My first pregnancy was one that was mostly good, but the bad was
very bad. I had extremely bad swelling. So bad I thought my skin would
split open by the end of my workday. And the carpal tunnel was sheer
misery. At eight months pregnant, the beginning of October 2008, I had
cortisone shots in my hands to make the pain less. By the beginning of
that November, the pain was starting to come back. Baby's due date was
November 17th, but I begged for an induction. My OB and I scheduled it
for November 10th. I was already partially dilated and mostly effaced,
so I was a good candidate for a quick and easy delivery.
However,
it actually was a textbook cascade of interventions that led to the
inevitable end result - a c-section. I was hooked up to a pitocin drip
to begin. I had my water broken for me three hours later. I had an
epidural (after the Nubain's luster wore off) three or four hours after
my waters were broken. About five hours after THAT, I pushed a
posterior baby for three hours without being able to fully feel my legs
OR get off the bed OR work at trying to shift the baby's position by
switching MY position, at which point I was told I had one more hour to
progress or I'd have a c-section. Needless to say, the baby didn't
budge, and after the fourth hour of pushing, I was wheeled into the OR
and my baby was cut out of me. Finn Steven was beautiful and healthy
and everything I had hoped for.
All the same, I felt like a failure. I
couldn't even give birth properly and my body had failed me. The best
thing about the situation is that my son was born and he was amazing. I
didn't get to touch or hold him until about three hours after he was
born, while I was in recovery, and we had a rocky first few days (which I
chalk up to being first-time parents), but we did manage to bond while
in the hospital. Right away I knew I loved him with a ferocious
intensity and that I would die for him. We established an amazing
breastfeeding relationship, and he self-weaned at 15 months.
There
are many things I would have done differently in Finn's birthing
process, in hindsight, but it actually set the stage for my second son's
birth. See, my second son's birth also resulted in a c-section, but
it's THAT c-section that healed any lingering hurt or doubts that I had
from the first one.
My second son was my third pregnancy.
(The second pregnancy was a blighted ovum which resulted in a sudden
and bloody trip to the emergency room and the performance of a d&c.)
Because of this, I had my first ultrasound at seven weeks to determine
if there was actually a baby in there, and, to my absolute relief,
there was! The second ultrasound was done at 12 weeks when we couldn't
find a heartbeat by doppler, and in the five short weeks between the
first and the second ultrasound, the bean had grown into a baby, with a
cute nose and brow and chin and belly all seen in profile. The THIRD
ultrasound gave us the reveal - another boy! Finn was crushed, as he
had his heart set on a little sister. It also showed that I had
placenta previa. I had been contemplating a VBAC, switching from my
regular OB who did NOT perform them at all to someone who would, but
with that diagnosis, it became obvious that I had to come to terms with
having another c-section. I had two more ultrasounds for the duration
of my prenatal care. We would always check on the baby and then the
placement of the placenta. The ultrasound at 34 weeks had shown that
the placenta previa was no longer complete, and for a short moment, I
again thought about trying to pursue a VBAC route.
But at 34
weeks, 5 days, I started bleeding. It was September 20th, 2012, my
husband Erik’s birthday. I was finishing up my shift at work, second
shift, and we were going to have a great relaxing family weekend with
good food and ice cream cake, a calm downtime before the storm, with
four weeks left before baby‘s arrival. We had scheduled the c-section
for October 23rd, due date of October 27th!
I had been
feeling the baby do a hearty move, and then there was a weird pressure
down low, but hey, baby was a tumbler, so I didn’t think anything of it.
Right there at the very end of my shift, 9pm on the dot for once, I
felt like I had peed a little, so I toddled off to the bathroom to use
the facilities and check it out. I didn’t expect to see blood, but
there it was. So, yeah.
Since I couldn't get ahold of my
husband (I'd forgotten it was game night) I waddled to my car and drove
myself home. By this time it was 9:30pm. I’m surprised I didn’t get
into an accident, since halfway to home I realized I hadn’t felt the
baby move in a while and kind of drove pretty reckless. When I got
home, I freaked out on my husband a bit, I’ll admit, and then I told him
and Finn to get ready to leave because we were heading to the hospital.
Even though the placenta previa had been cleared, I was still pre-term
- with bleeding and cramping - and I didn't want to risk anything.
So
we got some stuff together and hopped in the car (where I started to
feel the baby move again, thank goodness), and once at the hospital I
got admitted right away. I even got a posh l&d room for observation
instead of one of the triage rooms in the old part of the Birthing
Center (my local hospital had just built a whole new and amazing wing
just for birthing). By this time it was 10pm, so Erik and I talked it
over, and we got ahold of our friends, who took Finn overnight. We
didn’t want to chance anything if this kid was going to be born, and I
wanted Erik with me. Before Finn left, he cried that he didn’t want to
leave because I had an ouchie and he wanted to take care of me, and oh,
how he made me cry.
When Finn was gone, Erik and I could
relax a bit and wait it out. I was still bleeding a bit, and it became
obvious that my cramps were actually contractions. Baby kept squirming
away from the fetal monitor, so my nurse left it off for a while. As
long as I felt him moving, that’s all we worried about.
