Birth Matters: So Does Motherhood

 I believe in birth.  I believe that women's bodies were made to birth naturally and that most women, if left alone medically and supported emotionally, will birth and that experience will be both powerful and transforming.  I believe that birth matters for not just the mother and the baby, but also for the family unit as a whole.  I can attest that had I not been successful in my VBAC last march, I would have had a different kind of recovery and our bonding as a family would have been very different and might well have been more difficult, but difficult is not impossible.

You see, I've been reading a lot of different blogs and articles lately about the importance of your birth on the bonding process and the impact your birth can have on your child for life.  Whether its the physical trauma of a csection on the body of the mother and the baby or the stress put on the spine of an infant when misaligned for long periods before a vaginal birth or the emotional trauma of a long separation after surgery for a mother and child or the emotional impact of the use of pitocin during labor, there is no doubt that birth has the power to profoundly affect the developing relationship between a mother and child.  However, I don't think birth defines that relationship.  It is the start of the relationship and for a time it might set a tone for the relationship, but it is not the final word on your relationship.

I don't care how rocky the start might have been between you and your child, how many "mistakes" you think happened in your birth, how many interventions happened in your birth, or how traumatic your birth was for you and/or your baby, as long as you are both alive at the end of it, there is still hope.  After a birth, comes motherhood and the choices you make as a mother matter even more than the choices you made in birth.  Not just the choices you make with your newborn, but the choices you make with your toddler, preschooler, and even your teen.  What is dynamic and awe inspiring and humbling about motherhood is that it is completely based on the unique, idiosyncratic relationship you have with your child.  Just as your relationship keeps evolving, so, too does your mothering skills and what is even more inspiring beyond that is that it is never too late to change.  Even if your children are adults, your relationship with them is still important and although it gets tougher as they get older, your role as their parent is never not important and is still impactful.  If you doubt me, think about how strong your emotions are about your own parents whether you have good, strong relationships with them or not.  Ambiguity and ambivalence are not descriptors that are often used for the relationships between parents and children at any age for good reason; the depth of our emotions (positive or negative) prove how important and primary the relationship is to us all.

So, if you feel distant, take steps to get closer.  If you feel like you are not bonded, do some bonding activities.  If you made choices you now regret in your birth, in your newborn parenting, in your young child years parenting, or even last week, let your child know about your regrets.  Let them know that you want to make a new choice now and then make it.  Every beginning is just that, a beginning.  It isn't the whole story.  It's never too late to make a new start.  Birth matters the way every introduction matters, but it's not the end.  If it was adoption would never work and we all know that adoption does.  Beautifully.  Take heart, mama.  Make a new story for you and your child with the choice you make today.

Thanks for reading,
Shawna

What Happens When Your Water Breaks and You Don't Deliver Within 24Hours: Part 3: Birth Story

"This birth is cursed!" I announced after hanging up the phone and then commenced sobbing dejectedly. Almost three whole days since my water had broken, and I STILL wasn't in labor. Less than twelve hours and I wouldn't have a single study to back up that my baby was not really at risk. Three days of believing in my body and that all I needed was time and good energy and thoughts and my body was still letting me down! Now, I call our doula to let her know we were going to the hospital (the drive of shame I called it nastily in my head) only to find out she had just fallen and possibly broken her ankle. (No way she could drive or be on her feet for my labor all day.) Because she's an amazing professional, she'd already arranged a back up doula to cover us, but the thought of having another stranger there to witness my possible failure (my chances for a successful vbac were about to be a bit decreased by the introduction of pit at the hospital), was too much. I just couldn't stomach having a stranger there. (Now I kind of wish we had had her there for the pushing stage, but hind site is 20/20 and who knew that alone would last over four hours?)

The hour and twenty minute drive to the birth center seemed like an eternity since I wasn't in labor like I had planned to be on the drive. For someone who had worked really hard to not be "in her head" so much this labor, having almost three whole days to do nothing but think and wait had been agony. Because my natural coctractions were so strong, I went ahead and sat in the back seat so I could kneel or squat whenever they hit, but my last minute hope that active labor would just strike like lightening during the car ride was not to be. We arrived at the hospital, went up to the birth center floor, and went directly to triage, a place I had sworn I would skip because I would be in such advanced labor before I even left the house, where I was tested to see if the fluid really was amniotic even though it had pretty much stopped flowing over twenty four hours before (we think it was a high leak and the baby moved to block it). It was positive (duh!). I was an emotional mess. I cried before the midwife and midwifery student even had a chance to get more than "hello" out. My heart rate was high because I was so upset. (Once I did some hypnotherapy on myself it dropped right down.) I felt humiliated and like a failure. Suddenly, having another c-section and a hysterectomy no longer seemed like far off possiblities. I kept most of those fears to myself and tried to dispell them as best I could.

Something I am grateful for is the completely non-plussed attitude the midwives had about how long my water had been broken. While my OB during my last birth had panicked because it had been fifteen hours since my water had broken and my contractions were steady, but I was not in completely active labor, my midwife took for granted that my body was fine. I had no signs of infection. My baby showed no signs of distress. No cervical check was done. Just the swab for the amniotic fluid and that was all. In my distress, I had even forgotten my birth plan, but my midwife had already scanned in a copy, so they just printed one out from their computer. They were also very respectful of me. They not only got me into a tub room and found me wireless monitors (I was only being monitored because of the pit) so that I could be as active as I wanted to be and get into the tub when I was ready, but they also found me a birth ball and gave me a chance to eat a meal before hooking me up to pit.Normally they encourage mothers to eat as much as they feel they need to during labor, despite hospital policies to the contrary, but when on pit, it's clear liquids only. At every turn, whenever they knew they were veering off my birth plan, they apologized and made sure that I gave the final okay for everything. It was made clear to me that although the circumstances of my birth were not as I had planned, this still was my body and my birth. I felt safer being treated with so much respect. I remember a moment when my husband left the room to check on our son and the nurses left the room to get something before finishing hooking up the pit and I could almost hear my heart beating out of my chest and the waves of shame that I was going to "need" pit to have this baby washing over me. I decided in that moment that there was no more room for shame or for fear in this birth. I actually decided to "bless" the pit and let it know what I did and did not need from it before it could enter my body. It felt a little silly, but equally important because I wanted to feel in control of my birth again. So, I said a quick prayer and then I said, "Okay, pit. I just want to let you know where we stand. I know that I cursed you as an enemy in my last birth, but you are going to help bring me stronger contractions so that my baby comes to me a little more quickly and for that I thank you. For every wave of pain you send my way, I will thank you until my baby is in my arms. You are here not because I am broken, but because my water has broken a bit early. I do not need you, but I welcome you. You will not give me contractions that are too strong for me, because I am stronger than you. My body gives you your power and it will give me my baby. God is with me. You will not over power me."

