My First Jundy: Birth Story & Reflection

Introduction


Some people refer to children as Jundy (arabic for soldier) similiar to how Malays like to call sons 'hero' and daughters 'heroine' (though the female equivalent is less common). I don't know the origin of this cultural norm.

In a few hours, I will give birth to my first child. I had groomed my mind to accept, he will come anytime - even if prematurely. In my mind, I was 'always ready' for his birth. Like all first-time moms, I was nervous, but I also wanted to be prepared.

Today, on the morning of his fourth birth day, I recollect that momentous day.


Prelude


I had been getting calls from my mother in law and my own mother alike, asking me to admit myself into the hospital or even get induced. All praise to Allah for letting me learn about the unnecessity of being induced without a valid medical reason, and for nudging me towards the path of knowledge. Therefore, I wasn't all scared or jumpy when I had my birth show (mucous tinged with blood). But nevertheless their 'concern' was bugging me, and so was my Obgyn. She 'offered' me an (unnessary) induction; since "I" wanted (specifically) her to 'receive' my baby. (We will talk about this perception of Muslim spouses in another entry)

Her offer was especially so, I guess, since my baby was supposedly due a few days before Eidul Fitri.

This slowly built a tension in me; so i resorted to ways to 'naturally' induce him out. Lots of walking, pineapple juice, soaking in water mixed with 'kembang fatimah' (a kind of herb) and the works (you can google for more info)

On either Monday or Tuesday of that particular week, for some reason known only to my Obgyn, she felt that she should 'help' to start my labor by doing a stretch and sweep on me (opening the cervix manually with the fingers - OUCH). That night I think I had a spotting and cramps and was getting ready to birth the next day (but I went home anyway). I detained my hubby from going to work. However... Man's hands should NOT mess with the clockwork beauty of nature. It either has no effect or will cause damage to it. Alhamdulillah it did not cause any damage to me; the cramping died away and I did not go into labor. a few days later a nurse called to voice the Obgyn's concern; asking me to check myself into the hospital for fear that I may have one of those 'painless' labors.


The Day


Ramadhan was coming to an end. On a friday morning, I bid goodbye to my husband as he rode his bike to work. My bestfriend called to ask if she should come over to accompany me at home, but I declined, confidently assuming my birthing day was not that day. As I put the phone down and wanted to resume watching birthing videos on YouTube, I felt an unmissable internal 'pinch'.

I walked into the bedroom to check it out, and right there and then my membranes released itself with one huge gush! My first reaction: WOW. It was undeniably my membranes (read: waterbag). I went to make three phonecalls: my bestfriend, my hubby and the maternity ward. The person who answered the call from the maternity ward assured me that I have "hours to go". Right. It was 8am.

I lugged the pre-packed bags (and birth ball, laptop) into the car as I waited for my bestfriend to arrive and drive me to the hospital. The angel, may Allah bless her soul, arrived in about 10 minutes or less. As we were driving out of the residential area, hubby drove by on his bike just to say hello. Apparently he had already gone to register at the hospital before coming by to check us out. Jazakallahu khairan sweetheart for this very thoughtful gesture, really smooth!

Upon arrival, both of them lugged everything into the room. Midwife did one gentle vaginal examination and left us alone. My Obgyn, may Allah have mercy on her for her thoughtful gesture, respected my birth plan to labor without electonic fetal monitoring and frequent vaginal examinations.

Once settled into the room, having put on my chosen music (zikir), I focused on my surges which were starting to become intense. It was 9am by now. I leaned on a furniture, then changed to rocking slowly on my birth ball, holding hubby's hands. After every surge, I praised Allah for giving me relief. After a while, it was no longer comfortable for me to rock on the ball. I felt uncomfortable wearing clothes; I went into the shower and put on the water, waiting for it to warm up (it never did). I sat on the toilet so as to wait. Hubby was in the toilet with me.

It must have been then that I was bearing down. I started vocalizing really loud. I felt baby crowning but I was confused and unsure. Out of a sudden, my mother in law opened the toilet door and yelled for the midwife to come take me. The midwife wrapped me in hospital garb and sent me to the labor room on a wheelchair. I was feeling disappointed and pushed against my will, for I thought I had a long time to go before the second stage (birthing).


In the Labor Room
I climbed up on the bed in all fours position (trying to get my way), but the midwife softly told me I 'cannot' birth in this position. So I rolled over onto my back. What a havoc it was, as they tried to have me hold on the some rails, then they decided against it. Then they asked me to hold on to my thighs. Then suddenly as they peered at my baby crowning, my Obgyn asked the nurse to lower my bed. I was very disappointed.

At that point I was still vocalizing very loudly. My Obgyn spoke in a very stern voice, asking me to 'conserve' my energy by shutting my mouth, chin tucked in and 'push'. While the nurses loudly cheer on. I find the cheering very irritating.

Suddenly I heard a loud cry between my legs but I could not see him; my baby was out! He was?! They were not lying when they said his head was out? I couldn't believe it was all over!

But disappointingly, they allow a very short time for bonding, after which they whisk baby away for a bath and check up by paeditrician.

I recall been given a shot which I wasn't informed of, and this was VERY displeasing. All medication should be with informed consent. Unless in an utterly life-threatening situation.

But my dislike with mis-managed protocols in that hospital did not end there. That night the night-shift nurse INSISTED on taking my baby away to the nursery as opposed to rooming in by repeatedly telling me that MY MILK HAS NOT COME IN and that my baby will become HYPO because of it. Thus began my war with  EVIL MILK COMPANIES and all those who succumb to their monetary aim of spreading mis-information, deceit and lies.


Reflection...
Life is a struggle. As long as I am alive, I am to acquire knowledge and exercise patience, mercy and wit in order to face this struggle. Worldly life is bitter sweet.

Dear Musa,
I named you so for several reasons;
1. So that you may grow up to become just like the Prophet Musa, and battle against the Fir'aun of the akhir zaman
2. So that your father and I may be called Abu Musa and Ummi/Ummu Musa, both of which are reputable figures in Islamic History

Dear Musa,
 This is my journey, intertwined into yours. My record has been anything but perfect, with numerous mistakes and failures. And you, have been nothing but forgiving and loving. It is your nature as a small child to love and forgive me, the imperfect adult.

You are an amanah given to me, yet I often forget that.

Happy 4th Birthday, my little brown boy. Life with you has taught me so many things and I pray I will never stop learning and improving.

Yours,
*Your Birth Mom.



*Every motherly woman deserves to be treated and respected like a mother to Musa, within the limits Islam has set.