A c-section birth story

Warning: I’m a birth educator. I talk about all types of birth, but some are harder to talk about. This c-section was my first birth, and it was a fairly traumatic experience. If you are sensitive to stories, or you have a lot of fear surrounding birth, I suggest you wait for my next birth stories, which very much redeemed birth for me.

I guess you could say my love affair with the birth process began in my teen years. My mom, who gave birth to 11 children, had two beautiful, peaceful, powerful home births, and my siblings and I were able to be present for them. I dreamed of someday having the same for myself.

Two and a half years into marriage, and 7 months after a devastating miscarriage, my oldest living child was conceived. The early days of pregnancy were a haze consisting of grief of a sudden death in the family, nausea, exhaustion, and our first home purchase, but when I came through the fog of it all, I had big plans for a natural birth. We found a local birth instructor who was trained in the Bradley Method and signed up for her classes.

At the 20 week ultrasound, we found out we were having a girl, as well as that I had a condition called placenta previa, in which the placenta lies close to or covering the cervix, potentially making vaginal delivery more dangerous. I came to understand that this was a somewhat common diagnosis at the 20 week mark, and that in 97% of the cases, the growth of the uterus pulls the placenta up and out of the way by the time the baby is ready to be born.

We continued our Bradley birth classes with the hope that all would resolve. I pestered our instructor, and she kindly did everything she could to give us resources and support. She even helped us write a c-section birth plan in the unlikely event that it became necessary.

At 37 weeks, our final ultrasound showed that I was in the 3%. My OB believed that the placenta was still too low to deliver naturally, and I would have to give birth via a cesarean. (His diagnosis was confirmed during delivery.)

I broke down sobbing in fear and disappointment. I knew the risks of cesarean to both my daughter and to me, and I worried as well about all my future births. I knew we wanted a lot of kids, but I also did not want a lot of c-sections.

Still, the health of our baby girl was paramount, and as we got closer to my due date, my OB informed me that the risks associated with spontaneous labor began to outweigh the baby’s need to stay inside me. We scheduled a c-section for a Friday in October, when I was about 38 and a half weeks along. I knew our hospital to be somewhat unfriendly to people who fell outside the routine, but I had an OB who supported my c-section requests, so I hoped for the best.

At 4 pm we headed to the hospital for the pre-op procedures. That car ride is still eerily clear. I remember saying to myself, over and over again, “I’m going to have a baby in a couple of hours.” I had to keep repeating it, you see, because it was otherwise completely unreal. When we arrived, I was taken into the pre-op room and prepared for surgery.

Our nurse started out friendly but quickly became less than enamored with us. She insisted that she would not be able to care for both me and the baby, and that our daughter would “need” to go the nursery. Prepared for this, I calmly met her eyes and told her that my husband, my mother, and I would care for her. As she was about to respond, our OB walked into the room and dismissed her arguments, assuring us that unless something was wrong, she would stay with us. I was more than a little grateful for his timing.

A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist entered the room to discuss those procedures with us. Having taken an intensive interest in the process, I already knew that I didn’t want morphine in my spinal. He argued with us for a few minutes, but when it became clear we weren’t changing our minds, he... stormed out of the room.

I looked at my husband and said, “Do you think that means we don’t get anything at all?”

Thankfully, the anesthesiologist came back a few minutes later. “You sure?” he asked gruffly. I nodded. “Okay, but you’re going to have a lot more pain that way. Peaks and valleys that you wouldn’t have if you let me give you morphine.” I simply shook my head, tired of fighting and afraid that if I spoke aloud, I might give in just to end the confrontation.

I was wheeled into the operating room alone. My husband couldn’t be there as I received the spinal analgesic. I knew ahead of time that I would be alone, but I was still extremely scared. The room was as cold and as intimidating as anywhere I have ever been. A few minutes later though, the spinal was administered and he was again by my side.

Surgery began just a couple minutes after that. I couldn’t see over the surgical drape, so I just alternated between closing my eyes and looking at my husband. His eyes were fixed firmly on the doctor, while his hand gripped mine.

Strange sounds and smells filled the room. Then the tugging and pulling that you hear about but never really understand until you are there, and someone has their hands inside your abdomen. I felt weak from that crazy out-of-body feeling, and from the drugs, too.

Less than 10 minutes after surgery started, at 6:15 pm, I heard the doctor say with a cheerful voice, “Here she is! She looks perfect.” A second later, some gurgling, and then a cry. A real cry from a real baby. My baby.

The nurses were quick. They weighed her (8 lbs even) and then wrapped her up and handed her to my husband, who had deserted me—at my command—to be with her. He brought her to me, this most precious gift, and when I looked at her face, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Long black eyelashes, pert nose, rosebud lips. Perfect features, more beautiful than I had ever been in my life.

Her name means “God is gracious,” and as a lovely 17 year old young woman, I can say the name still fits her perfectly.