Have you seen Al Jazeera’s new documentary – “Birthrights” – about cesarean and VBAC in the United States? It features ICAN of Atlanta and others in our birthing community. Check it out!
CAM Birth Story: Nikki's cesarean
This birth story, in honor of Cesarean Awareness Month (CAM), comes from Nikki Hauser. To have your birth story posted on this blog, email it to: blog@ican-online.org
I wrote this when I was 19 days PP with Doomling, my son.
Okay, I finally have time to type this up. I will say it ended up in no way easy or all that natural. And I apologize for any details I miss, as I have been busy with a small person as well as some aspects are hard to remember.
My water broke somewhere between midnight and 8am on the 27th. I wondered if it were a trickle, my panties were soaked. I wondered, did I wet myself in my sleep? Could someone sleep through that? Am I crazy for thinking it? Who knows. Got up and went to the bathroom. Trickled, then peed normally, then trickled some more. Looked at Clint and said “I think we maybe going in today, care to cuddle as this may be the last morning we have to do this ourselves?” We cuddled for a little bit, and I waited to see if I still trickled or if my contractions picked up. (Went through two more pairs of panties while waiting.) Called the on call number. Took two tries, and got a call back from Amanda (MW) who had me come into Northside Hospital’s Women’s Center. Can I tell you it is an experience to try and get a clan pair of panties on, 10 months pregnant, and trying not to drip amniotic fluid on the carpet? Exotic dance, in some cultures, maybe.
Clint and I gather up stuff, as we have a feeling we won’t be going home. Get to L and D, get signed in, head back to the LDR room. Talk to Julia (my nurse) as Clint goes to take care of stuff. Gown, and on monitors. Doomling was good, I was contracting (1-2 minutes apart, as per the previous 10 days!). I get changed into my gown, get hooked onto the monitors, and Julia started my paperwork (I swear, they use a tree to admit you). I answer the questions, continue contracting (had to be about noon at this point). Julia does the swab to check for amniotic fluid presence, and it shows nada. She ends up coming back a bit later with Amanda, so they can try the swab again before looking at going to the ferning test option. Yay, on my back… at least plastic duck lips (speculum) this time, Amanda asks me to cough while she swabs. I cough. Clint could see the swab turn blackish blue almost instantly. No going home for us, we were there until we had a baby. Now, I was asked when my fluid broke… not sure, so Amanda went based off of my 8am wake up. Also took three people to get my IV started, and I am not normally a hard stick!
Amanda then checked my dilation, and I was *still* at 1cm. The plan was to walk for an hour, and spend 20 minutes on the monitors to check the little man. So walk Clint and I did. We did laps around the labor and delivery units, I think until 2:55. Got back to my LDR (Labor, Delivery and Recovery room) and got hooked back up after a bio break (I noted to the nurse I hadn’t seen that much blood since my last period, and she noted it was normal) Amanda came in and checked me again, she didn’t want to check me too often, as with my water broken, higher risk of infection. I was almost 2cm. Game plan was changing a little bit. As the contractions we increasing in strength and I was still exhausted from the 10 days of early labor. I looked at Clint and we discussed the options of pain management. The IM shot didn’t do much but make me feel fuzzy. So I agreed to try the epidural and see if it would work. I wanted to be able to have enough energy to push my son out. I wanted to be awake and alert, so I okay-ed the epidural. The anesthesiologist who did it was wonderful, it took all of five minutes, and seriously, I could have kissed the man, cause he was an excellent stick. (it didn’t look like walking was helping, as my contractions were weird when I got back on the monitors)
I was then confined to the bed, as with the epidural, they want you on the monitors, as well as you can’t feel much. A catheter was inserted, and thanks to the epidural, didn’t feel it. As those suck to feel going in! When I laid on my back, Doomling’s heart rate went into the 90’s, so I was relegated to my sides to lay on. They kept having me switch to find the better side.
Amanda, after checking me, worked with me to come up with a plan, cause with his heart rate dipping… we needed to have something in place. My natural labor and birth went out the window at this point. Rob and Carol came by as well, and we got to visit with them.
5:30 would come, and she would check me again. If there was no progress, we would do a low level dose of pitocin in my IV. Not an actual induction dose, but to augment the labor. Seeing as I couldn’t do the cervical dilation any more as I had dilated to the almost 2cm. See if that pitocin could knock me into active labor.
