knew to be the most powerful in a woman’s life.

It nearly became a full-time job for me — learning and unlearning all I could about birth and preparing my body for the marathon ahead. Ina May Gaskin, The Business of Being Born, natural birth podcasts, Orgasmic Birth, pilates, yoga, chiropractor, women’s circles, pelvic floor therapy, acupuncture, birth classes, and weekly meetings with my midwife... I poured my mind, body, and soul into the preparation. At nine months pregnant, I felt as equipped as I ever could be and finally settled into the forthcoming. Like so many others, I had the false expectation I would give birth early. But from 38 to 40 weeks, the days seemed to drag on, and all the dates,
raspberry leaf tea, and curb walking didn’t help. But at 40+3, the menstrual cramps started rumbling. That night, on January 23, 2024, I went to an acupuncture session to help move some energy through my body. During those powerful 60 minutes, my menstrual cramps transitioned to something more.

After the appointment, my husband, Brooks, and I had a big dinner up the street at 8 pm. I began feeling mild contractions about every 5 minutes, so I let my midwife, Krishinda Powers- Duff, know that things were happening. After, we decided to take the 30-minute walk home. Despite being January, it wasn’t very cold in Barcelona, so it was a nice walk. The moon was growing in size, as the full moon was due in 2 days. I took a bad photo of it, wanting to capture the moon that my baby would be born under. Once we got home, Brooks and I went into labor mode, bringing out all of the home birth supplies and shutting the blinds to create a sense of safety. I took a shower, turned on my music, and settled into whatever this experience had in
store for us.

My midwives had told me to contact them again when my contractions were 1 minute long and about 2-3 minutes apart for 1 hour. By 2 am, I checked all these boxes. The contractions had come on quite strong. I was moaning through them, swaying and dancing with Brooks in our bedroom. They were painful at this point, yet I felt confident in my ability to handle them. “I can do this,” I thought. “If this is what everyone was talking about, this isn’t so bad. My dream birth is happening right in front of my eyes.” We eventually decided to call Krishinda, and Brooks put the phone on speakerphone so she could analyze my sounds. “She sounds great! But she’s probably just in pre-labor now. Tell her to get some rest so she doesn’t exhaust herself,” Krishinda said. We followed her orders and got in bed. I was indeed tired, but laying on my side made my contractions worse, so I wasn’t able to sleep at all. As the hours dragged on, so did my contractions. But instead of ramping up in intensity, they remained pretty consistent every 2 minutes.

Around 10 am the next morning, my doula, Erika, came to visit. She found us in the bed, Brooks waking from a few hours of sleep and me frazzled from an exhausting night of painful contractions that seemed to lead nowhere. I felt let down at this point. It had already been over 12 hours since my first contractions, and the comparisons in my head of my friend's and sister’s births grew louder in my head. Erika told me that she thought I was still only in pre-labor, that I should continue resting, and not expect to go into active labor until the next day. This was not what I wanted to hear, but I took her advice and settled back into bed. A few hours later, Krishinda came over to drop off the pool and check-in. At that point, I was more confident that my contractions were picking up and that we’d be in active labor soon. She did a quick cervical exam on me (which, by the way, was not as unpleasant for me as I’ve heard it was from others). To my complete and utter dismay, she said, “Great! You’re quite squishy down there, so your cervix is doing a great job of thinning out.” OMG. I wasn’t even 1cm dilated after 16 hours of contractions. What was going on? Why was my body doing this to me? What is wrong with me? I was so upset, feeling like my body was letting me down. But as calm as ever, Krishinda told me this was completely normal, and that birth is a long process. She left and told us to call if anything changed.

The rest of the day, Brooks and I remained in our cocoon. I continued to welcome the contractions with gratitude, saying “yes” and “thank you” with each one, and had a shower where I could sing and relax. I earnestly tried to remain positive, but the hours dragged on, and my contractions continued to be painful but consistent in their timing and intensity. By 8 pm, I felt very defeated. It had already been 24 hours since my acupuncture session, and active labor was still nowhere in sight. I questioned if I had the energy to keep going. Crying, I asked Brooks if I’d be better off going to the hospital and getting an epidural. He called Erika and told her I needed some emotional support. About 30 minutes later, she arrived, and I shared all my anxieties and frustrations. She kept telling me this was completely normal and that birth is a process that often unfolds in days instead of hours. Erika then moved furniture around to create a better space for my laboring process. She grabbed my hand and helped me walk around the flat.

