It’s been too long since I posted here. But I am here. My sweet boy is now 9 months old and I am still dealing with the aftermath of his birth. In short, I had a failed VBAC that resulted in Uterine Rupture and another C-Section. I have written about it on my own blog and on The Babycenter Blog. I want to say I am all better now and in many ways I am. But that birth literally shredded me. Both physically and emotionally. And even though I have written about it, I still feel that I wrapped it all up in a nice, internet-friendly gift bag.

There are days when I feel like nothing is whole. There are days when I feel more love than I can ever explain. And after months and months of wondering when I will be “all better” I finally realized that I just won’t.

I will never be the woman I was before I had my Cesareans.

I will never be a woman without a scar.

I will never be a woman with an unblemished uterus or bladder.

I will never have a natural childbirth.

I will never have a vaginal childbirth.

I will never know what that feeling of euphoria is like to hold my babies just seconds after they were born.

And you know what? That sucks. It’s a big dissapointment for me. It’s HUGE. I mourn the loss of those moments regularly and I think that is healthy. But I love my boys more than I could have ever imagined. I love bringing them joy and seeing them experience life. I love the looks on their faces when I give them something they love. I love to love them.

No matter what sadness I feel toward my birth experiences, I am moving forward. And I am bringing my pain with me. Because there is no expiration date on healing. We face hard things and we deal with them some days and push them down on other days. And then one day is better that the past few. And we know there is progress being made.

My boys are perfect regardless of how they got here.

If you are facing sadness or grief over the loss of the birth you had hoped for, there is a place for you here. I hope this community will continue to support each other as so many have already. Thank you so much for reading and please know that you can always share your story here.

Many thanks to Christy for sharing her birth story with us. Celebrating your little girl with you!

My experience is very different from most of the C-Section stories I’ve read because my C-Section was planned.  At 30 weeks an ultrasound revealed that our little girl was in the breech position.  Since it was still very early, my doctor informed me that there was still a very good chance that she will flip and a C-Section won’t even be discussed.  As my pregnancy progressed I kept in the back of my mind that a C-Section may be possible if my little girl was stubborn like her mommy!

We returned for another ultrasound at 36 weeks and were told not only was she still breech but her head size was larger than the “norm.”   Of course you being to think the worst and all I pictured was this tiny baby body with a gigantic head!  My doctor reassured us that it was probably due to genetics and her breech position.   We scheduled another ultrasound at 38 weeks to check her position and begin the talk of a possible C-Section.   At 38 weeks we were told that our baby had flipped!   I was so happy and the thought of a C-Section went right out the door!  That is until the ultrasound technician revealed my baby’s size!  “I don’t think I should tell you how big she is” were the words I clearly remember her saying! After some begging, she finally told me that my baby girl was estimated at 9lbs. 13oz.!   I was in shock at first and then as the reality of such a big baby with still 2 weeks to go sank in, the tears began!   Now all I was thinking was, “I’m not having a C-Section because she flipped but now I have to deliver this huge baby with a gigantic head!”   Once again, after talking to the doctor, I calmed down and we began to discuss our options.  The doctor informed us of the risks involved in having a large baby with a large head naturally and after careful thought and consideration we decided to schedule a C-section.

A week later, my husband and I were walking into the hospital for our scheduled C-Section.   Let me just tell you that having a “Scheduled C-Section” does not take away any of the stress or fear!   It’s still very scary sitting in that little room watching the clock tick closer and closer to your surgery time!  I was so extremely excited to meet my baby but also extremely scared of having major surgery!   After hugs and kisses from the soon-to-be grandparents, my husband and I, along with the best delivery nurse in the world, walked back to the OR.   The reality of what was happening and the panic of it all began to sink in when they made my husband, my rock, wait in the hallway!   How could I possibly do any part of this without him!   I gathered up as much courage and strength as I could and walked or should I say wobbled with my nurse into the OR, climbed onto the table and closed my eyes as tight as I could while they began my spinal.

Once the doctors and nurses had me situated on the table, they brought my husband in!  I couldn’t have been happier to see him!   He sat by my head, held my hand, and described in as much detail as he could what was happening around me.   I may be in the minority, but I wanted to know what they were doing to me!   After a ton of pressure and what seemed like forever, I heard my husband say, “She’s out!” and I caught a quick glimpse of my baby girl as they rushed her over to the heating table.  Our daughter, Layla DelleRose, was here!  The little girl I had waited 9 months to see was finally here!  I watched the nurses and a neonatal doctor clean up my baby but had yet to hear a cry.  I began asking everyone, “Is she okay?  Is she okay?”   They kept saying, “She’s okay.  She is just having some trouble breathing”   My husband stood up to take a picture and the neonatologist told him to please sit down and she’ll let him know when he can come over.   I knew at that moment that something was wrong.

We started to hear words like “respatory distress” , “hypotonia”, “macrosomia”, and “macrocephalic.”   I felt the color drain from my face and panic began to set in!  Then suddenly I heard the most beautiful sound I have ever heard…a very gurgled, low cry coming from the heating table.   The mood in the room quickly changed and I began to see smiles on the faces of the doctors and nurses.   The Neonatologist gestured for my husband to come take pictures and all I could do was cry tears of fear, relief, joy, and emotional exhaustion!   I watched as they laid my “very big” baby onto the scales and then listened as everyone laughed when the scale showed 7lbs. 7oz.!   The ultrasound had been off by more then 2lbs.!