They then hooked up the pit and because I am a VBAC, they told me that they would use very minimal doses and up them every half an hour or so until I was in active labor. It took two hours and four doses before the "pit" contractions became anywhere close to my natural contractions that were still occurring randomly. My husband and I walked together around and around the circular birthing center, and as I walked the contractions got stronger and closer together. I tried to teach him how to give counter pressure on my hips during the contractions. After three hours on pit, the contractions were two minutes apart, were lasting at least a minute each, and were powerful enough that I needed to vocalize to get through them (they would continue at this pace for the rest of my labor . . . another twelve hours). The wireless monitors were also running out of juice, so we had to return to the room and I sat on the birth ball or got into different squatting or all fours positions to get through the contractions. It was at this point that the midwife shift was about to change and the midwive coming on was none other than *my* midwife. The midwife I had seen exclusively at her one day a week shift at the location closest to where I lived (about 45 min from my home). I was so glad to see her, I almost could have kissed her. She was the one thing that seemed to be exactly right. After she came on shift, I requested my first cervical check, just to see if I was far enough along to get into the tub. She checked and I was at a four. A four!?!?!? A four. I know women who get to fours without ever feeling a contraction and here I was drowning in powerful ones and I was only at a four. Not even half way there. My labor still felt so fragile at that point, so ephemeral. My VBAC in general seemed so illusive I couldn't stand it. I had wanted to feel the power of my body, to get caught up in birth, but despite the power, intensity, and regularity of the pit contractions, I still felt that at any moment it all could be over and I could find myself in surgery. The perfect trust I had had in my body all during my pregnancy had been shattered by my days of waiting after my water broke. In fact, I had received a text shortly before going into labor in which a well meaning loved one had meant to assure me that the birth that needed to happen would happen and that I should not hold myself to blame for whatever did occur, but the words that had been used were "some women are just broken and need help in birth." The word "broken" just reverberated in my soul. When I heard I was only a four; I heard that word "broken" repeating in my ears again. I started crying. My husband couldn't understand what was wrong; my midwife couldn't understand what was wrong. My doula who continually kept calling to check on us and was a nervous wreck waiting for news told us that the first four centimeters are always the hardest. Still, I pressed on, but fear had started creeping back in. It wasn't until about twenty to thirty minutes later, that something happened that forever changed the trajectory of my birth and made it possible for me to have a successful VBAC despite the obstacles and challenges that were still to come.

I was sitting on the birth ball, breathing and vocalizing through my contractions. I was using an "ahhh" sound this time to relax the back of my throat and the sound that came out actually became (through no direction of mine) a bit of a song. I would sing my way through my contractions for most of the rest of my labor. Suddenly, I felt the baby drop and shift just a tiny bit and I felt pressure in the back. I knew that I was not far enough along to push yet, but it was a sensation that I had never felt in all 29 hours of labor with my first child. Suddenly, right in the middle of a hellishly strong contraction, I found hope. I felt that bit of pressure and I thought, that's it. That's the right position. This is new. This is different. This VBAC is going to happen. That was the moment that made it all possible. Come what may.

Just an hour or so later, I started showing signs I was in transition and I moved into the large birth tub to help ease the pain. There I sang through every contraction and sniffed lavender and other essential oils my midwife prepared for me. I also drank some raspberry leaf tea. From here on out, I become pretty unsure of times, but I probably entered the tub around 9 or so and exited a little before midnight. While I felt pressure, I still did not feel it was time to push quite yet. My midwife eventually asked if I was willing to leave the tub and give another position a try. I tried laboring on all fours in the bed, but the midwife suggested maybe I should try lying on my side and rotating from side to side every other contraction. I think she wanted to get the baby in a little bit better position and it must have worked because fairly soon I did feel pressure to push. At some point, she had checked and I was at 9 1/2 centimeters which it felt awesome to hear because that was further than I had gotten in my first birth. Laying on my side had really hurt, but it seemed worth it. (I would not feel that way the next time I was on my side.) Feeling the need to stand I got up from the bed and tried leaning against my husband and the nurse, but when the next contraction hit, I found an urge to squat through the contraction. The midwife suggested making my song's notes go lower more like grunting to help power the energy downward. She suggested I go ahead and try a push if that's what I felt like doing. (I did!) Pushing felt amazing. It was such a relief to work with my body rather than against it. Because it was not yet midnight, I foolishly dreamed maybe I would only need to push a few times and the baby and I would share a birthday. Alas, that was not to be.

After a few pushes, my midwife got a little bit of a worried look on her face and said she thought I migh

t have a cervical lip, so she tried to hold it out of the way during the next push, but it was stubborn. A veteran of over twenty five years, she seemed like she knew what she was talking about so when she told me that it seemed particularly "spongy and stubborn" and that I should stop pushing and lay down, I listened to her. In my first birth, I had reached a dilation of 8.5 and then after bearing down too much, too early I had started undilating and had ended up with my ceasarean. I did not want history to repeat itself. I had come to far to do that again. So, I consented to laying on my side again this time with my legs closed and rotating some more to keep the baby in a good bithing position. I have been through a root canal, I have had two molars pulled with only partial pain relief, I have been through (a collective total of both of my births) over 30 hours of un-pain medicated pit labor, I have gone through two abdomen surgeries (a c-section and gall bladder surgery) with no pain medication after the initial surgery except ibuprofen and tyenol and I have never felt pain like the pain I felt lying on the bed after pushing. To fight to relax my body after being able to work with the pain of the contraction was incredibly painful and holding my legs together felt impossible. I felt like my body was going to shake apart from the strength of those contractions. Adding to the misery, there was absolutely no respite from the pain. In between contractions, because of the position of the baby I was in a solid block of pain that was only intensified during a contraction. The best way I can think to describe it is being stabbed by a knife and then having the knife almost slid out to relieve part of the pain, only to have it plunged back in. I shudder thinking about it now, four months later. It was at this time, I finally broke and started crying. I just wanted a short respite from that pain. I didn't think I could continue without some sort of a break, but here's the thing. I did. It was bearable. Even though, in the moment, I was afraid it wasn't. It was. I was stronger than that incredible pain.