Not so much. My body apparently doesn’t react well to pitocin. Instead of causing contractions, it caused my uterus to contract, and not let go. This is where things get crazy, and slightly fuzzy for me. I will hope Clint, and Sarah can fill in what they can (Sarah was in the room until things went crazy with my youngest SIL). I recall there all of the sudden being a lot of people in my room. The Doomling’s heart rate had dropped to the 60’s-70’s, which is not good, due to the constant contraction. So the goal then was to make sure he and I were healthy. I heard “we’re going to put your bed…” “Thud” I was reclined with my feet up. A nurse goes “I am going to give you this” I lost it, crying behind the oxygen mask they had put on me earlier on. I told her I wasn’t getting it until I knew what it was, and what it did, and side effects, cause no one was telling me what was going on at that point. It felt like an eternity and no time at all all at once. Amanda had to squat down on my level and talk to me, cause I was scared shitless. She told me what the shot was for as well as that they were going to do a c-section. That it was to make sure than me and the baby were healthy.
What I didn’t know at the time was they went to put an internal fetal monitor in, and found blood, a lot of it. They needed to get me and Doomling to the OR and as quickly as they could. Partial placental abruption (the placenta starts to tear away from the uterine wall, hence the bleeding. Vaginal birth is virtually impossible with this, as it leaves risk of death for mom and baby). When Sarah and Mandi left the LDR, they heard a call go out over the hospital speaker requested any available on call OB to F5, my room. I didn’t hear this in my room. Now the goal was to get my uterus to stop the contraction so they could do the surgery. 8pm, they wheeled me out of the LDR towards the OR (I am SO thankful Clint was with me through all of this.) The anesthesiologist they got (not the one who did my epi) stated to me, if your epi doesn’t work, we’ll just knock you out. I stated over my dead body will you keep me from hearing the birth of my son. I turned my head and saw Clint getting the shoe covers on in the hallway. They transferred me to the OR table. I was still crying and shaking, with fear, worry and it wasn’t how I wanted this… I wasn’t prepared for surgery, I hadn’t even fathomed I was going to do anything but a vaginal birth.
I felt numb from the shoulders down. Took me asking the anesthesiologist three times to see if it was normal. Amanda poked her head around the curtain, so I knew at least one person in the OR. I then heard them say they were ready, and I demanded they get Clint, as he wasn’t in the room. I think he got there just after they checked to make sure I was numb. He sat by my head. My arms were out in a cross formation. I heard them say that’s a lot of blood, and then oh big baby. 8:17pm. And then he cried. And I cried. They took him over to the newborn warmer, and he screamed, a lot… I had Clint go over to watch him. I heard them say something about a floppy uterus, and more blood.
I remember the nurse bringing him over, me touching his cheek, and the anesthesiologist complaining about me having my arm up. The nurse then had Clint sit with the Doomling near me. APGAR’s of 8 and 9. (APGAR is how they measure how “healthy” a baby is when they are born, and the scores are done at the 1 minute and 5 minute point, hence two of them) I told Clint to go with the baby. I don’t remember being taken to the recovery room, or being sutured/stapled up.
Clint saw me in recovery, I asked to be tilted up a little bit, and blacked out for 5 minutes, maybe 15 or 20 minutes on them. Didn’t respond to my name, nothing. I feel bad for how much I worried Clint that night. I remember Clint having me call my Dad. Finally, they took me up to my room. Sarah and Mandi were there. They had brought my/our stuff up. I didn’t feel being moved over to the bed. Still had the anesthesia. And a morphine pump. I asked the nurse ASAP for my baby. They brought him in and I held him. And held him. Oh wow, he was the most adorable thing I had ever seen.
You get no rest in the hospital. Sunday saw me getting rid of the morphine pump and the epidural. Percoset every 4 hours to help with the pain. Lord and lady, getting up *hurt*. Clint helped me as much as possible. Drinks, the baby, making sure I was hydrated. Supporting me with breast feeding. Went home on Tuesday, so I could get some sleep.
Doomling is 19 days old today. I value his presence in my life. I can’t fathom *not* being a mommy now. He is my heart. Seeing him with Clint makes me melt. And Clint is an amazing father.
I am healing, slowly, but am healing. I am here, with my son, because of the surgery I wasn’t prepared for. Looking at him sleeping next to me, I fall more in love with this small person.
Doomling Hauser, 9/27/2008, 8lbs. 8oz, 21″ 8:17pm
*************
Little did I know how the c section would affect me mentally, emotionally and physically. I ended up with an infection in my scar a week afterward. I hated the fact I could barely do anything. It took me 12 weeks to feel remotely comfortable driving my car. I realize that with a different provider, I would have still been there with my son, but it could have been the outcome of a different situation…
CAM Birth Story: Emma's "Beautiful" Scar
This birth story, in honor of Cesarean Awareness Month (CAM), comes from Emma. To have your birth story posted on this blog, email it to: blog@ican-online.org
“That’s a beautiful scar”
When I was younger I always envisioned birth as you saw it on TV… a woman who was rushed to the hospital in the throws of labor, her water broken signaling the start of the process, quickly hooked up to an IV that would take away all the pain, and then after a few hours and some pushing a baby would be born! It would all be simple and wonderful. Then of course I actually decided to have a baby, did my research, and realized that this was not the way birth was meant to be. Birth wasn’t meant to be experienced flat on your back with people saying “PUSH!” over and over again. Birth was natural and normal and wasn’t supposed to need drugs to “help speed things along”. I watched the business of being born, read books and blogs, and quickly formulated my birth plan. No drugs, no intervention, no hospital.