They wrapped Layla up, let me kiss her on the nose, and then quickly took her out of the room.  I never got the chance to hold her, really look at her, or even get a picture with her.  That moment that I watched on TV for 9 months of the Mommy, Daddy, and Baby upside down picture never happened for me.   After my surgery was complete and I was in recovery, my nurse called the nursery multiple times to see if Layla could be with me but was informed that she was having trouble clearing fluids from her lungs and her body temperature was not regulating well.  I was devastated that I still could not see my baby.  Seeing my frustration and emotions, my delivery nurse, on our way to my postpartum room, wheeled my entire hospital bed into the nursery so I could see my baby.    I got to hold her for about 5 minutes, got my family picture, and she was taken away again.

I was informed about 30 minutes later that Layla was born with a large amount of fluid in her lungs and stomach and was unable to clear it on her own.  They were also concerned about the size of her head and wanted to observe her and run a few tests.  She was hooked up to machines and admitted into the hospital’s Special Care Nursery. Because of my C-Section I wasn’t able to get out of bed.  My husband would go into the nursery every hour and take a picture of Layla to bring back to me.

It was not the experience I thought I was going to have when our daughter entered the world!   Layla got stronger each day and after four days in the NICU she was released into the Regular Nursery and allowed to room in with us.   On our fifth day in the hospital Layla and I were both discharged.  Those were the scariest and most stressful five days of my life.   Pregnancy and birth is an incredible miracle but at scary and uncertain one at the same time.   Whether you have a birth plan or just want to go with the flow, labor in any form is unpredictable.  My experience was not what I expected or what I wanted but I look at my scar in the mirror and know that I got the greatest gift as a result of it.  I am learning to love my scar and what it means a little more each day!

By: Christy

Krysta, thank you for your willingness to share your story. We all do the best we can with the information we have. I am glad you are loving on that sweet girl and I hope your road to loving yourself again is a short one. Best of luck to you.

My story starts a little different then a lot of the other moms.

I was told at 18 that I wouldnt have children without fertility medicine, so when we tried for a year after being married with fertility for 6 of those months I thought oh well lets adopt.

To our shock we found out 2 and a half months after giving up that we were expecting! Yay!!  So i took full advantage of the “I am pregnant and feeding two.”  I wish i would not have done that but i was so excited to be pregnant i was taking full advantage of no more dieting!  Well because I did that i gained too much weight and ended up getting Gestational Diabetes.  Way to go me!  I was induced on february 10th.  They said the baby was about 8 lbs and her head was on the larger side so they were inducing me a week earlier than planned.

I went in and had cervadil and started contracting on my own about an hour after I had it put in.  Then I started contracting more frequently throughout the night and between that and my snoring husband, I maybe slept an hour total.  The next morning at 6am they broke my water and gave me pitocin to speed things up since i was already contracting regularly.  I wanted to try and wait out for an epidural and i am glad i got through 6 hours of labor with pitocin before actually getting one.  I needed a little of the edge off so i could at least rest a little and try and get things moving.  I got demoral around 10am.

Lets just say my family loved it because inbetween contractions I was singing and everything else.  That wore off quicker than I thought it would.  At noon i decided to just go ahead with the epi because after almost 24 hours of contracting i was exhausted and I was only at a four.  I am not proud of getting an epi so soon but my body just was not doing what it needed to be because i was in pain and exhausted.  I was also lucky enough to have a crazy baby and she was still constantly moving and we kept losing her heartbeat and I kept getting freaked out!

The anestesiologist(sp?) came in at 1:15 to give me my epi.  Everything went fine for that until I layed down.  When i layed down my blood pressure would go way high and then go way low.  Then Emma’s heart rate would drop after every contraction and then she would move and we would lose the heartbeat.  It was the scariest thing to hear the heartbeat of my baby drop to the 70s and disappear.  The Doctor decided to put the internal monitors on me for 15 minutes and if things didnt stabilize I would be getting a c-section.  this was at about 1:40…I finished getting my epi at 1:30.   At 1:45 they decided they couldnt wait any longer because they could’nt stabilize my blood pressure or Emma’s heartbeat so I was rushed into the OR.

I feel lucky to remember everything from that OR.  Unfortunately the epi started creeping into my chest so before they cut me open they had to tilt the bed and put more oxygen on and have me answer question the whole time while they were delivering Emma.  She came out screaming her head off and still 16 months later does the same thing.. hehe.  She was born at 2:02pm on the 11th.  She was not even near 8lbs.  She was 6lbs 6oz and 20 in long, not even in the +or- range given to me by the Dr.

I love her with my whole heart.  I was released from the hospital less than 48 hours after my c-section because i forced myself to walk and ignore the pain.  I only have a scar left now but i know that scar was the first part of my body touched by my little girl when she was born.  Unfortunately i havent fully recovered to loving myself again.  The scar and the stretchmarks have really put a damper on my attempt to love myself again.  I understand why i have those and i would never want to not have the marks after what i got for them it just makes it difficult to have any confidence with them.  Thank you for letting me share my story.  Just telling the story again actually brings me a little more comfort.

By: Krysta Dennison

I am a C-section mama three times over! Sure, my births aren’t ideal- I never would have imagined that I would have three major surgeries to get my three children in my arms! A baby is a special gift though, no matter how he arrives! This is the story of how our second child, Stinkbug, joined our family!

Sheila

Since I had an emergent C-section with Ladybug, I wasn’t sure what I should do about Stinkbug’s birth—should I try for VBAC (vaginal birth after Cesarean)? Or schedule another C-section?  I really struggled with the decision all throughout my pregnancy.  I desired to deliver him vaginally (even though I am still afraid of pushing a baby out!), but with my due date being so close to Thanksgiving, and his size looking pretty big, I decided to schedule a C-section for my due date (November 20, 2008), and hope that I went into labor naturally before that.  I figured that if he could bake longer than his due date, we would have issues with his size (just like with Ladybug) and the chances of him getting stuck during labor would be higher, so that was my “back up plan”.

