I didn't want to have a c section. It had never even remotely occurred to me I'd need one. My mother gave birth five times without complication. Her mother before her gave birth twice, in her *40s* in the '50s without a problem. With the exception of the sudden pre-eclampsia (which has no known cause and seemingly randomly affects first-time moms and older moms most), I hadn't had any complications. I'd been feeling my pelvis expand since six weeks after conception. I knew how to relax and, even if I hadn't gotten to researching it yet, knew good techniques for giving birth. I had no reason to think I'd have to have a cesarean. More than that, I *wanted* a good, natural birth. I wanted to experience the pain and the intensity, I was rather desperate for the experience of pushing out my baby. It was deeply important to me in ways I didn't even catch a glimmer of until the chance was taken away.
I cried. And cried some more. And then panicked. I still had that whole "death in childbirth" issue, after all, and though I'd managed to quell it in favor of a good birthing experience, a c section was a whole different game. I made Jeremelon promise not to miss me too much if things went badly, that he'd take care of the Berrykin no matter what, and ran through how much I love him. So that was my mindset when they took me into the OR. I was angry, panicky, scared, and depressed for not being able to do what I'm supposed to be designed to do.
The c section was hands down the worst experience of my life. I don't have many instances with which to compare it, but holy carp. They wheeled me in, introduced me to the surgical team, and had me half lift myself onto the operating table (extremely difficult now that I'd been using just my arms to roll myself carefully over all day long). Then they tied my legs down so I wouldn't fall off, since the table was barely as wide as I was. The room was cold and way too bright. They gave me pain meds to further numb me through the epidural line, and it made me shiver uncontrollably and unable to keep my eyes open. They put up a tarp to separate me from the surgery, a whole hand length in front of my face (good thing I'm not claustrophobic!). They made me lie with my arms splayed to the sides like an airplane, and even called "airplane right/left" a couple of times to indicate the need to tilt the table. Then they fetched the Jeremelon, who spent the first half of the surgery sitting to the left of my head holding my hand. He was terrified for me; I could hear it in his voice. I wasn't moving (they told me not to move, after all, which was incredibly difficult while shivering uncontrollably), had my eyes closed, and wasn't making any noise, so he was understandably concerned. I didn't feel anything until they got to the point where they have to spread...stuff...apart. I could feel something like a car jack being squashed into place, and then the pain started. You're not supposed to feel pain, just pressure and some "strange" sensations. It hurt. Kind of like having someone lean all their weight on a giant bruise I didn't know I had, and then grinding around a little. Then came the tugging. I have no idea what they were doing, nor do I have any desire to now. I just know it felt like they were yanking my organs and muscle tissue around with all their might. About halfway through, I thought, "Where is my baby? Surely with all that shoving around, they have to have gotten to him by NOW!" But no. What seemed an eternity later, the anesthesiologist (who was sitting behind my head on my right side) commented on how beautiful my baby was. I was scared I couldn't hear crying; how could there be a baby and no crying? Especially when it seemed long minutes were ticking on. Then, finally, a baby yell!
I managed to open my eyes long enough to see him, all pale and gooey, spread-eagled and screaming, as they showed him to Jeremelon and passed him into the incubator. Was all of about four seconds. I tried to focus on his crying to ignore the rest of the surgery, but it didn't work. More tugging, more bruise-pressing. Jeremelon had a crisis of decision when they told him to go with the baby because he obviously wanted to stay with me, but he went. I managed to nod in agreement that he should. They said it should just feel a little odd. Then, after a lot of whimpering on my part, they said there would only be two more like that. After six more, the anesthesiologist told me she was giving me something to make me sleepy, and blissfully, it did. I wasn't fully unconscious, but I drifted. I didn't feel anything until they lifted me bodily off the operating table and onto a gurney. Then they wheeled me to the OR recovery room and promised me my husband and my baby, but they weren't immediately there. The nurse in recovery was AWFUL. She sat at the desk with her back to me the entire hour I was in there except for about two minutes it took to check my vitals. One of her coworkers came in later and they gossiped about how many babies they had delivered. (I think there were seven, including mine, in five hours. Oh, I forgot to mention that in the last post. While lying there in the delivery room wishing with all my might to progress so I could have my baby safe and snug, the nurses came in twice apologizing for how long they'd been gone, but the other woman they were assigned to had delivered. I'd been there a lot longer than either of them had, and it was tremendously frustrating and disheartening to hear.) I was not happy with her, but then Jeremy brought me my baby. I finally got to hold him, though I was way too groggy from the meds to process anything.
After my hour in recovery, they wheeled me over to my own private postpartum room where I was expecting my family waiting to say hello. Except it was a whole lot later than I realized, and even though my WHOLE family was amazingly there at once, only my mom remained. That made me cry later, because I was really looking forward to seeing everyone and getting to share in the moment. At least my mom had stayed, even though she left after about five minutes. I needed something to focus on so I wasn't sobbing all over myself, so I took advantage of the wireless access. I really wanted to announce the baby's arrival to make it more real, as I had absolutely no connection to the experience at all. Which meant we had to decide on a name since we hadn't yet. My Oliberrykin was born 7/29 at 9:43pm after I was in the hospital since 1pm the day before. He weighed 5lbs and 15oz, though he lost five oz at the hospital and one more after bringing him home. He measured 19.5 inches long at the hospital and, thanks to his wigglypants-ness, something like 18.3 at his two-week check-up.
Oliberrykin was perfect, except for a drop in blood sugar that may have indicated I'd developed gestational diabetes since my 20-week check. He's still a skinny baby with long limbs, and everything but length measured in the 25th-ish percentile, just like the ultrasound showed. He came out with *bright* red lips and a very big conehead from all the pressure that wasn't moving him down. The doctor said I have a flat pelvis (apparently there are five types, and flat isn't wrong, just different), and that it didn't necessarily cause the problem. It could simply have been that Oliberrykin and I didn't work well together. I'm blaming it on a combination of a possible problem with my hips (did I mention that here early on? It supposedly can cause the baby's head to wedge into the pelvis because the hip joint is out of whack) and my body being nowhere near ready to have him. He was only at 38 weeks, 3 days, and that's by arbitrary date. Knowing exactly when he was conceived, he was actually 37 weeks, 6 days, which for him I think makes a difference.
I was so upset by the whole experience that I'm not sure I'll be up to having more kids, even though we had decided on two with an option for four. We're still having some bonding issues because of my emotional disconnect with the process and our lack of togetherness thereafter. I wasn't encouraged to breastfeed until well into the next day and didn't have ANY skin-to-skin time for almost two days. Then, because I got sick, I stopped trying to nurse him, couldn't hold him without damage to my iv, and didn't have the oomph for it even if I tried. So we basically had no real bonding time for a week. I even have a problem saying he was "born" because I don't feel like he was. Instead, he was removed from me at 9:43, entered the world, made his appearance. But not "born." I HATE feeling that way. But that's another post!
I have a beautiful Oliberrykin. I can't wait until he starts really smiling and making noises on purpose.
7 years ago
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