Fetal Ejection Reflex, Or The Big ‘Whoosh!”

With my daughter’s birth, over twenty five years ago, I was already using homeopathic principles to address both my chronic and acute issues. My daughter was due to be born, and was already so-called “ten days late.” This, in itself, was already an amazing dichotomy to my son’s birth, seven weeks early, by emergency C-section a few years prior. (Hear more about this in our free audiobook.) 

It was during the ‘Ice Storm of the Century’, the winter of 1998, in Canada. The power was out all over the eastern part of the country due to power lines being down (literally on the ground). I sat on the stairs weeping in terror as the army trucks pulled into the fire station at the end of the street. The roads were impassable. I was scheduled the next day for a C-section due to my prior surgery with my son (they labeled me a CBAC).

Above three images sourced from Canva, non-copyrighted source.

I was told that due to the seven layers of stitches down low on my uterus that the likelihood of those stitches able to hold during a natural birth was virtually nil. If those stitches ruptured, bye bye baby and bye bye me!

At 4:00 a.m. the next morning, I went down to my very clean kitchen to get a muffin that remained on the cooling rack from the night before. I’d suddenly had a burst of energy the day before and had cleaned the whole house and baked muffins. As I peeled back the skin of the wrapping on that organic banana oat muffin, I felt the most amazing squeezing sensation down low in my belly, causing me to double over, muffin in hand.

My baffled, sleeping consciousness perked up. Was that a labor twinge? Or was it just another so-called Braxton Hicks? Somehow, I knew it was different the moment I asked myself the question. 

I went to wake my husband and we called our son’s caregiver who was standing by, ten doors down from us (this was before sending texts). We wrapped the wee lad up in his comforter and I cradled him on my much diminished lap as we dropped him off, then we headed slowly and carefully to the hospital on sheets of glistening, icy glass. The highway had been closed for days and we could not imagine our fortune to make it to the birthing center at the Civic Hospital without issue.

I was in the early stages of labor and they would have sent me back home under normal circumstances. The staff at the hospital were irritable, underslept, and concerned about their own families during this massive power outage. They were also very busy with real emergencies. My husband and I walked the corridor hallways in my doubled up hospital gowns and slippers for hours.

Mostly, I labored quietly sitting in a birthing chair, sometimes sleeping, sometimes walking and moaning like some kind of tribal woman conjuring her shamanic warrior side. The long day slipped into night and the full moon ascended outside my window as the nursing shift changed for the evening. I was relegated to Irene, the midwife from England, as there were no other nurses left on call. I didn’t really know what a midwife was … was she trained enough to handle my specific circumstances?

As it turned out, Nurse Irene was slim, with curly dark hair, and had eyes and words of wisdom that spread through me like a balm. Prior, I’d felt lost, unanchored, forsaken, and in extreme pain. No drugs they’d given me had worked. I was in deep, active labor by this time. Irene took charge, putting my exhausted husband in a lazy boy chair with a blanket, as he was suffering a wicked sinus infection. (I explain more on this in my book, Unfolding The Essential Self.)

Then Irene told me to lie on my side and get some rest as “this baby is going to come through you the usual way.” I thought she was crazy until I looked in her eyes and witnessed the hundreds of births swimming behind them, and then I rolled over to face her, with my back to my husband, and went promptly into a strange, meditative sleep-like state.

I woke suddenly at midnight to a tidal bore of contractions ripping through my body, one after another. I was rested, strong, and surprised. “What if my stitches broke?” Nurse Irene said it was all going to be fine. She announced that the baby was coming quickly and she pushed a button, calling for a doctor that never came, until my daughter’s head had already emerged on its own. 

Her heart beats were increasing and then falling dramatically with every contraction. The cord was wrapped tightly around her neck.

Suddenly, I felt an enormous internal tide swimming her through me! I was told not to push!  “As if I have any control over this,” I thought. I could barely apprend that my body had the wisdom to birth her right out of me with nary a push. In fact, I felt like I was somehow missing something as I wasn’t actively birthing her at all! She was doing it all by herself for God’s sake (and I mean this literally)!