When I spoke with my doctor about scheduling the C-section as a “back up plan”, the only dates available for me to schedule were November 14 and November 24.  I did not want to wait until the 24^th, since that would mean I would still be in the hospital on Thanksgiving, and let’s face it—who wants to be pregnant past their due date? So I scheduled a C-section for November 14, 2008—39 weeks and one day into my pregnancy.

The morning of the 14^th, we were supposed to be at the hospital at 8am.  I slept surprisingly well!  I figured that it would be difficult to sleep because I’d be so excited about meeting my son!  I had gone to the hospital on the 13^th to have blood work done and complete all the hospital forms and registration, so we were ushered almost right up to the fourth floor on the 14^th!  They put me in a L&D room, hooked me up to the baby monitor belt, took my blood pressure, gave me an IV and began running fluids into me.  People came in and out introducing themselves, having me sign papers, and going over the procedures for the day.  It was weird to know I was going to meet Stinkbug very soon, and I wasn’t even “in labor”!  I asked if my mom could be in the OR, since she had been present when Ladybug was born.  The decision was left to the anesthesiologist, and it ended up being OK.

My mom, dad, and sisters all snuck in to see me and Andrew and pray with us.  A little later, Liz (Andrew’s mom) came in with Ladybug to see me too.  They all were waiting in the L&D waiting room.

10:30am was when I was scheduled to go into surgery, but we were still chillin’ in the hospital room (watching Rachael Ray) when 10:30am came and went.  It wasn’t long after that though, when a nurse (or two?) came and robed me up and walked me down the hallway to the OR.  (I hate walking around in just a hospital gown—EWWWW!)

It was FREEZING in the OR!  There was some poking to get the spinal block started, I just remember having to lean over and hold really still (just like getting an epidural with Ladybug).  It was seriously so cold in there.  I loved the nurse who brought in warm blankets to lay on top me!  Much better!  There were nurses bustling around checking things, and calling out to each other about equipment and other things… it was very busy!  Pretty soon my doctor was there with her midwife assistant and the medical student who was observing the C-section, and it was time!  They even started the incision before Andrew and my mom came in.

During the C-section, I just remember my arms being strapped down (I hate that!) and seeing Andrew watching over the blue curtain.  It felt like awhile before there was a lot of pressure and they were pushing Stinkbug out of my abdomen.  (He was born at 11:34am.)  I heard a cry and they held a little blond baby up over the curtain!  My first thought was that he looked just like Ladybug did as a newborn—it was a sweet moment.  Everyone was talking about how big he looked and they thought for sure he would weigh over nine pounds—nope!  He was 8 pounds 2.9 ounces and 20 ½ inches long.  He scored two 9s on his APGAR, but one of the nurses swore that he was the pinkest baby she’d ever seen, and she said (numerous times) that if she had been the nurse in charge in the OR, he would have gotten a 10 on his second APGAR—way to go, Stinkbug!

While I was being stitched back together, Stinkbug was taken up to the nursery and Andrew went with him.  I remember feeling slightly itchy and they gave me some Benadryl to help stop the itching.  (I had itched after having Ladybug, but didn’t get anything—Benadryl is miraculous!)  One of the nurses was wondering what he had ended up weighing (since everyone thought he looked so big!) so she called up to the nursery to find out, and that’s when I heard his official measurements for the first time.

When I was back together again, I was wheeled to a recovery room (also very cold!) and Andrew came in there and Stinkbug was wheeled in too.  It was so sweet to hold him and kiss him for the first time!

The time in recovery is a wee bit fuzzy (understandably so!), the nurses were checking my vitals, I was snuggling my baby, Andrew was sitting with me… our families went to eat, but soon they were back.  They took turns holding Stinkbug (Ladybug had fallen asleep on the way back from lunch), and took way too many pictures of him (I started to get a little annoyed with the flashes!)

Ladybug did wake up eventually and I just remember feeling really neat when she was sitting up on the bed—my first time with both kids!  I don’t think she really knew what to think of Stinkbug!

Having a scheduled C-section this time around was very smooth.  I slightly regret not having the experience of birthing either of my children vaginally, but God was sovereign in the way each of them came into the world.  I have had to give my disappointments with my birthing experiences over to Him more than once.  Ultimately, I feel honored to be entrusted with the special task of raising them for the glory of God!

I didn’t birth my two babies. I had them. I’ve come to terms with my first, his was truly necessary and without a doubt saved his life. The second, I’m still trying to heal from 7 months later.

I had Aedyn February 2009, he was what the Dr called hyper-mobile, all it meant was that even at 40+ weeks he was turning somersaults. He slept breech and then flipped vertex when he was active.

I had my birth plan ready, it was going to be completely natural, I knew I could do it. My Dr was 100% on board and he and the nurses were completely supportive. At 41 weeks my water broke. On our way to the hospital I remember it actually sinking in that I was going to have a baby that day! I’d been nervous for the past month about a possible C-sec because of the occasional breech position, but refused to think of it as an option. But there, in the car, a small voice in my head asked “Even if that means a C-section?”, I felt a peace settle then, that yes, even if I needed a C-section, I would be ok, I was going to be a Mom!

