CBAC Guest Post: Charlie’s Birth Story

February 25, 2018 by blog Leave a Comment

During February 2018, birth stories and articles featured on ICAN’s blog will be focused on CBACs – Cesarean Birth After a Cesarean. It is a term used to describe a birth that was planned as a VBAC, Vaginal Birth After a Cesarean, but instead resulted in another cesarean.

Charlie’s Birth Story

February 8, 2016

It’s taken me six months to blog the story of Charlie’s birth. I don’t know why, exactly. Partially, I wondered if it would be interesting to a reader since she was delivered by cesarean. As someone who loves a good birth story and has worked with birth professionally for so long, I enjoy a good birth story about hours of primal labor that end in a magical, natural delivery. There are usually beautiful, raw, black and white photos attached and I almost always cry. I really wanted to achieve a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time as I had romanticized that experience in my mind so much. Grayson was born six years ago via surgical birth and my memories of it seem very….surgical. I didn’t know the OB that delivered him, I was terrified of surgery, and the birth itself was quiet, sterile and cold. I had less happiness and support in my life at the time and I was a lot less secure in myself as a person and most certainly terrified to become a mother. I wanted Charlie’s birth to be 100% different. I mistakenly thought that it meant I needed to have an entirely different birth to achieve the experience I wanted. I was wrong.

In early August I found myself at the end of a long, hot, complicated pregnancy. From awful morning sickness and migraines to debilitating joint problems, the pregnancy won the award of “most miserable”. (That’s saying a lot since Grayson’s pregnancy was no walk in the park.) I had already been in the hospital a few times for preterm contractions, a car accident, and a “rule out pneumonia” visit that was determined to be a terrible virus. I was sick of being pregnant. On top of that, I worked in Labor and Delivery at the hospital where I would be delivering, and I was beginning to resent all the strangers that were coming in and leaving with their babies.

On the morning of August 6th, I woke up with my regular prodromal contractions. I had been contracting on and off for ten weeks at least. At 38 weeks they wouldn’t be stopped with medication, so I would just need to endure them and hope they would turn into labor. I had an OB appointment that morning at 11:00. At the appointment it was noted that my blood pressure was higher than normal, I was having strong contractions every two minutes, but my cervix hadn’t changed anymore. My wonderful OB monitored my contractions for about an hour. Based on the blood pressure readings and the regularity of my contractions, she recommended we schedule a repeat c-section for that evenings and felt it was the safest option. I agreed with her advice and she set it up with Labor and Delivery. By the time I left the office it was about 2:00.

Wait. What? No VBAC? I’m having the baby today? I’m 38 weeks. Is that too early? I came to my appointment alone. Grayson is at school. Tyler. Tyler is at work. I need to get gas. I should probably put on some makeup. I look awful today. Good thing I shaved my legs and cleaned the house this morning. I’m scared. I’m excited.

I called my sister-in-law to start the phone call chain. She lives three hours away and got in her car immediately according to the plan. It was important to me that she be there and it was prearranged that she drop everything and drive. I drove to the hospital, sat in my car for a few minutes and threw on some mascara and concealer, because, well, photos. I took a deep breath and went inside to have a baby.

It was so odd to walk in as a patient and not an employee. My sweet coworkers had decorated my room with balloons and streamers and greeted me with excitement and cheerful anticipation. I was already absorbing all the positive energy around me. Tyler soon arrived and we made eye contact and shared a “HOLY CRAP WE ARE HAVING A BABY TODAY” look.

I asked for my headphones. When planning a VBAC, I had so many ideas of ways to relax and personal things I wanted to help me labor. One thing I wanted during labor was to listen to Oceans by Hillsong United. It’s my favorite song. It’s calming, encouraging, and grounding for me. I put in my headphones and listened to the song. I centered in the moment, reconciled the fact that my plans had changed, and prayed for courage and protection for baby and myself.

Fast forward to epidural time. You should know that I hate surprises and I strongly dislike anything I can’t predict. The Anesthesia group came in to do the procedure and I was a total wimp about it. Apparently, I stayed still and calm on the outside, but the tears were falling and I was TERRIFIED the entire time. It’s normal for your blood pressure to drop some and to feel overwhelmingly faint for a minute, and I knew that, but I still had a total panic attack when that sensation hit me. Not only that, but I had all sorts of other weird sensations from having a needle in my spine. Tyler held my hands and maintained his role as my rock the entire time.

