Twenty weeks pregnant as of tomorrow and officially "halfway" through this pregnancy. Today being #tbt, I was contemplating an old photo to use when a link came across my Facebook newsfeed- 10 Unexpected Things to LOVE About Childbirth. This struck a nerve and I knew I had to get a few things off my chest.
When I went to childbirth classes during my last few months of pregnancy I remember looking around the room and silently judging the other moms. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I did. During the session on c-sections, I completely zoned out and whispered to my husband that we didn't need to pay attention because I wouldn't be having one of those. I was going to have a natural, med-free childbirth. I was going to feel the primal urge to deliver my child into the world. This is what my body was designed to do. C-sections were for other women, not me. The instructor gave us the breakdown of the percentage of c-section births and I looked around the room and mentally picked out the other couples who I thought would be having them. Maybe my birth experience was karma paying me back for being so judgmental.
Our first picture as a family of three
Lucas's birth came via emergency c-section after 27 hours of labor, preceded by a few weeks of bed rest and medication to prevent an early delivery. The bed rest seemed so ironic as I waited over a day for any sort of labor progression.
In the moment when Lucas's heart rate dropped and everyone rushed into the room, my doctor said they needed to get the baby out and I didn't argue. My hopes of the natural birth I had dreamed of were gone, but I needed my baby safe. I watched Jim dress in the blue scrubs for the operating room. There were nervous jokes. Would Jim pass out? I had never had surgery like this before. Would I be able to see the baby? We didn't even know what we were having. Would I ever wear a bikini again? The things you think in moments like these. What follows is my stream of conscious more or less. It's still fresh in my mind over 5 years later.
They roll me into the OR. Things happen fast. The sheet goes up. Was something on fire? Why did I smell burning? Jim tells me not to worry. I feel vague pushing on my abdomen and then there is crying- from all three of us. A boy is born. I can't see him. Jim is with the baby. I'm strapped to an operating table with the contents of my insides exposed. Only a sheet separates me from an open belly. The baby is crying. Single Ladies was playing on the radio. Is it weird if I sing? Where is the baby? Can I see the baby? The nurse brings him over to me and places him against my cheek. I cry. They take him away and Jim goes with the baby. Does he look like a Lucas or is he Sam? Lucas! His name is Lucas James. OK. I have a baby boy. I begin to panic. Why can I feel pushing? I'm uncomfortable. SHIT, I'M HAVING SURGERY! What if something happens? I'm a mom! I never held my baby. I want my baby. Panic. Panic. Panic. I start to thank the doctor for taking care of me. I trust him. I know he did what was right. This was what we needed, right? He assures me. The priority was the safety of the baby and me. I am OK. Am I OK? This isn't what I wanted. Can I go back? Did this just happen? Wait, it's over? Can I hold the baby? Where is the baby? Where am I going? Recovery room? Will I see the baby? How is the baby? Jim comes to me and tells me the baby is great. The family is out there looking at him. I want him. I WANT MY BABY! I grew him. He's my baby why can't I see him? I need to recover for a bit before they bring him to me. I'm alone. Where is the baby? I cry. I tell myself I should have paid attention to the c-section session. The woman in the bed next to me is nursing her child. We are separated by a curtain, but I hear her. I can't believe I failed.
I've never let go of this experience. I felt so betrayed by my body. This wasn't supposed to be my experience- this was for someone else. In the years that passed, I listened to friends tell stories of their labors. Some where quick, others drawn out. Some were medicated, others were not. Some were vaginal, some were c-sections. I compared myself to every one, never judging others (I learned my lesson) but I was judging myself. Was I less of a woman because I didn't experience a "normal" delivery? Was I a terrible person because I couldn't let it go? I would get so frustrated with myself because I know that I had a beautiful baby boy and without that c-section, things may have gone very differently. As the weeks after delivery turned into months and then years, I distanced myself from my negativity (with the help of a fantastic therapist). I embraced my amazing child and was thankful for modern medicine, which allowed the delivery to be safe for both of us.
When it came time for my second birth, I had hopes for a VBAC but those soon vanished as complications arose during the pregnancy. I went into the c-section prepared, experienced and in a much better state of mind.
As I prepare for the months ahead, I know baby number three will be delivered via c-section. I also know that I am a damn strong woman. I did feel a primal urge with the previous deliveries and while it may not have been the desire to push, it was the desire to make sure my child was safe. There is nothing stronger than that feeling.
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