I arrived and was checked into my LDRP room. My heart sunk when the nurse looked at me and said, your stomach doesn’t look right and I can’t feel baby’s head, we need to get an ultrasound right now. Aedyn was oblique, not terrible far off, but his head was at my left hip. My Dr came in and offered me the option of a version. I’d have to have an epidural, but they could let it wear off before I needed to start pushing. Not ideal, but better than just going in for a C-sec.

By the time I was prepped for the version and they rechecked Aedyn’s position, he had rotated fully breech. The Dr was less than thrilled, but he was still willing to give it shot. To his surprise Aedyn rotated head down like he was sitting on a lazy-susan. Then they completley lost his vitals. Things erupted and Aedyn was lifted out of my abdomen 6 minutes later. Yes, we FLEW down that hallway!

I remember only a few things during those minutes, I was so worried about my baby. The Dr promising to do the best he could so I could have a VBAC and then them opening me up and the Dr saying “Where’d the baby go?” I could’ve told them that, the moment the Dr let go of him from the version, he flipped back full breech and curled himself as far up in my ribs as he could get. Still a moment of panic that I’d not really had a baby inside of me for the previous 41 weeks did flit through my head.

Then I heard something else, the Dr said, “Well, that’s why he was so mobile, his cord was so short!” it turns out that Aedyn’s cord was 1/2 to 1/3 of the length of the average umbilical cord. Had I birthed him vaginally, unless He dropped and was born in one push that placenta would have been riped away from the wall and he almost certainly would have been stillborn.

As soon as they checked his vitals he was handed to my husband. After my x-ray, since they hadn’t had to time to count sponges or scalpels, he was handed to me and I held him as I was taken back to the recovery room, he was nursing less than 20 minutes after being born. For a C-section, I really couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and caring Dr and hospital staff. They bent over backwards to do everything they could to follow the rest of my plan. It was hard, it wasn’t planned, but it was so necessary and done with such sensitivity that I ended up being ok.

Fast forward to 7 months ago, November 2010. I’ve moved halfway across the country and am seeing the only Dr in the county who will permit a VBAC. I hate the hospital postpartum policies, and am not thrilled with the L&D policies either, but it’s the only hospital in the area that will even consider allowing VBACs.

I felt my water break at 39w 4d, and because I’ve been GBS+ twice, I’m a little more than rushed to get to the hospital and get some antibiotics started. So I go in, turns out that I have a high leak, so they’re going to keep me, but not much else is going on. I was in tirage for 9 hours because the nurse was trying to buy me time, and because the L&D rooms were all full, seems like Jaron picked a pretty popular day to make his appearance.

The on-call Dr didn’t even attempt to come and see me, he made my Dr come down. They knew I was going to fight. But after 9 hours, absolutely no progress and no contractions, even I was starting to wonder what was wrong with my body. After I consented to a C-sec now rather than a possible emergency one in the middle of the night my water fully broke.

This is my deepest regret and I feel my failure. I should have said stop. I wish I had insisted that they wait a little longer now that my water was fully broken. That we see what happened. That…that something. That anything other than think about the Dr making a special trip on his day off, that the OR was scheduled throught he rest of the evening, that everyone was ready for me. That I didn’t want to cause a problem.

But I did think of those things. And my people pleasing side came out. I had my second baby that evening. Unlike my first, no one mad eany effort to help me through the pain of a failed VBAC and unplanned C-sec. After holding Jaron for a couple of minutes he and my husband were ushered to the nursery where they waited for nearly 2 hours because there were too many babies ahead of them.

Jaron was out like a rock when they finally came to see me. He didn’t nurse until much later. I felt horrible. Then I saw the nurses’ notes on me FAILED VBAC. Not that it made a difference. Not that any of them talked to me about it. It was just written there next to Jaron’s APGAR scores. FAILED VBAC.

Physically, I didn’t even really notice that I had a C-sec, physically I recovered so quickly it was miraculous. But I had to. I had family in town, but no one knew how to help. I had to take both kids to the dr all by myself the day I got home from the hospital. My husband was able to be there for the actual appointment and to help me get them back in the car. But we couldn’t afford for him to take off work.

My first night, all the family left. I was alone with my 20 month old and 4 day old and a huge gash across my abdomen. I called my parents and they did come over that night and every night for the next 2 weeks to help me get my toddler to bed.

But I never heard what I wanted to hear. That I’d done good, that I’d done a good job. That it was hard work. Because it wasn’t, all I’d done was lay there. And no one bothered to tell me that no matter what happened to get him out of my body. I did do good. I thought of my baby, I carried him for 9 months, I’d kept him healthy.

My husband I think wanted to, but he didn’t know how. I’m not even sure that he even knows how much I’m still deeply affected by it. For good or bad I’m fairly good at hiding it.

But it hurts, I see those letters on the nurses sheet when I least expect to. FAILED. It doesn’t matter that I know he’s healthy and I’m a great mom. I still FAILED. My body doesn’t work right. I’ve never dilated, I’ve never felt a contraction. I have two beautiful litlle boys that I feel like I didn’t earn. I feel like I’m not a real woman, that I’m defective. I know it bleeds over into how I see myself now, my figure especially. And I know that having bottled it up for the past 7 months has done more harm than good.

But I know…well, I hope. I’m not the only one who’s still struggling, who’s still hurt. Because that would mean that she’s not the only one either. And someow that possibilty gives me hope that maybe these feelings will diminish and not because I have a successful VBA2C next time around, but because I can actually absorb the fact that wether I have babies or birth them, I am not defined by that reality. It is what it is, but I am more.

By: Heather S.

My first pregnancy I had wanted a natural delivery-no drugs, no interventions. We even hired a doula, to support me during this process.

