I was entirely confident that my first child would be delivered naturally. I’m young, I’m fit, I’m strong, I’m flexible, I eat healthy, I don’t smoke, I don’t drink and I think positively. Not only was this child going to be delivered naturally, but I expected it to go rather quickly and without any need for pain medication of any sort. 36 hours of labour, and 3 hours of pushing later I was hyperventilating, dehydrated and exhausted into the deepest core of my bones.My midwife called the doctor in for consultation. It was time for a c-section.The only reason I didn’t cry at that moment was because I knew that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I had worked so hard, pushed so hard, tried with every last ounce of my strength, and now the truth was presented before me, my efforts and my conviction simply weren’t enough.I couldn’t let my mind indulge in thoughts of failure. I thought instead of my baby arriving safely, and the knowledge that I would have a relief from this never ending agony.
Once the epidural took effect everything was smooth sailing. I was an ecstatic mother of a beautiful 9 pound boy. My incision healed without incident and life went on, full of the usual milestones and laughter.
Right around my son’s first birthday I found out I was pregnant again, much to my delight.
We had since moved to a new area and I needed to find a new OB practice. I wanted, again, to try for a natural birth. The initial phone consultation with my midwife sticks in my mind to this day. I had sweaty palms, my hands were shaking and I was on the verge of tears. I was sure she would reject my desire for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean). She reacted as though it wasn’t an issue. When I hung up the phone a few tears slipped from my eyes and I realized how emotional I really was about all this, how afraid I was of ‘failing’ again.
Thinking back on all this now I believe her nonchalant concern over a VBAC was intentional. She never implied or illustrated any reason that this birth wouldn’t be a vaginal delivery. I confessed my emotional doubt and fear at one point, and I recall her brushing it off as unnecessary. She said the body is amazing and that previous birth experiences did not indicate future patterns. This impenetrable confidence in my ability to give birth naturally was subtle, but it settled into my subconscious and solidified my resolve to ‘try again.’
With my first pregnancy I read book after book about birth. None of them helped. So with my second pregnancy I took on a rigid and cynical, whatever happens happens, approach. The underlying negativity of this attitude was visible in other aspects of my pregnancy. I didn’t relish being pregnant as I had the first time, I exhausted my husband with complaints, and I definitely felt more tired. Even though I had been anticipating my labour, when the contractions actually began, I was completely unprepared.
We didn’t have a babysitter, we didn’t have our hospital forms filled out, we didn’t have our bags packed and we didn’t even have the number of a taxi on hand. I told myself this was partly because I had planned to do all these things once labour began, and that these errands would keep me busy and at home longer.
It’s clear to me now that these attitudes and behaviours were a result of my inability to overcome, or even admit to, the disappointment that lingered from my body’s failure to give birth naturally—but I certainly wouldn’t have acknowledged that at the time.
My labour started around midnight. I had only four contractions in the first hour. But by 2 am they were coming every 3 minuets. I woke my husband and he started running around, trying to get things organized: waking a neighbour to watch our son, calling our midwife, calling a taxi, throwing together a bag of clothes.
I clearly remember the taxi ride. I had found a comfortable position on the floor in the back seat and I thought, “What number will break me? How far do I need to be dilated to go through with this? What number would make me give up?” I can’t begin to express the importance of this number. If it was on the small side, it could easily destroy my confidence and my emotional stability. I’ve never quit anything in my whole life. It was frightening to know that someone could simply speak a single digit number and that information could easily fold me like a house of cards. It had the power to crush me. I didn’t decide on a specific number, but instead decided to see what reaction I would have.
It was 4 am when we got to the labour and delivery floor. My midwife was already there with another patient, and the nurses went to notify her that I had arrived. I was on all fours, screaming for my husband to put pressure on my lower back while the receptionist delayed him with extensive questions about my medical history. It seemed like they weren’t taking me seriously until my water broke on their welcome mat. They ushered me into triage where a nurse explained that she could only check me on my back. I knew my midwife could check me in a more comfortable position, but this nurse was adamant that she needed to know my progress.
On my back was the most painful way for me to experience the contractions. I didn’t need to hear the information that was going to make or break me in the most uncomfortable position possible, but I agreed.
Her next words were, and I recall this exactly, “Ok, this baby is on its way, try not to push.” I quickly got back on my hands and knees. I still didn’t really think this was going to be a natural birth. I really didn’t. Her reaction to my progress was positive, and I let myself feel a little relief—I knew I wasn’t going to crumble just yet.
My midwife arrived and after talking with the nurse, asked me if I wanted to move to a private room, or if I wanted to stay here in triage. A room of course. I thought this was an odd proposition because I STILL hadn’t allowed myself to believe I was actually going to give birth naturally, let alone soon.
We got into the delivery room and my midwife dismissed the mass of people who had congregated and the machinery they brought with them. She dimmed the lights. She checked the baby’s heartbeat between contractions. I was on my hands and knees. She was telling me to push and I desperately wanted to ask her how long she thought this would take but I was just too afraid to speak.
Then I felt the baby’s head moving through me. I could actually feel it. She was showing my husband the baby’s head. And then she said, “Okay. Let’s have this baby. I want you to push the baby’s head out with the next contraction, ready? Here we go. PUSH.”
And out popped the head.
“One more push for the body now.”
And then my body felt an incredible relief. The baby was out. I laid down on my back and she placed the baby on me to nurse. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock that it had happened, my body did it. I could give birth naturally. I did give birth naturally. And rather efficiently – it was 4:33am. I had no concept of time, but apparently we’d only been in the delivery room for about 15 mins.
My midwife said. “Hey, did you see what the sex is?”
I completely forgot to check. My husband un-wrapped the baby so I could see the anatomy, and he said, “It’s a little girl!”
In that moment everything in the world was just perfect. Completely perfect.
Phone calls were made, and a few hours passed while we enjoyed the warmth and amazement of the events that just occurred. You couldn’t have forced bigger smiles across our faces.
My midwife returned to her other patient, and eventually my husband escorted our little girl to the nursery for the usual newborn poking and prodding that the nurses have to do.
I found myself alone in the delivery room. As the excitement of the events wore off I began to feel myself truly relaxing.
It all came out then. The pool of emotions I’d kept damned up inside me finally broke free. I cried, I sobbed, I cried some more.
A nurse came in to finish the hospital paperwork and saw me trying to gather myself up. “Oh, do you miss your baby?’ she said sweetly.
It took me a moment to register her words.
I did miss my baby. Holding her signified my own ability to achieve a goal I had set my heart on 3 years earlier. Her departure from my body paralleled the exodus of negativity that had quietly settled into my subconscious—finally exiting my mind and my heart. What rushed into the cavity those feelings had occupied? Warmth, love and a fulfilment I hadn’t known I yearned for.
Miss my baby. It seemed like such a simple statement. But it was so true.
“Yeah, I do.” I said with a smile as I turned to see the sun glowing over the city skyline.
Tags: birth, c-section, health, pregnancy, VBAC
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