That time I got cut in half

     “Twenty nine hours of labor and an hour of pushing, then I ended up with a c section anyway.” That's my birth story. Every mother has one. Her own personal war story. We all love telling our's. Usually mine is greeted with an “oh my!” followed promptly by my listener's own tale of blood, sweat and whatever else shot out of her body on that blessed day. Together we validate to each other what a shit show the best days of our lives started out to be. It is a conversation that always leaves me feeling happy and grateful for my little man and proud of myself and what my body could accomplish. That is, until the day when a woman didn't have that reaction to my story. Instead, I was greeted with a passive aggressive, “and you shouldn't feel badly at all that you didn't get to experience actual childbirth.” Actual. Said it just like that. Just as bitchy as you're imagining. I refrained from my knee jerk reaction of slapping her right in her stupid mouth partly because I know society would frown upon that reaction and partly out of sheer confusion. What the hell did that mean? Was that a thing? Was I supposed to feel badly about this? Twenty nine hours of the most excruciating pain of my life and an hour of pushing with every bit of strength that I had left in my body only to end up being tied down like I was in a horror movie and cut in half, with my pain medication wearing off as they were sewing me up... This I was supposed to be ashamed of? She proceeded to tell me that she had completely natural childbirth with her son, a 6 pound peanut who was born three hours after she signed into the hospital. I guess that was to educate me on what actual childbirth is like. Well no then I guess, because mine certainly wasn't like that at all...

     I immediately got online to explore. Was this a common sentiment? To my surprise, it is! There is a whole world of women out there making themselves feel guilty for not having a vaginal delivery. A lot of feeling like failures, in spite of growing a human being inside your body, carrying and nurturing it and bringing it into this world. I see no failure there but astoundingly, many people do. I was shocked.

     Trust me, having a cesarean section was absolutely not a part of my original birth plan. I have never been big on doctors or hospitals. I have never been a fan of medical intervention period. Prior to getting pregnant, I attended exactly 3 doctor appointments per year, one for my yearly tune up and 2 to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned. That was it. I have been fortunate enough to be healthy and stubborn enough to allow most issues that maybe even should have been looked at to sort themselves out. The fewer doctors I see, the better. But I noticed a slight change in this attitude when I became pregnant. Now, my decision to let things work themselves out seemed irresponsible. If something went wrong, it wasn't just myself who would suffer anymore. Now this poor little bean could be stuck paying for a bad choice that I had made. The stakes became much, much higher in my mind.

     Starting about halfway through my pregnancy, I began to read and watch everything that I could find on the subject of childbirth. As I educated myself I found that my previous belief of less is more when it comes to medical interventions were well founded, especially when it came to childbirth. I gravitated to documentaries and journals that advocated for completely natural childbirth and it's countless related benefits. I decided that I wanted to try to have my baby through completely natural childbirth. This was in part due to my research and in part because I have a weird spine phobia and the thought of having a needle stuck in there made my toes curl. As I would share my plan with the mothers around me, they were very supportive but I could see that look in their eyes. It's like when you are a tourist talking about how nice an area is and the locals just roll their eyes. They had lived it. Looking back, I'm not even sure how some of them didn't just outright laugh in my face at times.

     I planned to use hypnobirthing techniques. I was going to relax my baby out. I visualized a perfect labor and delivery every night before falling asleep. I became very paranoid the closer I got to my my due date because my doctor continuously push for me to be induced even though I repeatedly informed him that I wanted to go into labor naturally. I wanted Bean to be ready. No undercooked babies here. I myself had been two weeks late. I was comfortable and didn't mind being pregnant. We were fine right where we were. I decided that no mater what, I was going to wait and labor at home as long as I could possibly stand to do so. Even if it meant having my baby in the bathtub. I was hopeful that by the time I got to the hospital it would be too late for an epidural which would take that option off of the table.

     I worked right up until my due date... And then I worked on my due date... And then I worked the week after my due date... And then I worked the following week. Finally, my doctor informed me of the increased risks of going past two weeks overdue. Not trusting him, I did some research of my own and found that he was actually exactly right. So I gave in and found myself waddling over to the hospital in tears to be induced. Five minutes in and my birth plan was already out the window. They began inducing me with a mild medication, to see if my body would respond to a small nudge. Within a few hours my water broke on it's own and I found satisfaction in the idea that maybe I wasn't rushing little bean too much. Maybe he was on his way out anyway.