My water broke at 41.5 weeks at1:30 am. I labored at home and had erratic contractions until 10am when we decided to head into the hospital with our doula. I was checked and only at 1.5cm. They let me walk around until 1 pm, my contractions were still not putting me into labor. We started Pitocin, even at the low dose my contractions were going off the chart. My doula said she had never seen such strong contractions from such a low dose. I labored without pain medication until 7pm. To cope I “slow-danced” with my husband and would drop and squat with every contraction; my body trying desperately to bring the baby down and into my pelvis. The nurse eventually forced me into the bed because they “had to continuously monitor the baby”, I was too exhausted to fight with her.

After 5 hours I had only dilated to 2cm. Laying down I was not able to cope with the intense contractions. I caved, after speaking with my doula and husband, and asked for an epidural. After receiving the epidural, at 8pm my blood pressure dropped as did the baby’s heart rate, and I started passing out. They put in internal monitors to keep track of the baby. They actually had to put it in twice, because the first time wasn’t placed correctly. At 9pm I had dilated to 3cm. I rested, not being able to really sleep, off and on all night. At 4am (26 hours after my water broke) I asked to be checked. The doctor refused to come into the room. At that point my epidural had stopped working and I was laboring without any sleep, food or endorphins. The doctor finally came in at 6:30am, checked me in the middle of a contraction and said “oh you are almost at 4cm. good job, keep going”. I started sobbing and saying “something isn’t right, he doesn’t want to come out” My nurse, doula and husband felt so bad for me. After the shift change a different doctor came in at 8am (29 hours) and said I was only at 3cm and the baby was not engaging at all. We had to discuss “other options”. I again said that something wasn’t right.

They prepped me for a C-section-turned off the Pitocin (the contractions immediately stopped), removed the non-working epidural and gave me the foul lemon medication “to prevent me from vomiting”. I was taken back at 11am (34 hours) and given a spinal. I ended up throwing up, despite the medication, and the anesthesiologist was annoyed he had to hold a kidney shaped container to my face. I started crying. My son was born at 11:17am. I was lying on the table, strapped down, behind a sheet and the doctor started counting “One, Two, Three, Four, Five” and I started to panic and saying to my husband “Is he okay? Why isn’t he crying? Is my baby ok?” and then the doctor said that the cord was around his neck 5 times.

He was shown to me over the sheet and then whisked away for the nurses to check him. They wrapped him up, showed him to me briefly and then my husband had to take him to the nursery because he was covered in meconium and had a fever. We later found out that there was an infection in my placenta and he never engaged in my pelvis. I don’t remember much as they were sewing me up in the surgery room. I was then taken to a different floor of the hospital for recovery. I was alone, in pain and in a room surrounded by strangers. I kept asking “where is my baby? Where is my husband? I want my husband. I want my baby.” I stayed in that room for an hour, sobbing, alone, asking for someone I knew. They eventually brought me back up to maternity and when I arrived in my room asked for my baby. Two hours after he was born I was finally able to hold my baby and breastfeed him. The nurse laughed and commented how he had been rooting since he was brought to the nursery. My heart broke, he wanted me, he needed me and I couldn’t be there. Holding and feeding him for the first time was a blur. There are pictures but I barely remember.

When I asked my doctor at my 6 week about a vbac for my next birth and if the premature rupture of my membranes, along with the cord around his neck were the cause of my “failure to progress”. He looked at me and said “No the cord had nothing to do with his not being able to be born vaginally, it was due to you having extra fat above your vagina and he couldn’t push past it. As for the vbac, we will let you try but unless you get rid of some extra pounds it is not going to happen”. I am overweight and have a little extra weight in my hips and thighs but none in my abdomen and I only gained 30lbs during my pregnancy. I was devastated, it was my fault.

My doctor will never say it, but several nurses and my doula did, that my baby boy would either never made it if he had been a vaginal delivery or I would have been the women being wheeled down the hallway with a nurse holding my baby in saying “don’t push”. I hold a lot of guilt about my labor, however through the support of my husband and doula, I have started to heal and plan for my next birth. I will be trying for a vbac. My labor was not what I wanted or planned, but I do believe that my insistence saved my baby boys life.

By: Samantha W.

My husband and I were married for just over a year when we found out that we were pregnant with our daughter.  It was during a snow storm.  I was bored, and what better way to cure boredom than pee on a stick??  We weren’t exactly trying to get pregnant, but we were putting forth our best effort to prevent pregnancy, so I can’t say we were totally surprised.

I knew from the beginning that I wanted very badly to have an all-natural pregnancy and birth.  I’ve always believed in the natural way of doing things.  Another big motivator for wanting a natural delivery was the inspiration of my mother.  I had heard my whole life about how my amazing mother had given birth naturally to both my brothers and I, and I always wanted that more myself.  I wanted my kids to hear their birth stories and be amazed by me.  Maybe that’s selfish; I don’t know.  Anyway, I am not one of those people who is afraid of turning into her mother.  I PRAY I turn into my mother.  She’s the best person I know, and I hope I turn out to be anything at all like her.  She’s my role model in every sense of the word.  She’s superwoman.

I also had faith in the human body.  (I say ‘had’ because, in writing this post, and editing it, I realize the flaw in this thought!  It’s no good to have faith in anything but the Lord.  He is the only thing that does not fail us.  I think this was a great ‘a-ha’ moment to have…writing is therapeutic!).  I believe that we are beautifully, and intricately made by a brilliant Father, and the more I learn about physiological mechanisms in our bodies that keep us alive and ticking, the more I fall in love with our Creator.  I studied Exercise and Sport Science in undergrad, and Exercise Physiology in grad school, so I’ve done a lot of learning about how the human body works.  Let me tell you – we are a fascinating breed!!