After a few laps, I could feel the contractions getting stronger. When she suggested I get on the ball, I told her that the contractions felt like hell on it. “Well, you’re right - this is what we’re doing,” she responded. “We’re going to hell and back. We have to go to hard places to get through this.” She then placed the ball on top of the couch and instructed me to collapse onto it and let myself fully embrace the pain — using voice and all.

During the first 24 hours of labor, I thought that taking the contractions in silence or with gratitude correlated with strength and aptitude. It wasn’t until this moment, when I allowed my body to surrender and my voice to be released, that I learned this was the way I was meant to labor. I began to roar so loud, like the animal I had been so afraid of becoming. During this process of releasing composure, I felt myself slipping deeper into labor. We continued this routine of walking, then crashing into the ball for each contraction until, at one point, I fell into Brooks’ chest and just began sobbing. I did not cry for the pain or intensity of the contractions.
Instead I felt an extreme amount of emotional release. For a moment, I re-met the grief of the death of my father and just let the emotions pour out of me until the next contraction came. I finally understood, “Now, this was the birth I had been preparing for.” I have so much gratitude for Erika, as she was the one who taught me how I needed to labor. She showed me how to properly pour myself out and lay down the delusions of control. Thanks to her, I dilated from zero to five centimeters in an hour.

The time had come when I finally found myself in active labor so Krishinda came back over at around 10 pm. While Brooks and Erika set up the birthing pool, Krishinda took me to the toilet (AKA Dilation Station). She told me I had to take three really hard contractions on the toilet, and then I would be able to get into the pool. These contractions absolutely shook me. I had no idea how intense, and quite frankly how painful, they could actually be while sitting on the toilet. But with my now-established birthing power, I roared through the hard contractions while Krishinda held my hand and guided me through them.

After I fulfilled my commitment to Krishinda, I jumped in the pool and felt relief wash over me as the warm water softened the blows. The promise of psychedelic active labor began to take shape as I rode each contraction and howled with them. It’s hard for me to remember exactly how the next hours unraveled, but little fragments snap through my mind of Brooks and my support team alternating as they held my hand through the contractions, pushing my back and hips together and whispering sweet encouragements in my ear. I love the saying that during labor, women must go into the cosmos to fetch their babies and bring them down to earth. To me, this perfectly sums up the out-of-body experience that comes with unmedicated labor.

I intentionally choose to use the word “contraction” instead of wave or surge. Personally, these terms are soft and gentle sounding. I want to honor the intensity of this physical sensation without beating around the bush about how my body experienced it. For me, “crash” or “collision” are also suitable words. I understand that women can experience the sensations of labor differently. For me, labor was neither soft nor gentle - but this is not a bad thing. It felt like my body was collapsing, with all the strength of God and the universe pushing my womb inward and down. I don’t say this with animosity towards how my body showed up during labor or even with resentment towards women whose birth stories include the word “pleasurable.” Each birth is different. In the end, I got the labor I asked for: gut-wrenching, earth-shattering, soul-opening.

Hours had passed, and the contractions came quicker and harder - an indication that things were coming to a turning point. My second midwife, Mahault, arrived and took her turn holding my hand and supporting me in a squatting position in the pool. Eventually, they checked me again, and I had reached 9 centimeters. I got out of the pool to encourage some stronger contractions, but I had a cervical lip that had me stuck at 9 for quite a while. We tried to push

past it in different positions but to no avail. Eventually, Krishinda recommended trying to boost my oxytocin, so Brooks and I cuddled up in bed. These contractions continued to rock me, but Krishinda held my hand and poured the most beautiful affirmations over me. My body knows what to do, she reminded me. Each contraction will pass. Though I felt trapped in a place of agony and exhaustion, I had never in my life felt so supported and held. It is a beautiful form of love that every woman deserves during the most vulnerable time in their life.

