Edie’s birth story: an unexpected Caesarian

I wasn’t going to write a ‘birth’ story this time, as you almost don’t feel entitled to with an elective caesar, did I ‘give birth’? It almost feels like unless you sweated and grunted out a baby, the answer is no, like somehow you just popped into the baby shop and picked up your delivery.

I’ve been wrestling with my decision to have a caesar since I first laughingly dismissed the very mention of it in the ob’s office at around 36 weeks (me…caesar? Hah! I laugh in the face of your suggestion you crazy doctor, don’t you know I already pushed a small human out of me just over 2 years ago? I got this in the bag!). Anyway, this form of mummy guilt is now slowly fading in comparison to all the many other forms of mummy guilt that suddenly sprout when you have a newborn, but that’s another tale.

I was calmer throughout this whole second pregnancy. Having birthed an above average sized baby already I felt more prepared, in control and was even looking forward to going through giving birth again, particularly the excitement of going into spontaneous labour, as my first was an induction.

So at 40 weeks, after having some mild contractions I was in the OB’s office for a full term checkup to be told I’m already 4cm dilated and ready to go into full labour at any given minute. How exciting! Finding out your baby is measuring 4.5kg/10lb and baby’s head is bigger than the ultrasound can measure somewhat sets the heart racing, but then comes his biggest concern, she’s transverse/shoulder down and her giant head is not budging. She was also compressing my bladder and urethra and so he wanted her out sooner rather than later.

So elective C-section is put before me as a choice – not an order, a choice. You can’t help but feel like actually personally making this decision – the one not to even try and attempt a vaginal birth – is somehow cheating or letting the team down. Furthermore, once done, there’s this crazy and completely irrational urge that you have to justify your choice to other people. But let’s face it, not many people make this call lightly – at the end of the day, it is a choice you make for all the right reasons after considering all possible outcomes – you give ‘informed consent’.

In making yourself informed, you have to carefully wade through all the “pro-vag” propaganda – yes, it exists (no, not all c sections are because the doctor wants to get to golf), as well all the well-meaning “you can do it” cheerleaders (those superhuman home birthing machines who just assume that mind over matter and an aromatherapy candle are going to turn my transverse, giant toddler baby). Note to those in this predicament: don’t watch “The business of being born”.

Going against what you want and had planned on for nearly 9 months (in my case a vaginal delivery, and that overwhelming sense of achievement that comes with it), and sacrificing your own desires for the good of the baby with the safest outcome is of course the less selfish option – it’s what being a mother is truly about.

Anyway, I feel like I do have a ‘birth’ story to tell and that it might help others struggling when faced with a similar choice. Bubba is asleep and due to wake up for her midnight snack. So I’m in that no man’s land between going to bed now in the hope of catching a few much needed zzzs (and inevitably being woken the millisecond after I drop off), or waiting for her to wake up and invariably sitting around with my eyes hanging out for hours as she has the best nights sleep she’s ever had. So I figure now’s the time to get my thoughts down.

So we’re all checked in to the baby shop, I mean hospital. The wait was too long – everyone was running late and I was a 40 week starving hormonal, emotional wreck. There were sudden tears in those minutes just when I knew it was a moment of no return, sitting in my paper undies in the holding area just before they wheeled me in. They came from nowhere and I couldn’t stop them. Part of it was fear and partly just because I knew this was now happening and I wasn’t just going to go into labour naturally and just sneeze the baby out, proving the ‘expert’ wrong.

The whole thing was actually weirdly painless. Even the spinal block going in didn’t hurt a bit. Until the hell that was recovery some hours later, the thing that hurt the most was having the cannula put in. The anaesthetist was awesome. Dr Brown, or Dr Brown Bear as I’ll always think in the voice of Peppa Pig in my head. One thing I remember laying on that icy metal slab was how cold I felt. Once the spinal went in I was shivering uncontrollably for the whole procedure. Dr Brown Bear explained it’s just the drugs and not to fight it but me being me, I thought I could beat it with mind over matter. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me, but I also have this irrational fear that you’ll be that one person who the anaesthetic doesn’t work for and you’re going to feel the whole thing.