When I found out we were pregnant, I started learning about pregnancy and the birth process.  My husband and I took preparation course offered through the Bradley Method (http://www.bradleybirth.com/).  The class was a good experience, and we learned a lot, but the class didn’t really prepare us for an abnormal labor.  I can’t really blame the instructor though – there’s no way to really prepare for the unknown.

On October 6, I started having contractions at about 3 am.  They started out very mild, lasting about 20 seconds.  They continued through the morning every 30-60 minutes until about 11am.  After that point, the contractions started getting much closer, very fast.  By 11:30, they were coming every 3-5 minutes, lasting 45-60 seconds, and intense.  I got serious.  No talking, and all the pain was in my back.  We drove to my Doc’s office, right across from the hospital.  I was 2 cm, 90-or-so% effaced, 0 station.  Since the contractions were still coming every couple minutes, lasting ~a minute, and the pain was intense, we went ahead to the hospital.  At this point, based on how the contractions were coming, we thought it might be a pretty short labor.  I labored around for a few hours, and checked in at 5 cm.  The contractions started double, triple, and quadruple peaking.  This means that before one contraction would end, another one would begin, and sometimes another and another.  I would go a few minutes contracting with no break, and then get maybe a minute break – all back labor.  So looooong story short – after 33 hours of labor, 18 hours stuck at 5 cm, and 24 hours of 1+ minute contractions with <1 minute break, our beautiful daughter was born via C-section October 7, 2010.

At first, we were overwhelmed with the excitement of our new daughter.  Shortly thereafter, I started to feel like a failure.  I had built up in my mind this beautiful, natural delivery filled with empowerment, strength, and bonding, and I ended up with a surgical delivery filled with numbing medication, passiveness, and no touch of my new daughter.  I didn’t get to hold her for at least 30 minutes after she was born.  I didn’t see her naked little body for a couple days.  I didn’t get that immediate skin-to-skin bonding time.  That immediate attempt at breastfeeding.  I heard her cry, got a glimpse of her bloody little hand over the curtain, and then I saw her bundled up in a blanket before she and my husband left, and I was left to be stitched and stapled.  I was so grateful that my husband was with her during that time.  She grabbed onto his finger and didn’t let go.  I love that.

I remember laying on the table with the amazing staff around me.  The nurses were wonderful; they were so kind and excited and congratulatory.  I remember in those moments after her birth, I felt good.  I remember feeling overwhelmed with emotion when I heard her first little cry.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.  She was real.  She was real, and she was here.  Alleluia.  In those moments, I wasn’t thinking about the bonding time I was missing, or how I didn’t feel empowered, and I certainly didn’t feel like a failure.  I was enjoying the relief of the long, exhausting labor being over, and the knowledge that my daughter was on the flip-side, healthy and beloved.  My body was more tired that it had ever been…ever, and for the first time in about a day and a half, I felt like I could relax.  I know I missed her, and I wanted to see her and hold her and feel her, but I know in those moments, I was happy and at peace.

I don’t know why days, weeks, months, and now a year down the road, I can’t think about those moments and the whole experience of our labor and delivery and be happy.  I know I tried and did everything I could in those days/hours to deliver naturally.  While I know those things, my thoughts are poisoned by the toxin that is “what if…”  What if I had been stronger?  What if I had been better at relaxing?  What if I had started progressing at thirty-FOUR hours into labor?  What if I lived in a place with no Doctors – would I have died, or would it just have been a super, ultra long labor?  What would those first bonding moments have been like?  With that rush of oxytocin and warmth?  Why didn’t my body do what it was designed to do?  Was I incapable, or just impatient?

I know that even that part of my life was designed by God.  The problem is, my plan is/was so ingrained in my mind as what I was supposed to do, it’s hard to change.  Especially because I really felt like what I was supposed to do was what God designed women’s bodies’ to do – give birth.  This is the piece I still struggle with.  In my mind, my body failed, and I don’t know why.  I want to get to a place where I can look back on the birth, and feel proud of what I did.  I want to look back and somehow find some empowerment in the experience.

When I think about it, I know that bodies that don’t do exactly what they’re ‘supposed’ to do are not failures.  I know that God’s beautiful design is present in ‘the abnormal.’  I need to accept that God’s design was in my c-section, and in whatever was going on in my body that kept me from having a natural delivery.  At the same time, I know that I’m grieving an experience that I had built up in my mind, and didn’t get to have.  It’s okay for me to grieve that experience, so I’m going to.  I don’t want to grieve forever.  I look forward to the day that the grief part is over, and I’ll get there.

Until then, whenever I find myself getting down about the c-section, I make myself step back and think about how blessed I am and how blessed the experience really was.  I am blessed with the privilege of mothering an amazing daughter.  She blows me away.  I am so in love with her personality, her heart, her smile, her soul, her chunky legs, her humor, even her stubbornness.  She was born healthy, and she and I were both safe and sound throughout the whole labor/delivery.  We had an amazing experience with the nurses in the hospital – they were my angels for the day(s).  My daughter and I have a wonderful breastfeeding relationship (I am SO grateful for this!).  I have the honor of witnessing my husband fall in love with our daughter too.  Loving that child has brought us closer together in a way I wasn’t anticipating.  I see how loved this little child is.  Not just by family, but by friends, acquaintances, and strangers.  This little girl brings SO much joy and love to the world.  It is so beautiful and humbling to watch her bring smiles and warmth to people everywhere we go.  Whether it’s with her sweet smile or her gentle wave, she spreads pure joy to everyone she meets.  And that is SO much bigger than how she got here.

