Birth Story (Long!)
(I will preface this by explaining that we were living in Turkey at the time our son was born. The c-section rate is around 90% there, and birth is highly medicalized. For logistical reasons, we couldn’t return to Canada for the birth, and decided to try in Turkey to have the natural birth we wanted. We took natural birth classes when we were in England earlier that year, and we read a LOT of info on natural birth, but had no midwife or doula to support us during the birth. Not available in Turkey. We talked a lot with our doctor about our desire for natural childbirth, and she did say she was okay with trying.)
I went into labour at the stroke of midnight, Nov. 24. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought I’d start having mild contractions, irregular, with lots of time in between them, and that they would gradually grow in frequency and intensity until the baby was born. I’d heard of women being in the early stages of labour for DAYS (especially with first babies), and I was expecting something similar. But that’s not what happened for me. I woke up at midnight feeling weird. Sat up, and my water broke. So exciting! And so scary! Chris hadn’t gone to sleep yet, so we both got up to see what would happen. My contractions started coming fast and hard, and within half an hour of my water breaking, I was having hard, minute-long contractions every three or four minutes. Since our doctor had told us to come to the hospital when the contractions were five minutes apart, we thought I must be having a really quick labour, and rushed to get to the hospital.
The taxi ride was hard, since I was in a lot of pain and trying not to be loud. Then we had to check in at the hospital, and talk to the nurses, etc, in our crappy Turkish. They kept asking me questions, and I was trying to translate and remember vocab and figure things out while laboring. I really, REALLY wish we had brought a Turkish friend along for language support. In our childbirth classes, they talked a lot about how laboring women need peace and comfort in order to relax and let their bodies work properly. I feel like I never really relaxed into it, because I had to be concentrating on all this other stuff during the labour. I was also worried about Chris, who was exhausted. I WISH WE HAD MORE SUPPORT DURING LABOUR. This is the main thing I learned. When/if we have another baby, WE WILL HAVE A DOULA/MIDWIFE.
Anyway. The doctor came to check me around 1:30 a.m., and I was 4 cm dilated. I was really surprised, since I was laboring so hard and fast. I thought I would be much further along. Again, I wish I had had a midwife there to explain what was going on. The nurses monitored the baby for a bit, and he was doing great. No worries, keep going. So we did. Alone in our hospital room. For hours and hours. Contractions 3 minutes apart. Super hard. Super long. And… no progress. The doctor kept coming in to check my progress (which hurt sooooo much more than the contractions themselves!), and I was at 4 cm each time. Hour after hour. 4 cm. No progress. Chris tried to get me to walk, or change position, but the only way I could handle it was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking, holding Chris’s hands. Took a hot shower, didn’t help much. Back to sitting on the bed. By morning, I was starting to freak out. I could get through the contractions, but the endurance was the hard part, and Chris had already said he needed a break (which I couldn’t really handle - we needed more support!). I felt like I would be able to keep going if only I knew I was making progress. Doctor came in and checked me yet again. 4 cm. I caved in and asked for an epidural. I felt like maybe I needed it in order to have the vaginal birth I wanted, because I knew the threat of c-section was always, always present. The doctor said she couldn’t give me an epidural because my progress was already stalled, and the epidural would slow it down even more. She said pitocin wouldn’t help either, since my contractions were already “extremely efficient.” She said she’d come back to check me in an hour. “What if I haven’t progressed?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she answered. Oh, nice. Just what a laboring woman wants to hear. Yet again, I wish to god we’d had a midwife with us. So… 8:00 check. No progress. The doctor brought in a mobile ultrasound and checked the baby’s position. He had shifted position slightly, and was now coming face-first, and I was starting to have some back labour.
At this point, the doctor recommended a c-section. She said it was up to me - I could keep laboring (she explained that I could easily be in labour for another 24 hours, and end up with an emergency c-section anyway), or I could have one now. It was so, so hard to have to make this choice. I’m angry and sad, still, that I had to make it. I feel like I was coerced into something I really didn’t want - not by my doctor, but by the situation. I didn’t know what was happening, why I wasn’t progressing, what alternatives there were, and I was trying to make this huge decision in the midst of so much pain, concern for my exhausted husband, where no one aside from the doctor spoke English, in a place where natural birth is considered freakish and there are no supports…
I wish the doctor had made the decision for me, because then I could be angry at her. But she made me choose, and so I’m angry at myself. I accepted the c-section. I feel now that it was the wrong decision, but I also think the odds were stacked against us managing a natural birth. I haven’t forgiven myself for this yet.
