Re-Post
from my old blog... Pardon the white background, I have no clue how to fix it (despite scoring super high on a grammar/writing test I took recently, I do not know HTML code any longer).
When
I was ten days past my due date with my little man, I was anxious and
irritated. I was scared and wondered what was wrong with me. Why
didn’t he want to come out? Had I really created such a nice
uterine home that he decided to stay? The doctors weren’t worried; they
never mentioned induction, membrane stripping, or anything other than a long
walk and patience. I was never good at either of those things – walking
or having patience.
When
they sent me to the hospital, contracting slightly, I was elated. He was finally coming.
They broke my water. They gave me Pitocin after things moved
“slow.” I had an epidural when it got to be too much. The nurse was
worried because every contraction, his heart rate dropped drastically.
From roughly 11 AM until 1 AM this was my labor, until finally they
decided that we’d both had enough. I was in agreement, mostly because his
heart-rate had dropped to 98 and had stayed there. He was losing oxygen,
so surgery was more than fine with me to save him.
The
cord had looped around his neck twice, and was wrapped around his wrist.
It was a reason unlikely to repeat itself. The surgery saved his
life, and I was beyond thankful for that. After he was born, after my
low-cut bikini incision had healed, my doctor examined me and said I looked
great. "There shouldn't be any reason to have another cesarean next
time. Remember that,” he said kindly. That doctor retired the following
January. But it wasn’t concerning to me because I was going to wait a bit
for the next one. I had time to think.
When
the pregnancy test showed up positive in November of 2007, it was joyous and I
was sure everything would be normal. I’d have a normal birth, no surgery
this time around, and all would be great. Surely the doctors would
support me; There was no reason for me to have surgery again.
First
appointment was normal. 2nd, 3rd… all boring. 4th was when it
started.
“The
baby is a girl,” they said.
“She
looks healthy,” they said.
“Oh,
you want a trial of labor… sign this form… have a witness sign it. Know
the risks: your uterus could rupture, your labor could stall but your uterus could rupture…
the baby might be too big, and your uterus could rupture. There’s a
.45% chance that your uterus will rupture. It’s a very
small chance, but you should be aware.”
I’m
aware now. I feel informed. I’m signing the paper, and I’m asking
my husband to sign.
He
had concerns, and rightly so. ”This says you could die. This says
the baby could die. Why do you want to do this?”
“I’m
doing it with or without you so just sign; everything will be all right.”
I was cold in my response; I’d already made up my mind.
He
signed; and then I
asked myself to really consider his question. Why do I want
to do this? Does it really matter? Was my c-section that
bad?
No,
it wasn't bad. Recovery was a little rough; I was scared to breastfeed because he’d
sit on my scar. I was scared to shower. I was scared to stand up straight (What
if I rip my staples out? I HAVE STAPLES IN MY BODY!)
Mostly, I was scared to do anything.
My
little boy had been
sick a lot. Lots of colds, lots of respiratory infections, lots of
pneumonia. That could be because even though
he was suctioned, they can’t squeeze all the liquid out of their lungs the way
it is when birthed vaginally. It could have caused the
reactive airway disease he dealt with for so long… could have. There was
no way to prove that was it.
Who
does this VBAC benefit? Me? Because I get to feel accomplished?
Because I get to feel like my body can do the “right” thing?
She’ll
have some benefits; “she” being my daughter. Full passage through the
birth canal gets rid of lung fluid. Not scheduling the c-section and
going into labor on my own means she’s ready to come out. Hormone changes
in both of us increase bonding… easier breastfeeding time…
I
want(ed) four kids. This would not be my last pregnancy. I decided
that I was going to VBAC. This decision seemed firm in hand until I hit the
last month of her pregnancy. That was when it REALLY started.
At
37 weeks I was told “You’re not dilated or effaced at all. The baby is
still very high up. You’ll never go into labor on your
own.”
So,
unless I consent to surgery, I’ll be pregnant forever? How many other
women are still pregnant after they didn’t have a c-section? How many
women are doomed to be pregnant forever? I want to meet them and discuss
my risks and rewards just like I’m doing with you right now. I need to
have all the facts. (Note: my doctor was NOT appreciative
of my sarcasm. You can tell how much this bothered me.)