Time continued to pass, Krishinda’s words still flowing like music. I had another breakdown and asked Krishinda if I should go to the hospital. Feeling defeated and exhausted, I told her I didn’t think I could handle it anymore. Without shame or judgment, she calmly explained everything that might happen if I were to go to the hospital: a cab ride, bright lights, strangers in masks, pain relief. She then told me that sometimes the only way to get through labor is to truly believe that you, and only you, can do it. This was another huge turning point in my labor and just the empowerment that I needed. At that moment, I chose to believe in myself at all costs.

As the sun slowly began to rise, I was back in the tub. Krishinda kindly asked if she could take a break, so I quietly swayed in the warm water while everyone else rested. The howling that worked for me for so long had done all that it was meant to do. Now was the time to welcome silence and treat each contraction with reverence and breath. I began to visualize the contractions like a heart monitor, with a line that peaked and then fizzled out. “This one will pass,” I repeated over and over to myself. It was the most challenging, meditative work of my life, but I did it. I’m so proud of myself because during this time completely alone, I got myself to 10cm dilated.

Now completely opened, my awakened midwives asked if I had the urge to poop, as this indicated that the baby is coming through. “No...” I said reluctantly. We decided to push anyway. It was so physically and mentally demanding, but I felt awakened after the many hours of

surrendering to hard labor. But with each contraction that I pushed, the baby would come down, then shoot back up again. We must have been pushing for hours in all different types of positions: squatting between Brooks’ legs (and at one time my photographer’s), laying sideways on the bed, and on top of a birthing stool. Nothing was working. At one point, he was fully descended into my vagina, and Krishinda encouraged me to touch his head, “He has so much hair!” She cried. She became very optimistic and said I needed to do one more big push, and then we could get back in the pool and have the water birth of my dreams. My heart leaped with joy. I gave it my absolute all, taking the biggest gulp of air in my life and bearing down with all my might. But it didn’t happen. He had gone back up again.

My contractions were starting to slow down from all the energy I had used. Not ready to give up yet, we tried a variety of natural solutions, such as castor oil, blue cohosh, and clary sage. Nothing worked. For some reason, my baby just wasn’t coming down, and even the rebozo didn’t help. The dream of my home birth slowly went away as I saw the look on my midwives’ face. “We’re going to try one more push, beauty, and if it doesn’t work, then we’re going to need to go to the hospital,” Krishinda said. So, as if my life depended on it, I gave one final push. But just like that, it was over. My baby was not coming down after hours of pushing, and finally, I was confronted with the reality that my home birth was going to be a transfer. At that point, after trying everything naturally, there was simply nothing left to be done. I could have been stubborn. I could have fought them. But despite how much my heart wanted this, the decision was easy.

So, at around 2 pm, we grabbed our dusty hospital bags and got ready to go. Luckily, we weren’t in any sort of emergency, and by all accounts, my baby was doing perfectly well with a strong heartbeat. I’m so grateful for this, as there was very little stress. I was able to take a shower, and Brooks made lunch. It’s almost comical how relaxed we all were. I was still contracting all the while, but I managed it. We slipped into a cab, and off we went. During the 20-minute ride, Krishinda and I sat in the back seat, chatting about life as casually as ever. But of course, every other minute, I faded from conversation with the passing contraction. The whole ride, Krishinda just held my hand like I was a child. To this day, and likely for the rest of my life, the tenderness and love she gave me touches my heart and cradles my inner child.