Finally, I felt that if I didn't push I was going to die, that the contractions would simply break me in half and my baby would come out that way. I begged the midwife to let me push and she offered to check, but I could tell by her voice that she didn't think my cervical lip was gone, but to her surprise, it was. She told me on the next contraction to push. I was so relieved. I glanced at the clock and realized that it was past midnight. The baby had chosen to wait for his own birthday to be born. I had been on pit about 11 hours. The nurse and midwife installed the squat bar over my bed and with the next contraction I pulled myself up and pushed. Although it hurt, it felt much, much better to push. As the baby squeezed low under my pelvic bone, my hips began to burn like nothing I had ever felt before, but then the baby would slide back. I would push into the pain and then the baby would slide back, peek a boo. The midwife helped me learn how to direct my pushes so they could be more productive, but still the baby was not coming out. This went on for hours. I want to note that I was not panicked. I was not under the impression that I could not do it. With every push, I felt like this was the one that would get the baby's head out, but each time, it wasn't.

After awhile, I noticed my nose felt runny like it sometimes did when I went to the gym and I was a little embarrassed about that, but since nothing could be done, I just pushed through it. I noticed my husband starting to look worried, and I tried to be reassuring, but that was hard when all my real energy was on pushing. I noticed drops of blood all over the bed and thought it was from the pushing, but I learned later the blood was from my nose. It turned out that every time I squatted to push, my nose would gush blood. When the midwife (who was going between rooms because another mama was pushing as well) returned, she told me she wanted me to lay down to push for awhile, but didn't tell me that it was because my nose was bleeding so much. I would lay to push the rest of the time. (This is VERY unusual for my midwife practice, but was done simply because of the stress I seemed to be under vertically.)

I am uncertain exactly how this next part happened, but eventually I realized I was having a lot of trouble breathing. My lungs felt really tight and no matter how deeply and slowly I tried to breathe there was never enough air. I was so focused on living push to push that the sensation sort of snuck up on me. It was a little surreal because I was too focused to even panic about it. It took me a long time to even vocalize that it was happening because the two twin goals of pushing and breathing were so all encompassing that it was all I could do to keep up with them. Talking was too difficult. The midwife and the nurse could tell something was wrong, though, my heartrate was going up and my oxygen (although it stayed pretty high) became a little erratic. Eventually, I was put on oxygen, but that did little to help. I remember just feeling completely washed in the sensation of drowning; I was lost in a sea of pressure, pain, and pathetically little air. I became aware that I was becoming very foggy. Again, I did not panic, the sensation as strange and horrible as it was had something familiar about it that I couldn't put a name to with all my focus on getting the baby out. I began to wonder if I was going to be able to stay concious, fighting for every breath the way I was and struggling to stay aware. Still, the siren song of the need to push kept calling and I was powerless to resist. Even when my midwife began to tell me that I was pushing too hard and I needed to take every other contraction off from pushing, my body just could not obey. My contraction would come and my baby would call and my body would push, with or without my help, so I would take the deepest breath I could and I would push myself as hard as I could because to do otherwise would have been to waste what precious energy I had left and I, even in my foggy, dissassociated state, knew that I would run out of energy eventually. The only point where I did get a little panicky happened after what I guess was a particularly hard push in which I had a very brief break with reality and momentarily lost where I was and what I was doing. I remember looking around and thinking: where the heck am I and what in the world is going on? I think I may even have attempted to say it outloud because I remember seeing everyone look at each other really concerned. I thought at the time I might have passed out and came to quickly, but eveyone present swears I was awake the whole time. Fighting to breathe and fighting to push, I was in no position to argue with anyone if someone had said that a repeat cesarean was necessary. I was completely at the mercy of my provider. Looking back, I am very happy that I was so picky and insistant about finding a provider I believed in and who I thought would support and believe in me. As much as I wanted to be powerful, in charge, and independent during my birth, my breathing difficulties and my fatigue made it impossible. I told myself that I was going to push on and on and on and on until I had a baby in my arms or I passed out and woke up in an operating room. I could not assess which would be my outcome, but my midwife saw strength and resiliance in me that I could not see in that moment. She saw me as a powerful woman facing only seemingly insurmountable trouble and she told me I could do it. I couldn't even hear her voice, but I knew she was in my corner and had not lost faith in me. So, on I pushed and pushed and pushed. Each time amazed that I could still rise to the contraction's call even as the air seemd to grow thinner and thinner. (The baby's stats remained strong throughout no matter my distress level.)

Sometime later (an eternity? an hour? two?), the head was finally emerged enough that I could touch it and remembering I had expressed a wish to do so, my midwife encouraged me to feel my baby's head. She had what seemed like an endless supply of hot evening primrose oil and it seemed to me that she was doing everything she could to preserve every micrometer of progress I made with my pushes. A few pushes later, she told me that if I wanted it, she would perform an episiotomy just to help me get the baby out faster. She stressed that it was my choice and she was only offering it because I seemed so distressed. I told her "yes." Anything to make this eternity of airlessness and pain come closer to an end. (I learned two days later that it was only the second episiotomy she had ever performed in over 25 years of being a midwife and the only one she had performed because the mother seemed distressed.) She performed it and the very next push my son was born. Although I had always been told the shoulders were the worst part and the ring of fire was something to behold, both sensations were nothing compared to the pain of laying on my side trying to get rid of my cervical lip or the burning my hips felt as I pushed the baby out. In fact, I never felt the shoulders at all. As soon as the head was birthed, I did not need to push again. The baby fell out and was quickly placed on my chest. Although he would remain there only seconds as we both breathed raggedly, stunned to finally be there, it is a moment I will never forget.

It was at this point that we veered yet again from my birth plan and the baby was whisked to a pediatrician who had been called in because I had been in such obvious distress while pushing. His umbilical cord stopped pulsing mere moments after birth and as soon as it was cut, he was taken over and examined in the incubator. My breathing was becoming easier, but I could hear that his cry was strange and his breathing seemed "off" somehow. I birthed the placenta without even pushing and as the midwife stitched me back together, the pediatrician on call (our doctor was back in the town where we lived almost an hour and a half away) came over with my still crying baby and told me that the strange cry I was hearing was because my baby might not be "tolerating the conversion to gas oxygen well." He thought that the best course of action for the time being would be for me to give him lots of skin to skin and to suction him as much as possible. He would return in an hour to check the baby's progress unless the baby seemed to get more distressed in the mean time. He encouraged me to nurse whenever the baby seemed interested and ready and that he would not take the baby from me and into the NICU unless he got worse. It seemed that there would be no respite from worry in this birth.

However, an hour later found the baby still crying, freshly nursed, but breathing better. Another very thorough sunction from the pediatricican and I finally saw my baby at peace. We lay together, skin to skin, heart to heart, battered lungs to battered lungs, both a little shocked, amazed,and thankful that we were there, together, and still breathing. Exhaustion washed over us both and we slept.