At
38 weeks I was told "It’s more convenient to schedule a c-section.
Plus, if you have an epidural during a VBAC, you’ll probably still need
surgery since you won’t be able to feel anything. Consider scheduling.
You can plan around it, and choose who your doctor
is.”
I
took this to mean he wanted me to pick him. There was a snowball’s chance
in Hell of that happening.
But
then at 39 weeks, the doctor said "You're still not dilated; don’t
worry. Take a walk and try to relax.”
Woah…
thank you for not scaring me or putting me down. I appreciate that.
After
an ultrasound on my due date, I was told "She’ll probably be around eight
pounds, which is pretty big.”
Really?
My nephew was eleven pounds. Eight pounds is a snack compared to
eleven.
“If
you try for a VBAC, we won’t induce you, because that increases the risk of
rupture. But you are getting past your date, which is worrisome.
How about this: start your Maternity leave at work, that way you can
plan. We’ll schedule the surgery just so you’re on the calendar, and when
you come in if you’re dilated at all… we’ll break your water to see if we can
get things moving.”
Not
ideal… but okay. Let’s do that.
41
weeks. "You’re only 1cm, but that doesn’t mean anything. Yes,
I’ll strip your membranes again. Try to relax.”
Thanks
Doc, it’s hard to relax with your other colleagues breathing down my neck
telling me that I’m making life inconvenient for them, and that I’ll never go
into labor. It’s also hard to relax when I’m, again, feeling like my body
can’t do anything right. I’ll take some deep breaths, try to relax… even
though all those comments about inconvenience and never going into labor are
running marathons through my head. Maybe they were right…
Guess
what? They were wrong. I did go into labor. I
stayed home until I couldn’t talk through a contraction. I was five
centimeters when I arrived at the hospital, seven by the time they got me
checked in and into a room. I chickened out and had an epidural, feeling
absolutely no guilt about it. I labored for 10 hours. I pushed for
30 minutes. I had a VBAC. My uterus didn’t rupture;
my placenta didn't detach prematurely, my baby and I were fine. The
nightmare scenarios the doctors painted never came to fruition.
I
realize this isn't always the case. I understand bad things can happen
during VBAC attempts. They fail sometimes; end up in another c-section.
But as long as the mother and baby are safe, that’s a good thing.
It’s not a bad thing to try.
Bad
things can happen during first time labors as well; not all bad things happen
in VBAC attempts. Bad things can happen during c-sections. My
sister had anesthesia awareness with her third baby during a c-section; not
pleasant at all. Bad things happen in life.
But
that doesn’t stop anyone from living. That doesn’t prevent you from
taking risks and making choices about life. You have a 0.026084%
chance of winning the lottery; many people still play. You have a 1
in 700,000 chance of being hit by lightning; most people still go out in the rain.
I
made an informed decision based off past experience, information from my doctor
and from my own research. It was my choice. I chose
based off of my emotions, desires, and hopes for my life and
for the life of my child. Had circumstances been different in anyway (ex:
my uterus was perforated, the baby had a life-threatening condition, or I had a
condition) I might have chosen differently.
With
anything in life – be it breastfeeding, birthing a child, deciding on a pet,
buying a house, or even deciding to eat a cookie – you take in information
around you, analyze it, and decide. You use your emotions, your desires, your hopes,
and your fears
to make those decisions. But they’re your choices and decisions;
they belong to you.
I
hope that any mother or father, whether it’s their first and only baby, their
third planned one, or the sixth that they never thought would come into the
picture, keeps that in mind when making choices for their child. It’s your birth;
not the doctors, not your friends’ or families’, yours. When
you chose to breastfeed or bottle-feed, that is up to you.
Not society, not the doctors, you.
Don’t
let anyone – doctor, friend, parent, partner, school administrator, random
stranger on the street – try to force or bully you into something you don’t
want to do. You have choices, you have support, and you have your
instincts. Trust them and make the right decision for you.
I
chose to VBAC my 2nd child because it was the right decision for my family, for
my body, and for my life. I’m choosing to attempt another VBAC with this
child because I feel, again, that it is the right choice for my family, for my
body, and for my life. And unless circumstances change, nothing will
change my mind.
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