Epidural is in. I’m appropriately numb. It’s time to roll back to the OR. Full panic ensues.

I think I was still anxious from the epidural experience, add that to the overwhelming anxiety about the fact that I was about to have this baby earth side, finally, after months and months of a hellish pregnancy, and I am a total hypochondriac. It was a lot. It was almost too much.

They rolled me out and all I saw was my mother-in-law. She is my MIL by a technicality, but, she is my mother, emotionally (and has been for many years before she was a real part of my family). I whimpered out a little “I’m scared” through clenched teeth, and she gave me the reassuring maternal look, squeezed my hand as I rolled past, and then everyone was behind me. Even Tyler.

But I wasn’t alone. My coworkers (turned friends) surrounded me. The whole OR was full of familiar faces and voices laughing, cheering me on, talking, and even singing at times… (Don’t ask.) All of a sudden I was ok and I knew this was going to be the birth experience I wanted so much and never had. Everyone in that OR knew me, knew my wishes, knew my past, and prioritized my goals for MY birth and for the baby I hadn’t met yet.

Tyler came in once I was sufficiently prepped and ready. I remember asking everyone to keep talking and laughing so that I wouldn’t get nervous. (Let’s be honest, I work in Obstetrics and had some heightened fears based on some of the things I have seen occupationally.) They all worked to keep the room light and cheery while I made everyone promise I wasn’t dying or bleeding out. Tyler was ready with the phone to take photos and I was ready to meet this tiny person.

“Are you ready to see her?!” “She’s almost here!” “Get ready!”

6:24 pm. Cries. Sweet, strong cries. I heard the most glorious sound in the world.

My tears flowed. I looked up at my husband and his did too.

My doctor said “Here she is!” and held her over the drape. My arms were not strapped down per my request, and I was able to reach up and hold grab her arms. My sweet baby girl was finally here! In that moment I felt so complete and euphoric.

I had been granted “permission” to take her immediately after delivery for skin to skin and breastfeeding in the OR, which isn’t common yet, and I was super stoked about doing it. However, Charlie aspirated a little fluid and needed some help clearing her lungs, so she was taken to the nursery for some extra suctioning after they brought her back over for some more kisses. Tyler went with her of course and took a million photos.

About an hour after she was born, they brought Charlie to me for skin to skin. She was still on a monitor since her pulse and oxygen levels hadn’t fully regulated. Almost as soon as I took her, everything normalized.

I just remember looking back and forth at her and Tyler and feeling more love than I ever thought possible. Tyler would tell me over and over that he has never loved me more, or I have never been more beautiful and cry happy tears. We were so in love with our daughter, and each other, and our lives, and it was perfect.

Now, Charlie is six months old and we have had plenty of sleepless nights, drank gallons of coffee, walked miles around the house holding her, sang a million lullabies, changed countless diapers and made priceless memories as a family of four. We all get to know each other a little better every day and our love for each other continues to multiply.

My birth experience was everything I could have dreamed of and more. Her method of arrival was irrelevant. It was a beautiful birth day for a beautiful little person, and I hope I never forget a second of it.

Permission to repost given by Katie Crenshaw. Read more on her blog.

CBAC Guest Post: Cesarean Birth After Cesarean, 18 Years Later

February 22, 2018 by blog

Cesarean Birth After Cesarean, 18 Years Later

By Pamela Vireday

Image from Wikimedia Commons, here

My CBAC Story

Eighteen years ago, my second child was born. He was born by repeat cesarean after a long, hard “trial of labor” which included 5 hours of pushing with no progress because he was big and posterior with an upright (“military”) head position.

I’ve second-guessed that birth for many years. It’s possible that if we’d pushed even longer, his head would have molded enough to fit through my pelvis and turn anterior on the perineum, as many posterior babies do. However, at that point, I was absolutely exhausted, in a lot of pain, and was worried about the wisdom of continuing when things had gone so long without progress. I knew a non-progressing labor was a risk factor for rupture, plus my baby had experienced some issues with his heart rate. They resolved, but I didn’t want to go into a repeat cesarean in true emergency mode because of a rupture or fetal distress, and emotionally I needed to make sure that I didn’t have an anesthesia failure like I did with my first cesarean.