So… Within an hour or so, they wheeled me down to the OR. Chris wasn’t allowed to come, which broke both our hearts. Now I was not just in pain, but alone and scared, and disappointed with myself, and doubting my decision. I was surrounded by Turkish women on gurneys waiting for their planned c-sections (in Turkey, they operate 2 weeks before the due dates). They were all coiffed and made-up (they go to the salon before the hospital), and I was all grunty and sweaty on my gurney. Heh. In the OR, it took the stupid anesthesiologist 10 or 12 tries to get the spinal drip in. You have to sit up, curled over your belly, still contracting, but holding perfectly still, while a guy who doesn’t speak English jabs a needle in your spine, and man… After five or six tries, I just lost it and started sobbing. A nurse just came and hugged me, and I will always remember that kindness.
After the drip was in, everything happened really fast. My doctor was there, I was numb, then I passed out for a few minutes, and then I woke up to my doctor saying, “Look! Your baby is here!.” And they brought him to me all wrapped in a blanket, and I kissed and kissed him, and that was the sweetest moment of my whole life.
Then they took him up to the nursery, and me to recovery, and then back to my room where Chris was waiting. We both cried. We were alone, waiting for “them” to bring back our baby. This separation is exactly what we didn’t want.
But when they brought Fritz in to us, finally, it was wonderful. We were a family of three, and we were together, and we did it, and we made it. And Fritz was (and is) perfect.
***
After our rather traumatic birth, we had a difficult settling-in period, too. Fritz had jaundice, and had to be readmitted to the hospital for light therapy. Without my permission, the nurses started supplementing my breastfeeding with formula during this time, which led to huge milk supply issues (and further upset!) for me. Then, for some reason, the doctors told us that Fritz had tested for low thyroid, which can cause serious problems and retardation. “But don’t worry, we’ll retest and you’ll find out in 48 hours whether or not your son has a serious medical problem.” (I later learned that this is not a standard test for newborns, and our results were perfectly normal.) He was fine, obviously, but I could have happily gone without those 48 hours of freak-out.
Things were just so much MUCH MUCH better once we were home for good, the three of us. Away from the medical system that made everything so much worse and harder than it should have been. (Of course, I know, we also benefited a lot from them. It’s a mixed bag.)
***
“The most important thing is that you have a healthy baby.” I heard this a lot following Fritzy’s birth. I told it to myself, too. And it’s true. It is the most important thing - but it’s not the only important thing. There have been many negative consequences of what I believe to be my unnecessary c-section. (“Stalled labour” is crap. I truly believe things would have been different if I had been in an environment I felt comfortable in, with true support for natural birth.) A lot of the trauma following his birth, and certainly a lot of the breastfeeding trouble, was the result of the c-section. But maybe the biggest consequence has been my own… despair, almost. I so wanted to experience my son’s birth. To “give birth” to him, which I don’t feel I did. Birth was something that was done to me, not something I did. I wanted to be the first person to hold him. I wanted to feel empowered in my body - like it had performed this amazing feat. I know it did something amazing - it made Fritz! - but it also really let me down when I needed it, and the way I feel about it has really changed. (I am working on that. Yoga helps.)
I have avoided telling this story, or even thinking about it, because I feel like I shouldn't be upset -- Fritz is perfect, and I am healthy. But I have been haunted by it for over a year now, and maybe talking about it is a way to start moving past it.
***
Lesson learned: if/when I have another baby, I will have a midwife. No matter what.
Lesson still being learned: I can’t beat myself up for doing my best.
*
***
*****
Edited to add:
In reading a friend's blog of her own experience of an unnecessary c-section, I learned that 1) all those vaginal exams were unnecessary and actually dangerous; 2) it's possible to have a pain-free vaginal exam if the doctor is patient and gentle (I didn't know this; I assumed pain was standard) and 3) the pain of a vaginal exam can actually cause the cervix to clamp up, making dilation appear less than it is. Hmmmm, maybe I was making progress after all? ARGH. ANGRY.
