Bungee jumping on a short cord

Midwives who attend strong, healthy women for their births are used to seeing mothers give birth unassisted, unmedicated, and with an ecstatic and triumphant cry. We are used to seeing labour establish and progress in a purposeful way. We are used to the power of the birthing process, which takes the woman beyond any limit that she imagined she possessed.

Occasionally we are surprised, even confused.

Especially when the woman has other babies who have all followed the standard 'normal' journey. ... when labour seemed to be established in the morning, so the midwife and the birthing team were summoned. After the greetings, and a cup of tea, and some conversation, and another cup of tea, and talk about what we should do for dinner, and mother lies down because she's feeling tired ... and the fetal head is still floating high and mobile. This mother has given birth previously, and there is nothing apparent in the size or presentation of the baby. Her contractions appear strong when she stands up and walks, but they become weak and infrequent when she rests. 

I could name several women who fit this picture, the most recent last week.  When I looked at the placenta with the mother we commented on the short cord.

The image I have in these 'slow start' multiparous births is that the baby was bungee jumping – pressing down on the cervix when the contraction’s there and mothers upright, and floating away when mother lies down or is not contracting. 

The cord may be short because of entanglement, or simply short.  The distance from the baby's umbilicus to the point of insertion of the placenta on the uterine wall does not change.  The distance between the placenta and the cervix can be reduced by amniotic fluid release, by contractions, and by the mother's position. The critical 'tipping point' will be reached only when that fetal head can dilate the cervix and enter the birth canal.  Then, it's "coming, ready or not!"

This is an article from Midwifery Today 

The Cord and the Strength of Life 
I have observed babies being birthed with the placenta detached and following right behind them for over 20 years. Throughout that time I have kept mental notes, observing, recording, pondering.

Then one day, finally, it all added up. The explanation is a short umbilical cord, a phenomenon that requires us to allow time for the baby, the cord and the placenta to descend slowly through the birth canal, in the wisdom of nature, for a healthy and natural birth. My first encounter with a short cord began with a false labor. The mother thought this was the day. She called me, and I stayed with her until labor ceased several hours later. The mother and baby were fine. There was no good reason to intervene, despite the fact that she was multiparous with 4 cm dilation and the baby was not engaged. I warned her of possible cord prolapse and asked her to be aware of her baby’s activity. A couple of days later she called me again. The birth was very quick and the baby was born with shoulders and body entangled in a barely pulsing cord. The newborn had some blood on his bottom because the placenta had separated at the time of birth. He required stimulation and oxygen, but it was all resolved quickly and within the realm of the normal. I have watched vigilantly for short cords ever since.

Two weeks ago, some twenty years after I noticed it for the first time, it happened again. This time it was with a mother who had had three babies. The last two had been very fast. She had always had mild contractions before going into labor, but this time she had more. As she was multiparous, I initially did not think there was a problem. About ten days after her due date I thought she was going to have her baby. Her uterus looked so low that it was “by her knees.” But it did not happen. “Something is strange,” I thought while checking her. I sighed. The baby was floating, even though the uterus was very low. It seemed the baby ought to be engaged, but he was not. I then listened to the baby’s heart tones and found normal heart tones but with minimal decelerations. The heart tones were at 140 and descended to 126 or so in the middle of mild contractions. I listened to the heart tones every three days. The mother was noticing movement. We decided she should try to induce herself through nipple stimulation and an enema of medicinal plants. I gave her an exam in which I stimulated the opening of the cervix. The contractions began, and she dilated another centimeter easily. The heart tones remained within normal ranges.

... However, everything stopped after a few hours. The mother was already at 5 cm, but the cervix remained inflexible. Although the baby’s head was in a good position, he was not engaged, and therefore was not exerting pressure. After the second attempt I sat down to think. I concluded that we were dealing with a short cord. In any other situation a vaginal exam, some nipple stimulation and an enema would have produced labor.

But beyond the mother and me, the wisdom lies between the baby, the cord, the placenta and the uterus. You can confirm that you are dealing with a short umbilical cord by observing the abdomen. During contractions, and sometimes without them, the baby appears engaged, even though a vaginal exam reveals that she is floating. It is important to avoid interventions that force the mother’s body to enter the birth process before the placenta and uterus are ready. The fundus has to descend with the baby. This process takes time. Contractions that cease despite dilation of 2–5 cm in a mother with previous fast births and no other complications indicate the possible existence of a short cord. Observation without intervention is important in these cases. 

—  Marina Alzugaray Excerpted from “The Cord and the Strength of Life,” Midwifery Today, Issue 70

spontaneous birthing

There was no acceptable alternative; no short-cut or easy way.  The labour had established.
The young mother struggled with every surge of uterine activity.  "I can't do it!  I am too tired!", she cried in English, then lots more in another language.
If one of us had been able to step in as proxy; to labour and give birth, or even to do some of the work, and lessen her load, we would have.  Surely it's unfair that the woman has to do it all?

Each time I witness the massive effort that culminates in the unmedicated, unassisted birth of a baby - and particularly a first baby - I am in awe.   The journey that can have many unpredictable and unexpected turns in the path; many forks in the road.  At each decision point, only one way can be taken.  Is this the best way?

As midwife, I hear many voices.  The mother's body, the baby's body, my own mind, the voice of professional and scientific knowledge, and the words of others participating in the birthing journey.

When the mother's mind says "I can't do it! I'm too tired!" I can't just block my ears.

I ask, what does her body tell me?

There is power in these contractions, and I have seen progress over time.
There is strength in this young body.  Her pulse rate is steady and strong.
There is quietness in the moments of resting between contractions.
Is mother well?  At present, yes.

I know we can continue.

I ask, what does her baby's body tell me?

The baby's heart rate is strong and steady.
The contractions, although strong, do not bring any sign of distress in the baby.
The baby's station is progressing with time.
Is baby well?  At present, yes.

I know we can continue.

I ask, what does my own mind tell me?

It's the middle of the night, and my mind is also weary.
I hear the cries.  I know that she is sleep-deprived.
I seek to guide this girl who is being transformed into a mother through this rough terrain.

I will not interrupt or interfere with the amazing metamorphosis; the life-giving struggle that we are witnessing.

I ask, what does professional and scientific knowledge tell me?

Simply this: that there is no safer or more appropriate way for this baby to be brought into the world, than for the midwife to work in harmony with natural physiological processes in labour and birth.
That this woman's body is wonderfully made, that this baby's body is uniquely suited to this mother, and that the process of birth is so much more than delivery of a child from the womb to the outside world.
That the transitions which must take place shortly are best supported in strong, unmedicated birthing.

I know we can continue.

I ask, what do the others - the husband, the friend, the student - tell me?

We are working together, and I am responsible for so much.  These members of the team are looking to me for encouragement and strength.  They do not have the years of life experience that I have, and they are quietly learning to harmonise their actions with those of the labouring woman.

I know we can continue.



We moved to the birthing pool.  The pushing had been ineffective, and the voice "I can't do it, I'm too tired!" was becoming more persistent.

Then, as an expulsive urge was about to go, I saw some fine, thick black hair peep out between the labia, then disappear again.

"I can tell you what colour your baby's hair is" I said.  "Black."

We all laughed.  Babies from their people group all have black hair.


I don't know when the young mother realised that she actually could give birth, that she was giving birth.  But I know and hold onto the look of utter amazement and satisfaction as she took her child into her arms.