It's not that I'm ashamed I had a cesarean section. My OBGYN recommended it while I was pregnant with my twins and at the time it felt like a good decision for us. Having identical twins put them and me at a higher risk for potential complications, and it felt good to know that I had a doctor who liked to minimize risks and play it safe with the welfare of my unborn children. Especially with the potential gamble of having a vaginal delivery of one baby followed by an emergency C-Section for the other, I was willing to follow her recommendation.
But now I find I feel excluded in birth story conversations. You know, the stories where people talked about how long they were in labor, what they were dilated to when they were admitted, how long it took to progress to a 10, and how long or how many pushes it took to birth their newborn baby. I didn't have any of that. Being a nurse, and just plain fascinated with the birthing experience, I of course know the process and wish on a daily basis that I could work in the mother/baby realm someday. I simply love babies and find the human body amazing.
Because of this, I find myself wanting to contribute to the birth story conversations but I don't know what to say. Sure I've seen a few births, in fact the first one I watched made me cry. It was amazing. I know the theory behind having a baby, I just haven't done it. At least not in the conventional way. People don't seem to care about C-Section birth stories. I have been asked several times how I delivered or if I had to be induced and when I say I had a C-Section all I get in response is "ohhhh..." and the conversation quickly moves on. In my experience, the people who pushed for 5 hours or sneezed a baby out usually still think their way was SO MUCH BETTER than having a C-section. I don't know if women are scared of them or what but they make it sound like they would rather give up their right arm than have a C-section.
Sure, a C-section was not necessarily my first birthing method choice, but it is the choice I was given by my physician, whom I loved. And shoot, there are some huge benefits to knowing exactly when you are having a baby. My husband treated me to a giant steak dinner the night before I became a mother. It was heavenly. I was able to prepare mentally and physically for their arrival because I knew the exact day and roughly the time they would arrive a week before they came. I got a great night's sleep, woke up to the sound of my alarm instead of a stabbing contraction, took a shower, took pictures, and arrived at the hospital at our scheduled time. We joked with the pre-op nurse, I laughed at my husband all gowned up, and I walked into the operating room. Everything was relaxed and yet I was making the biggest transition in life, into the role of a mother.
A curtain was drawn up over my face so my husband I carried on our own conversation while the doctors and nurses had theirs. And then our worlds collided when we heard a cry. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard and we both turned into a mess of tears. It was amazing, miraculous, and spiritual. It was our babies' birthday. Everything went flawlessly. I had perfect two babies, my recovery went remarkably well, and a very small scar is the only evidence that it even happened. And honestly, the miracle of modern medicine very well may be the only reason I still have two healthy babies. For that I am eternally grateful.
{I}
{B}
Then why do I feel so left out when I tell people I had a C-section?
I just finally realized why the other day, nearly 20 months after it happened. It was the disconnect I experienced. While the whole situation was very controlled, it was out my MY control. And I know my situation was different than your average mother, having premature twins, but I would think other C-sec moms have some similar feelings. While others talk about birthing their baby, having their husband cut the cord, and immediately snuggling their newborn into their chest, I simply heard a scream, kissed each of my babies' cheeks, and they were whisked away, not to be seen again until the next day. I barely had a chance to see them, let alone touch them. I could hear what was going on and knew the process, but I couldn't see any of it. They still didn't feel like mine.
And while I know they needed the extra help breathing and we will be forever grateful for the wonderful NICU nurses, it still didn't make it any easier to be apart from my boys. I wanted to bond with them and smell the scent of heaven that lingered on their skin. I wanted to snuggle, kiss, and simply stare at the babies my husband and I had created and I had carried for 36 weeks. Instead I had to do everything in my power not to cough or sneeze, have help to get out of bed, and then walk down the hallway to visit my babies.
One advantage I found, is the bond that my husband got to have with our babies after their birth. He was the first one to hold them, touch them, and stare at all their tiny features. He was able to follow them straight from the delivery room into the NICU and popped in and out for the rest of the evening, always returning with vivid descriptions, new pictures, and a radiating love. It was amazing watching him become a father, but I remained stuck in my hospital bed trying to wake up my legs and quit itching enough to go visit my boys.
{First diaper change}
{One of the first feedings}
While my C-section does not make me any less of a mother, nor is it less of a delivery, (in fact I would be bold enough to say it is quite the opposite as it is major surgery) deep down, I want the experience that comes with a vaginal delivery. I want to feel connected to my child as I help them enter the world and feel the weight of their little body on my chest. I want my husband to cut the umbilical cord, and I want to keep my baby with me instead of down the hall. I want the waiting game of "is this it?" with every contraction and I want to feel more in control of the delivery. I want that magical experience that only a mother knows.
I know it may not happen, and it very well may be another C-section in my future (down the road, of course), and if that is the case then so be it. I will happily take a healthy baby over any delivery delusion I may have, but a girl can dream, can't she? And maybe those of you who swear your vaginal delivery was absolutely magical, with angels singing and all that jazz, could go ahead and cut us jealous c-sectioners a break and share your stories a little shorter and quieter? Or maybe even ask more questions about my delivery. It's not that I don't like to hear your story, it's quite the opposite in fact, I love to hear it too much. They make me feel bad, and that's not what I want. I want to celebrate motherhood in all its various forms and I want to feel proud that I was able to carry and deliver two perfectly healthy babies, whatever the method may be.
