Olivia: I’m in another world, standing on the edge of a huge cliff, a swirling and raging sea below me, and I know I have to jump.
I’d heard the terms “birth world” and “out of body experience” used to describe other womens’ experiences of labour during my pregnancy. Hoo wee, the experimental 16 year old in me really hoped I’d have a birth experience that encompassed both of those things. In my late teens and early twenties, I had tried LSD a handful of times, always emerging with an aching stomach from laughing uncontrollably. However the biggest “trip” I had ever experienced was trying Salvia divinorum, otherwise known as Seer’s sage. Upon inhaling the Salvia, I was instantly transported to another world, like a waking dream. I found myself on a train like you might see from a movie in the 1920’s, no windows, in an exotic location reminiscent of the countryside of Sri Lanka, going incredibly fast. I remember feeling the wind rushing across my body alongside a sense of urgency and excitement. Similar to a dream, I felt like this was the only reality, all lucidity relating to my real life was gone, I was in another consciousness. What a trip. Could it really be possible to experience something similar in labour without inhaling or ingesting anything?
When my labour commenced, the only intention I remember setting was to not get excited, to not overthink. I decided to be with each contraction as it happened and that was all I would do. Because, actually, what more can you do? I closed my eyes once the contractions started ramping up and felt myself enter a void, was this Birth World? There were no psychedelic visuals however I began to feel the emergence of my instinctual self, a compass to navigate this void. With each contraction, the emergence of this instinctual self became more prominent, now the captain of my ship. My familiar self had been demoted, but was still along for the journey, a co-captain if you will. As my labour progressed, my familiar self was no longer able to verbalise externally, but internally she was doing her best to offer a bizarre type of reassurance, a kind of logical comfort. “No one is saying anything, so you’ve probably got ages to go” or, “It’s not as bad as you thought, hey?” or, “Well, you definitely couldn’t get to the hospital now, imagine doing this in the car, what would they even do for you? Just keep going, you can’t go back now.” Despite reading thoroughly about the crisis of confidence, at the time I had no idea that this was actually my crisis of confidence. Nor did I realise that the labour was about to really ramp up.
A voice from outside asks me if I’d like to get back in the pool because I wasn’t far off meeting our baby. Familiar self is stunned. “Really? Is that ok? I’d love that.” I honestly thought I still had so long to go despite being 17 hours in. It felt like 5. At this stage, I’d been standing between contractions, but as soon I felt the next contraction coming I’d immediately shoot to the ground into a squatting position. My instinctual self knew, get low, low. I’m back in the pool, and my midwife tells me that we’ve entered the home stretch. She’s explaining what’s happening and what I can do to get out of my own way so to speak. The next contraction comes, the void is no longer a void and I am instantly transported to a cliff face. It’s exactly like the Salvia trip. Whoa. One minute I’m doing horse lips so hard they might blow off, the next I’m in another world, standing on the edge of a huge cliff, a swirling and raging sea below me, and I know I have to jump. With each rest, I am back in the pool, back in my body, looking at my midwife, waiting for the cliff to return. Then another contraction, I’m immediately back to the cliff, I don’t want to jump yet. I feel like I don’t know who I will be if I jump, I’m not ready to be that person. What if I die? I’m pushing, or my body is pushing and it’s a tangible pain for the first time during this labour. Each time I have a contraction, I know, so strongly that the only way I am meeting my baby is by jumping from the cliff into the ocean below. I rest, but tell myself that the next contraction, I’m jumping, it’s time. It comes, I feel immense pressure, stretching, pain and I jump. I don’t remember hitting the raging water below, or the wind rushing past my body as I fell. I don’t remember my instinctual self leaving. I do remember time slowing, telling myself that it doesn’t matter what happens now because this is the only way through. I feel the release of my baby from my body. I made it. The cliff is gone. I turn around to see my husband crying, holding our daughter. I am in disbelief. I start laughing. I journeyed to Birth World and came back with not only a beautiful daughter, but a new sense of self. What a trip.
Olivia lives in Bulleke-bek (Brunswick), Victoria with her daughter Gloria and husband Shannon. Pre motherhood, Olivia worked as an emergency nurse, dabbled in screen acting, cycled everywhere and watched a lot of film. Now on the other side, Olivia spends her days plotting her next season of life away from the emergency department, is almost ready for new headshots (what’s the deal with postpartum eczema?), walks everywhere with her daughter and has been to the cinema twice. Gloria was born at home, in the water, en caul, just magic!