     Since my water was now broke however, the risk of infection significantly increased and we could no longer rely on small nudges. The dreaded pitocin was attached to my IV. I had demonized this medications and to be honest, I was completely correct to do so. It is the devil's nectar. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. My contractions, which had been noticeable, but completely manageable immediately became frighteningly intense. I imagine it is what the sensation would be to be ripped completely in half starting at the base of your spine. And they were on top of each other. No break to regain sanity in between. At that moment I heard a voice from my past. A kind and very brave woman who I respect greatly for her strength and courage. Also a mother, we had discussed my fear of spines and she had responded honestly with, “at that point you won't care if they want to stick it in your eyeball, you are going to want the epidural.” God was she ever right. They could have told me that the anesthesiologist wasn't there and that Jim was going to have to administer it and I would have gladly given him a go. It was that bad.

     Epidurals are not like in the movies. It takes a long time from when you ask and are ready for it to when the medication is actually in your room and being administered. It also doesn't last very long and usually gets less effective each time you get it, which is fun over the course of an almost 30 hour hellscape. I've never experienced pain like that in my life. I remember somewhere around 16 hours in the doctor cheerfully informing me that he expected the baby in “about another 8 hours.” I prayed that he was making some kind of sick joke. He was wrong, it was another 13.

     Finally, I was 9 centimeters dilated and the doctor decided to let me try pushing. So for an hour straight, in between throwing up I pushed with all of my might and made zero progress. My little bean was planted. He wasn't going anywhere. They gave me another hour to wait and see if I dilated more, but when they went to check me again and I hadn't made any progress, they threw out the other C word that made me cringe.

     “Well, I think we are at the point where we should consider a c section. We could wait another hour, but that isn't a guarantee that anything will change. We may end up having this same discussion an hour from now,” my doctor explained. So, scared and exhausted I was wheeled into an operating room and my arms and legs were tied down while a huge curtain was placed a few inches under my neck to block my view. I remember being so tired that I didn't know how I was going to remain conscious, until I heard the sweetest sound that has ever crossed my ears. A tiny, precious cry that sent energy coursing through my entire body and soul. “He's perfect” I heard Jim say as he stretched to look around the curtain.

     I remember seeing Archer's little face for the first time when they brought him around to me and fell I madly in love immediately. The nurse was very helpful and let us do as much skin to skin contact as was possible. She allowed Archer to attempt to latch on to eat which was intended to help with the nursing process later. Then they wheeled him out of the room to do whatever they do to newborn babies. I am grateful that my epidural didn't run out until after Archer and Jim had left the room and the doctors were sewing me up. I am grateful that my beautiful first moments with my son were not interrupted by the unbearable pain that followed. One of my biggest fears about having a c section included the recovery time and the fact that I wouldn't immediately get to hold my baby. I was correct on both counts. The recovery sucks and I didn't get to hold Archer for two hours after he was born. This didn't effect our ability to bond or his ability to nurse at all however, so it was really only an inconvenience at the time.

     I don't know what it is like to go into the hospital in a rush after your labor starts on its own and go through a natural labor and delivery. I imagine that woman who do experience this type of childbirth feel scared, excited, immense pain and unimaginable joy. These are all of the same things that I felt during my decidedly unnatural labor and delivery and in that I feel absolutely no shame or guilt.

     Sometimes I wonder what I'll tell my son when the time comes for the “where do babies come from?” question. He is a little boy so he will probably be thrilled that he burst into this world in the most bloody, gruesome way possible. I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been induced and I still wonder if it would have made any difference if I had been allowed to wait until my body was ready for me to start pushing. But then I look at my son, who has the most perfectly round head that I have ever seen.  I remember how solid that eight pound bean had felt in my arms after he was born and the truth is, I feel perfectly fine that I didn't end up having to push him out. Because in the end, there is no gold star or trophy either way. Your reward if you are very, very lucky is a healthy baby who you get to take home and love for the rest of your life and that is more than enough for me.