Two days later, it hit me why the sensation was so familiar. My struggle breathing had been an asthma attack. Because of the noise of the baby's monitor and, later, the whir of the oxygen tank, no one could hear the tell tale wheezing of my lungs. Having an asthma attack while in labor is exceptionally rare; less than one percent of asthmatic women ever experience it. Yet another crazy statistic in this crazy birth. I talked to my midwife about it and she was relieved to hear what had happened had an explanation. She felt awful for not recognizing the signs for what they were, but she had never experienced any patient having an asthma attack during labor, either. "Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to put it in your chart. Puff and then push". I couldn't agree more.

There is line from a Margaret Atwood poem that ends "I don't want this/but I want this also." In the hours and days after my second son's birth, those lines haunted me. After I looked up the poem, I realized why they haunted me, although the poem is ostensibly about the love the speaker has for her lover whose body has been broken. I realized that it perfectly encapsulated how I felt about my body after birth. I was not the birth warrior/goddess I had always thought I could and should be, but I did it anyway. I was adequate and adequate was all we needed. I don't love this story I have written for you. I wanted something different. It is not full of power and self assurance and victory the way I imagined it would be, but I love and want this also because it is the story of how my son came into this world and how I birthed him with my imperfect body that was still enough.

Final Stats: 

Second baby boy born 82 hours after water broke

7 lbs 8 oz

20 1/2 inches long

On his due date the day after my birthday,

5:11 am March 10,

15 hours after pitocin introduction

Thank you for reading,
Shawna

Letting Go of the Fear of Birth: Three Writing Activities to Let Go of Your Fear and Pain

Currently, I am 34 weeks pregnant. Although I had already thoroughly researched my VBAC vs repeat C-section options, had already researched providers and had even made the decision to choose a midwife practice covered by my insurance, but with the nearest office located 45 minutes away and a birth center located over an hour away, about six weeks ago, I sat down to write my birth plan, and freaked out. I found myself looking at my first birth plan (the one that had actually ended in a c-section with my son three and a half years ago) and I found I could not stop crying. Panicked, I called my doula. "I need help with my birth plan! I said I'd discuss my birth preferences with my midwife at our next appointment and I can't seem to stop crying!"

After a few moments of questions, my doula gently pointed out that she didn't think I was quite ready to be writing out a birth perferences list yet because it sounded like I still had some fear left from my birth experience. I was shocked. I knew my body was strong. I was no longer afraid of the pain of labor (having already experienced that for over 24 hours in my last birth). I knew I could trust my midwife practice because I had thoroughly researched them. I thought I was ready, but what I didn't realize is that while I knew I could birth this baby with my head and my heart, I still felt the fear and the pain I hadn't fully dealt with yet from my first birth and, like it or not, it was bubbling up as soon as I even thought about my next birth. I may have read all the books. I may have thought and planned circles around myself, but labor is not an intellectual acitivy and I was not able to intellectualize my way out of my feelings. They would have to be "felt" through. My wise doula pointed out that the good part was that this was coming up long before I was in actual labor and so I had time to deal with my feelings. She suggested some fear release activities and, even though some of the ideas seemed a little kooky, I decided to do them. Figuring it was better to work on this now rather than when I was in the midst of labor, I decided it would be worth it to try them. That decision has made all the difference! Six weeks later, I feel like I am in a much more peaceful and stronger place to face labor in three to six more weeks. I have finally come to a place where I am giving myself permission to do anything I feel I need to do to make this birth happen and then when I am full term, I will let go and let God and this baby show me the birth I'm supposed to have. This is huge for me. I am a bit of a control freak. This is especially true when it comes to my babies, but letting go is probably the most important thing I can do when the time comes and that is what I'm working to do. I know that by letting go of my fear and my pain, I have paved the way to let go in labor. So, take some time alone for yourself and try some of these activities for yourself and see if they help.

Activity 1: Writing Letters

The first assignment my doula gave me was to write a letter in pencil to myself really letting myself express everything I felt I had been repsonsible for that had gone wrong in my first birth. She also suggested I write a letter to anyone else I felt I needed to talk to about my first birth or anything else that was coming up before my labor (any issues with men, authority, family, etc.). She then said that I should read each letter three times aloud to myself and then burn them. I know, I know, it sounds a little crazy, but she said the smell of the carbon in the pencil burning and the act of hearing my own voice say my fears would give my body permission to let go of those feelings. I have to say, there was definitely some satisfaction in watching those hurtful, painful thoughts burn. Afterwards, it just doesn't seem like those old painful thoughts and memories have the same power over me and whenever I think of this new birth now, I just don't see it as connected to those old feelings of regret from my first birth.

Activity 2: Mind Shifting
This is another kind of strange activity that seems a little kooky, but can yield some surprising things about what you really believe about yourself, about birth, and about life in general. The key is to pick an aphorism that you want to believe or that you think you should believe, but aren't sure you do, yet, and to write it multiple times until you hear your mind either arguing or agreeing with it and then quickly write those thoughts down, too, switching back to writing the aphroisms whenever you feel yourself running out of things to say. So, for example, you could write "I believe that birth is natural and safe and doesn't require thought," "I believe that birth can be successful in any environment," "I belive that I am strong enough to birth my child any way my baby needs to be birthed," or any other aphroism that appeals to you. This was actually very powerful to me because I did it awhile after I did the first activity and after I'd already done some serious soul searching, so I felt empowered by the lack of new things that came up for me. It made me realize just how far I had come and how much more mentally prepared I was to make this a new birth.

Activity 3: Birth Visualization (Two Variations)
This last activity took the most time and was probably the strangest one for me. Because I had taken a hypnobirthing class during my first pregnancy and had already started listening to some of my old hypnobirthing tracts to prepare for this birth, she suggested I get in contact with a local hypnobirthing practitioner about coming up with a special, individualized tract for this birth. I got in contact with the practitioner and she suggested that what would be most effective would be for me to write a tract for myself, record it, and then to try to relax and listen to that tract everyday. She also sent me some of her class materials (she is not offering any classes right now, but I really wish she was because her class seems amazing) and in her class materials, she talked about writing a letter to a close friend post dated about a year after the baby's birth detailing all the positive things I wanted to happen during the birth, after the birth, and in my family over that year. The letter is to be read daily until the baby is born and can be written very early in the pregnancy and can help set your mind to focus on the positive over the next year and to commit yourself to making those things happen. So, I did that immediately and it was actually very fun to imagine the relationship my children would have with one another a year from now and how I could feel about this birth a year afterward. I even wrote about how awesome I hoped my relationship with my husband would be at that time! She had told me that my birth visualization tract would probably be most effective if I listened to it in the last four weeks or so before birth, so I found this script online and I changed it into first person and added personalized details and things I really thought it was important for me to hear and I recorded it. I'm not going to lie. It was really surreal to record it and it felt a little weird saying some of that stuff aloud, but ultimately I feel the more times I allow myself to envision my body giving birth naturally, the more I give my body permission to give birth when the time comes. It couldn't hurt anyway!