At that point, I just had a strong sense of Inner Knowing that it was time to be prudent and stop before things became a real emergency. I believe I made the right decision, but it was hard to communicate that to my husband and support team. My doula treated me like I had wimped out and thrown in the towel too easily. I never heard from her again after the cesarean. It was clear she viewed me as a failure.

I dreaded having to go back to my VBAC groups and tell them I’d had a CBAC, but I gritted my teeth and did it anyway. I got some sympathetic responses, but mostly I got a lot of silence or tepid responses that felt judgmental. No one knew how to reply to someone who hadn’t gotten their VBAC.

Over the years, there was a lot of armchair quarterbacking about my decisions. People meant well, but I was left feeling pretty unsupported. And I didn’t feel I could really emotionally process the birth fully in birth spaces because I was afraid of discouraging new mothers or those planning their VBACs. No one wants to hear about when VBAC doesn’t work out.

Eventually, I was able to access some resources that helped me emotionally process my first two births. It took a lot of hard, emotionally grueling work, but in time I came to peace with those births, and I did have two VBACs afterward.

In some ways, the CBAC was healing from my highly traumatic first cesarean, but in other ways, it would always remain hard, even though I felt like it was a prudent and wise call under the circumstances. My consolation was my precious child, but his birth would always remain bittersweet to me in some ways, especially because of the initial lack of support. And that led me to try to improve support for other women who had difficult or traumatic births, especially CBAC mothers.

Expanding CBAC Support

If about 75% of labors after cesarean end up with a VBAC, that means that about 25% of these labors end with another cesarean. Where is the support for women who have an undesired second cesarean? Where is the acknowledgment of all the work they put in towards a VBAC, the hours of labor, the pain, the worry? Does all that preparation and work not count if you don’t end up with a VBAC?

In time, I began to realize there was a vacuum of support for the mothers who didn’t VBAC. It wasn’t just about my own experience anymore, but also about other moms. How could we make it so that all mothers felt supported, regardless of outcome? Shouldn’t we offer emotional support after any cesarean, whether it’s your first or another one?

I wasn’t the only one, of course. A number of us shared this experience of another unwanted cesarean, including people in the leadership of ICAN, and we began to talk about how to offer better support. One of the first things we did was ditch the terms used in the medical literature, terms like “Failed VBAC” or “Failed Trial of Labor After Cesarean.” We felt this was too judgmental and insensitive. We were not “failures,” we did not fail, and we should not have been on trial.

We created the term Cesarean Birth After Cesarean(CBAC) as a more mother-friendly alternative. It refers to a cesarean that occurs when the mother really wanted and worked for a VBAC but didn’t get one. These women had different emotional needs than those who wanted a repeat cesarean, and terminology needed to reflect that difference. So we used “CBAC” to differentiate another unwanted cesarean from Elective Repeat Cesarean Section (ERCS), where women truly wanted another cesarean and voluntarily chose it. Neither one is good or bad; they are simply different experiences.

There are many shades of CBAC. Most of the time, it refers to someone who labored and ended with another cesarean, but it can also refer to a cesarean performed before labor for medical reasons, because the mother had no choice, or because the mother was coerced or scared into a repeat cesarean. Some women prefer “CSAC” (Cesarean Surgery After Cesarean) because they consider the term “birth” too emotionally loaded. Women get to choose the term that seems right for their own experience. The important thing is to acknowledge and validate the range of feelings that women have over this experience.

Of course, all CBAC mothers are not alike. Having the shared experience of a CBAC doesn’t mean other details of our situations are similar. Each CBAC is unique, and each carries its own particular color and resonance of pain.

Some had disappointing or traumatic experiences, and some didn’t. Some felt very betrayed by their caregivers, while others had very supportive caregivers. Some felt they had a “prudent CBAC,” where although it was difficult, a repeat cesarean felt like the right choice under the circumstances. Some had an “empowered CBAC,” where even though there were disappointment and sadness, there was powerful learning and healing too.

Some CBAC mothers go on to have a VBAC eventually, while others never do. Some have multiple CBACs, each with their own emotional resonance. Some have a VBAC and then a CBAC, which has its own particular pain. A few have had the bitter experience of having lasting physical and emotional damage from their CBAC, including uterine rupture, hysterectomy, and damage to or loss of their baby. As always, each person’s experience is different and unique, and each CBAC mother needs safe space to process all the varying feelings about those experiences. But this can be difficult to do within regular birth forums.