Bubba just woke up … Good thing I didn’t go to sleep … But I’m on a roll now so will start again.

So it’s go time. I’m nice and numb, yet somehow still feel the sensation of freezing cold antiseptic being brushed all over my stomach (cue more shivering). Tugging pulling and pushing ensues – I know stuff’s going on, it’s all a bit surreal, you almost forget you’re actually having a baby at that moment then …

You hear that cry, your baby’s cry – the first contact you have with the unknown little human you’ve been waiting 9 months to meet, then you clap eyes on them as the squished up little person is thrust up over the curtain – it is still the same amazing initial feeling of seeing your baby for the first time but they are immediately gone from your sight for a few seconds that feel like an hour. The whole ‘meeting experience’ (for me anyway) was so much better with a vaginal delivery where I never lost sight of her and she was immediately in my arms and staring at me. With the c-section there are a few things that make it hard – you’re flat on your back and the curtain feels almost too close to your face so when she was placed in my arms, it was an awkward hold, kind of right under your chin using just your hands instead of more of a cradle hold. Then just like that, they whisk bub right off you again and you feel useless as you lie prone on that bed while 536 people all stand around doing stuff to your baby that you’ve barely even held. You try and look around but you can’t move and for what feels like an eternity, you can’t even see baby. At some point in time dad cut the cord – I didn’t even see it. I had delayed cord clamping in my (very loose) birth plan that went out the window with a c-section – they say you can still ask for this with a ‘gentle c section’ but honestly who’s asking their surgeon to dim the lights, cut you open by candle light, delay the clamping, oh and can you be gentle please? Just another example of how little control you have over the whole thing – I didn’t see a midwife until I was in recovery. Honestly, no-one is advocating for the c sec mum.

After everyone else plays with bub you get her back for a few minutes, in my case, I was handed a bundle of blankets and from my flat out position, I didn’t even know which end was which. Someone snaps the cookie cutter c-section picture – you know the one: mum and dad in their surgical hats, bub on mum’s chest and no matter how close up it is you can still see that stupid curtain and mum’s gown, and the second you share that first picture, the whole world knows you had a c-sec. After the customary pics they took her off again to weigh etc. That was in a whole other room while I was being stitched. I found out later even her dad wasn’t with her as I’d originally thought. It took over an hour and a half to have my insides stuffed back in (I recall hearing one of those dentist suction thingies and a lot of pushing like someone was practically sitting on me), get stitched, cleaned up and wheeled into recovery where I finally got to properly hold and at last – feed my baby, which is all I was craving for 90 minutes. I even had to ask a nurse “can I feed my baby now?” like it was somehow her decision and not mine. After a vaginal birth, my firstborn literally clawed her own way up me & straight on the boob within seconds of being born and it felt like time stopped there and we stared at each other for hours – that was awesome and I feel like with a c section you are robbed of that whole immediate bonding experience. The whole thing really was a very clinical “procedure”, so formulaic and out of my control, I just followed instructions and at some point in proceedings was wheeled to a private room where I could process what had just happened and actually enjoy my new little bundle for the first time.

C-section recovery? Now that’s a whole other story… Let’s just say not fun. In a perfect world (no pregnancy issues), having experienced both regular and express delivery would I freely choose a Caesarian over a vaginal birth? Hell no! Given the same set of circumstances would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

When I was given the choice I really just wanted someone to tell me what I *had* to do? Not that I would wish it on anyone, but I almost feel an emergency C would have been easier to mentally process, as you really have no other option. Have I been guilted over this choice? No of course not, everyone who knows (the world after those first pics), has been immensely supportive (“who cares how they come out, as long as they’re healthy” right?) well sometimes we do care, but that’s ok.

If you happen upon here now, please note all of my ramblings are drafts only until I get my real site up and running with more content including images, prettiness etc. More birth stories coming (no that doesn’t mean I’m having more babies).

Who is this jerk that thinks people will want to read anything by her? Read more about me here.