I spent 1/3 of my pregnancy in the care of midwives at a free standing birth center. I went to their orientation and eagerly picked out which room I wanted to birth in. As the due date drew closer we packed our bags, purchased food to eat during and after labor, installed the carseat, and waited. And waited. And waited. I went for my weekly checkups only to hear “well, nothing’s going on yet but that doesn’t mean anything!”. My due date came and went and still, no baby. I knew this was normal… my mom went past her due date with both my brother and I. I was not nervous. Then at 41 weeks I lost the ability to give birth in my birthing center. Now I was considered at a higher risk and would have to give birth in a hospital. Depressed but not defeated I continued to wait. I went to my ultrasounds and had non stress test’s performed. Baby was happy and comfortable. Then at 42 weeks the dreaded word appeared… induction. I was given a choice: wait and be transferred to the care of an OB I had never met or have an induction performed at 42 ½ weeks. I was already 3cm dilated and about 50% effaced. I decided that I would give in to the induction. My dream of the natural birth at a hospital was over.
I was depressed but again, not defeated. My midwives would be performing the induction and would be there with me. Just because I was getting the dreaded pitocin didn’t mean I couldn’t still have the birth I dreamed of. Sure, I would need monitoring but I was assured there were portable monitors. My midwives encouraged me to bring food to the hospital and eat when no one was looking. I was assured I wouldn’t have to end up flat on my back pushing: they would accommodate other positions. I entered the hospital that gloomy Sunday morning optimistic and eager. I had dreams that by nightfall I would have my son.
I should have become nervous when the nurse I was assigned was not very friendly towards my “I want to walk around” attitude. The fact my midwives showed up late and then hardly were in the room to support me also should have set off warning bells. When my water finally did break instead of offering advice to help me my midwife was quick to suggest an epidural which, in tears, I gave in to. I knew the epidural was the nail in the coffin. How right I was. I went to sleep with an epidural so strong I couldn’t feel my lower body… I couldn’t move. I was forced to lay in the position that the nurse and midwife left me in. I shook and trembled which my midwife told me “was because I was in labor” when in fact I believe it was a side effect of the epidural. It was horrible. Needless to say my progress was slow… after 24 hours I still wasn’t fully dilated. My requests to sit up were rejected with “but then the medicine will all sink to your butt”. All I wanted was to move positions.
Thankfully the new midwife on call with me realized that me laying on my back wasn’t a good idea and allowed me to sit up… she also requested the epidural be turned down so finally I could feel my legs again. Then they came in and had me do practice pushes… they counted, they shifted me into weird positions, but nothing helped and nothing felt good and nothing was causing my baby to move downwards. Almost 2 ½ hours of pushing resulted in no change… he was high up and not budging and my options were running out. I could see it in my midwives face when she sat next to me… the word c-section was coming. I cried. I bawled. It was the ending I had feared. I had never had any major surgery. But I was exhausted and hungry and weak and wanted nothing more than an end… so I said yes.
The second I said yes things moved so quickly it is almost a blur. My room filled with about a dozen medical personnel who introduced themselves to me. I was given a lot of information, things were packed up, my husband was given clothes to wear, an anesthesiologist was talking to me about what I would feel. I was being whisked down a hallway into a freezing operating room. There was music playing, I specifically remember hearing “soul man” being played. People were standing, talking about their weekend plans. They quickly introduced themselves to me and went back to their conversations. The one thing I vividly remember is the sweet anesiologist who made sure I was comfortable, who got me a warm towel for my head, who reassured me that nothing would happen until I couldn’t feel it. No one told me when they started to cut. No one told me what was happening. All I know is one second I felt a release of pressure and a baby wailing. That was it. He was born. I lay there in a confused stuper… I remember telling my husband to go be with him while my midwife held my hand. I just wanted to meet my son. Finally they bought him over to me and let me see him for a few quick minutes before again he was whisked away while I was sewn back up.
It seemed to take forever before they were moving me to the recovery room. I thought, at last, I can hold my son! Instead I discovered to my disappointment he needed more tests so instead I lay on a bed, 2 feet away, staring at him, unable to touch him. All I wanted to do was hold my son and instead I was in a bed attached to monitors drugged up so that I couldn’t feel anything. Finally, after what seemed like forever they let me hold him and breastfeed. That was the most amazing thing in the world… but it was tinged with sadness. I felt spacey and disoriented and distanced from the situation. It seemed more like a dream than reality.