Some people don’t think there needs to be any separate support for CBAC mothers (“a cesarean is a cesarean”), and to this day, many of us with CBACs still have our decisions questioned and second-guessed in birth forums. Although many doubters have come around to offer more support, CBAC still remains a topic of friction at times within the birth community. This needs to change.

New CBAC Resources

Over the years, we have tried to expand resources for CBAC mothers. We have offered several CBAC sessions at ICAN conferences and at local chapter meetings, and until recently we had a Yahoo group for online support.

In 2011, I offered a CBAC workshop at the St. Louis ICAN conference. The session was derived from discussions by mothers on the Yahoo CBAC Support Group, and many graciously consented to share their thoughts and quotes to help others. At that session, we brainstormed ways to offer further support for CBAC moms.

One of the main ideas was to have an online website devoted to CBAC support and information. So Melek Speros, Catherine Kowalik Harper, and I created a CBAC Support website, based on my material from the 2011 workshop and suggestions I got there. On this site, we share CBAC research, websites where CBAC moms can go for emotional healing, information on the unique emotional needs of CBAC mothers, suggestions for processing a CBAC, CBAC birth stories, inspirational quotes for healing, and suggestions for birth professionals to help them better support CBAC mothers.

ICAN has also created a new online support group via a Facebook page for CBAC mothers. This is a closed group; you have to be a CBAC mother to join. It offers intensive, personal support for those dealing with the aftermath of a CBAC.

ICAN is also about to publish a brand-new brochure on CBAC. It is intended for ICAN leaders and other birth professionals who may encounter a woman who has recently had a CBAC and is in need of extra support. We encourage birth professionals to include this brochure in a resource packet that they can send to women shortly after a CBAC so these mothers realize that they are not alone, that others have walked the CBAC trail and survived, and that there are resources for further support if they want it.

In future years, I hope we can create even more ways to help support CBAC mothers. If you have other suggestions for how we can do that, please add them in the comments section.

Final Thoughts

Eighteen years after my own CBAC, it remains a potent memory. My sweet little boy is a strong and independent man now, flying off on new adventures, but his birth is still a touchstone for many different emotions. Although I did eventually go on to have 2 VBACs after the CBAC, those experiences didn’t “fix” the CBAC or make it go away. They simply are different entities – not better or worse, just different. Although there are things I still mourn about my CBAC, I have learned to honor all my birth experiences, difficult or easy, because they are a big part of the person I am today.

The lessons I learned from my CBAC remain powerful and still resonate in my life. My CBAC helped me to be more compassionate about other people’s births, to recognize that sometimes there are just things that are beyond our control in the moment. It helped me to realize that sometimes birth is more about the willingness to heal and change; that birth is more about the journey and less about the destination.

In time I learned to honor both the disappointment and the joy in all my births, to remember that what counts most is the parenting we do throughout life rather than how we birth, but also that how we feel about our births counts, even years later. Our deep love for our children is a different and separate thing from our emotions about their births, and while these things intertwine, one does not take away from the other. We can honor the disappointment and mourn the difficulty of a birth while still celebrating and fiercely loving the child that came from that birth.

I found that out of my suffering came the ability to transform pain into advocacy. I found my voice in a new and potent way, and I have endeavored to channel the power of that voice to create change, as well as to create and hold safe space for other women and their unique experiences.

A CBAC is never an easy thing. The pain and disappointment of it stay with you forever, but like other grief, it does ease some and you find a way to live with it, just as you find a way to live with other disappointments in your life. You can celebrate certain aspects of it, you can mourn parts of it, you can still be upset that it occurred, but you honor what it has brought to your life, both difficult and wonderful.

You also learn that in time, out of the pain and conflicting emotions that accompany a difficult experience, there can also come great growth and power to create change for yourself and others. Just give yourself the gift of time and space for that healing. It will come.

Permission to repost given by Pamela Vireday. Read more on her blog.

CBAC Guest Post: Felix’s Birth Story, my CSAC

February 18, 2018 by blog Leave a Comment

Felix’s Birth Story, My CSAC

There’s a lot of lingoes people use to describe subsequent cesareans. People just say, “repeat;” some women say “elective repeat cesareans.” In the ICAN village, a lot of women use the term CBAC to describe a VBAC attempt that ended in cesarean. This stands for Cesarean Birth After Cesarean. I don’t use that term because I don’t feel I have given birth to my children. To me, having someone else remove the baby from my body is not birthing.

