You've heard the saying: if you wanna make God laugh, make plans. Well, as a pregnant woman, this was never more true for me, especially the third time around. I never made a specific birth plan to take to the hospital before, but I was older this time, and wiser, and for some reason, empowered to take charge of the delivery. Our first child we weren't well informed. We just knew we were pregnant and the baby was going to come out. I wound up with an epidural earlier than I needed, repeated because the first dose never took effect, then couldn't feel my legs and could not push. One overzealous young doctor decided he was going to hide forceps under a towel and attempt to use them after we'd refused repeatedly. Good way to get an already tired father-to-be to threaten to kick your ass. The baby's heart rate started to dip dramatically and nurses began to run out of the room calling for doctors. One hurried in and yelled at me to get it together. If we wanted to push it was now or never. He helped by literally pushing on my stomach. I had an episiotomy and she came out with the cord in her hand; she'd been squeezing it during each contraction. Heard my husband say, "It's a girl!" Afterward, I could barely walk for days. And if you're a woman, you know that urinating was, well, difficult.
Baby number two: a week overdue, but I'm slightly more in control. Refused the epidural and thought I would die from the pain. Told that the heart rate is dipping slightly, but don't be concerned. Pushed her out in record time. Heard my husband say, "It's a girl!" Afterward, I could have skipped down the hall. No pain anyplace. I literally felt GOOD.
Baby number three: all bets on normalcy are off. Only two days overdue but induced and it goes downhill from there. Told early on that a c-section may be necessary because the heart rate is low. Paid no attention to them as we've been through this before. But. This. Time's. Different. The nurses and doctor seem so adamant to get the baby out when the decelerations are only considered "subtle." They think we are less than concerned about our baby's fate. Comments about potential death are thrown around. The baby's not liking the contractions. We decline a c-section, can't be forced to have one, we don't know anything about c-sections, don't see how it's warranted this early on. Sure, we want the baby out safely and would do anything to make that happen...oh wait, now it's an emergency because even though we were told two minutes ago that the decelerations had stopped you absolutely must take the baby now.
I have to go alone. I have no support. The room is cold. I have no control. I can't move. I. Am. Alone. I literally freeze and can't move from one table to the next. Women actually choose to do this? I am put to sleep, cut open, and my baby removed. I lose out on my husband saying "It's a..." and that hurts to this day. Funny, one would think I'd be over this by now, this lack of having the delivery I'd wanted and expected. But, sadly, I'm not. It all just went so fast. I was there for a routine non-stress test. Now, there are many things I continue to question and genuinely am angry about. For instance, the nurses didn't tell me about the pain associated with coughing or sneezing after the surgery. No one told me about the inability to make the slightest movements like getting out of bed or standing back up after using the bathroom. I was questioned later about whether my husband was abusive at home because he seemed to be the decision maker. A vocal decision maker at that. How dare he.
Later, I was told my placenta was separating during contractions. I'd had the most uneventful pregnancy. My regular doctor told me I was her most boring patient. There was no cause to have late term sonograms. A sono was performed that day, though, but no mention of placenta problems. Why couldn't they see it? If it was happening with each contraction, and they were looking at it, why couldn't they see it? Being prepared for a c-section, having it justified with an actual medical reason rather than being whisked away from my husband and taken into an igloo of a room would certainly have made me feel more at ease. And now it comes to me. My aha! birth moment. I needed and wanted him with me and I had no control over his being unable to be by my side. And how must he feel, having to wait while his wife is cut into? The baby wasn't brought to me immediately for me to breast feed. I found out later he'd been given formula. No one asked our preferences. Decisions were being made that we ours to make and I resent that.
Don't misunderstand: I'm beyond ecstatic that my son is here and healthy. I just wish he could have come on my terms because I fear I will harbor resentment toward the doctor, nurses, and residents for a long time to come, even though I've told myself to let it go. Sometimes, even the most heartfelt "let go and let God" sentiment can't be realized.
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