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I have a new friend. She's a Canadian-trained midwife, and I love and trust her. According to her, when my doctor told me she couldn't give me an epidural, it was a bald-faced lie, probably to pressure me into just shutting up and accepting the c-section already. I am getting more angry the more I learn.
I went into labour at the stroke of midnight, Nov. 24. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought I’d start having mild contractions, irregular, with lots of time in between them, and that they would gradually grow in frequency and intensity until the baby was born. I’d heard of women being in the early stages of labour for DAYS (especially with first babies), and I was expecting something similar. But that’s not what happened for me. I woke up at midnight feeling weird. Sat up, and my water broke. So exciting! And so scary! Chris hadn’t gone to sleep yet, so we both got up to see what would happen. My contractions started coming fast and hard, and within half an hour of my water breaking, I was having hard, minute-long contractions every three or four minutes. Since our doctor had told us to come to the hospital when the contractions were five minutes apart, we thought I must be having a really quick labour, and rushed to get to the hospital.
The taxi ride was hard, since I was in a lot of pain and trying not to be loud. Then we had to check in at the hospital, and talk to the nurses, etc, in our crappy Turkish. They kept asking me questions, and I was trying to translate and remember vocab and figure things out while laboring. I really, REALLY wish we had brought a Turkish friend along for language support. In our childbirth classes, they talked a lot about how laboring women need peace and comfort in order to relax and let their bodies work properly. I feel like I never really relaxed into it, because I had to be concentrating on all this other stuff during the labour. I was also worried about Chris, who was exhausted. I WISH WE HAD MORE SUPPORT DURING LABOUR. This is the main thing I learned. When/if we have another baby, WE WILL HAVE A DOULA/MIDWIFE.
Anyway. The doctor came to check me around 1:30 a.m., and I was 4 cm dilated. I was really surprised, since I was laboring so hard and fast. I thought I would be much further along. Again, I wish I had had a midwife there to explain what was going on. The nurses monitored the baby for a bit, and he was doing great. No worries, keep going. So we did. Alone in our hospital room. For hours and hours. Contractions 3 minutes apart. Super hard. Super long. And… no progress. The doctor kept coming in to check my progress (which hurt sooooo much more than the contractions themselves!), and I was at 4 cm each time. Hour after hour. 4 cm. No progress. Chris tried to get me to walk, or change position, but the only way I could handle it was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking, holding Chris’s hands. Took a hot shower, didn’t help much. Back to sitting on the bed. By morning, I was starting to freak out. I could get through the contractions, but the endurance was the hard part, and Chris had already said he needed a break (which I couldn’t really handle - we needed more support!). I felt like I would be able to keep going if only I knew I was making progress. Doctor came in and checked me yet again. 4 cm. I caved in and asked for an epidural. I felt like maybe I needed it in order to have the vaginal birth I wanted, because I knew the threat of c-section was always, always present. The doctor said she couldn’t give me an epidural because my progress was already stalled, and the epidural would slow it down even more. She said pitocin wouldn’t help either, since my contractions were already “extremely efficient.” She said she’d come back to check me in an hour. “What if I haven’t progressed?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she answered. Oh, nice. Just what a laboring woman wants to hear. Yet again, I wish to god we’d had a midwife with us. So… 8:00 check. No progress. The doctor brought in a mobile ultrasound and checked the baby’s position. He had shifted position slightly, and was now coming face-first, and I was starting to have some back labour.
At this point, the doctor recommended a c-section. She said it was up to me - I could keep laboring (she explained that I could easily be in labour for another 24 hours, and end up with an emergency c-section anyway), or I could have one now. It was so, so hard to have to make this choice. I’m angry and sad, still, that I had to make it. I feel like I was coerced into something I really didn’t want - not by my doctor, but by the situation. I didn’t know what was happening, why I wasn’t progressing, what alternatives there were, and I was trying to make this huge decision in the midst of so much pain, concern for my exhausted husband, where no one aside from the doctor spoke English, in a place where natural birth is considered freakish and there are no supports…
I wish the doctor had made the decision for me, because then I could be angry at her. But she made me choose, and so I’m angry at myself. I accepted the c-section. I feel now that it was the wrong decision, but I also think the odds were stacked against us managing a natural birth. I haven’t forgiven myself for this yet.
So… Within an hour or so, they wheeled me down to the OR. Chris wasn’t allowed to come, which broke both our hearts. Now I was not just in pain, but alone and scared, and disappointed with myself, and doubting my decision. I was surrounded by Turkish women on gurneys waiting for their planned c-sections (in Turkey, they operate 2 weeks before the due dates). They were all coiffed and made-up (they go to the salon before the hospital), and I was all grunty and sweaty on my gurney. Heh. In the OR, it took the stupid anesthesiologist 10 or 12 tries to get the spinal drip in. You have to sit up, curled over your belly, still contracting, but holding perfectly still, while a guy who doesn’t speak English jabs a needle in your spine, and man… After five or six tries, I just lost it and started sobbing. A nurse just came and hugged me, and I will always remember that kindness.
After the drip was in, everything happened really fast. My doctor was there, I was numb, then I passed out for a few minutes, and then I woke up to my doctor saying, “Look! Your baby is here!.” And they brought him to me all wrapped in a blanket, and I kissed and kissed him, and that was the sweetest moment of my whole life.
Then they took him up to the nursery, and me to recovery, and then back to my room where Chris was waiting. We both cried. We were alone, waiting for “them” to bring back our baby. This separation is exactly what we didn’t want.
But when they brought Fritz in to us, finally, it was wonderful. We were a family of three, and we were together, and we did it, and we made it. And Fritz was (and is) perfect.
***
After our rather traumatic birth, we had a difficult settling-in period, too. Fritz had jaundice, and had to be readmitted to the hospital for light therapy. Without my permission, the nurses started supplementing my breastfeeding with formula during this time, which led to huge milk supply issues (and further upset!) for me. Then, for some reason, the doctors told us that Fritz had tested for low thyroid, which can cause serious problems and retardation. “But don’t worry, we’ll retest and you’ll find out in 48 hours whether or not your son has a serious medical problem.” (I later learned that this is not a standard test for newborns, and our results were perfectly normal.) He was fine, obviously, but I could have happily gone without those 48 hours of freak-out.
Things were just so much MUCH MUCH better once we were home for good, the three of us. Away from the medical system that made everything so much worse and harder than it should have been. (Of course, I know, we also benefited a lot from them. It’s a mixed bag.)
***
“The most important thing is that you have a healthy baby.” I heard this a lot following Fritzy’s birth. I told it to myself, too. And it’s true. It is the most important thing - but it’s not the only important thing. There have been many negative consequences of what I believe to be my unnecessary c-section. (“Stalled labour” is crap. I truly believe things would have been different if I had been in an environment I felt comfortable in, with true support for natural birth.) A lot of the trauma following his birth, and certainly a lot of the breastfeeding trouble, was the result of the c-section. But maybe the biggest consequence has been my own… despair, almost. I so wanted to experience my son’s birth. To “give birth” to him, which I don’t feel I did. Birth was something that was done to me, not something I did. I wanted to be the first person to hold him. I wanted to feel empowered in my body - like it had performed this amazing feat. I know it did something amazing - it made Fritz! - but it also really let me down when I needed it, and the way I feel about it has really changed. (I am working on that. Yoga helps.)
I have avoided telling this story, or even thinking about it, because I feel like I shouldn't be upset -- Fritz is perfect, and I am healthy. But I have been haunted by it for over a year now, and maybe talking about it is a way to start moving past it.
***
Lesson learned: if/when I have another baby, I will have a midwife. No matter what.
Lesson still being learned: I can’t beat myself up for doing my best.
*
***
*****
Edited to add:
In reading a friend's blog of her own experience of an unnecessary c-section, I learned that 1) all those vaginal exams were unnecessary and actually dangerous; 2) it's possible to have a pain-free vaginal exam if the doctor is patient and gentle (I didn't know this; I assumed pain was standard) and 3) the pain of a vaginal exam can actually cause the cervix to clamp up, making dilation appear less than it is. Hmmmm, maybe I was making progress after all? ARGH. ANGRY.
_
_
_
_
_
I have a new friend. She's a Canadian-trained midwife, and I love and trust her. According to her, when my doctor told me she couldn't give me an epidural, it was a bald-faced lie, probably to pressure me into just shutting up and accepting the c-section already. I am getting more angry the more I learn.