I
had an ultrasound (the sixth one of this pregnancy!) to assess the
situation, and then the doctor who was on that night (an absolutely
wonderful woman) came in and checked my cervix (which was 3cm dilated,
to my surprise). Considering I was having contractions, 3cm dilated,
and still bleeding (not heavy, but definitely steady), it was a foregone
conclusion that Erik and I were going to become parents again that
night, no waiting, no trying to stop the process. Since my OB was on
vacation (doing Oktoberfest in Germany of all things!), the doctor who
was already there was to be the one to perform the surgery/delivery.
So
I was prepped for the OR, and the whole time Erik and I managed to
crack jokes and try to make light of something that was actually pretty
serious. [Not only was baby early (having a NICU baby was actually one
of the worst fears I’d had during this pregnancy, and here we were,
about to have one), we hadn’t even started on some of the things we had
wanted to accomplish before baby’s arrival. We had also counted on four
more weeks of my regular pay (my husband is the stay-at-home parent),
and we REALLY were not ready!] The nurses and PCAs thought we were
hilarious, and when I was rolled into the OR, everyone was amazed at my
sense of calmness threaded with levity. It’s not that I was blasé and
not taking things seriously, but it was more like I was fatalistic. We
were there, and it was happening.
The only time I panicked
was when the spinal block kicked in. Erik wasn’t in the OR with me yet,
I couldn’t move my legs, it felt like I was falling through my butt,
and all I wanted to do was shift my weight and I couldn’t. I had to
stop thinking and just breathe, otherwise I would have full-on freaked
out, and if that had happened, they would have put me under. Putting me
under would have meant I wouldn’t have seen my baby right away, and
that was something I couldn't bear. Once again I was complimented on my
poise. By the skin of my teeth, people. When Erik joined me, I clung
to him as my lifeline.
The cutting began soon after. The
baby’s delivery went surprisingly fast. Someone had to practically sit
on my upper abdomen to push the little one out. He didn’t cry right
away, and I’m glad I didn’t know that at the time… But with a little
prompting, his little voice started protesting against the world, and
what a beautiful sound. Nearly 35 weeks and his cry was amazing and
strong. Which of course made me cry. Hard. Hard enough to vomit. Do
you know how ridiculous it feels to vomit while laying with numbed legs,
arms spread, on a table while also cut open?
But Archer
Rhodes was born at 2:59am, and he was beautiful. 5 lbs, 14oz, and 18”
of beautiful. He was cleaned up and assessed in my line of sight (which
didn't happen with Finn's birth), and I could see him, his precious
little face, his tiny body, so pink and healthy. I gripped Erik’s hand
so hard.
One thing I will be forever grateful for is that before they whisked him away to the NICU, they bundled him up and let me touch him and kiss him and breath him in and tell him I loved him. One of the nurses was even so awesome as to get pictures of us with him. Whoever that nameless nurse was, thank you thank you thank you. It made the days ahead a bit easier. I didn't see Archer again until 12 hours later, and I didn't get to hold him until that night. I began my relationship with the hospital-provided breastpump right away, and as soon as I got the all-clear from the NICU nurses, I put Archer to breast. He fed like a champ, even though he was so small that he had to take frequent rests and I had to pump the surplus to relieve engorgement. I held him as much as I could, stayed with him as long as I could, and kissed him at every opportunity.
One thing I will be forever grateful for is that before they whisked him away to the NICU, they bundled him up and let me touch him and kiss him and breath him in and tell him I loved him. One of the nurses was even so awesome as to get pictures of us with him. Whoever that nameless nurse was, thank you thank you thank you. It made the days ahead a bit easier. I didn't see Archer again until 12 hours later, and I didn't get to hold him until that night. I began my relationship with the hospital-provided breastpump right away, and as soon as I got the all-clear from the NICU nurses, I put Archer to breast. He fed like a champ, even though he was so small that he had to take frequent rests and I had to pump the surplus to relieve engorgement. I held him as much as I could, stayed with him as long as I could, and kissed him at every opportunity.
Even
with the separation and hurdles that we had to jump, we have bonded
beautifully. I think part of our success is that I was completely at
peace with his birth. After the surgery was over, I learned that his
umbilical cord was only 38". (A normal cord is 60"+.) Even if I had
managed to attempt a VBAC (or hadn't had a c-section with Finn in the
first place), his cord would have made it impossible to birth him
vaginally without extreme risk to himself and to me. Also, I had
started to have placental abruption (a product of his short cord and his
tumbling). To deliver him, the doctor had to cut through the placenta,
proving that it was still actually very low and would have made a VBAC
risky. So many things added up, before and after, to make Archer's
c-section birth a healing experience rather than the disappointing and
resentful one that Finn's was. I am grateful to the birthing team in
that OR for *not* letting me or my husband know just how critical every
moment was and how badly the situation could have gone. Everyone was
calm and supportive and efficient.
Archer was in the NICU for
six hard days, but he is six months old now and beautiful and amazing
and sassy. He is proof that c-sections CAN be empowering. He is proof
that not all c-sections have to be a sign of failure. In the end he
chose his entrance, he chose his time, and we were very, very lucky.
I’d call that a win.
