April is c-section awareness month. C-sections are meant to save the lives of mommies and babies but with a US c-section rate more than three times higher than the World Health Organization says is optimal, it makes you wonder how many are being performed unnecessarily. But what should be discussed even more than whether or not a certain surgery was required is HOW it affects mommies both physically and emotionally. It’s the cultural norm to say “well, at least mommy and baby are both healthy.” But who determines the “health” of a mother after a traumatic experience?
Here is one mommy’s story:
Hello. I’m Liz, and I’m a C- Section Survivor.
I have two beautiful girls, born within 22 months of each other. Both have completely different personalities, and both have completely different birth stories.
My very first experience with childbirth was in Ireland, and it was truly lovely. I loved my doctor, loved the hospital she was born in, loved how I got to see her at every appointment because they did a scan each time. I loved how they were non-invasive and very hands off. I may not have loved it at the time, since she was 10 days late and came out a whopping 10lbs 11oz. (No, I didn’t have gestational diabetes. I’m 5’11 and my husband is 6’5. She comes from tall stock.) I look back with rose colored glasses because, compared to the birth of my second daughter, everything in Ireland was easy, gentle, and calm. They brought me tea and toast right after she was born! They told me to drink a Guinness for my health! It was amazing. When we decided to move back Stateside, we headed to Florida because my husband got a job here. When I found out I was pregnant with baby #2, I was looking forward to the differences in childbirth between the two countries.
At my very first visit, my doctor gave me the nicest compliment early on in my pregnancy. He told me I had a great pelvic floor and he sure wished some of his other patients had a pelvic floor this great. To date, this probably is the best compliment I’ve ever received and I think I’ll be putting it on my gravestone. “She had a great pelvic floor.” It’s like poetry! He also told me that because my first daughter was 10lbs, 11oz and 24 inches long, we could safely assume that baby #2 was going to be as big, if not bigger, so we should probably discuss a c-section soon. Keep in mind, this was my very first check up with him – I wasn’t even out of my first trimester and he was already pushing the c-section. I really liked my doctor, and my pregnancy progressed without complications, but during each visit we briefly discussed a c-section. It went like this:
“So, we should consider a c-section.” – my doctor
“No.” – me
“Okay, we’ll discuss it later.” – my doctor
I didn’t want a c-section. I just didn’t want one. End of discussion on this end.At my last measuring scan they told me she was clocking in at 7lbs or so, so we probably wouldn’t need a c-section, she’ll just pop out the birth canal easily since her older sister paved the way nicely (and have I mentioned my fabulous pelvic floor?) Great! Fantastic! If I could high-five my pelvic floor, I would have. “Oh, but we should induce early just in case.” said my doctor. At this point, I was fine with it, because it was April in South Florida and it was already roasting hot and I was straight up miserable and moody.
So, three days before her due date, we were scheduled for an induction. We were told to be at the hospital at 3am to get the process going. We waited for an hour in the waiting room before they got us. At 4am I was given pitocin and some contractions were happening, but I couldn’t really feel them yet. And then I could. Around 7am I got an epidural and at 9am, my doctor came in and broke my waters to speed things on.
Around 4pm the epidural wore off and my left side was numb. Contractions on half of your body is a weird feeling. By 6pm I had stalled out at 8cm. Apparently she was still in station -1, which is to say, she was squatting in my womb and refusing to come out.
At 7pm, my doctor came in to see me and discuss things. By this point I had been in labor for 15 hours or so, running on no sleep, and in a particularly foul mood. I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of “You win. Cut me open and get her out.” What an un-flappable belief system I have…
She was born at 8:23pm via c-section because of failure to progress. Turns out she was sunny side up. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without a c-section anyway.
I remember lying there as they were cutting me open and thinking to myself “Whatever you do, don’t let go. You won’t wake up if you do.” I remember they showed her to me. I remember I made my husband stick to her like glue. I remember smelling burning skin as they soldered the incision closed. I couldn’t move my left arm and I was pins and needles everywhere. I fell fast asleep that night and the nurses took care of her.
It wasn’t the c-section that was awful. It was the recovery. I anticipated some physical pain, but I wasn’t ready for the emotional pain that was waiting for me.
The following day, I had to have a blood transfusion because I lost so much blood in the surgery. They gave me 2 pints of blood and I still felt terrible. I looked like a ghost. I felt like a whisper of my former self. I was in pain and hungry and they wouldn’t let me eat for some reason I never fully understood. I hadn’t had any food in almost 2 days and I didn’t even have the energy to do anything besides look at my daughter. I did get up and about, I did get food eventually, and I did get to go home. My feet were ridiculously swollen, I was numb, and I had an enormous bruise on my left side. It hurt to lie down, it hurt to stand. Sleeping in my bed was a distant memory, so I set up camp on the couch for a few weeks. Soon enough I was able to get back into my bed to sleep, but one position kept me in considerable pain. I avoided lying on my left side and was propped up with pillows as though I were the Queen of Fort Lauderdale. I was still numb and still taking it easy.
About 2 weeks after the surgery, I was getting out of the shower when I felt a warm gush. I looked down and blood was pouring out of my incision. Of course I freaked out. Never one to half-ass anything, I was convinced I was dying and called my doctor who told me to wait until 9am and then meet him in his office. There was so much blood, I couldn’t wait – so I went to the ER. They told me I had to wait for my doctor. Turns out, the previously mentioned bruise was actually a hematoma. It had found its way to the weakest spot in the scar, split it open, and drained itself. I was shocked and scared. My doctor had me come in every few days so he could plug up the hole so the scar could heal properly. So I would go in and he would shove medical gauze in a small hole in my lower abdomen to absorb the rest of the old blood that was pooled in there. Then I’d go in two days later, he’d pull out the old gauze, and shove new gauze in. This went on for about two weeks until it was healed enough from the inside out that I didn’t need the wound packing anymore. It was about as charming as it sounds.
The physical recovery from the c-section as well as the emotional recovery from a birth were a dynamic combination that has made its mark on my psyche. I know some people have it much worse than I do, and I know that I’m tremendously lucky that I have two healthy daughters.
Two years later, I still don’t have feeling along the scar – it’s like some parts of my abdomen aren’t there. I know this happens, and I know feeling could eventually come back and I know there’s a chance it never could. I know the chances of having a vaginal birth after a c-section aren’t so great, and I know that my scar is a little bit weak, which scares me off carrying another child. I just don’t want to go through that recovery again.
This story is part of my Weekend Wisdom series which shares the experiences and stories of other parents. April is Austism Awareness Month and C-Section Awareness Month, If you have your own story you’d like to share, fill out this form and I will be in touch!