Suddenly, in swoops the doctor who immediately took a pair of big scissors and went right in around my baby’s neck to sever her life support to her placenta. My husband, who was now up and actively holding my right leg (as instructed by the doctor) said it was a terrifying moment. I wish I could have reversed this moment and allowed for the natural ebbing of the cord’s pulsation, as the baby receives nutrition, oxygen, and a more organic transition. I’ve since learned much from my ‘free birth’ wombyn advocates that would change much of what I experienced in this birthing center.

Within seconds, Adie was ejected from my body on a tide so powerful, it took my breath from me. She was like greased lightning born into the light side of that moon. Fetal ejection reflex exists in humans, just as in all mammals, and with each contraction a natural charge builds in the fundus (top of uterus closest to the stomach) and when baby reaches the lowest point (usually with the head emerged from the mom’s body), our bodies will eject the  newborn out on a tide of amniotic fluid.

Before I knew what was happening, the doctor cut me in an episiotomy that would change my life. Nurse Irene stood by with a look of horror on her face that could have killed. Oh, how I would now change my birth plan to never have that doctor show up at all. There are other ways, as I’ve learned from countless birth-workers who know how to slip a cord over a baby’s neck, and that stripping the membranes can be a cause for the cord slipping around a baby’s neck like a noose. 

If I had a do over, ‘Dr. Hatchet-Man’ would have been otherwise occupied. He cut me from stem to stern, including right through the critical nerve from brain to vagina to clitoris where all sexual feeling is derived.

After the cord was released from my daughter’s neck, a mysterious force took over and ejected her in a tidal wave of embryonic fluids and blood. The doctor was covered from head to toe in our shared goo that my sprinkler system shot out after Adie’s shoulders bucked out like a plug. Dr. Hatchet-Man was gasping through his mask. 

I was shocked and delighted, and felt somehow that by getting out of the way and observing the labor squeezes, that I got to witness Adie’s birth, mostly as it was meant to be. It was like feeling the essence of the force of God (autonomic nervous system) buried within me and watching it act on my behalf. It had been an act of salvation in an otherwise beleaguered and forsaken past. (More on this in my first book, The Path to Cure, our free audio book.)

It was a monumental event in my life as I learned that struggle was how I’d been told birth is supposed to go. I feel that it has to do with how we’ve been conditioned by patriarchy and industrialized birth, and other women like me, victimized to believe we need that medical intervention to save us, instead of saving ourselves. It serves their mandate to keep us small, unempowered, and believing that we’re in need of their costly interventions, including episiotomies from stem to stern.

The cost, though, is completely a tax on our liberty and freedom to know just how powerful we truly are. I know now that they want us on our backs, drugged, and afraid. That this is how the medical tyranny system wants us kept, not knowing our innate, full, primal sexual power. This way, we never get to know our own innate treasure, buried at the root of our primal beingness, and fight back for what we know is our intended birthright(s).

Even though I spent years restoring what was lost that day, the power of that “Fetal Ejection Reflex” was enough. Its innate force was the deciding event that turned me from victim to warrior woman, even though I was to be hobbled in ways unimaginable by Dr. Hatchet-Man. 

I’m thankful for my daughter and her wisdom shared with me that day, and also Irene. It is true that if we women had stuck together, we would have been just fine to slip that cord gently over Adie’s head and left my perineum wholly intact. 

I would not have lost critical feeling to my sex that day, for which I’ve paid the price of that unnecessary patriarchal intervention. Knowledgeable women, much wiser than I, have taught me that there are other principled ways to release a babe such as Adie, who arrived right on time (i.e. on her time), and not to have harmed my pleasure-seeking body unnecessarily for her sake.  


One thought on “Fetal Ejection Reflex, Or The Big ‘Whoosh!”

  1. Paul Bowman

    I just keep learning!
    Our midwife that we use named Serena is amazing. She is a patient now and is learning like crazy. She is reading and enjoying Spiritual Translocation which is a fantastic book!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *