Disclaimer: This post includes nitty-gritty details about things that happen to the female body after childbirth - specifically, mine. It’s TMI and it uses technical terms for female private parts.
It’s no secret that I had my heart set on a natural birth, the first time and again for the second time. It’s no secret that I was extremely disappointed when both of my “births” ended up being surgical procedures rather than births. I don’t even think of them as births. Because they weren’t. They were surgeries. It wasn’t the power of my wonderfully made body that brought my children into this world; it was a scalpel and a room full of doctors discussing the latest beach weekend at the condo. I’m still struggling with my disappointment and my grief that I have no idea what it feels like to give birth. I’m struggling with my anger that there are so few birthing options for pregnant women in this state. I’m struggling with my doubt that I made the right decision to have Ella via c-section, which ultimately led to my repeat c-section with Luke.
I have struggled with hearing that it was the safest way; that a healthy mom and healthy baby are what matter most; that at least they had beautifully round heads.
I think I’m struggling most with the attitude that a c-section is no big deal. That it’s a routine procedure. That women have them every day and it’s normal.
It might happen every day, it might be routine, but there is nothing normal about it. And it is a big deal.
C-sections have their place in the world of childbirth. They are sometimes medically necessary, even life-saving. I don’t know that mine were medically necessary, but I made the decision to have both of mine myself so I can’t fault anyone but me for my misgivings. That didn’t stop the suck.
What I am doing now, as a matter of therapy for me and education for those who are looking for it, is writing about my experience with my second c-section. The first one was “easy”, compared to other people’s experiences (and there were many around the time of Ella’s delivery that I could compare to). The second one was awful.
These are the parts I left out of Luke’s birth story.
Regardless of the morphine pump, I was in pain from the minute the epidural started wearing off. It was enough pain that I was so fixated on when I could push the pump button again that I couldn’t keep track on the clock in the room. I had to ask someone to get my cell phone out of my bag so I would have a digital clock to look at. If I could have found a way to set a recurring alarm to go off every 6 minutes, I would have. It was bad enough that I was also keeping track of when I could have the next dose of Toradol (an anti-inflammatory) – on top of the morphine pump.
While I sat there hurting and pushing my little button (God forbid it get out of my reach, and it did occasionally what with trying to care for a newborn), I would sporadically, suddenly, unexpectedly be hit with waves of nausea so extreme that I wanted to cry with the effort of controlling it. I was terrified of throwing up. TERRIFIED. I had just had my mid-section sliced and diced and the mere thought of heaving up what little “food” (read: broth and Jello) I’d eaten was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. On top of that fear was the fear that I would throw up all over my newborn son after I had finally gotten him to latch on and nurse (because he wouldn’t for the first 5 or 6 hours because he had a chest and belly full of amniotic fluid that didn’t get squeezed out in the birth canal). The first wave hit me after the initial crowd had left and I was alone in the room except for my sister-in-law. Thank goodness she was there because I couldn’t get up to get a cold rag or a bucket to puke in and waiting for a nurse would have taken too long. This went on with the same sense of urgency all night long. On top of keeping track of pushing the button and Toradol doses, I was also keeping track of the next time I could have Zofran (to control the nausea).
Thankfully, the nausea only last until the IV and morphine pump were removed, but the pain takes a lot, lot longer to go away. This time I was seriously wondering if I would have to get my doctor to write me a second prescription for Loritab after I’d taken the first 10 days worth at home, but it gradually subsided enough that OTC Advil handled the worst of it. (If you are wondering how much Advil a mom needs after a c-section, my experience is that two bottles is the minimum, and you might want to throw in a bottle of extra strength Tylenol so she can do the Tylenol/Advil cocktail when the Loritab and 600 mg Motrin runs out. That wasn’t necessary after my first surgery, but it was after the second.)
I was lucky in that I had stitches (at my own insistence) instead of staples and I didn’t have to worry about my incision opening or oozing or any of the other nightmares I’ve heard friends tell about. I had a brief scare of infection while I was staying at Children’s Hospital with Luke when he was 2 weeks old (trying to be comfortable on the little cot with my fresh incision and very sick baby), but a little extra vigilant wound care (soap and water wash, peroxide rinse, and Neosporin) headed that off before it necessitated antibiotics. This second time around, the top layer of my incision was closed with steri-tapes. Do you have any idea how scary it is to remove steri-tapes from a fresh (read: week-old) wound? I did it slowly, carefully, in the shower while trying not to touch the actual incision. (I still try not to touch the scar.) Again, I’m so thankful I didn’t have to have any staples removed.
After stretching your ab muscles for 10 months, having a giant needle insert a catheter into your spinal column, a 6 inch incision in your middle, and your insides rearranged, it’s hard to move around for a while. It’s hard to get into and out of bed. Lifting is impossible. I couldn’t pick up Ella for about 8 weeks. Sitting is exhausting. I quickly dismissed the thought of going to church the first Sunday after Luke was born because there was no way I could sit in a chair or pew that long.
Pooping is downright scary. Narcotic pain medicine and surgery create extreme constipation, and that combined with the lack of ab muscles and 6 inch incision making going to the bathroom a very traumatic experience. Even with stool softeners. Traumatic.
After the immediate pain subsides, it gradually fades to burning, then tingling, then numbness, and maybe, eventually, normal again. Ten months later, my incision site still doesn’t feel normal. My epidural site still aches when my back is tired, and I expect it always will since it never stopped aching after Ella’s delivery. I still occasionally get the sharp, stretching, weird pain up the side of my abdomen that I felt right after the surgery. My doctor tells me it might due to my body gearing up to ovulate again. Maybe. Maybe something’s just wrong in there.
Just a few other things that you might mistakenly believe you get to pass on if you aren’t having a vaginal birth: bleeding for 6 to 8 weeks and swelling and achiness of the vulva. I think that was what surprised me the most after my c-section with Ella. The swelling. After all, I had not pushed the baby out, but I still swelled and I still had to care for those parts with a Peri- rinse to prevent vaginal/uterine infection.
My entire mid-section from belly button to thighs was one hot mess.
A c-section might not seem like such a big deal, especially at this point in time and in this country, but it is and it sucks. A repeat c-section sucks even more.
And, what sucks even more than all of the above is that my daughter, observant, sponge that she is, believes that it’s normal for babies to be cut out of mommy’s tummies when it’s time for them to be born. We recently had a conversation about Aunt Becca’s baby being born. Ella was confused when Rebecca attended a childbirth class over the weekend to “learn how to have a baby.” Ella asked me about it the next day, and I explained that it was just a class and Becca was at home now. Then she said, “Where is the baby?” I told her that the baby was still in Becca’s tummy because it’s not finished growing yet. Then she asked me if she would go to the hospital for the doctor to get it out of her tummy. At that point, with the context of her understanding that she and Luke both came out of the big scar on my tummy, and with my wish for her to understand normal life-giving/life-sustaining functions, I took the plunge. I told her, “You know, sometimes mommies push their babies out of their bottoms so they don’t have to have surgery to get the baby out.” Exhale. She didn’t say anything then, but this morning she said, “I’m not going to push my baby out because my bottom’s just been hurtin’.” It made me sad. So sad.
I am committed to educating her about the power of a woman’s body to birth and feed her baby, but I can’t help feeling like a hypocrite. How do I present to her what is normal when she had a front row seat for the abnormal? I have a haunting scar as proof that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
But they do have beautiful heads.
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