Ultimately, I have no way of knowing exactly what shape this birth will take, but at least when it is all said and done, I can tell myself I did everything I could to make the birth I felt I, my baby, and my family deserved and if I end up with another outcome, I will give myself permission to say, "I did everything I could. This was just what was meant to be." That seems like a much more healthy place to be than where I was before!

Thanks for reading!
Shawna

"No Greater Sacrifice:" Cesearean Birth

Recently, I recieved a message from a friend of mine on my personal facebook page that started like this: "So I see all the stuff you post about vbac and natural childbirth and a few of them had made me feel you think less of moms who have had csections. I had one and it was terribly disapointing but I also needed my child to arrive here safely [. . .]" The message really stunned me because I am currently in the process of planning a vbac in about nine weeks (or less) and am a cesarean mother myself. I realized that, perhaps, in my own exuberance at the chance of giving birth naturally once more, and in making my own emotional struggle with my cesarean largely private or on here only, I may have missed the chance to be clear about how I feel about cesearen birth. I do realize that cesarean birth can seem like it has a bad reputation with mothers who want to experience "natural" birth. I will admit that I, and many of my like minded friends, probably post links about natural birth, its beauty, and how to avoid unnecessary cesarean sections so often that we may forget that people may not always know where we are coming from. So, here is where I'm coming from.

A few months ago, I attended a screening of the film "Freedom For Birth: The Mother's Revolution: Women Take Back Childbirth," in addition to being a great film, the discussion afterwards featured a comment that made me cry and not just because I'm pregnant. A Certified Nurse Midwife, Sameerah Shareef, the only nurse midwife who attends birth in the entire city of Lansing, where we currently live, made the comment that she could think of "no greater sacrifice" in birth than that which a birthing mother makes when she births on an operating table instead of naturally. She went on to describe the heartbreaking desecration of laying youself prostrate and allowing yourself to be cut open not just spiritually, or emotionally, or metaphorically, but literally in order that your baby might live and be born. It was the first time I found myself thinking of my son's birth as something other than shameful and I cried tears of relief to hear her words. I wish I had been able to record them so that I could share them all with you, but I didn't and while the literal words have left me, the spirit hasn't.

A mother who births through a c-section is an unsung hero. At no other point in your life will you have a major surgery performed on you (with all its risks and side effects) and not only have no one really pay attention to your recovery, but will also be told repeatedly to be thankful for it (even though it causes you great daily pain and has permenant repercussions emotionally, mentally, and physically for you). "Healthy mama, healthy baby," is the mantra I was told over and over again, but I have to tell you that post c-section, especially if that c-section was unexpected and the recipient is not sure if it was or wasn't completely necessary, most mothers feel anything but "healthy." When you go in for a c-section, you sacrifice a lot. Often you sacrifice your ability to be the first one to hold your baby, you sacrifice your ability to hold your baby skin to skin right away (in our case, my husband was allowed to step in and give my baby that, but it tore me up to see that I would have to wait), you sacrifice your own health, you (sometimes) sacrfice your ability to breastfeed successfully (I was lucky in that I did not have this problem, but it is very, very commen for women with c-sections to have all sorts of post-surgery delayed milk production and other breastfeeding issues), you sacrifice your own mental and emotional health (many women find that the trauma of a c-section is much more than they ever thought it would be; not all, but many) and sometimes you allow yourself to sacrifice your own ability to say you "birthed" your baby, preferring instead to say your baby was "delivered" (I still struggle to think I "birthed" my baby through a c-section). I've met many women (me among them) who felt that their agency in the birthing of their own children had been negated just because they had a c-section. I often have found myself apologizing or giving excuses for my c-section as if I had let everyone down (most of all myself and my child), by allowing myself to be lain on a table and sliced open to give birth instead of managing to do it on my own. Sameerah's words did much to reshape that image in my mind.

A mother who births through c-section is a warrior in her own right because she fights not just during her birth, not just during her immediate physical recovery, not just through her emotional recovery (which can often take longer), but also through any subsequent pregnancies where she now faces increased risks both if she chooses VBAC or she has necessary repeat cesarean. In fact, in the paperwork the hospital where I am planning my VBAC had me sign, the risks for maternal death, infant death, and other serious complications are the same no matter what course she chooses and those risks are increased compared to mothers who have not had a cesearean. That is a lot of physical, mental, and spiritual work for any woman to have to take on, and currently in this country around a third of all women who give birth face just this challenge. (A third! When in many developed nations both maternal and infant mortality rates remain lower than the US AND cesarean rates are less than 10%!) No one is denying that c-sections save mothers and infants, but many are dedicated to making sure that the c-sections that happen are absolutely necessary and do save lifes.

So, make no mistake, if those who advocate natural birth are anti unneccesary and uninformed c-section and are very vocal about it, it is not because anyone feels that women who birth through c-sections are lesser than or somehow not as strong as mothers who birth vaginally. Most (like many of the women on this site who gave birth through c-section and are intimately and painfully aware of just how strong and hard c-section mamas have to be) are actually motivated by the sacrifice and pain women go through and want to make sure that the only mamas who go through that kind of pain and sacrifice are the ones who need to in order for them and their babies to live. Mothers who birth through cesearean sections are amazing, strong, and face challenges that mothers who birth naturally often do not have to face. I am in awe of them. I am in awe of myself. I have come so far and been through so much and am taking on so much more in planning my VBAC that I can have nothing but respect for mothers who birth through c-sections. We are a very strong, resiliant group of women to allow ourselves to be permanently scarred, broken open, emotionally torn, and under appreciated all while performing all the duties that new mothers must perform to keep our babies thriving. I have nothing but love for women who must birth through c-section, but I also want to make sure that no one goes through all that without reason, including myself.

Thank you for reading,
Shawna

Letter to My Unborn Second Child

My Joy,
I call you "my joy" because that is what you already are to me. From the moment I knew that you were finally coming into our lives, joy is all I have felt when I think of you. It took us much longer to conceieve you than it did to conceive your older brother and so I think, maybe, I am already grateful for you because we had to fight for you more. Perhaps it is the idea that maybe we wouldn't have you that makes the knowledge that you are coming that much sweeter.

