I apologize for now reaching nearly six weeks postpartum and STILL not having shared my birth story. This is in part because I rarely have time to sit down quietly in my office, but the greatest reason is because I am a bit intimidated by the number of readers that follow my blog (which I discovered following the post concerning my insensitive mother-n-law to be way more than I ever imagined). I have no ability to give anything less than a completely genuine birth story and I fear how the truth will affect each of you individually. I suppose I'll have to share it in tid-bits. Here is the first bit of
the rest of the story.What I wanted to share now, as my kids take a quick walk, is the irony in cesarean grief when the cesarean truly was necessary. As most of you know, this was my third cesarean. The first was completely unnecessary and was a completely horrific experience. My daughter was premature and I was a teen. My labor advanced quickly, in spite of my nurse's neglect, and soon enough my thirty-five week breech daughter was hanging between my legs. The nurse quickly rolled me to the operating room where she strapped my legs to the table and screamed at me not to push or I'd kill my baby. Against my own will, my body did what it knew to be necessary, and pushed with all its might. However, there was no outlet since I had been tied down. This was the most excruciating pain (and I've had an episiotomy cut without Lidocaine) I have ever felt and was the most terrifying experience of my life thus far. I was killing my daughter, so I thought, as we awaited the arrival of my physician...who was not in-house. When he arrived he followed the lead of the nurse and cut her out of me, leaving a nice wound from the scalpel on her side. Had I known better, I would simply have pushed her out into my arms.
My second cesarean was likely unnecessary, although there was no terror, no coercion, in fact, the staff was exceptionally kind. I was able to accept the situation and find healing. I again birthed so quickly that my husband called 9-1-1 and I ended up in a facility without a maternity unit. The community obstetrician cared for me in the emergency room, but as a VBAC without any nursing staff that had assisted in a birth, he was nervous. The compromise was to allow the anesthesiologist to place an epidural, even though I was nine centimeters, to assure his presence in the hospital since he had otherwise planned to go home for the evening. Un-be-knowst to me, he placed a surgery level dose. I could not move and was very ineffective at pushing my rather large son out a birth canal that had never birthed an entire child. Four hours later, following a forceps attempt, we all agreed to a cesarean.
While pregnant with my third son I again was planning a vaginal birth. I had no doubt of my body's ability, as both times I labored easily without any intervention through complete dilatation, and although second stage proved to be my challenge, I knew full well that I had no little pelvis. I just needed a genuine opportunity.
Through this pregnancy, I was working through graduate school. As a mother having experienced a previous cearean, I understood the unspoken healing that needs to take place through a successful vaginal birth, yet I wasn't sure I identified. I didn't doubt my body. I didn't need proof. I just had peculiar birth experiences.
As a maternity care provider though, I felt as if there was a bit of judgment from either my clients or from other providers, midwives specifically. At one point I had a dream that I was in what was similar to a community pool's dressing stall. In each stall was a midwifery student and outside of the stalls was our instructor, barking for each of us to hurry and present our "assignment," which was the delivery (from our own bodies) of a healthy term baby. One after another, students would proceed from their stalls handing over their babies, but for whatever reason my baby would not come out. Eventually the instructor began swatting at the curtain hanging in the doorway of my stall and all my classmates stared in over her shoulder wondering why I couldn't complete the task...then the instructor yells, "SHOW ME YOUR PENIS!" I denied having a penis, but quickly everyone was chanting her request. I began to panic. I knew I was female. I knew I was a woman - a woman capable of birthing a baby vaginally. I woke up in a panic before I completed my assignment. This dream made me well aware that I had a deep desire or maybe a deep fear regarding my capability, in spite of my confidence otherwise.
After two VBACs, I never felt an overwhelming peace or healing. Again, I am not sure I had what I know other mothers can suffer from - deep despair - doubt. I was grateful however. It was much easier to birth vaginally and the immediate postpartum period, holding your baby and seeing him immediately, simply can't be described. However, I knew I would have walked into the operating room and asked for a cesarean in a split-second had I needed one in either situation. I didn't fear a cesarean. I feared the disrespect, the abuse, the manipulation, the inability to choose.
This time around, my third cesarean, I had choice...in essence. We labored nearly a full day and as you know, came to the realization that our little one was presenting butt first. I am an advocate of breech vaginal birth, but am above all determined to follow the Lord and He guides me in evidence, in knowledge of maternal/child health, in the wisdom of experience. I know that my body has the ability to birth a breech baby (this was my first VBAC experience). I know that breech vaginal birth is safe. However, I know too that this is only so when labor progresses appropriately and fetal heart tones are reassuring throughout. While our little one was very happy, even after our horrendously long and every now and then almost excruciating contractions, there was no pattern to my labor. I am a patient midwife. Progress can be slow, particularly when we're waiting on active labor to begin, but deep inside I knew this was not a test of patience. My body was working, but the pain wasn't satisfying. It was not producing fruit.
This seemed like a simple math equation to me and it equaled a cesarean section. Disappointing, but not devastating. This was the scenario the Lord presented me and the decision was clear. Unlike my third birth, my last breech birth, and my first birth, my initial breech baby...this time the information was presented to me and I had a choice. I also had providers both at home and in the hospital that I dearly trusted and respected. I had no fear.
What I have now is a peculiar heart-break. In my five birth experiences I've had nearly every birth scenario possible. I've had joy and tears, defeat and triumph. It would seem I have nothing to be sorrowful for, particularly because I was so well-supported and now hold a perfect and precious child. However, the ache remains...one where there is no enemy. There is nothing I could decide to do differently next time. Every action was just. It just wasn't my desire...or was it? That tid-bit I'll write on at another time.
Author Kelly Mochel recently published a book titled, We're Having a Homebirth!!, with the hope children would read its pages and find birthing at home as normal as picnicking in the backyard. Within only thirteen, colorfully illustrated pages, Mochel introduces a growing baby, the midwife, labor support, a child's role during the birth, mother's behavior during the intensity of labor and birth, as well as the placenta, cutting the cord, and breastfeeding. 
They had to jump over a bail of hay and then crawl under a bail. Keely ended up breaking two watermelons on the champion leg and had to return to the starting line until she could complete the course with a watermelon intact. Poor Keely, she lost the championship for them, but she was giving it all she had and everyone was loving the show! Go Keely!! Great sport!!!
While a garden full of cucumbers has hastened my craving for them, this competition didn't hamper my watermelon craving at all. 