I twinge reading my surgical report where it says, “The patient delivered abdominally.” That’s an active voice verb–delivered. I didn’t do anything but lie there. I prefer CSAC, which is a cesarean section after cesarean.

This time, things were probably as good as they can get for a cesarean delivery minus putting my baby on my chest in the OR. My doula was there with me, along with my husband and the midwife. Last time, they didn’t bring Corey in for a long time and the midwife had to run off to catch someone’s baby that the surgeon would have been catching. But I had a husband, doula, and midwife with me for Felix. So I had a lot of people who cared about me at the head of the table.

(Edited to add: At Magee, they bring your support people into the OR after they establish the sterile field. This time, I had my midwife with me while they prepared my body and then they brought in Corey and Karen pretty quickly afterward)

The anesthesiologist this time was, again, awesome. There had been a shift change and now Dr. O’C (another DO) was on duty. She was gentle and attentive, used my first name, and listened to me when I told her I felt claustrophobic. She moved things away from my face, found alternate ways to deliver oxygen to me so I didn’t feel smothered by the mask, and held the curtain away so I could look at Felix when he was pulled out. In the event of a cesarean, I had wanted to make sure everyone in the room respected our major life event (which I didn’t feel happened last time) and that definitely came to be.

One of the nurses had formerly worked at a birth center and understood that I’d worked for a normal birth. Dr. B. said several times that he understood this wasn’t the outcome I’d been hoping for. Everyone acknowledge my fear and disappointment and that made things a lot better for me. We also got to have pictures of Felix’s early moments. How do you even describe what that means? We have no images of Miles until I was wheeled into recovery, but we have photos of each of us meeting Felix for the first time, of him still caked in meconium, of him on the baby scale.

And, as I mentioned earlier, I got to see my placenta this time. Pam brought it over and showed me all the parts of it, and the sac that had nourished and protected Felix for months.

Another thing that made the CSAC a better experience was having ICAN with me. One of the nurses participates in our chapter and she was on duty that day, stopping in to talk with me and visit. My doula is a VBAC mom. Corey was updating and sharing encouragement from ICAN members throughout the day. So, mentally and emotionally, I felt supported.

My recovery, as I mentioned, was rough. Even in the hospital, there was a miscommunication about my pain medication until I reached a 10 on the pain scale and was crying in my bed. The nurse assumed I was crying because I hadn’t had a vaginal birth and so I had to wait even longer for pain relief. We spent the rest of my stay chasing the pain rather than staying on top of it–a much worse scenario when you’ve had your abdomen severed and your organs (quite literally) man-handled.

Five weeks out, I am finally allowed to lift Miles again, but my ab muscles are still separated, I’m still bleeding and I have strange purple splotches around my incision. I’m following up at Magee to figure it all out, and I keep on keeping on because I have 2 children to parent now.

Recently, Samantha Shapiro wrote a feature on Ina May Gaskin in the New York Times and had a wonderful way of describing feelings I share about the arrival of my children. She wrote, “It should be possible both to acknowledge that something real was lost in the way my baby was born and to know that this loss is finite.” The finite part of that is what I cling to now, knowing that as time goes on my lower abdomen will look less like a grapevine and that I will, in all ways, begin to heal.

Permission to repost given by Katy Rank Lev. Read more on her blog.

CBAC Guest Post: Birth Without Fear – CBAC Video

February 11, 2018 by blog Leave a Comment

“I had a c-section in December of 2007. After that, I became a birth doula and got informed about birth. I planned a home birth for my next pregnancy. After 67 hours, we transferred to a baby friendly hospital and had a family-centered cesarean. He was born January 16, 2011, at 12:16 am. 8lbs 11oz of perfection. It wasn’t what we planned for, but it was beautiful nonetheless. I plan on going for a vba2c my next time around. I couldn’t have made it through my labor without my partner. He was and is my rock. The pictures were taken by my amazing doula.”

Permission to repost given by Birth Without Fear.

CBAC Guest Post: Pushed to the Limit. Betrayed by my Body.

February 4, 2018 by blog Leave a Comment

Pushed to the Limit. Betrayed by my Body.

family-nature-cbac When I was pregnant for the first time, right through most of the pregnancy I had planned on delivering at the hospital with an epidural; that was the plan. I didn’t need to be a hero. There was no need to suffer.