It is important for me to tell you that although you may be coming after your brother, you are no afterthought. You have been in my heart since the beginning. I never thought of when I would have a child; I only thought of when I would have children. Before we became pregnant with you, we were ready for you. We looked at our life and as full and as wonderful as it is with your brother, whom we love with all of our hearts, we saw the spaces that could only be filled by you. We bought this house and the second we saw your bedroom, I could only imagine you in it. I would walk down the hallways after putting your brother to bed and I would hear the future echo of you two giggling together. I would push him on the swings and I would look at the swing next to him and know where you were meant to be. You were always a member of our family, even though we didn't know you, yet.

I want you to know that I love being a mother with all of my heart, but I am not perfect at it. I cannot even say that I am great at it, but I do try to get a little better every day. You do inherit a much better mother than your brother first met because he has already taught me so much. I know and expect to learn even more from you and I want you to know that I am open to the lessons you want to teach me. I am just grateful for the oppurtunity to know you, love you, and to watch you blossom into whomever you are meant to be and I apologize in advance for the mistakes I will make with you. I am not always the mama I want to be, but I can promise you that even when I am at my worst, I will still love you. When you are at your worst, I can also promise you that I will remember my own mistakes and be kind and as gentle as I can be. We will learn to forgive, both ourselves, and each other, just as your brother and I are learning right now. I cannot promise that you will always like me or even love me; I'm not sure I always like me, but I can promise that I will always love and like you.

I want you to also know that your brother is an amazing person and he will teach you a lot. He has his faults and he can be a little temperamental (I think you'll find that he gets that from me. .. sorry!), but he also has a capacity to love that will only be fully realized when he finally meets you. He already thinks about you and asks when you are coming. He makes plans for you because, I'm afraid, he is a bit of a strong leader, but don't feel you have to follow his lead. He only does it because it is who he is and he will learn who you are by the way in which you tell him what you need. You will have rough patches here and there, but, growing up, I loved my brothers and you will love yours', too. By the time I was fourteen, I already knew that one of the best days of my life was the day I became a big sister and I'm sure your brother will feel the same about you. I have loved getting to know your brother all of his three years and I know that you will love him, too. As for your father, well, you sort of hit the jackpot there. From the very moment your brother was born, your father has been devoted to this family and I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone more excited than he is at the prospect of meeting you. He already loves you and dreams about you. He can't wait to hold and kiss you. (He's definitely the more fun one!)

I will close by letting you know that although we are anxious to meet you, we want you to wait until you are completely ready to be born. Your birthday is a secret for you to whisper to us when you are ready. I think I've found a doula and a midwife who will help us usher you into this world in the gentlest way possible. I look forward to showing the world what we can do together. I will know heaven when I can push you out and hold you in my arms. Until then, I am doing my best to prepare our lives for the miracle of you. Take care, little one.

All my love,
Mama

The Difference

I had my third child in April and had the best birth experience yet. I'm so excited to share the story, but the journey wouldn't be complete without first sharing the experience I had with my second child. So here it is, and I look forward to posting my latest experience next time.

What a difference three years make.

The first time I got pregnant, I had no clue whatsoever how carrying a child and birthing it would change me in the most profound, extraordinary way. I had no clue whatsoever how I really felt about pregnancy and birth.

I had no clue whatsoever that pregnancy is and should be treated as a natural condition and not a medical one, and that birth, in a normal and typical pregnancy, is and should be a physiological process, not a medical one, to be managed and ruined by malpractice fearing obstetricians and hospital staff.

My first birth was a traumatic one—save for the fact that I had my son healthy, the process left me raw and vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Induced for what proved to be no more than the overly cautious doctors’ fears at a teaching hospital, I was treated like a birthing pod, without any consideration for my wishes, comfort, or privacy. I had a heavily medicalized pregnancy in general, and then a very high-intervention birth. I don’t even remember holding my son for the first time, and I don’t remember what he looked like, or if he cried.

Initially, I was happy with my experience, and after I gave birth I told my husband I wanted to send a gift basket to the hospital and my doctor practice. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Why? They were awful!” I was so shell-shocked from the whole thing that it didn't occur to me that maybe this wasn't the way it was supposed to be--I thought all births were that gruesome. It took me weeks to recover; a month later, I was still in pain.

After I had my son, I cried in the car leaving the hospital, when I got home, when I got in the shower. My baby wouldn’t nurse; drowsy from all the unnecessary medication he and I both received, he would fall asleep within seconds of latching on, and would wake up screaming from hunger mere moments later. Beat up, dejected, and depressed, I gave up. I thought it was my fault. I thought, my body is just not made for this. I can’t handle it.

Only upon further research, talking to women who had natural births, real natural births, and a lot of soul searching, did I realize that my birth experience was not the ideal--and it contributed both to my post-partum depression and to a negative view of pregnancy and birth in general. Once motherhood sunk in, I learned a lot about myself I didn't know before. While watching the hospital scenes in “The Business of Being Born,” my husband told me that he had flashbacks of our birth experience, and told me how negatively he felt about the whole thing. I realized then how traumatizing it had been for him as well.

Three years later, for my second pregnancy, I had a midwife and a chiropractor, which made all the difference. No longer forced into hour-long wait times for five minutes of actual doctor time, I was able to tell my midwife exactly what I hoped for, and she listened. My chiropractor was also an integral part of helping me achieve my goals. Having had two natural births herself, she not only helped my body, she helped my mind, by being positive, upbeat, and never wavering in her support of me.

Circumstances being what they are for us right now, a homebirth was not an option, but a low-intervention, natural hospital birth was. I did an incredible amount of research to arm myself with everything I could to be able to achieve what I wanted in a hospital setting. It was going to be tough, but through some fantastic websites, a blog written by a homebirth midwife from across the country, and my chiropractor and midwife’s guidance, I felt ready.

My second pregnancy was worlds away from the first. Though nothing compares to that first time, the second time was, in some ways, even more amazing. I ate extremely healthily and I felt great. I read nothing on pregnancy aches and pains, and stayed away from pregnancy and birth websites unless they were positive and re-affirming of my body’s design to do this.

I took every pregnancy body change in stride—no longer symptoms, I welcomed the changes and knew that they were facilitating the growth of my baby. Not forced to take tests to make sure my baby was “normal,” I was able to focus instead on the joy and miracle that being a mother can be. My pregnancy was like a float in the clouds, dreamlike, almost. I look back and can hardly believe that I was pregnant.

