“Once he’s here, it won’t matter how you got him,” a nurse told me before my unplanned C-section.
I never wanted a C-section. Mentally, I was not prepared for one.
This has been an incredibly difficult post to write. I’ve let it sit in my drafts now for weeks. Maybe it’s because the initial heightened emotion phase has passed. I’ve had time to reflect and enjoy my precious baby.
I’ve had time to read other stories and realize mine isn’t as traumatic as some, but still, it was trauma. While my heart no longer aches as strongly and no longer do I burst in tears of regret when I think of my son’s birthday, it is the first thing to come to mind when I think of the day he was born or when someone referenced “giving birth.”
It’s still hard for me to acknowledge that I “gave birth” because I feel I was cheated of that respect.
When you go into the hospital at 37 weeks with high blood pressure, you’re put on a magnesium drip. They wheeled me up to my room and asked if I had to use the bathroom. I didn’t have to go that bad because I’d just peed in a cup, but they proceeded to warn me I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed until 24 hours after my baby was born. With that in mind, I enjoyed my last bathroom break before my son was born. I would spend the next three days in bed, the longest I’ve been confined to a bed.
You don’t realize how much appreciate being able to get out of bed until you can’t. I didn’t realize how out of it I was until I came to three days later, when I was finally taken off the magnesium, either.
At 9pm on 7/13, they started the process of inducing me. It wasn’t until 9am on 7/14 that they broke my water for me, since it hadn’t broken on its own. All I can remember is that was the most pain I’d experienced up until that time. I’d fantasized about my water breaking at the most inopportune time: at work, in bed, in the bathroom… not being forced. All I can say is, I don’t recommend it, and it hurt.
Contractions slowly began, but they never came as fast as they wanted to see them. Part of the problem, in my opinion, was I was confined to bed. Any hopes I had of a semi natural birth went out the window. (I figured I’d cry for an epidural eventually, but I’d hoped to walk around as much as I could until then). My legs were so heavy I needed assistance rolling from side to side in bed. I was so weak!
24 hours passed of not progressing, which included many painful cervix checks that I wasn’t supposed to feel because of the epidural I accepted since I was bed bound. I didn’t see a point in not getting it, since I couldn’t move. Since I wasn’t progressing, I knew it was only a matter of time until the dreaded C-word was mentioned.
I knew I didn’t have a choice when my water had been broken for over 24 hours. It’s not what I wanted, and as soon as I knew it was about to be a reality, terrifying images played through my head. I tried to stay calm, but inside I was terrified and disgusted.
They gave me another dose of pain meds, since it had been over 24 hours since my first dose. After agonizing in my room while I waited for my turn, as there was a scheduled C-section before me then mine was pushed because another woman went into labor, I was finally wheeled to the operating room.
I wish I could say they cut me open, I heard my son’s first cries, and looked with joy into my husband’s eyes. I can’t, though. I didn’t get to hear my son’s first cries, nor did my husband get to be in the room when our son entered the world. But let’s back up a moment.
After I was wheeled into the operating room, I felt like I was on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Earlier I had mentioned to my nurse that my IV seemed loose, but she thought it was fine. Of course when I got to the OR, it was determined it was indeed loose. The nurses spent AN HOUR poking and prodding me for a vein. I was so swollen at this point, and the veins they were finding were too small to use. During this time, my husband was in the hall waiting to be called in. As long as I stayed awake, he could be there.
As they poke me, I’m able to zone out. Finally, someone is able to find a vein and get my IV back in. My husband comes in the room, and they prepare to begin my C-section. All of a sudden I feel excruciating pain in my belly area, which I’m told is simply lap pad. They haven’t even cut me open yet. I’m inconsolable, and another dose of pain meds doesn’t help, so you guessed it, I had to be put to sleep.
It’s not my first round with anesthesia. I was also born under anesthesia, as back in the early 90s they put all women to sleep who had C-sections according to my mom. I was also put to sleep when I have eye surgery all four times and when I had my wisdom teeth removed. The anesthesia didn’t scare me, but not being able to hear my son’s first cries and have my husband in the room was devastating to me. I cried most of my stay in the hospital about it. I’m tearing up writing about it. I blamed myself for being so sensitive. I felt like a failure as a woman.
There were a lot of things that made my son’s birth traumatic, although the pregnancy itself was uneventful. I’ve developed a fear of pregnancy, and the thought of another C-section scares me more than anything because I don’t think I’ll be able to stay awake, meaning I’ll miss everything all over again.
The next days also came with agonizing pain. I had to be on magnesium for 24 hours after birth. Getting out of bed after three days was the most pain I’d ever experienced. They had to get a device to help me out of bed. The whole time I felt like I was going to rip a stitch, when in reality it was my muscles that had frozen up from being bed bound for so long.
The ride home from the hospital hurt like hell. Every bump hurt.
I couldn’t walk up the stairs when I got home.
I didn’t feel comfortable picking up my son from his bassinet until he was almost a week old.
I couldn’t walk down the stairs with him for another couple days.
Walking through a store hurt miserably.
But I healed. I’m not 100% yet, but considering where I came from, I’m 200% better. I am regaining strength every day because I fought like hell those initial days. Once I got out of the hospital bed, I refused to get back in it and spent the remainder of my hospital stay sleeping in a chair. I was afraid I’d never get up if I got back in the bed.
Now it’s seven weeks later, and I can say with confidence I don’t miss being pregnant. I love being able to lay flat, eat veggies, and not have heart burn every night. I love being able to eat garlic and spicy foods without puking. I truly don’t miss it.
I know every pregnancy and every birth is different, and every baby has a birth story. I know I want my son to have a sibling, but I’m in no rush. My body needs time to heal. Right now, I just want to focus on my adorable baby boy.
Fur to Human Mom 