The Obstetrician/Midwife Difference

I guess you could say I’m in a little bit of a unique situation. I’m really the only woman I know who spent their entire pregnancy visiting both an obstetrician and a midwife. There are many who have seen both but with different pregnancies. So while they can make comparisons, it’s really not a fair, since each pregnancy is so different.

I, on the other hand, was cared for by both a doctor and a midwife with the same belly, same babies, same placenta, same cord, on the same week of pregnancy—from start to finish. So I’d like to take an opportunity to share the differences I experienced.

Oh, the differences.

First, I guess I should explain how I got into this situation. It doesn’t have a whole lot to do with my analysis, but I think it’s important for you to know.

I had contemplated a homebirth, but everyone—I mean everyone, even my naturopathic doctor who supports all things alternative—convinced me I must see an obstetrician.

At this point my disdain for doctors had already been well established, and I hadn’t seen a doctor in eight years—no family doctor, no dentist, no gynecologist—no one. I asked around and found a doctor who came highly recommended by almost everyone I knew. I have several friends that went to him. One lady even wept when she told me how wonderful he was. Seriously. And no, she wasn’t even pregnant at the time. So I gave him a call. I’ll refer to him as Dr. O.

I honestly thought to myself, how bad can it be? It’s not like I’m sick. I’ll just visit Dr. O, get my checkups, then be out the door, and I can have a drug-free birth in the hospital.

That makes me laugh. Seriously, as I typed that I really busted out laughing! Oh, if I had known! If I could only go back and tell myself that I was starting down the road of one of the most stressful times of my life. And at a time when stress was the last thing I needed.

Things got complicated from the very beginning when we first saw two little black sacs on the muddied ultrasound screen. Twins. I cried. My husband grinned ear to ear like an idiot for an hour. You see, with twins, things get riskier. Not as risky as Dr. O would have me believe, but riskier.

But the worst part was, my doctor turned from someone I was simply “allowing” along my pregnant journey, to someone I needed.

He became someone who I wanted either completely out of the picture if everything was going right or completely in the picture if things were going wrong. If everything was normal, I wouldn’t need him at all. But in the small chance that something went wrong, this guy could be a lifesaver, literally, for me and my babies.

The main problem was, to Dr. O, the chance of things going right was almost nonexistent, which he loved to tell me about…every…effing…week.

At our first appointment he basically told me I was going to have a c-section. 95% chance he said. And at the 5% chance I could do it vaginally, I would be “required” to have an epidural. But there was no way in hell I was having my babies sliced out through a hole in my womb unless it was absolutely necessary. But I’ve done enough research to know that “absolutely necessary” is a difficult concept for doctors to comprehend.

I immediately began looking for a midwife. I located one where I live—the only one in the city—and  luckily she was perfectly happy to “catch” twins, provided they were in the right position. And she had no doubt that they would be. Her name was Carol.

So you can see my dilemma. Quit going to Dr. O, and if either baby was transverse (sideways) or the first baby was feet first, or any other crazy position, and I’d be doctorless for my delivery. But I desperately did not want a c-section, and so I wanted a homebirth if they were positioned correctly.

There’s no way to tell what position they’d be in until the day the boys decided to make their appearance—especially since little Carter seemed to be quite the acrobat. So my pregnant journey, with a doctor on my left and a midwife on my right, began.

The weeks unfolded…

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Dr. O never once asked me about my diet. He did, however, hand me a nice single-fold brochure about Healthy Eating during Pregnancy.

Carol had me write down my entire diet for a week, then went over each day and made suggestions.

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When my blood pressure was a little high, Dr. O told me to go to United and check my blood pressure every few days.

Carol let me take her blood pressure machine home, so I could check it as often as I’d like.

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When I called Dr. O to ask a question, I was put on hold or called back later.

Carol always answered herself. Day or night.

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Dr. O never once talked to my babies.

Carol always told them hello, gave them a “massage,” and told them that they needed to turn vertically so I could deliver them safely.

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When I wanted to further research his suggestions, Dr. O got offended.

Carol encouraged me to read and explore everything I could.

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Dr. O used fear to try to control me, with mentions of baby graves and women having seizures.

Carol always reminded me that God was in control.

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At Dr. O’s office, I laid on crunchy, sterile paper.

At Carol’s, I laid on a comfortable bed.

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Dr. O never asked what kind of work I did or my working conditions.

Carol encouraged me to take off from work as soon as I could.

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Dr. O only focused on things that could go wrong.

Carol focused on things that could go right.

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Dr. O said it would be a miracle if I carried the babies to 36 weeks.

Carol said she had no doubt I’d make it to 39 with no problems (And I did—almost to 40!)

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Dr. O said I’d have to deliver in an operating room with 8 to 10 hospital staff around.

Carol let me pick any room in the house, with anyone there I wanted.

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When we found out that both babies were head down at 39 weeks, Dr. O told me we had to induce right away and got upset that I wouldn’t.

When I told Carol both babies were head down, she simply said a prayer of thanks.

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With Dr. O, everything was a struggle.

With Carol, everything was easy.

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I cried in Dr. O’s office because I felt powerless, stressed and broken.

I cried in Carol’s office because I felt empowered, amazing and whole.

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Dr. O told me I couldn’t do it.

Carol told me I could.

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And that’s the difference. And I could go on.

I know that Dr. O was just as frustrated with me as I was with him. I know he loathed my upcoming appointment just as much, or more, than I did. And honestly, I kinda feel bad that I put him through that, because really, I liked him and think he is a good person who really thinks he is helping women. It’s just unfortunate that in most cases, he’s not.

When I was almost 40 weeks, and both were head down, I’ll admit Dr. O almost convinced me to induce. He almost got me. By then I was so tired, so broken-down, so stressed, and so tired of fighting. Thank God, I held on one weekend longer.

Because early that Sunday, Easter Sunday to be exact, after four hours of labor, my boys were born four minutes apart in my home—and we were all as healthy as can be.

While trying to convince me to induce, Dr. O had told me that Easter would be much better with two new little babies. That’s one thing he was exactly right about!

Tagged as: baby, birth