At the hospital, the goal was to get my contractions back into full swing. With the amount of synthetic oxytocin they were putting into my body, I needed an epidural. I was suddenly confronted with everything that Krishinda had promised earlier and all the things I had wanted to avoid. The hospital midwives kept asking, “Are you in pain?” But what was pain at that point? I was convinced that nothing on earth could be as intense as those active labor contractions. So, at this point, I felt invincible and simply shrugged my shoulders. With the epidural in, the feeling slowly began to fade and was replaced with a buzzing numbness. I sat straight up for two hours and got a bit of sleep after being awake for two days. The hospital midwives came into the room and checked me, but yet again, no progress had been made. They realized that his head was facing sunny side up. So, they gave me two options. I could try a few more hours with the oxytocin, or I could have a c-section. But, they warned me, with as much effort as we had made, it was likely that it would end in a cesarean regardless. With tunnel vision, I stared into Krishinda’s eyes across the room, the last bit of hope draining out of my body. I told them I needed five minutes to make a decision, and out they went. With just Krishinda and Brooks in the room, I burst into tears. How had my birth gone so differently than I expected? How had I failed? What did this mean for my baby physically and spiritually to be born under such heavy medication? Krishinda stopped me. “You are not a failure,” she told me. “You gave everything you possibly could give. And in terms of your baby, you’ve got to realize that he is in this, too. It might just be that this is the way he has chosen to enter into this world.” It became clear that if I decided to have a c-section now, it would be an empowered decision, and I would still have the ability to advocate for myself. If it turned into an emergency, this was unpromised. The right decision was obvious, so when the midwives returned, I told them they could prepare me for surgery.

Within minutes, I was wheeled into the theater, bright lights blaring ahead and about a dozen people in masks fluttering around the room. The anesthesiologist who had installed my epidural was back to transition the medication for the surgery. In such a chaotic environment, he felt like an angel. Being so tender with me, he prepared me for surgery and asked me to touch the senseless puddle that had replaced my body. For a moment, I sat there in awe that this was my reality. Quickly after, Brooks arrived with protective gear from head to toe. We braced ourselves to finally, finally, finally meet our child. It felt like seconds between when they sliced my body open and when we heard a cry. Overhead came flying the most beautiful, bloody blob, and he was gently placed onto my chest at 7:31 pm on January 25th. There he was. And there it was, the instant, most unconditional love. I couldn't care less about the blood and vernix covering his face as I kissed him with all the love my lips could give.

It took me a few days to get over the shock of how my birth unfolded. There was a lot of grief for me to process as I dealt with the loss of my home birth and an identity crisis in which I didn't know what type of birthing mama I was. Was I a home birth, epidural, or c-section mama? Indeed, I was all three. I consider myself so lucky in that I don’t look back at my birth and feel traumatized. Sure, I had a birth with interventions in the end, but I was able to have instant skin-to-skin, delayed cord clamping, golden hour, and a perfect first latch. And while I still feel a deep ache in my heart for not having a vaginal birth, I realize that in so many ways, I did have the life-changing birth that I had been manifesting, just with a different ending than expected. I look back and feel so proud of myself - not only for the immense amount of endurance I had laboring over 48 hours but also for the heart I put into this human experience and giving it all that I could. My wise doula, Erika, said we often have the birth we need, not the birth we want. It could have been easy, fast, “pleasurable.” Instead, it was hard and long and taught me that no matter how much we try to control a situation, we have no true power over how our stories come to be. It reinforced my belief that hard experiences teach us more than easy ones do.

The decision to have my cesarean proved to be the right one. I was able to ask to keep my placenta, and I’m so glad I did, as it gave me so much insight into why things happened the way they did. A few days after the birth, we came home and showed Krishinda our beautiful baby as well as the placenta. Upon inspection, we realized the umbilical cord was only 12 inches (30cm) long, which is about half as long as most. This was the reason he was never able to make it through. The cord was physically too short to allow him to do so. It is both frustrating and healing to consider that with this cord, I was never going to have my home birth, let alone a vaginal birth. This scar I now wear is not a repercussion of a home birth transfer or an emergency. It was fate. So, as I look at my red, lumpy, itchy scar, I am reminded of my power, my strength, and the sacrifice I went through to give birth to my life’s greatest gift: my baby boy, Gabriel.

Grace Guerrero is a designer, multidisciplinary artist, and new mother. Originally from the United States, she now lives in Barcelona, Spain, with her husband, dog, and son, Gabriel. By sharing her birth story, she hopes to inspire and empower other women to recognize their strength and ability to have a beautiful, positive, and spiritual pregnancy and birth. You can find her on Instagram as @cgguerrero_