All About Babies, Part II Dear Daughter's Birth Story

I finally have Internet access again! I contemplated posting a blog from my cell phone, but that was a last resort and I don't love blogging enough to endure the frustration of trying to type on a virtual keyboard.

In any case, still in my effort to reach the blog where I try to tackle my personal feelings about childbirth, here is my daughter's birth story.

In my last post about my son's birth, I hope it was pretty clear that everything went extremely well. With my daughter's pregnancy it seemed like everything went extremely awry.

During the whole pregnancy, we were trying to move, find a new house to buy, and figure out everything financially. Oh, and we were moving into my in-laws basement in the interim between an old house and a new one. One contract on our house fell through and we had to kind of move back into our home and try to sell it again. All that = STRESS.

At about ten weeks pregnant, I developed some sort of infection (B.V. for those of you in the know...) and I could either let it be and risk a pre-term labor or I could try to treat it. After about four days of using what they gave me for that, I experienced that heart-stopping moment when you think you might lose your baby.

At about eleven weeks pregnant, I had a pretty substantial sub-chorionic hemorrhage, or BLEEDING. As most of you know, that early in pregnancy the baby docs are pretty clueless and hands off. There's really nothing they can do and nothing you can do but wait and see. The options were miscarriage or not.

This didn't help alleviate any of my stress.

Thanks be to God, when we went in the day of the hemorrhage, our baby girl was still there. After the bleeding stopped--still there. On the ultrasound you could see the blood. The tech estimated that it was about a cup of blood, just hanging out in there waiting to be reabsorbed. Because I am an information seeker (and probably very annoying) I asked and asked what could have caused it. One of the possibilities was that a small part of the placenta had detached, but not the whole thing.

The middle parts of the pregnancy were okay. I was again diagnosed with slight anemia (again), I was dehydrated, dizzy, I had some weird bouts of puking. It wasn't great. My daughter was also breech.

Near the end of her pregnancy, she was still breech. Not only that but they were concerned that she was too small. I was not concerned about a) trying for a breech birth because I was a vaginal breech birth, it can be done, and b) her size.

My son was basically a healthy eight pounds and they had also sounded the alarm with him because my stomach didn't stick far enough out. I had two or three extra ultra sounds to confirm that he was in proportion and wasn't suffering from a growth restriction. And in the end....EIGHT POUNDS!? Forgive me for not worrying about my daughter's size either.

Because they thought she was approximately four, maybe five, pounds, we started doing non-stress tests. We tried external version to turn her, but that failed pretty promptly because she suffered decelerations in heart rate every time the doctor got down to business.

Then came the last scare of all--low amniotic fluid. The doctor finally sat down with us to say that her presentation, her size, and my low amniotic fluid had prompted him to recommend a Cesarean. It was terrifying and I wasn't sure what to think. One of my nurse midwives agreed with his recommendation. I didn't really speak with anyone else before the surgery to get their opinion.

Comparing the craziness and thrill of a vaginal birth with a Cesarean is like comparing a roller coaster to being kidnapped by a maniac. For me, anyway. One is fun, exciting, and a little scary. The other made me feel vulnerable, unsure, and helpless.

I met with the Nurse Anesthetist before the surgery and he was very calming. Once I got into the O.R., I was shocked. It was terribly cold and filled with strangers. I had one close friend there who was a nurse and my nurse midwife, but even they had to wear the surgical gowns and masks. Right up to the end, I was asking my nurse midwife if she thought this was a good idea, if I would be a candidate for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean), etc.

I had a brief moment of panic when they put the mask over my face. It made me feel claustrophobic and I reached over to move it away. The Anesthesiologist gave me a patronizing glance and without a word, put it over my face again. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, it was just bad timing. I was already freaking out and it was just made worse. I said my peace and the mask was finally removed.

Sometime during or after the surgery, my midwife told me that my uterus was "beautiful". But now it had a massive scar on it?! Could I ever again rely on that uterus?

My daughter was pulled from me and appeared to be just fine. She was also two weeks early and a strong six pounds, ten ounces. Too small, my ass. Next time I'm pregnant and there are concerns about size, I am going to flip my shit. It's not worth worrying about.

After the surgery, I was nauseous and puked and so they gave me more drugs. I was stuck in bed with three or four different machines on me plus those damn compression socks. I argued with our nurses all the time. I was frustrated and unfamiliar with the whole surgery process.

Let me just remind you, after a vaginal birth you can go do aerobics for all they care. You're fine. You are not a floppy piece of woman to be poked, prodded, and continually drugged up.


When I finally went home, I was bloated, distended, and in pain. I couldn't pick up my toddler and every time I looked down I was reminded of my mutilation. This is what it seemed like to me. I didn't want a c-section, but I did it because I thought it was best for my daughter.

For whatever reason, the aftermath the surgery combined with some predispositions in me equalled crazy IBS and newly developing thyroid problems. I wasn't able to really enjoy my new daughter because I was totally distracted by my body rebelling.

I talked with a friend later who knew one of my other midwives. I guess this particular midwife (whom I did not speak with the day before my surgery was scheduled) was totally on board with me getting an induction and a trial of labor. She was also of the opinion that I wasn't low on amniotic fluid at all. This enraged me. I thought at the time that there was a consensus of medical opinion that a c-section was best for me.

My DH is very reassuring about all this. I will never know what would have happened if I had labored. Maybe she wasn't strong enough to withstand labor. Simply, we believe God does have a plan that is for the greater glory. Even though I wish it hadn't happened that way, somehow it will all work out for the best. And yes, I am very grateful that I have a daughter who is here and mostly healthy and mostly happy. :)

This is the way it happened. It's done, it's in the past, and it's definitely time to move on.