I was looking back yesterday, my daughter’s 23rd birthday, to the day she was born, That day I became a Mommy for the first time–this beautiful tiny creature swooshed across the landscape of my life like a tidal wave, changing every nuance and making everything unfamiliar, yet brighter and more hope-filled than I ever imagined!

Yes, I know most of you are probably her age or younger, and I feel sure methods and practices have changed since 1988, but I’ve never gotten past the fact that I felt I was robbed of something other Mothers get to enjoy. I couldn’t define it–I just knew something, somewhere, was different.

My OB-Gyn was a nice man. He had small hands, which for me qualified him immedately–who wants great big grizzly hands poking around their nether regions when they’re giving birth??

He was kind and polite throughout the pregnancy, but something changed as I got closer to the due date. I knew he seemed withdrawn and reticent, but no one told me his wife had passed away and he was in deep grief and mourning, yet still trying to work.  Had I known…had I just known…

Since my darling Sierra decided to be comfy in her womb/room, and spread out crossways in my abdomen (transverse lie), stubbornly (yes she’s still stubborn) refusing to behave and go head-down (no matter how much I parked my butt on the couch and my head in the floor trying to urge her to move), the c-section was a done deal.

I’d specified to the doctor–BIKINI incision. I was a noob at births. I showed up on time, surrendered my panties and clothing, got the requisite IV and hoo-hoo shave, and was nervous and excited. The doctor had been at the hospital all night coping with a series of emergency births, and when he stopped by only said “Do you wear a bikini?” HELLO? I look like a beluga with a bowel obstruction! “Um…no…” “OK, then.” and walked away. I swear those were the ONLY words the man spoke. Bedside manner? Nil.

I got wheeled in, my nervous hubby beside me, totally confused as to what would come next. The first attempt at an epidural went horribly awry, and the medication flooded my bloodstream. Soon I was vomiting, light headed, confused and miserable. To top it all off, the second attempt (this one a spinal) worked TOO well…I was numb to my tongue. Have you ever tried to talk with a numb tongue? How about throwing up with a numb tongue and throat? I was so consumed with how HORRIBLE I felt that I could barely focus on the miracle occuring on the other side of that blue sheet.

The “bikini” question haunted me. Hubby peeked over the blue wall when I asked “What kind of incision did he do?” He then looked down at me and said “It’ll be ok…I promise. Don’t worry.”  At that point I knew I’d been cut from stem to stern. I didn’t want that. I DIDN’T WANT IT! Yet…there it was. And there it still is. The scar which brought my daughter into the world and marks me forever as her Mom.

Vomiting, barely conscious, trying to hard to be in the moment yet wondering exactly when it all started to spiral out of my control, I waited…waited for word of my child. My own pediatrician, who’d seen me from age 2 till my exam for college, was there–I’d asked him specifically to come. I knew he would love Sierra as I knew he loved me, and she would be safe in his care. I saw him from the corner of my eye…turned a bit and saw his reassuring smile…maybe I would be ok.

Tugging, “a lot of pressure”, more tugging, more vomiting from my still numb throat…and suddenly that first cry!!! She was here, alive, beautiful and healthy! Apgars were perfect!! I was a MOMMY!!! A little beautiful bundle of baby came around the blue wall in my husband’s hands…crying softly as I stared in wonder at her, unable to move my arms to touch her, unable to sob cause of the danged anesthesia…but she was there and safe…and I was vomiting again and she was taken out to meet the grandparents and all who’d gathered, while i lay there on the table barely able to speak and wondering how the most important, life-defining event I’d ever experienced had spiraled into an event in which I was a silent, paralyzed bystander. The gift I’d waited for so long…the precious child I’d prayed for and dreamt of…I couldn’t even touch her! It shouldn’t have been that way!!

I don’t remember moving to recovery…or those first hours in her presence. My nausea was so horrible from the anesthesia overdose I could barely stay awake. So her Daddy, Nana, Papa, and Aunt enjoyed her. I tried to breastfeed and she was enthusiastic at least, but the huge incision (navel to hoo-hoo) made it painful. I was determined…but as she nursed I cried from the pain.

Finally we made it home on the fifth day. Proud Daddy had made signs and hung balloons. MY proud Daddy picked us up at the hospital, and brought his daughter and granddaughter to their home. We talked, she ate and rested. I tried to rest, too, but was in such pain (I hadn’t even considered post-partum incision pain) that I had to remain fairly still.

Sierra thrived and grew. At about 7 weeks post-partum, my depression lifted and we began to “do well” together. She still nursed until I returned to work at 11 weeks. She’s been a healthy big sister for her two younger sisters (14 mos. and 6 years later). Yet…every time I see myself in the mirror, I see that crooked (he didn’t even bother to make the incision straight) silvery scar cutting my lower abdomen in half…I touch it in disbelief, although it has been part of me for half my life.

I knew going into Motherhood would change me and leave indelible marks upon my life. I had no idea, however, that some of the marks would be scars which never went away and which changed my appearance forever. I’ve wished a million times over I’d faced that grumpy doctor and said “No, but please do a bikini incision anyhow”. Despite the fact she was a transverse lie…her hips were over my left hip and she COULD have been delivered through the bikini cut if the doctor had been willing to put forth the effort. OH! And when my next daughter arrived (14 months later–another c-section–this time with a BIKINI incision woot!)…the new doctor discovered the first doctor hadn’t repaired my uterus properly. New doctor’s words were “I’m very glad you didn’t labor. Your uterus was less than a millimeter thick around that former incision. You would’ve hemmorhaged and died.”