My daughter’s birth was unexpectedly fast and furious. I labored mostly in the car, with my husband swearing at the stoplights, scaling sidewalks, and calling my midwife with updates every five minutes. My water broke on the way, and I felt the baby descending as we arrived at the hospital. I was wheeled into a room, crawled on the bed, and gave birth. Just like that. My midwife arrived just in time, my husband just made it back from parking the car. My daughter was placed on my chest as soon as she was born, beautifully slimy and gooey, and I sobbed in joy and relief—she was here, I had done it.

Though I didn’t plan it this way, I don’t know what would have happened if I had been in the hospital longer. I don’t want to speculate. This was a gift. My daughter’s birth was the single most extraordinary and life-altering experience I have ever had, in completely different ways than my son’s. We had done it, her and I.

Afterwards, I felt like Superwoman, like I could do anything and everything. I felt giddy and elated. Calm and alert, my newborn girl nursed like a champ. I signed all the hospital forms while in recovery. I had blood drawn once, and that was it—no more needles. Since we were all in good health, we were released the next day—26 hours after the whole thing, I was home, on Christmas Eve, with the most precious present I could have asked for. My recovery was easy and quick.

I’m not sure what to say to people who feel that it doesn’t matter how the baby gets here, so long as the baby gets here safely, except that they should perhaps expand their definition of “safely.” Though medical conditions certainly arise in pregnancy and birth, making it necessary for medical (and often lifesaving) interventions, in a low-risk, normal pregnancy and birth scenario, the experience makes a huge difference. It did for me. Maybe I am more sensitive than others; maybe I have a heightened capacity for feeling negative and positive emotions. I know I’m not the only one.

During my research, I was bolstered by similar accounts from other women who had traumatic birth experiences, and then went on to something better. I was also frightened by accounts from women who went into the hospital hoping to birth naturally, and had interventions forced on them. Waking up the morning my daughter was born, feeling those first waves, I feared that I would go to the hospital too soon, get stuck in a bed with belts and needles, and end up on the operating table. Gratefully, blissfully, it was quite the opposite.

I adore both my son and daughter. Each of them have given me gifts beyond what I imagined, gifts I could never thank them for. Through the difficult experience I had with my son, I was able to clearly see myself for who I am. I was able to learn, I was able to change, I was able to move beyond the mainstream. Through my daughter, I was able to realize my strength, to challenge myself in every way possible, to achieve the peace and wisdom that can only come from being a mother. I hold her in my arms and I am so grateful.

I’m expecting my third child in April, and this time I hope that I can move even beyond what I have realized so far. And I hope that someday, I can repay my children for all they have done for me.

Birthing (and Re-Birthing) a Mother

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." ~Rajneesh

Our babies births are not the only births that are important. We become the mothers we are through a variety of different channels and experiences and, if we do so mindfully and really embrace change, we continue to evolve and grow just as our children do. In the end, we birth ourselves into the new world of motherhood and, later, we can emerge as better mothers and women. I truly believe that birth is just the beginning of that path. Clearly, a good birth experience can be a wonderful beginning for that journey. However, we sometimes focus a little too much on the actual, physical birth experience and not enough on the spiritual evolution of what it means to be a mother.

Recently, I was reading about birth and I came across an article that disturbed me. (I will not mention the article or the author of this article because I feel that midwives are already maligned too much and I do not want to impugn all the good she writes and does for women and their births because of one part of one article.) I'm not as "birthy" (yet!) as some of the other amazing women I know, but I do love a good birth story. I whole heartedly believe in a woman's right to choose her birth and that women in our current birth culture are not given all of the information they actually need to choose the best birth possible for themselves and their babies. Women also often don't have enough access to birth settings that are best for them because of insurance concerns. However, in this article, the author was talking about the long term effects of birth and mentioned a conversation she had with another midwife in which the midwife pointed to women playing in a swimming pool with their babies and stated that she could determine the kind of birth (natural, cesarean, or medicated) each baby had by the connection (or lack there of) the mother/baby had in the pool. That moment cut me to the quick because I am a mother of a baby born through cesarean and it hurt me deeply that there was an assumption that because of the way my baby was birthed, we somehow could never grow as deeply connected as mother and child as a mother who had successfully had a natural birth and that difference would somehow be obvious even to the most casual (but interested) observer.

As important as birth is (and it is very, very important) to the health and well-being (physically and mentally) of both the baby and the mother, it is still only one part of the relationship between mother and child. When a c-section happens it is still a birth; when a medicated birth is chosen, that is still a birth. Both are just as much new beginnings for mother and babies as much as natural births are and each new beginning holds just as much promise as the next one for the people who are involved in it. Bonding after a cesarean or a medicated birth is not impossible and lack of initial bonding (should that occur), is not as insurmountable as the author seemed to suggest in that vignette. In fact, what brings many women into birth activism and attached parenting practices are their difficult birthing experiences and from those sad beginnings spring strong women who work tirelessly to connect to their children in new ways and to make birth safer for the women who become mothers after them.

Our children may only be physically, literally born once, but they are spiritually born many, many times as they grow and change. We, as their mothers, also have the chance to birth ourselves into new kinds of mothers and women. Every day, we are offered the chance to make a new start and, personally, I avail myself of those opportunities as often as I can. When we focus too single-mindedly on the importance of physical birth and any regrets we have about our past decisions, we risk missing the rebirth we have available to us every day. I know that my son and I are not the same people who met on the day of his birth after an unplanned c-section. We have grown beyond the mother and son that were birthed that day. The love we share and the relationship we have worked to build has helped us evolve into something better. I love him more every day. If we were swimming in that pool, I don't think anyone could ever see us as anything other than what we are, a completely bonded, loving mother and child in spite of our less than perfect birth experience.

Thanks again for reading,
Shawna

Five Things that Shocked Me about Cesarean Recovery

I've said before that my cesarean was not a planned one, so to say that I had no idea of what I was getting myself into is an understatement. My learning curve after having my son was steep. Here are some of the "surprises" I encountered in both my son and my recovery that I had never read about prior to and that I don't see mentioned very often anywhere.

