Most everyone I know has an opinion on birth, what it is, how it should go, what’s best for mothers, and I am by far no exception. I began building my belief on birth over 5 years ago when I got pregnant with my first daughter. I didn’t buy into the cultural stigma that birth is scary, stressful, painful and dangerous. It just didn’t make sense to me. If all this was true, wouldn’t people have stopped having babies long ago? So I started reading up on it and I came to my conclusions, the ones that I hold myself up to. I don’t believe in pain medicine in everyday life (I survived recovery from the removal of my wisdom teeth, the repositioning of my broken nose and a broken foot all without even over-the counter pain meds) and the thought of a needle going into my spine is terrifying. I decided long ago that for me, natural birth is the only way to go. As few interventions as possible please (and thank you!). This doesn’t mean that women who go the epidural, induction or c-section route are any less than me, I firmly stand for every woman’s right to her own birth as long as women are properly educated on the options, benefits and risks of every choice they make.
My first birth did not live up to my expectations but I stuck to my guns and my second did. My first daughter was born after a forced induction by a very rude doctor because I was a week “overdue” (I prefer the gentler term “postdates” personally). The Pitocin combined with several cords attached to my body and a severe lack of support in the labor room caused an overwhelming labor experience. I was not in pain but I was unable to get comfortable due to the fetal monitor and inexperienced nurse who kept making me lay on my back because when I sat up the stupid fetal monitor around my belly beeped and lost baby’s heartbeat. This led me to choosing a narcotic pain reliever over an epidural (which were the only choices given). WORST DECISION EVER! Not only did it not help the discomfort, it made me delusional and my daughter was drowsy for days.
When it came time for my second I decided on a water birth, much to the terror of my husband, but I knew if I was in the water I would not be allowed an IV, Pitocin, constant monitoring or the slew of other interventions. I was lucky that my hospital of choice offered water birth and the midwife group I’d seen for years (since week 35 of my first pregnancy, actually) was very pro-water. 3:30 in the morning my water broke and we arrived at the hospital per my midwives instructions a few hours later (my 2nd baby, it might go fast, haha!) to find myself at 1 cm and baby still free floating high in my abdomen. I was instructed to sit and rock with the fetal monitor on and report “any changes or weird feelings in my vagina” ASAP. Luckily by the time my midwife arrived for rounds a few hours later baby girl had nuzzled down nicely into my pelvis and we could walk. In circles. Not leaving that floor of the hospital. So we walked. In circles. Past radiology and back to maternity. Past radiology and back to maternity. Over and over again.
When I began thinking about the entering the tub we were surprised by the question “do you have your thermometer?” Our WHAT?!?! Apparently we were responsible for bringing our own thermometer to monitor the water temperature so off sweet hubby went to find one. Luckily things weren’t going too quickly and hubby was back in plenty of time. 7 cm I entered the water. 9 cm (and 20 hours after my water broke) and I was losing my mind. 20 minutes later baby girl was in my arms. I had done it, I actually did it! We went home 19 hours later and lived happily ever after (not entirely true but that’s a story for another day).
So, with baby 3 I decided non-intervention was the way for me and being with my girls was of the upmost importance so I decided a home birth would be the only way for me to go this time. That was until 4 weeks ago when I was forced to face my truth and start considering another way. At our 20 week ultrasound when most parents are finding out the gender of their sweet little bundle and counting fingers and toes, we got confirmation that the tiny amount of bleeding I’d had a few weeks prior was my worst nightmare: complete placenta previa. Every day terms? The organ that is supporting and growing my own sweet little bundle could ultimately prevent the same sweet little bundle from exiting my body in the normal way (ie: my placenta is completely covering my cervix). Ultimate implication? C-section.
The doctor informed me that 90% of previas resolve by full term and are no longer a problem. Unfortunately there’s a lot more to it than that reassuring statistic (such as how far over the cervix the placenta is, whether the placenta is centralized or to the front or back of the uterus, etc.). I was also informed I should not exercise, lift heavy things (child #1 and #2 included) and should generally take it easy. So I took the news (and Honeybun to ballet class) and processed. And read and got informed. And got angry. Did you know only ½% of pregnant women have placenta previa? Did you know that risk factors for placenta previa include smoking, advanced maternal age, many previous pregnancies, prior uterine surgeries, short interval between pregnancies and cocaine use. Cocaine use? Seriously? I have ZERO of the risk factors and have worked my whole life to live a healthy life yet I ended up in the ½% of pregnant women with this condition. Angry.
I’ve now spent a few weeks with the reality of my situation. I’ve continued to educate myself and the anger has settled. I’ve run through all the possibilities and what it would mean for my family. And I’ve cried. A lot. If I start bleeding again and have to be hospitalized, how will my hubby and girls cope? If my baby is not doing well and has to join our world too early, how will I cope? The c-section which for 5 ½ years has been the greatest fear of my childbearing life is now a small, almost insignificant part of what could be in my future.
I have to wait a few more weeks for the next follow-up to see what my nasty little placenta has been up to. I’m Hoping for the best but ready for the worst, whatever it may mean, whenever it may occur. Perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned from being a mother is this: Be prepared for everything and be wary when making plans for anything.