At some point, I started leaning toward a homebirth. I think initially the idea of being in my own home with my own things was my motivation. Then I had to wrap my head around the idea of a drug-free birth. That part was a bit more difficult but somewhere along the way I started to trust my body; trust that Mother Nature knew what she was doing and just somehow knew that I could do it. By the end of my pregnancy, I felt so confident in my body and my baby.

My water broke two weeks before my due date; labour started several hours later. The midwife arrived, labour progressed. Everything was as it should be, my body doing its job. All I wanted to do was sleep. How about the shower? Well okay, in the shower for a while but I wanted to sleep. All I wanted was to sleep. This is my body coping with labour. I’m listening to my body, it knows what to do. I want to sleep. In between contractions I fell into what felt like the deepest sleep, only to be awakened a few minutes later for a contraction, then back to sleep.

I started feeling the urge to push and I could feel the excitement in the room. The midwife was letting the second midwife know what was going on, equipment was being brought out, I could hear my midwife quietly give her student instructions; we all thought baby’s arrival was imminent. The midwife checked me one last time.

Three to four centimetres. Silence. What? Three to four centimetres. Don’t push. What? Don’t push. How do you stop? It’s like trying not to sneeze, your body takes over and your body does it anyway. Okay, I’ll try not to push. Back in the shower, downstairs, hands and knees, don’t push (push); I protested it all but did it because my midwife wanted me to; don’t push (push). Sleep, when can I go back to sleep? When can I go lie down? Don’t push (push). How about a bath? I am reluctant, I go in the bath anyway; don’t push; I’m trying not to push (push).

In the bathtub I am sleeping between contractions; I feel only slightly aware of what is going on around me, trying not to push (push). I am dreading that urge, dreading each contraction not because of the pain, because of the urge. A contraction, don’t push, I’m trying so hard (push). I’m fighting my body, don’t, don’t, breathe, blow out birthday candles, my body takes over (push…gush). My husband called the midwife, all of a sudden there was a sense of urgency. There was blood, more than there should have been. Hurry, get dressed; get the car; call the hospital tell them we’re on our way. Don’t push (push). The blood has stopped but everyone is scared.

At the hospital, my midwife consults with the OB. There has been no more blood, the baby is fine. At this point it has been 16 hours of active labour, still three to four centimetres. I had an epidural, contractions continued; I never progressed further. Eventually, I was given Pitocin. The baby didn’t tolerate it. After 26 hours of active labour, I had a cesarean.

A few months later I read Home Safe Home: A VBAC – My Way in the January/February 2002 issue of Mothering Magazine. And I knew like I know my name, that I would have a VBAC.

I read and read; books, websites, whatever I could get my hands on; anything to do with natural birth, VBAC and c-section prevention. The next time was going to be different.

When I found out I was pregnant with my second I found a doula, midwife, naturopath, and chiropractor to support me. My husband was behind me 100%. We planned an HBAC and we did everything right. We did everything we possibly could during the pregnancy to ensure proper positioning and to get my body ready for labour.

Labour started, things progressed. I was upright, on hands and knees, up and down the stairs sideways, in the birth pool, in the shower, on the birthing stool, standing, swaying; I did it all. I wanted to sleep so desperately, and I did sleep at times but I was so determined for this labour to be different. I was fine, baby was fine.

The sun was coming up and I started feeling the urge to push. I heard someone say we’d see the baby by morning. The midwife was getting ready. Labour continued, time passed, the urge to push got stronger. The midwife checked me. Four centimetres. What? Four centimetres. But wait, this was supposed to be different. I did everything right. Don’t push. What? Don’t push. No, no, no, not again.

We’re not going to the hospital. We all know what will happen if we go to the hospital; don’t push (push). More moving around, every position possible, chiropractic, homeopathic remedies, and acupuncture; don’t push (push). Another midwife came to consult. Hours passed, blurred conversations; don’t push (push). I’m fine, baby’s fine. Don’t push (push).

Forty hours of active labour. Four centimetres dilated; don’t push (push). Every contraction is a battle with my body; don’t push (push). Why is my body doing this? This isn’t right, it’s not the way. My body is NOT doing was it is supposed to do. Why has my body betrayed me?

We finally go to the hospital and I get an epidural. Maybe if I don’t push, the swelling in my cervix will go down and I will dilate. Maybe if I just get some sleep. Then the decelerations started. Deep decelerations that were not quick to recover.

