Today I am featuring a guest post written from the heart of a woman who has struggled with the disappointment of the c-section birth of her child. Perhaps you've felt that way, or maybe you have only had perfect births. Either way, this is a story that is worth reading through to the end.
My Deepest Secret
Written by Angela H. © 2009
My deepest secret is that I am ashamed that
my pregnancy ended in a cesarean operation instead of a natural birth.
Why?
Though I did prepare for a natural vaginal birth, I also knew that something else could happen.
Tyson's birth was not traumatic. The labor was hard, but everything I expected and had prepared for, and I understood, when it was time, why I was going in to the operating room and what was happening. I wasn't forced to have a cesarean; I wasn't misled. It's just that the importance of avoiding a possible negative consequence for
my son, and for me, trumped
my desire for the seemingly empowering experience of pushing a baby out. What risk would I be willing to take?
But when it was all over I was left feeling overwhelmed and disappointed in a way I didn't really understand at first. I didn't feel like I couldn't bond with Tyson, I didn't feel sleep-deprived or overwhelm with the demands of caring for a newborn. But I felt, and I feel, a real disappointment.
Why? With Tyson's birth I had twins. Of course not physically, but psychologically. One twin is Tyson,
my beautiful son. He represents the joy of giving birth. A little bit of Tyler and a little bit of me, pleasure, the future, "motherhood" , sisterhood, and family.
The other baby doesn't have a name, but he's black and hard and twisted like the dried up piece of the umbilical cord that falls off the real baby. He's the constant reminder of
my failure, a reminder that
my body is defective and that I will never be good enough. As Tyson grows, so does this one.
Any rational person would say that this is obviously postpartum depression. And I understand that too.
So I read, that's
my way. I'm hungry for some consolation, some comfort, some proof that I'm not really a failure and that I am not defined by
my ability to give birth vaginally. (After all, I don't judge other women by their birth experiences and I have no evidence that anyone who knows me thinks any differently about me because of
my experience.)
But I dreamed of giving birth. I dreamed of the pain. I dreamed of pushing hard. I believed in the empowerment, the fulfillment, the magic. I believed I was smart enough, strong enough, brave enough. I knew I could do it.
As it turns out, just like "achieving" pregnancy, I can't make it happen just because I want. I really don't have that choice.
Vicki Allen writes in Rights of Passage: a new technique promises a Cesarean section in 20 (The Sunday Herald, January 26, 2003)
"at one end of the scale, there is the easy birth...and suddenly you find you have a baby and-bingo!- you're in love! At the other end is 24 hours of excruciating pain...followed by a rush to the operating theater and emergency Cesarean..."
Now, I am not complaining (or bragging) when I say I endured severe pain. And, though Vicki Allen's article is not meant to be disparaging to mothers who deliver by cesarean, I am sure that having an emergency cesarean is not the end of the scale; it is not the worst thing possible.
And it's articles like this that make me realize the medical profession is not out to get me, the media is!
Google cesarean sections and you'll find articles about how "dangerously" high cesarean rates are getting. There is unending statistical evidence that will show you how much safer uncomplicated vaginal birth is compared to cesarean section. (key word being uncomplicated) But it's so unfair! Cesarean surgery is as complicated vaginal birth.
In other words, I had no idea I was going to have a cesarean. Neither did
my doctor.
So I read. There are tons of articles about how to avoid unnecessary c-sections. There are tons of articles that tell you how to "achieve" a VBAC (as in--you can do better next time.)
But I just want to read that it's OK. I am not a victim, I am not a failure, I am not vain. But it's not as easy to find the proof that I am looking for.
I'm ashamed because I thought I had a choice and as it turns out I didn't. I'm disappointed because I believed that I would do it, and I couldn't. I know that other people understand the disappointment and shame of finding out that the things they once thought were valuable, important, or even with in their control are not. And I wish those people would publish more articles and books, so people like me could find anonymous support for a broken heart.
I can never change what happened when Tyson was born. And I'm probably not going to try to revive
my lost dream just to prove that I am a real woman. (In other words, if I have another child, I will probably have another cesarean) A baby may never pass through
my cervix, but it's not really as important as I thought it was.
What is important? I am OK. I am not a failure. I have faced my truest fear. (That would be the fear of failure, not the fear of childbirth) Even though I'm not perfect, Tyler loves me; he's proud of me. (I'm even secretly proud of myself.) And it goes without saying that Tyson is safe, he is ok.
And when I say I'm ashamed of my cesarean I mean that I am ashamed that I ever felt that vaginal birth was some magic rite of passage, some proof of my self-worth, or of any value at all. I'm ashamed that I believed in an unachievable perfection that was never real while the actual reality of birth wakes me up at every morning at a quarter to eight.
I'm not perfectly happy. I'm still haunted by perfectionism, and mourning the loss of
my old dream.
So
my in
my new dream,
my new ideal birth. I see the bright lights of the operating room, the cool steel table. I smell the clean fresh smell of the hospital. I see myself lying there with dignity, self-assurance, and anticipation. Tyler looks down at me with love and appreciation in his eyes, video camera in hand. The miracle of
my birth is...just that; it's mine. Tyler gets to warm up our new baby in the nursery. I'm wheeled back into
my room for
my recovery, to wait for
my baby.
My mom and dad are there,
my son Tyson is there, and
my friends are there to tell me "You did it." even though I didn't.
This is a birth at the high end of the scale.
A happy birth, a proud birth, a birth where reality meets expectations with a dash in the middle. The dash is for...forgiveness.
It has finally happened. Both of my boys have fevers at the same time. Usually when one of the kids are sick, they're on the mends before another one catches it too. Not this time, though. Both kids started running fevers last night. My youngest ran a fever last week, so that only leaves one child who hasn't caught the illness yet (if it's all the same virus).
In the book, If Your Kid Eats This Book, Everything Will Still Be Okay: How to Know if Your Child's Injury or Illness Is Really an Emergency, the author, Dr. Lara Zibners has some fever advice which I found interesting. She says that she's not concerned with how the child is acting while running the fever, but is more concerned in how the child is acting when the fever is down. She mentions using fever reducers not only to help if a child is feeling miserable, but also as a way to see how the child responds while the fever is down.
Why bother making your own popcorn when you can go out and buy bags of the pre-made kind for a few bucks?" Here are a few reasons you should try making it yourself:
*Next, set your microwave to cook for approx. 1 1/2- 2 min. Stay close by so you can stop the cooking once you hear the popping slow down.
*Pour popcorn into a bowl, season with salt, Parmesan, or other spices, and enjoy!
Imagine my surprise when I found out my 5 (now 6) year old knew the meaning behind September 11. We had never discussed it with him before, yet he knew many things about the attack. I suspect he learned it from reading a book about presidents. My son could rattle off facts about 9-11 without any emotion or real understanding of how frightening that day was.
Last week we had a Potty Training Day to help my 21 month old daughter learn to control her bladder and use the potty. She went from soley wearing diapers to being completely potty trained within a day! Here's how we did it:
" by Nathan H. Azrin and Richard M. Foxx. Although I did not follow the plan in the book strictly, I did find it to be a very helpful tool in the potty training process.
This week I potty trained my 4th. child in the past 4 years.
