Reflection

I never did write out a birth story. I can't tell you how many I read while I was pregnant, carefully crafting my own ideas of a perfect birth. I am smart enough to know that nothing goes as planned which is why after two days of failed inductions, I consented to a cesarean. To say that I really wanted a natural birth is an understatement. One week earlier I called my Bradley instructor crying because I was afraid that I would have to be induced and that the pain brought on by pitocin would be more than I could handle. I did a lot of crying those last couple of weeks.

Once my due date came and went I got very overwhelmed. People were excited for the baby but my body was being stubborn. I hid from people for the most part and The Husband was great support to me even if he was a little jumpy. The weekend before my two-week overdue date we went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the Prytania Theater and it was so hard to get comfortable in those theater chairs at nearly forty-two weeks pregnant.

When Monday rolled around I was tired, swollen and it seemed that every movement was accompanied by pain emanating from my mid-section. I talked things over with The Husband and we agreed that I would be induced. I was admitted that day after my regular doctor appointment, given fluids and tried to sleep with an IV and monitors strapped to my belly. I just laid there all night watching the fetal monitor. I was also given Cervidil that night which did nothing to ripen my cervix so my first round of pitocin the next day was a bust. I just sat there on the bed smiling away waiting for something to happen. We tried Cytotec Tuesday night and on Wednesday after another failed attempt, I consented to surgery as I never progressed to more than one centameter dilated.

This was all very hard on me but probably more so on the people around me who had to endure the tears and my painful decision to not have a natural birth. My doctor assured me that once the baby was delivered that I would feel such relief that the process wouldn't seem as important and she was right. The moment that I heard Addy's cries I was, of course, euphoric. The moment that she was placed in my arms, the screaming stopped as we looked into each other's eyes. This moment can never be duplicated.

However moments like that are also scarred with images of blue drop cloths, the inability to feel anything below my chest, the utter sense of helplessness as I was wheeled around on a gurney into recovery and finally into my room. As Addy and The Husband went to the nursery for her post-birth checkup, I was left lying in an operating room while strangers packed my innards back into my body.

I hated my remaining stay in the hospital; the constant poking, the fact that I couldn't even shower alone. I was so grateful when the OBGYN on rounds let me go a day early. I'm even more thankful of that now that I've gotten the bill!

The biggest scar that I carry isn't the one across my abdomen it has to do with semantics. I have a problem saying that Adelaide was "born" or that I gave "birth". "Extraction" seems more fitting to our situation. I had more painful contractions as my uterus shrunk post-birth than I did anytime before delivery. In a sense I feel like I cheated and that I was cheated from a natural birth. I know that may sound crazy to people who have felt labor pains but I can't even give an opinion on the subject and if there's one thing I like to do, it's to give opinions.

Given the option to go back in time and be guaranteed to deliver a healthy, beautiful baby via cesarean versus waiting for labor to kick in on it's own while the baby was only getting bigger and a major hurricane was waiting to make landfall in twelve days, I would of course choose the course that I did. However, next time around I will probably stall as long as I can and eat a lot more spicy food. Of course since this kid brought a hurricane, there may not be a next time.