Thank you, grumpy doctor, for making “Becoming a Mommy” a miserable experience. Thank you for endangering my life and my future child’s life because of your emotional state. While I’m sorry, deeply sorry, you lost your wife…I’d far rather you have taken a sabbatical to get yourself together, than continued on nobly and left the destruction in your wake that fell upon us.

As Sierra and her sisters grow and become Moms…I promise to be an advocate for them (if they permit) regarding the birth of their children. I will not treat a doctor with shock and awe–the doc isn’t the Wizard of Oz; s/he is simply a human battling human battles. If my child’s future is in question, I will forever be forthright in telling/asking the surgeon important questions…and will forever be grateful to have learned enough to know I can.

By: Bethany Plemmons

Hey everyone! I just wanted to let you know that we have some stories lined up and the site will be back in business soon! I had a bit of a forced hiatus after a crazy failed VBAC (more on that later) and sadly, was unable to put much time into updating. I can’t wait to jump back in!

For 8 months, I had the perfect pregnancy. I had never felt better in my life. No more breakouts, no more migraines, even my IBS was gone. It was like pregnancy was magic for my body, that my hormones were perfectly in balance with the introduction of the crazy pregnancy hormones. Sure I was tired and I had the occasional ache or pain, but overall, I felt great and totally had the pregnant woman glow. Strangers would stop me in the mall to tell me how cute I was. I would tell my husband I could easily do this 5 more times. My blood pressure was always low and peeing in a cup started to seem like a formality because it was never anything other than normal. Then everything changed at 37 weeks.

I had been having these strange abdominal pains as I turned 36 weeks. I remember being at my brother-in-law’s 30th birthday party and having to go lay down because of the pain. It was a stabbing, burning pain, definitely not a contraction, but felt more like heartburn. And having never had heartburn before, I didn’t know the difference between that and the pain I was feeling. Not to mention, I didn’t ever pass through my sister-in-law’s kitchen that day without grabbing a cookie or some other goody, so I figured I was dealing with what I had coming to me for eating like that.

The pain would come and go over the next couple of days. That Wednesday, May 28th, I had a team lunch at work. Tons of bad for you, fried and sugary foods. So when the pain came roaring back that night, again I thought I had it coming. It was only when I couldn’t walk upright to get myself to the bathroom for the 5th time in 2 hours that my husband insisted I call the on call doctor. It wasn’t my doctor or even one in her practice, but he asked the standard questions, told me to take some Pepto Bismol and if it continued an hour later, go to the hospital.

We were on our way to the maternity ward at 10:30 pm. We had just recently packed our bags so we grabbed those just in case, but I told my husband not to worry about grabbing pillows or the CD player because I was sure we were going to be home in a couple of hours. We were taken to the maternity triage rooms, I peed in a cup and then I was hooked up to the monitors (so cool), and the nurse took a couple of vials of blood from me. The monitors showed I was having mild contractions though the nurse agreed that they were not the cause of the pain I was feeling. I laid there for literally hours. We called our moms to let them know what was up and settled in. At 2:30, the nurse reported that she shared my test results with the doctor on call and though things were a little off, he wasn’t concerned. She gave me a shot of noubain for my pain and they admitted us to a room for a 24 hour observation.

My husband ran home to get all the stuff I told him to leave behind and I tried to sleep. We were up pretty early and watched TV for a bit. I wasn’t hungry so my husband went to the cafeteria to find something for breakfast. While he was gone, my doctor’s partner came to see me. My doctor had been put on bed rest the day before for her pregnancy, so her partner was taking over her patients. It was a little after 9am when she came in and told me I had HELLP. I didn’t even know what HELLP was. I skipped those pages in the pregnancy books. But whatever it was, I had it and it was enough of an emergency that I couldn’t be induced for fear I would have a seizure. I had to have a c-section as soon as the room was available. I called my husband on his cell phone. He rushed upstairs, calling my parents, his parents, his sister and my boss on the way. Nurses started to file in, hooking me up to IVs, asking me to sign a gazillion forms, and giving my husband some cheese and crackers to eat before whisking me off to the OR.

Everyone was very kind. A nurse held my hand during the spinal block at my husband’s request. He knew that part terrified me more than anything. The nurse anesthetist was gentle and quite funny, actually. Not that he remembered, but he was also performed my sister-in-law’s epidural for her c-section and he made quite the impression on my family from their video of the birth. It seemed to take forever to get my son out and I remember two things quite clearly before I heard him cry. I think I was annoyed at how long it was taking and I told my husband that Addison on Grey’s Anatomy could have a baby out in two minutes, so what the heck was going on over there. And then just before the doctor pulled my son out, she said, “He is really hanging on in there, he doesn’t want to come out!” I remember feeling sad and guilty that I couldn’t keep him in until he was ready.

The rest of our story is very happy. He was a healthy 5lb 14oz little boy with great Apgar scores and no NICU stay. My HELLP disappeared that day and I recovered quickly. Mentally, I was not ready to bring him home. Sure, the nursery was ready and his clothes were washed, but we had to go out and buy preemie clothing, and I lost the last 3 weeks that I thought I had to get ready for him. I felt like a failure that he was so small, like it was my fault I didn’t grow a bigger baby any faster. Later I felt a lot of disappointment that I didn’t even really feel a contraction. I still feel cheated out of that experience, especially because I don’t believe a VBAC is in the cards for me given some additional fertility-related complications and surgery I’ve had since then. I try to stay focused on my beautiful, healthy, almost three-year-old little boy and be grateful that my ending was much happier than I have read about from others who had HELLP.