1. Unexpected Digestive Issues

It seems very clear to me that my son was fated to have digestive issues. He had really bad reflux until he was about six months old. He has struggled a very underdeveloped digestive system (although it has improved greatly over the past few months) and has a very acute dairy allergy. These natural digestive issues were further complicated by his cesarean birth. One of the first issues he encountered was excessive gas and spitting up developing within hours of his birth. The nurse assigned to us the first day assured me that babies born through c-section often have gas and spitting up issues the first day because when the baby is born through c-section, they are often frightened by the sudden action of the doctor pulling them out. This causes them to cry and to swallow large amounts of amniotic fluid as they are being pulled out. (Conversely, babies born vaginally often do not because of the pressure exerted when they are pushed out.) I don't know if this is true from any other sources, but as the nurse was a twenty year nursing veteran, I had no reason to doubt her expertise. I can attest, the my son was a burping/clear fluids puking machine his first twelve hours or so.

Babies born through cesareans also lack exposure to the helpful bacteria of their mother's birth canal. This bacteria is the same bacteria that should be found in any healthy digestive system, but are missing from most cesarean birthed babies. (Cesarean birthed babies have, instead, been found to have bacteria found on the skin in their digestive systems.) This lack of helpful bacteria can make foods (even breastmilk) harder for those babies to digest.

2. Extreme Cluster Feeding

It is my understanding that most babies clusterfeed to some extent especially during growth spurts or during times when there are supply issues. Cesarean birthed babies take this to the extreme with clusterfeeding sessions lasting hours on end. This happens most often on the third through fifth day after birth. I've read that this may be the babies' reaction to a slowness in the mother's milk coming in (another common side effect of a c-section is that the milk is often delayed in coming in). In my case, my milk came in only two days after my son's birth, but my son still extreme cluster fed on both the third and the fourth day after birth. The third day (the day we came home from the hospital), he fed for almost eleven hours straight from 4 in the afternoon to 3 in the morning. He slept only in four ten minute stretches that entire time. Panicked, we trolled in internet and found descriptions of this behavior and even called the hospital ward we had just left. We were assured by both sources that this is not uncommon for cesarean birthed babies. (The following night, he cluster fed for 9 hours straight; the night after that, he fed for five hours . . .after that, he stuck to two hours or less.)

3. Physical Recovery takes a lot longer than Six Weeks

Before I had my c-section, I thought that when books said there was a six week recovery time that at the end of the six weeks you would be fully recovered from your surgery. I was so wrong. Six weeks is the MINIMUM recovery time. It is basically the time your body needs to recover enough so that the incision site will not likely reopen. It takes months for your body to fully recover (at least nine months for the muscles alone to heal). It is not uncommon for the incision site to remain tender and for the muscles to ache long after those six weeks are up. Some parts of it never heal. (I have permanent numb spots along my incision site.) Most resources I have read say that to insure your body is completely healed from your surgery and give you your best chance at a VBAC, you need to wait at least TWO YEARS before conceiving another baby. Even if you do wait that long your muscles and the skin of your incision site is forever altered and my not be as elastic or as comfortable as it was during your pre-cesarean birth pregnancy. (Kayce has been very candid about some of the experiences she has had in her post cesarean pregnancies.)

4. Mental Recovery Can Take Even Longer

Some women have cesareans (expected or unexpected) and feel perfectly content with both the procedure and its aftermath. Some women are devastated by it and even suffer PTSD. Others are somewhere in between. It's impossible to know where on the spectrum you might land. Prior to going into labor, I would have told you that although I was planning a natural birth, I would be fine with a necessary cesarean. However, after my labor, I learned that wasn't true. Even though I really do think that my cesarean was necessary, it has been a huge emotional hurdle for me to recover from.

In the beginning, it was really hard to struggle with my emotions because it didn't seem like anyone around me really understood why I was struggling. I think all new mothers struggle with a version of this. Taking care of a newborn is mentally and physically exhausting and sleep deprivation is far crueler than most of us realize until we experience it firsthand. Meanwhile, it seems that everyone around you keeps cajoling you to "cherish every minute." You can start to feel you are a terrible mother just because you are crying because your breasts ache and you haven't had a two hour stretch of sleep in three weeks. For mothers who have just had cesarean surgery, you are dealing with post-partum emotions, physical demands and recovery from your labor, and intense physical recovery from a surgery. Unlike most other emergency surgeries which would result in other people tenderly attempting to take care of you, a c-section is treated almost as if it didn't happen by a lot of people because the focus is on the healthiness of the baby not the mother. Of course, every mother is delighted that her baby is healthy, but it is also perfectly normal (even healthy) for her to be aware of her own discomfort and recovery. It's also natural to go through highs and lows in your emotional recovery.

My own emotional recovery has also been impeded by what I refer to as "The Mt. Everest Syndrome." Prior to my labor, when I heard about people who made it almost to the top of Mt. Everest, but had to turn around for technical, weather, or health reasons, I never really understood why they became obsessed with trying it again. Wasn't it enough that they almost made it to the top? They made it further than most of us ever will. Why do they need to risk it again? Now, I understand perfectly well where their obsession comes from. I labored for 26 hours without pain killers. I have learned that I am a woman warrior and that I have the mental and spiritual strength to birth a child. I know what I am capable of. However, because my son got stuck, I have yet to be able to show the rest of the world what I now know about myself and that drives me mad. I have often described my c-section as "defeat snatched from the jaws of victory." I feel like an Olympic athlete whose shoelace broke causing me to trip inches from the finish line. I long to roar my child into being and to claim that victory as my own. I want to be one of those women who say with pride "I birthed my baby and now I can do anything."

5. C-Sections Introduce Troubling Doubt

The most nefarious, by far, of all the surprises I have encountered during my cesarean recovery is the introduction of doubt into all thoughts of future births. Many women who have experienced cesareans (maybe especially the women who experienced necessary ones) feel self-doubt as to whether or not their bodies will be reliable in future labors. Having been failed by your body once, it's hard to have complete faith that your body will not fail you again.

Complicating this self-doubt further is the doubt of everyone around you. A woman who is planning her first birth is told "when you go into labor" and "when you birth your child." A woman planning a VBAC is told she will have a "trial of labor" and "if you birth your child." Even those who believed in her the most during her first labor or in her labors prior to her cesarean now have cause to doubt her and her ability to birth. That can make future labor feel like an uphill battle already. In an attempt to realistically acknowledge what has been proven to be a birth possibility, support team members often feel they need to develop the repeat cesarean birthing plan alongside the VBAC trial plan. It's a little like training to run a marathon while your cheering section is gassing up the car to pick you up when you collapse. (A necessary evil, but still a gut checking one!) During my first labor, when I hit a wall during transition and said aloud that I couldn't go on, that I didn't have the strength, I was immediately assured by those around me that I could go on and that I did have strength. Now, I live in fear that if I am not in the right environment for birth, I will be believed if I utter those words again and will end up with another c-section which is something that I most assuredly do NOT want for myself or my child unless it is necessary.