To say bonding was difficult in those first few days was an understatement. I was unable to move so my husband had to pick the baby up for me. Then they suspected he had an infection so they wanted to administer IV antibiotics which meant a NICU stay. He was whisked away downstairs with me visiting every 2 – 3 hours to feed him. I clung to breastfeeding determined that something in my birth plan would go right! But instead of being able to cuddle with him as he slept I found myself rushing back to my room for my next round of pain medication or simply to sleep. Those precious first few days of bonding with my son were torn from me. They are days I can never get back.
At 2 weeks post partum I had to return to my midwives for a follow up exam to ensure everything was healing correctly. They had told me that I could remove the sani strips that held my incision together in the shower but my fingers refused to touch the area. I had looked at it in the mirror once, just once. Walking into that office brought tears to my eyes. As I walked past the pregnant women sitting in the waiting room all I could remember was my optimisim, my hope of a natural birth. As I sat in the small room waiting for my midwife the tears fell. I was supposed to give birth here, not be returning 2 weeks later to have my incision checked. At 2 weeks I was hardly walking more than 10 feet without needing to stop or sit down. I could not carry my baby up or down the stairs. I could hardly even carry him in his carseat let alone in the carrier I had purchased for him. Even getting out of bed was painful. The midwife removed the sani strips and said the phrase that would forever haunt me “Oh, you’re going to be really pleased with this when it heals. It’s really nice”. Its really nice.
I wanted to scream at her and yell how it wasn’t fair, this wasn’t what I wanted, I shouldn’t even have this scar. But instead I numbly nodded and went on my way. I told myself I was still hormonal after giving birth that I just needed time.
But then, my 6 week appointment rolled around. Again off I went to the midwives office and again that feeling of dread hit in the pit of my stomach. Again the tears fell as I sat in the exam room. Again I was reminded that I was a failure. Again I was told “That’s a beautiful scar”.
A year later I still can’t even drive near that office without the familiar feeling of dread passing through my body. Just saying their name reminds me that I failed… and that they failed me. The midwives who promised to assist me in my natural birth ultimately helped to sabotage it. I feel naïve and silly that I put so much faith in their words when ultimately their actions told a different tale. I regret giving in to my induction and the pressure that I felt.
To me that scar will never be beautiful, no matter how cleanly it heals. It’s a constant reminder of what happened to me the day my son was born.
CAM Birth Stories: Deena's Cesarean and VBAC
These birth stories, in honor of Cesarean Awareness Month (CAM), come from Deena Blumenfeld. To have your birth story posted on this blog, email it to: blog@ican-online.org
Owen’s birth story: My c-section (click to read the full story):
“5:08 am – Owen was born. He started crying with only his head out. His apgar scores were 9 and 9. Big and healthy. I only got to see him very briefly. I sent Dan with him to the nursery. While they were stitching me up, both the MW and the OB told me that if I have another baby, and I don’t go early, they are scheduling me for a c-section. I think that’s best.
Hmmm… So, that last paragraph stuck out to me. Wow, even my Midwife told me to expect a second c-section. I didn’t remember that till I read it. I didn’t realize they didn’t have faith in me. Makes me a bit sad, actually. Good thing I knew better by the time I got pregnant with Elaine!”
Elaine’s birth story: My VBAC (click to read the full story):
“My mantra – “OPEN, DOWN, OUT”… um, but of course I swore… a lot. Can’t help that. I yelled during pushing. I know, I know, “low tones”… *sigh* My bully nurse got in my face and basically told me to can it. Strangely enough, it was exactly what I needed.
Lori, my midwife then offered me an epidural and a chance to rest OR to take 15 minutes and push my baby out. I honestly thought, for a whole minute, that an epi might be a good idea. Then my determination set in and I decided to push. I had to get over my control issues. Had to release into it. Surrender. Once I did that, I could push. Felt like the biggest poop ever. Her head and hand came out. I needed to get the rest of her out. Head felt big, body lumpy. She cried right away.”
Open Thread: Cesarean Awareness
April is Cesarean Awareness Month. The U.S. cesarean rate stands at 32.9%, but some states have rates of more than 40%. “Cesareans are far from the niche occurrence of yesteryear. Every woman in her childbearing years MUST sit up and take notice of this alarming and astonishing rate of surgical delivery,” says ICAN President Desirre Andrews. “The rising cesarean rate and the resulting consequences are not going to go away on their own,” says Andrews. “Now more than ever, women and babies need access to evidence-based care.”
Let us know: what are you doing, in small or big ways, to increase awareness about the cesarean epidemic and its consequences?
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