The OB is paged and comes in. No introductions, no pleasantries. “We have to get this baby out. Now.” Can we talk about it? “You talk about it; I’m going to get the OR ready.” I look around at my team, I can see the devastation on their faces, I can see their pity, I know they are worried about me. It’s okay. I’m okay.

I am rushed down the hall on a bed. I sign the consent lying on my back on the operating table. The baby is born, a boy. I get a kiss, then he is gone. I tell, no, I insist that my husband goes with the baby. They go to the special care nursery as a precaution because the baby seemed to be working hard to breathe.

After observation, formula and eye gel which made my baby’s eyes swell, my husband brings my baby to me. I still hadn’t slept; I was awake in my room waiting. In they came, the baby was immediately in my arms and he nursed like a champ right away. The next day I have no memory of holding my baby for the first time. I have no memory of nursing my baby for the first time. I feel completely robbed.

When we leave the hospital, I can’t stop crying. We’re on our way home in the car and I can’t stop crying. It’s NOT okay. I am NOT okay.

With my third pregnancy, we’re not sure what to do. We’ve tried it all. I am convinced that if I get an epidural early – as soon as I get the premature urge to push – that my cervix won’t swell and I’ll dilate and have a VBA2C. But then…no hospital in the city of Toronto will agree to let me labour after two cesareans. What? It’s my body. It’s my baby. Still, nobody will agree.

It was a very stressful pregnancy, I have my midwife and the same team as before but otherwise, nobody will support my VBA2C. I cried a lot. I tried to figure out my best chances of a successful vaginal birth. I finally changed OBs in my third trimester; she and my midwife shared care. The OB doesn’t agree with me but is nice, calm and respectful and most importantly she knows she can’t make me do anything. My OB discussed my case with the other 17 OBs at the hospital. She and one other OB think I should be able to decide if I labour or not. Nice.

I went into labour on Christmas Eve. I had a shower and cried and cried. Thank you, baby for starting labour before my scheduled c-section on my due date (which I didn’t plan on showing up for, agreeing to book it was strategic. It made it easier for my OB to answer to her superiors if I had a c-section booked even though we both knew that I’d go into labour before, just like my other pregnancies). This is the day my baby was meant to be born.

Labour was much the same. It wasn’t long before I started to feel that urge. “Do you feel pushy?” my husband asks. “No!” I answer a little too quickly and a little too loudly. They knew. We all knew. My body was betraying me again.

We went to the hospital; we called on the way to tell them we were coming. It was Christmas Eve. I would learn later that I was the only woman in the hospital in labour on Christmas Eve. We arrive at the hospital and I am offered a wheelchair. No, I want to walk. We get off the elevators and step on to the L & D floor. A nurse walking down the hall took one look at me and said, “We’re going to section you right away.” Umm, no you’re not.

Another nurse met us down the hall and led me into triage. I said to her, “I know you all think I’m here for a c-section but I’m not.” She says, “Okay, I’ll get the OB and then you won’t have to explain things twice.” I’m shocked. The OB is not my OB, his name is Dr. B. I explain my wishes: I know the risks (I cite VBAC and VBA2C statistics off the top of my head) I have the premature urge to push, I want an epidural and I want to labour for a few hours to see if there is any progress. Dr. B listens patiently. He calmly explains the risks (and also explains that even though I know the risks he still has to explain them to me). He says “okay”. Pause. What? We’re all shocked. I realize that Dr. B is the only other OB that thinks I should be able to decide whether or not I should be ‘allowed’ to labour and I realize that someone is watching over me that day.

The hospital respected my wishes and the OB discussed everything with me, my husband and my midwife. After labouring for several hours and seeing no progress I was satisfied. I really had tried everything and all my “what ifs” were answered. The OB agreed to all my wishes before I signed the consent for the c-section.

In the operating room, my husband, my midwife and my doula were with me. When the baby was born he was lifted up above the curtain. The room was silent and I got to announce the gender. I don’t know why this was so important to me, but it was, and it was a moment I will never forget as long as I live. “It’s a boy,” I said.

My husband did skin-to-skin with the baby in the OR. The baby tried to latch on to my husband. There was no eye gel, no formula and we were never separated. The baby latched on in the recovery room and nursed contently. I remembered everything the next day. I felt okay. I felt at peace.

Permission to repost given by Amanda Taplin on Familynature.ca. She can be found on Twitter, @FamilyNature.